#Nicotine Addiction

[katandthecrazies]

[sfde8871]

+~+

[emotional-moss]

fastest way to tell if someone genuinely cares about addicts and people with mental health issues in general? ask them how they feel about people who vape. vaping is and has been a hot button issue for like the last ten years or so and the way you hear people talk about people who vape, including teenagers, actual children, is insane. “at least i can go five minutes without needing a hit of flavored air” “kids who vape are cringe and just doing it to look cool” “when the addict loses their pen and tears their whole house apart looking for it” it’s like. you guys are just making fun of addiction. vapes are extremely addictive, way more so than cigarettes, and their flavors are deliberately targeted at children and young people. you achieve nothing by making fun of “kids who vape,” especially when you turn around five seconds later and claim to care about addicts. valing is an addiction like any other.

[tarfeeder]

It's time to feed my lungs some of that delicious tar

[lanaswansblog]

I need a pack of cigs rn so much

[ruthimages]

[defire]

Back to the Dregs Part 15

Part 1 Next:

Content: injuries, nicotine addiction, painful wound treatment, ANGST, whumper turned caretaker, ptsd, mention of child abuse

Michael dozed. As his consciousness faded in again, he overheard voices in the basement.

"But, sir... you're terrifying him."

"I'm not terrifying him, I'm just being a dick."

"...Maybe both?" Al said tentatively.

There was a pause.

"You think he's really scared?"

"Well, you did threaten to kill him."

"...Yeah, colloquially." Morgan said, and then there was another pause before he added, "Come here." Their steps came toward the bed.

Michael made sure his breathing stayed light and even. After getting kidnapped, he'd started practicing.

"Did you get a look at what they did to him?" Morgan said in a tone deep with irritation.

"Not really." Al said, coming closer.

Michael focused on his breathing, hoping they wouldn't touch him.

"Bruises and cuts, all down his back." Morgan said, more softly now. "I--it's a wonder they didn't fucking kill him. Just... And when he's sick, too."

"Sir, I think he's sick because of the beating."

"That's ridiculous. That doesn't happen." Morgan said. "Anyway, I've got disinfectant, bandages, all that stuff you asked for. Oh, and here. CBD lotion. For the bruises? Just... be gentle."

"Sir, wait!" Al sounded alarmed. "Don't leave me alone with him."

Michael inwardly rolled his eyes. Not like he was some feral animal.

"I don't understand why you would need me." Morgan said. His steps were already retreating.

"What if I need to hold him down? Or carry him to the bathtub?"

There was a pause.

"I don't understand, sir... Why are you so opposed to showing him a little bit of kindness?"

Morgan sighed.

"He might... Smile at me, or something."

Suddenly a large hand fell lightly on Michael's arm. He flinched and gasped awake.

"Huh?" He panted.

"Sorry," Al said, patting his arm. "I've got a few things here that should make you feel better."

Michael breathed out and nodded.

"I think it would really help all of us," Al nodded significantly at Michael, "if you stay, sir, please."

Morgan scowled and came closer.

"Need me to hold him down?" He glared at Michael, who opted for closing his eyes.

He didn't feel up for confrontation like this--not with his head pounding and his skin burning.

"He might do better with a bath, maybe with salt or something." Al said.

The thought of touching his dried-out, inflamed wounds to water was awful.

"Oh, please, no," Michael groaned.

"Michael, dude, calm down." Alvie rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, avoiding the injuries. "If you could see your back... it's really bad. There's... dirt, and stuff."

"Then take me to the hospital." Michael groaned.

"He's upstairs." Morgan cut in, walking closer.

Michael cursed into the pillow, huffing as he pushed back tears yet again.

"Alright, let's do it." He said.

Michael collapsed three times on the way to the basement bathroom, and eventually Morgan wrapped his arms around him and dragged him there, in a very awkward hug sort of thing.

When they lowered him into the lukewarm water, the moment it touched the first cut he gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.

The next minute someone had given him a rag to bite onto and his knuckles were popping with how hard he was gripping the bathtub, now fully immersed.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he let out silent screams, then sobs, through the rag, biting down hard. He couldn't make any noise, or Mr. Huer would hear him. He was vaguely aware of Morgan now, apologizing over and over, cursing liberally.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Mike, fuck, I'm sorry."

Michael shuddered as his tears soaked the rag, then as the pain ebbed, he took out the rag and then opened his eyes.

Morgan was leaning over the side of the tub in front of him with concern and fear on his face, and he stretched out his hand to touch Michael's cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Sorry... Are you okay?"

Michael shuddered and nodded.

Morgan got up and stepped back, looking out into the basement and then back in at Al like he didn't know what to do.

"So... I have to wash out the dirt now..." Al said.

Michael grimaced and nodded again. He put the rag back in his teeth.

[again I'm not too familiar with cigarettes so if it's inaccurate feel free to let me know, I want to be accurate]

It was soothing. Muscles more relaxed now, clean after a week of not being able to bathe, old and new blood washed off, now they had to unroll a sleeping bag for him while they got Morgan's bedding in the wash. It was too gross and bloody now.

The CBD oil must've been high quality, because the pain had retreated quite a bit from the bruises. The gunshot wound still throbbed like a motherfucker. He missed the Codeine.

After Alvie left, Morgan pulled out his cigarette box again and tipped one out.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, staring neutrally at the wall Michael was leaning back on.

"A lot less." Michael said.

Morgan held out the cigarette box, offering him one.

Michael hesitated. He'd already broken his two-year streak, and it had felt so good... Would one more really hurt that much? He could start over later, start his whole life over, all over again. He needed the relief right now.

He swallowed, staring at it with gritted teeth.

Then he shook his head.

"No, I'm trying to quit."

Morgan sucked a breath in as he put the box away. He put his in his mouth and lit it.

"Me too." He inhaled and slowly released the smoke toward the middle of the room.

"How about that Blue Tarantula?" Michael suggested.

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"How'd you know I have it?"

"Come on, it's your favorite." Michael shrugged.

Morgan assented and pulled out the tequila. He tapped his ash off onto the little tray, considered for a moment, then popped off the top of the bottle with his teeth and took a full-on gulp, straight.

He hummed in satisfaction, leaning back even as tears came to his eyes from the hundred-proof alcohol.

Michael took only a small sip, but he was grateful for some kind of relaxation after denying himself of that cigarette. The back of his mind was already planning out how he'd sneak one more pack as soon as he got out of this mess.

"This reminds me of the old days." Morgan smiled bitterly. "When the three of us would go drink and smoke up on the condo roof."

Michael remembered it. It was a mixture of fondness and anxiety he'd felt on those nights. Mr. Huer didn't usually burn him on the condo roof, as long as he acted like he practically worshiped the ground Mr. Huer walked on. But that didn't mean the threat wasn't there in that coal between his foster father's fingers.

He'd gotten so used to having fun while also stressed out of his mind, that now, he couldn't have one without the other.

Morgan had started to nod and sip mindlessly at the tequila. He did that when he was getting drunk.

"Do you miss it?" Michael asked.

Morgan scoffed.

"Do I miss being powerless?" He took another drink and set the bottle down. "No."

"Would you have run if you could've?"

Morgan shrugged.

"No point in answering that. I can't run."

"But I... what's stopping you?"

"Would you go? Would you leave me here with him?" Morgan's words slurred.

Michael licked his lips.

"We... we could both go, man."

"Oh come on." Morgan waved at him dismissively. "Easy for you to say."

"I don't understand, man." Michael pressed. "Why are you... protecting me from him?"

Morgan leaned forward, staring at the floor.

"Why shouldn't I?" He said. "I'm your brother."

"Foster brother."

Morgan winced.

Michael took a drink from the bottle, a couple shots' worth at least.

Morgan took a long drag on the cigarette, pulling the coal closer to the filter at record speed, and Michael blinked several times, trying not to betray his discomfort. He hated watching other people smoke. Morgan side-eyed him as he exhaled. He moved the unfinished cigarette to the tray as another chunk of ash fell, took a breath, and then stamped out the coal on the side.

He raised his eyebrows at Michael as if to say "is that better?"

Michael flushed and looked away. His anxiety had been pretty obvious, then.

Morgan's serious composure was quickly fading into a self-satisfied smirk. He was getting drunker.

"Morgan... can you please tell me why you brought me here? I won't... Smile at you, or anything. I promise."

Morgan scowled.

"You heard that?" He lurched toward Michael with a clenched fist, rage on his face.

Michael raised a bruised forarm to protect his face, cringeing.

Morgan froze, looked down at his posture, then sank down onto the edge of the bed, looking shocked.

"I forgot... you hate me." He covered his face and a hoarse little gasp came out. His shoulders shook. He was crying. And definitely drunk.

"Hate?" Michael repeated. Well, yes, he'd felt htat way for a long time, but that was not what he was feeling now.

If Morgan was drunk enough to cry, Michael suspected that he'd be puking shortly.

"And if you don't hate me, you're an idiot." Morgan whispered.

"Wow, thanks..." Michael reached out to comfort him, then stopped himself. He was supposed to hate him.

"Don't thank me." Morgan scowled. "I will kick your ass."

"I just wanna know why."

"Why what?" Morgan snapped. "Why'd I help him kick you? Why'd I hold you down so he could burn off the soles of your feet?"

"...Yeah." Michael grimaced. "That."

"It doesn't matter why."

"Morgan..." Michael pleaded.

Morgan growled and rubbed his face, noticed tears on his fingers and wiped them dry hastily.

"He said if I didn't help, he'd beat you with a stick instead of his hands. Even followed through a couple times."

So that was the time with the kindling.

Morgan cleared his throat, but it sounded more like a growl.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter."

Michael's mouth opened in shock.

"I... Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it doesn't matter!" Morgan nearly shouted, and Michael tensed, waiting to hear a noise from upstairs, but nothing happened. "I still did it."

Michael was blinking tears back.

"But... If I'd known you cared... at all... it would've meant so much."

"And then what?" Morgan stood up, fists clenched in a way that made Michael nervous. "Then you would've forgiven me, wouldn't you?"

Michael met the accusing glare with confusion, wondering if the alcohol was hitting him hard enough to affect his comprehension now, because that didn't make sense.

"I... is that bad?" He said.

"I don't deserve to be forgiven, man." Morgan said. With apparent effort he unclenched his fists and walked away slowly. "Now I'm going to go to the bathroom and cool down. I'll come back out, go back to being a dick, and we both forget this ever happened. Got it?"

Michael was about to respond, but Morgan turned and jabbed a threatening finger at him and he shut his mouth.

Suddenly there was the sound of an upstairs door softly opening and closing. Morgan and Michael both froze, then Morgan cocked his head as footsteps came across the floor above them, toward the basement door.

Michael recognized the footsteps of Joseph Huer.

Morgan set his teeth.

"Hide."

Taglist:

@fleur-a-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whumped-by-glitter @whump-writings @mimostic @tildeathiwillwrite @phoenixpromptsandstuff

[blackpump]

Awesome Virginia Slims smoking milf Adela. I just love giving the gift of my damaged smoker's heartbeat to such a beautiful heavy smoking woman. I just wish she could feel the PVCs, SVT, NSVT, and general tachycardia that I feel when filling my lungs with smoke...

[system-role-flags]

Nicotine addiction symptom holder (sry it's a long name)

🌈Nicotine Addiction Symptom Holder🍭

A flag for alters who hold symptoms of Nicotine

Addictions

🩷

[mourninglamby]

i return ashamedly on my hands and knees to the throne……i followed you on instagram in 2021 and continued to even when youshared opinions i disagreed with.. until after wilburs finale…..and then i left!!!!! i took YOUR VALID CRITICISM OF MEDIA PERSONALLY and WHINED IN A CORNER FOR A YEAR!!!!!!! and now i am back….i have grown, and acquired critical thinking skills and a nicotine addiction, and i have come to say YOU WERE RIGHT. ABOUT IT ALL!!i remembered your words after seeing everything that hashappened this week and am here to repent for the sin of disbelief………..and forgive me this as well, i am very high

😵‍💫😵‍💫holy cats… well I’m glad you changed ur mind ! I won’t pretend this ain’t very vindicating … a lot of ppl were very angry with my opinion on the ending and although I stand by what I said I think I was also experiencing a trigger that set my brain off by a month. anyways thank u for reconsidering hope u are well 💞🫶🌈

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 16

Featuring the same characters as Day 12! Not required viewing to understand this one, as it's more their origins. I've placed the story in the UK so apologies for any inaccuracies as I'm an American!

Content warnings for: alcohol consumption, smoking, implied addiction to both aforementioned, drunk driving, motorcycle accident, thoughts of death, and brief suicidal ideation. Stay safe!

Wound Cleaning

He knew he was too far out of it. Too dizzy, too tired, too weak, too drunk to drive back home.

But he’d stumbled to his bike, clutching his side and his cheek, running like a coward. When it roared to life beneath him, he found some forlorn spark of confidence.

Then somewhere on the side streets it had started raining. And in the forest between towns it came down harder. Then-

Fuck, his head hurt. 

Freezing mud clung to him as he rolled over despite the persistent warmth in his chest. When had it gotten so cold? The hazy shadow of his bike lay several meters away, its headlights shining off into the woods, engine still purring into a puddle. His phone was still in the tailpack, he’d call someone to pick him up… or 999… they couldn’t tell him he had it coming. 

A mirthless laugh covered a worse sound as he pushed himself up, dragging aching limbs toward the motorcycle. His left leg was fucking killing him.

A memory of skidding across asphalt, crumbling concrete tearing at skin.

He just needed to grab his phone.The leather bag hanging off the seat wasn’t yet submerged and he let out a sigh of relief, reaching in. 

Empty. Oh god.

“Nonononono…”

A bloody hand plunged underwater, searching until- the phone. It was dripping water from every opening, his fingers slipped against the buttons, pressing frantically as a black screen stared back. 

“Shit! God, no!”

He screamed and flung the useless machine against the ground, collapsing with it into incoherent sobs. If he got back onto the bike in this condition he’d crash somewhere worse. But laying here was a death sentence unless someone else felt bad enough to stop for him.

Ha. Funny. 

Well, if he was lucky… there. His trusty lighter and cigs were still zipped up safely in his pocket, one left in the whole package. Fate was one sexy, sexy man. He’d have to do him a favor in the afterlife if he made it that far.

“Cheers.” To nobody in particular, of course. It took shaking fingers a few flicks to activate muscle memory and spring up a little flame. A long, deep drag soothed his nerves.

Not a bad way to go out. Not bad at all. Tequila would’ve paired nicely with the smoke.

Headlights turned onto the road and he sighed, holding out a forlorn hand. At best, he’d be splashed as they whizzed by. At worst, they’d put him out of his misery. 

Or maybe those two should be switched. Either way, they wouldn’t… stop… but… they were slowing down. And he heard the doors unlock when the vehicle shifted into park. And those lights were making his head pound.

“Bloody hell! Is that you, Payge?”

“Depends who’s askin’,” he mumbled through a mouthful of smoke. “You gonna bring me in to the station?”

“Christ…” They muttered to themself and opened the trunk of their car and pulled something out before walking over. The headlights stayed on, acting as a spotlight. “C’mere, Payge. Can you move?” 

“Nicolai…?”

“The one and only. Come on.”

Nicolai was… how would he describe them? A friend of a friend of sorts. But maybe they were more of a friend, as of late. Did they even live over this way? Where the hell had he ended up?

Payge groaned and pushed himself up, missing a few times and slipping down. Nicolai’s hands reached out to help pull him over. 

“You smell like smoke. And booze.”

“Here. Just a bit, ‘ts my last one.” He offered the cigarette and they pinched it between thumb and index, took a drag, and blew it straight into his face. 

“The hell’s that meant to be?!” Payge coughed.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much.” They handed it back and opened a well stocked first aid kit, picking up a cloth and pouring some water out from their water bottle. “Where are you hurt?”

“You askin’ about the bar fight or the crash?” His words were slurring into each other again. 

“Payge…” they shook their head, concern coloring their features. “I told you to stop fighting.”

“And I wasn’t letting him go home w’thout a shiner.” They stopped arguing and simply stared until he softened. “Got punched in the cheek, thrown around a bit… I think my leg’s bleedin’.”

They brought the cloth to his face first, wiping away grit, and he hissed when they found broken skin over his cheekbone. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a bottle of antiseptic, I’ve just gotta clean you up first. You shouldn’t be riding in this weather in the first place.”

Nicolai moved to his abdomen, touching over the hem of his shirt and a frantic, uncoordinated hand pushed it back down. 

“Stop, you don’t needa… just call an ambulance. You shouldn’ hafta do all this.”

“Nonsense. I can’t leave your side not knowing what happens. Let me help.”

Payge hesitated before relenting, letting them pull up his shirt and inspect the bruise surely forming over his ribs. Once satisfied they moved to look at his legs, but noticed blood dripping down his arm.

“Your hands-?” 

“Just scraped ‘em.”

But they wouldn’t stand for that, taking him roughly by the wrist and cleaning the mud off to reveal harsh scratches from the pavement.

“Other one, Payge.”

“Lemme finish,” he gestured with his half-smoked cigarette.

“Give me that!” Nicolai snatched it right out of his loose grip and snuffed it out, grinding the butt into the pavement before tossing it into the puddle.

“Hey! Wha’s your problem, mate?!” Genuine anger snuck into his voice and Payge finally sat up, grabbing at their shirt and shaking them. “You gotta nother pack’a Marlboros hanging around or what, Nic?” 

A hand shot out and held him by the neck, and his grip dropped away in shock. 

“You’re gonna pass of infection if you don’t let me do my job. Calm the hell down.” The lack of response sounded like resignation, so they cleaned the hand that had now left a stain on their shirt. “Don’t let those touch the mud again, you understand?”

A meek nod. He allowed Nicolai to roll up his pant leg but seethed when torn fibers tugged at the wound.

“I’ll go quickly. Hold your breath.” And they ripped it off as promised, causing a long, drawn out keen. Wow. 

“Th-thank you…”

Something stirred but they swallowed it down.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

A bit more water was poured onto the cloth before working it into the wound, despite jerks and half-aware cries. As the mud was washed away, the severity of the gash became apparent. Though it didn’t cut deep, it was… extensive. They pulled the first aid kit over and grabbed the roll of elastic bandages.

“Bite down on this. I promise you’ll need it.” They held it to Payge’s mouth and he accepted it, fear flashing across his face. “Just focus on that and you’ll be alright.”

A new cloth and a pause to trap his leg with their own, then Nicolai poured the antiseptic directly on the wound. 

“Fuuuuck!” 

They worked quickly, wiping it over and working it into each crevice. They couldn’t be too safe. And the whimpers… A clean cloth bandage wrapped around his calf and they pinned it in place. 

“A hand, please. Whichever I should start with.” They held their palm up, offering the choice, but Payge was still curled into himself. They sighed and grabbed the closest one.

“No, no it hurts too bad!” He cried, trying to speak around the roll of bandages. “Leave it, how it is jus’ leave it…”

The antiseptic didn’t need to be poured in such a volume, but maybe it was their reward for dealing with him.

“Aren’t you drunk? You shouldn’t be able to feel a thing,” they shrugged as he screamed. The only thing that mattered was the way he struggled thoroughly cleaning the wounds. The same routine repeated with his other hand, and they were both bandaged in the same way. 

“Right. Your face.” He flinched away at the soft dabs and the butterfly bandage placed over his cheek. “There. All done.”

“I still… still can’t drive m’self home…”

Nicolai shushed him, scooping his torso off the asphalt to sit him up. They removed his soiled biker jacket, throwing it in the trunk and exchanging it for a few towels. One went over the backseat and the other went around his shoulders when they picked him up bridal style, laying him down gently across the seats. 

“Th’ fuck…?”

“I’m driving you home.”

“But… my bike…”

“I’ll take care of it. After I take care of you.”

[katandthecrazies]

pinterest collage by me : @/k4tph0bi4

[alexia-melendez]

Wishing everyone a Smoky Nude Year 🖤🚬💋💨

[milkboxgalore]

1 year, 48 vapes, approx. $1,104

[inner-space-oddity]

Researching how to quit nicotine with ADHD be like:

- ADHD makes it harder to quit nicotine!!!

- Here’s the link between nicotine addiction and ADHD

- If your child has ADHD, don’t let them do nicotine

- Here’s why vaping isn’t safe

- Here’s the link between ADHD and nicotine usage

- If your child has ADHD, don’t let them do nicotine

- Have you tried meditation?

- If your child has ADHD, they will do drugs and die

- Don’t do drugs!!!!!’!’nn’nnn!!!!

- Have your tried deep breathing?

- If your child has ADHD, make them quit nicotine!!!

- Here’s what to do if your child has ADHD

- Children have ADHD and adults don’t because adults know how to not have ADHD

- Teens are inherently evil

- Have you tried chewing gum?

[reminderofapast]

Life Hack: Speed up the harmful affects of smoking by putting them out on your skin