#Nicotine Addiction

[sfde8871]

+~+

[katandthecrazies]

[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.

[looking-watched-2]

Rip Eric and Dylan - you would’ve loved touch screen vapes

[tarfeeder]

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

[jackafett]

Photos my gf took of me

[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

[honest-snail-reaction]

I have a problem.

[sfde8871]

Błśķ

[katandthecrazies]

pinterest collage by me : @/k4tph0bi4

[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...

[cigarett3afters3x]

[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

🩷