#Sunrise Drug Rehab

[sunrise-recovery]

Exploring the Different Types of Therapies Offered at Sunrise Drug Rehab: Finding the Right Approach to Addiction Recovery.

Sunrise Drug Rehab offers various types of therapies to assist individuals with overcoming addiction. These therapies include behavioral therapy, cognitive therapy, psychotherapy, group therapy, dialectical behavior therapy, motivational interviewing, trauma-focused therapy, etc. 

Behavioral therapy seeks to address negative behaviors associated with addiction by implementing positive reinforcements for good behaviors. Cognitive therapy aims to identify negative thought patterns and replace them with positive ones. 

Psychotherapy is a talk therapy that helps individuals with addiction deal with the underlying emotional issues leading to their substance abuse. Group therapy involves gathering individuals in a group setting and encouraging them to share their struggles and experiences with addiction. 

Dialectical behavior therapy helps individuals develop coping skills and emotional regulation. Motivational interviewing can help individuals find the motivation to change, and trauma-focused therapy can help those who have experienced trauma heal and move forward.

Sunrise recognizes that each individual's addiction is unique, and they strive to find the right therapy approach for each patient that will suit their specific needs and assist them in their journey to recovery.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 3.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: I had someone on Ao3 ask me about how often this will get updated and my answer is that I don't know. My IRL can be pretty unpredictable and I do deal with depression on a daily basis. I'm going to do my best to update this while still working on my Leon Kennedy fic, Unlikely Salvation! Please do bear with me as I try to figure out where I want this story to go!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 1 / chapter 2

The lab was hustling with scientists, the Wakandan sunrise filtering through the enormous windows with an intensity that made Bucky eyes hurt as he stood by the cryostasis pod where the Winter Soldier would soon be housed.

The whole trek to the lab had been uneventful: not once did the soldier fight back. It seemed that the failure to complete her mysterious mission had caused her to shut down, and Bucky was tense as she was strapped down with multiple magnetic cuffs like the ones he and Steve used back in the quinjet.

Even with the super soldier serum coursing through her veins and whatever other enhancements she might naturally have or that HYDRA might have given her would prove useless. She was strapped down nice and tight.

There was a machine hovering over her knee, the tissue and bone beneath crunching and grinding as it was fusing back together, her expression unchanging despite her kneecap and patella being exposed. The air was beginning to smell of singed flesh and hair, and Bucky felt slightly nauseous.

Bucky hated knowing how much damage his arm could inflict; how unforgiving his grip was and how hard it was to regulate the strength at times so he would break yet another glass just by holding it and trying to take a drink.

And it had been so easy to crush her flesh like it was nothing.

"Howard? Howard, oh god...oh god, Anthony...!"

Bucky clenched his jaw, swallowing harshly as Maria Stark's voice whispered to him, and he was broken out of his trance by Shuri announcing.

"Once we are finished with her knee, I would like to begin deconstructing her mind. If efforts are fruitless, I would like for you to activate her again if possible. We might be able to figure out what her previous orders were and her intentions, history, anything that would prove useful to the eradication of HYDRA."

Steve frowned, asking as T'Challa simply stayed quiet, observing the Winter Soldier as she sat complacent and quiet; seemingly not hearing a word that they were saying.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? What if it doesn't work?"

Shuri replied confidently, flicking her eyes over to Steve before gesturing towards Bucky with a nod of her head.

"We will have to reset completely and start over. Sergeant Barnes' rehabilitation was easy due to the flaws within his programming that HYDRA was unable to remedy. However, we do not know what improvements have been made to HYDRA's algorithm since then. It will be challenging to separate the core person that this woman was before her programming, but not impossible."

T'Challa then asked, raising an eyebrow at Shuri as she shined a light into the Winter Soldier's eyes, taking down notes and recording her vitals.

"What if you are unable to separate the identity from the programming?"

Shuri sighed deeply, shrugging.

"She will have to be built from the ground up. This woman will be like a completely clean slate down to a new name if we are unable to figure out who she was before. I am already running the best biometric identification programs within our arsenal to figure out who she could have been. I would assume that Stark is also doing so?"

Steve nodded, replying as he watched the soldier closely as her eyes inconspicuously flicked to a scientist that readying a syringe.

"Yes, he's also got Nat looking through the database that we downloaded and coursing through any previous databanks we obtained from previous HYDRA raids."

Shuri then turned to Bucky, making him quirk an eyebrow up slightly as she regarded him with a raised brow.

"What is your take on this, Sergeant Barnes?"

All eyes were on him, and Bucky sighed slightly he stared down the soldier, watching the way her brow began to tense slightly the closer the scientist got. The second the syringe touched her skin, the soldier began to freak out.

Due to the cuffs restricting her movement, she resorted to smacking her back against the chair over and over, hissing and yelling loudly as the scientist jolted and stumbled back. T'Challa immediately shoved her down, Shuri exclaiming profanities as she snatched the syringe from the scientist and shoved it into the soldier's neck.

The soldier hissed and yanked her neck away, breaking the needle, and Shuri groaned, gesturing with her hands wildly.

"Really? Now I'm going to have to dig that out. You make things harder for yourself!"

Okoye quipped, her spear pointing towards the soldier as Steve and Bucky stood tensed and ready should the Soldier somehow get out of her binds.

"How primitive! She is like a wild animal!"

The sedative began to kick in, the woman's bucking gradually stopping, and she went limp within the chair, head rolling to the side as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Bucky's heart was racing slightly with adrenaline, and Steve observed.

"Seems like she knew what the syringe meant."

T'Challa frowned deeply, leaning back and brushing his hands off slightly as he glanced back at Steve.

"An important but grave detail: she must be remembering...or perhaps, it is a recent memory."

Shuri plucked the broken needle from the soldier's neck, humming.

"I will take it as a good sign that there is at least someone beneath the rubble. I promise you, Mr. Rogers, that I will do my best to find her."

Steve nodded before clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

"You going to be alright?"

Bucky glanced over at Steve, muttering truthfully.

"I don't want to do this, but I'm only doing it for you. I'm worried that she is going to somehow lead HYDRA to me and it's gonna be a shit-show all over again."

Steve was firm, declaring quietly.

"You know I wouldn't let that happen. I'd have to miss that big head of yours again."

"You're a goddamn punk, you know that?"

Bucky couldn't keep the smile from gracing the corners of his lips, and Steve smiled at him softly before hugging him firmly and backing away.

"Alright, I'm going to leave you to it. I'll check in periodically; let you all know what we find on our side of the world."

T'Challa hummed, walking towards Steve.

"I will accompany you. I would like to discuss some things before your departure."

Steve nodded, and the two men walked out of Shuri's lab. Bucky turned back around, making a slight face as Shuri cut away pieces of the woman's clothing, revealing a black and tight-fitting compression camisole.

There were numerous scars and marks all over her body, some jagged and unforgiving while others were clean and precise. Shuri hummed softly, muttering as her fingers grazed a jagged scar that ran beneath the woman's neck.

"The things this woman must have been through...HYDRA is truly despicable."

Bucky couldn't speak. Hell, he couldn't even think outside of the boiling hatred and rage that was beginning to consume him at the sight of the gruesome scars that covered her upper body. Bucky could only assume that it got worse beneath her uncut clothing, and he had to bite his tongue as hard as he could.

Whip scars, burn marks, mutilated flesh that never regenerated, her body was a canvas; a horrendous painting that HYDRA had taken delight in decorating. This was more than just punishment, it was a warning.

A warning that disobedience will not be tolerated.

How many times did they slash her throat for the scar to become so prominent? How many times did they burn her skin to the point that the serum couldn't work to regenerate? How often did they beat and prod and jab and shoot and stab at her until she was too weak to fight back?

In a morbid way, Bucky took it as a sign that despite her being activated and still dangerous, her history of resistance let HYDRA know that the person that used to be there still existed.

There was someone still underneath the rubble, as Shuri had put it, and Bucky hoped that Shuri could pull her out.

But even so, would it help? Would it be right to let this woman have to live with the memories and nightmares of what had happened to her? Was it right to subject her mind to the torture of HYDRA even after being rescued?

Was it right to try despite knowing how traumatized and desolated the woman was going to be once she was free? Hell, there were times were Bucky could still smell the scent of the cologne his Handler wore when punishing Bucky, and now Bucky couldn't stand to smell the scent without being pushed into a panic.

"Don't worry, White Wolf. I am going to do what I can to help this woman."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

His voice was choked, cracking slightly as he rushed to respond, and Shuri tilted her head at him, asking Bucky with a curious gaze.

"Then what is it that plagues you?"

"I just...is it right to do this when she's gonna have to live with the memories and the nightmares?"

Bucky felt ashamed by the frown that crossed Shuri's face, but was slightly relieved to know that the disappointment that flashed within her eyes was not directed at him.

"I understand the concern, and I understand that it will not be easy for her...but that is why you are here. You have survived HYDRA and are free of the programming they worked hard to instill within your mind. With living proof that persistence yields peace, I truly think that she may become a person again...it will just take time and a lot of work."

Bucky nodded, and Shuri was quiet for a moment before she murmured.

"While it may not seem fair to save her...it is truly a tragedy to deny her the chance that HYDRA never gave her."

The words left a profoundly bitter taste within Bucky's mouth, and he could distinctly taste copper from him biting into his cheek too hard. Shaking his head, Bucky looked away from the woman as Shuri began to assess her further.

"Reactivating her will come with a risk. I would only be able to activate her, but I don't have the knowledge to deactivate, if that's even possible. When I was activated...the longer I was out of cryostasis and hadn't been wiped, the easier it was to resist the programming. I don't know if it will be the same for her."

"As I said: reactivation will allow us the ability to communicate with her. She has not been wiped, it would seem, so it is possible that this woman knows something."

Shuri grabbed a butterfly needle and a vial, putting on gloves and tying a tourniquet around the woman's arm so that she could find a vein. Once she found it, Shuri inserted the butterfly needle, taping it to the soldier's skin.

"I am now going to collect bloodwork to run DNA diagnostics and input the data into the biometric identification program to see if we may be able to identify her this way. I'm also going to do some testing to see what serum she might have been injected with to trace it back to the creator."

Bucky nodded and sat back, watching and listening intently as Shuri described what she was doing and what the programs did on a deeper, intellectual manner. While Bucky was listening and trying to absorb the information, he couldn't stop glancing over at the scars that lined the woman's body.

Horrific couldn't even describe it. It made him sick to his stomach. If Shuri noticed that Bucky was slightly distracted, she gracefully didn't comment on it. Instead, Shuri tried to distract him the best that she could while the machine she was operating was taking a scan of the woman's brain.

After a moment, Shuri hummed, a perplexed look on her face as she sauntered around the hologram of the woman's brain, tendrils of red seeming to pulse all over the organ, and Shuri's brows furrowed as she thought to herself. Bucky asked with an intrigued look on his face.

"What is that?"

"This is a digital recreation of the woman's brain as well as the areas most affected by HYDRA's programming."

Shuri looked proud as she began to move the hologram around, zooming in and out of different areas and lobes before breaking it down into layers.

"Thanks to the work that I did for you, I was able to develop an AI that was capable of identifying HYDRA's programming, as well as detect the intensity and depth that it runs. It gives possible solutions and suggestions on what to work on first...and tells me when something activates the program."

Shuri's voice seemed to lower slightly, side-eyeing him for a moment before she looked back at the hologram, but Bucky didn't notice. Bucky was floored, in awe at the ingenuity of the AI that he couldn't help but to whistle lowly.

"That's incredible, Shuri."

"Please, compared to her, you were like a walk in the park."

Shuri waved him off before she hummed, pointing to a area that was largely red within the hologram.

"However, unlike your programming, her programming is much more complex. There are multiple layers where the programming intertwines with core pieces and memories, which will make unraveling the ties difficult. There might be parts of her that will not be salvageable."

Bucky pursed his lips slightly, shaking his head as he replied gently.

"Like you said: from the ground and up if needed."

Shuri smiled widely at Bucky, her eyes crinkling as she teased gently, pointing at him.

"See, now you are beginning to understand."

Bucky rolled his eyes before he asked as Shuri began to work, a screen popping up and flashing slightly.

"So, what is that?"

"If we are going to salvage as much as we can of the core person she was before she became a Winter Soldier, we will have to analyze every piece of her psyche. Unfortunately, I cannot do much with HYDRA's program basically firewalling me. It is like they added some sort of encryption to her so that any attempt of undoing their work would be unsuccessful or too risky."

Bucky tilted his head, becoming slightly confused as he pointed to the red parts of the woman's brain.

"Is that why those areas are red like that?"

"Yes. If you look closely, it is almost as though these red areas are wrapping around the parts that are otherwise untouched by HYDRA's program. If we can get past the encryptions, we might be able to get through."

Bucky nodded along, crossing his arms before he glanced down at the woman, asking apprehensively.

"Are you going to make me activate her?"

"For now, no. I do not think that it will be necessary. All I need to do is bypass the encryptions, break them down, and then I will begin to root out the memories with the most significance to her."

Shuri spared Bucky a glance, relaying to him honestly.

"If possible, I would like to keep you from doing so because of the mental repercussions activating her will have. I will entrust the process to Okoye if activation is the only option we have left."

Bucky shook his head, murmuring to Shuri as he glanced down at the woman again as her face scrunched slightly.

"No, I'll do it...let's just hope that I don't have to."

Shuri became quiet, staring Bucky down for a moment before she turned away and suggested.

"Perhaps you should see the Captain off. Breaking through the encryption will take time, and I can tell that you are starting to become brain-dead listening to me."

Bucky chuckled before bowing his head slightly, shaking his head.

"I'd rather not upset your brother by leaving you with her by yourself."

Shuri made a face at him, the expression reminding him of Steve pre-serum.

"Do you think I am not capable of defending myself? This is my territory, white boy."

Bucky raised his hands in surrender, wincing slightly.

"I'm sorry, your highness, but I've been on the receiving end of your brother's foot."

Shuri barked out a laugh, and Okoye made her presence known by snorting while a couple of the Dora Milaje stood by the entrance to Shuri's lab.

"At least he knows what he would be up against. Do not worry, Sergeant Barnes, I will stand watch. The Captain is about to make his departure."

Bucky nodded before expressing his gratitude, nodding gently to Shuri.

"Thank you. I'll be back shortly."

Bucky turned and left quickly, his steps quick and urgent as he arrived outside. However, the quinjet was already flying away, making Bucky purse his lips. T'Challa's voice greeted him, making the man look over at the King as he spoke.

"You just missed him."

"He's always running off on me somehow, so I'm not entirely surprised."

T'Challa chuckled slightly, before he glanced over at Bucky.

"How are you feeling about all of this?"

Bucky glanced over at T'Challa, regarding him with an exhausted look before he turned back front, watching Steve leave again.

"I'm worried, honestly. There's so many things that could go wrong. What if HYDRA is trying to find me and was using her to do it? HYDRA must know that the Avengers have been raiding the old facilities that aren't in use anymore, so why not leave her to be found and taken in?"

T'Challa hummed, clasping his hands together as he replied.

"Let them try. They will not make it very far."

Bucky pursed his lips slightly before he murmured.

"It's...strange, honestly...seeing this from an outside perspective. I knew that this was serious, but I wasn't aware of how bad it actually was. Standing on the other side of the glass...it's almost poignant."

T'Challa nodded, replying with a hum.

"When my father was killed and I was under the assumption that it was you in Vienna, a deep hatred rooted within me for HYDRA. While I understand now that it was Zemo's schemes...that hatred for HYDRA has never wavered. Even now when knowing the dangers that lie beyond those doors, I still hope for peace."

Bucky was quiet, listening intently to T'Challa's words as the king spoke, his brown eyes downcast as he continued.

"Nobody deserves to be subjected to such horrific torture."

Bucky wasn't sure on how to respond. Instead, the man just nodded and took a moment to breathe before he settled, glancing over at T'Challa.

"You're right, and if we have to start from scratch, then I'm willing to help how I can...both with rehabilitating her and eradicating HYDRA once and for all."

T'Challa nodded quietly before turning to walk back towards the lab, suggesting over his shoulder.

"You should get some rest...and maybe put that on ice."

At the mention of the wound on his temple, it began to pulse, and Bucky just sighed.

"I'll sleep it off...and thank you for listening."

T'Challa didn't respond, but a smile graced the king's lips as he disappeared through the doors. Bucky's shoulders sagged slightly, and he rubbed his temple gently, wincing when he pressed down to hard.

He had to admit: that woman could give a mean right-hook.

-

STORY NOTES: Bucky, T'Challa, Steve, and Shuri are all within her lab with the Winter Soldier. So far, the Winter Soldier has made no move. Shuri is using a machine that heals and reconstructs the soldier's knee, and Bucky is perturbed by the damage he had inflicted. He reflects on the hardship it took to regulate the strength of his grip in his metal arm; reminiscing about the difficulty of clutching a glass of water.

Shuri then tells the group that she would like to begin deconstructing the Winter Soldier's mind to get an understanding of her intentions, and suggests activating the Winter Soldier again should Shuri's efforts fail. Steve is apprehensive, and Shuri voices that if neither efforts are successful, then she will have to completely reboot the Winter Soldier.

Shuri elaborates that she is currently attempting to figure out the identity of the Winter Soldier, and makes a remark that she hopes Tony Stark is also doing the same. Steve comments that Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, is also combing through the databank Bucky had downloaded, as well as previously recovered databanks.

When a scientist attempts to inject a sedative into her, the Winter Soldier begins to resist; causing a scene and consequently breaking the needle of the sedative within her neck. Steve observed that the woman understood what the syringe meant, and T'Challa points out that it might be a sign that she is remembering.

Before Steve's departure, Bucky voices his fear that HYDRA is using her to get to him, and Steve reassures Bucky that he won't let HYDRA get their hands on him again. Steve exits with T'Challa, and Bucky and Shuri are left alone within the lab. Shuri begins to remove a bit of the woman's clothing, and more scars are revealed.

Bucky becomes upset by the sight of the scars, understanding what they meant, and Bucky begins to become apprehensive about saving the woman. Shuri reassures Bucky that what they are doing is right. Later, Shuri shows Bucky a digital rendition of the Winter Soldier's brain and explains what she is going to do in order to save the woman's core identity.

Shuri comments that Bucky should see Steve off, and though Bucky tries to get to Steve before he leaves, he is unsuccessful. Instead, he meets with T'Challa. They begin to converse with each other, Bucky revealing his concerns, and T'Challa reassures him that HYDRA would not make it far into Wakanda if they attempted to retrieve him. Bucky makes a final thought on the woman and reflects on her strength. End scene.

TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @tilldeathripsusapart

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 6)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 3.3k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, HEAVY angst, fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, mentions of masturbating.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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Derek wakes up in your arms, and decides that's exactly how he wants to start every morning from now on.

Today's the day. He's going to confess to you.

Well, if he can sneak out of bed without waking you up. That might prove to be a challenge, seeing as how you have both an arm and a leg draped over him.

Under other circumstances, he'd be content to just lay here and let you hold him. Unfortunately, there was a sort of... "incident" last night. One he desperately wants to clean up after.

So, he carefully moves your limbs, shifting slowly until he's off the bed. You stir in your sleep and he waits with bated breath, but thankfully you remain unconscious.

It's still early morning. Barely past sunrise, from what he can tell. Hopefully he'd have time to get a few things done before you inevitably realize he's gone.

As he slips out of his clothes to hop into the shower, he's suddenly extremely grateful you'd taught him how to use the washing machine. If you saw the mess he'd made of his boxers, he would probably have to off himself.

While he washes off, he goes over his plan for the day in his head. Derek has always been somewhat of a romantic, despite how things may seem. Dating is just... complicated when you're a billionaire. And the president's son. And a crackhead.

He groans and shakes himself out of his slump as he dries himself on a towel. None of those things matter here. Right now, he isn't an addict, billionaire, or the son of the president. He's just a man.

A man who desperately needs to tell you how he feels. Derek is sure if he has to spend one more "platonic" night in your bed he's going to go insane.

So, he starts to put his plan into motion.

"Half cup water... one and one-half cups mix..." He mutters, reading the instructions on the back of the box of pancake mix. Even though you've had him help cook almost every meal, he still hasn't learned much. He's an expert at standing there and stirring, sure, but actually cooking? Not really.

Pancakes, though? He's pretty confident he can make those. Hell, he could probably scramble a few eggs to go with it. You'd taught him that a couple days ago.

He wants to show you he's serious. How much he appreciates what you've done for him, and how much more he needs from you.

But what can he offer in return?

Breakfast, for a start. If he was back home, he'd either take you out somewhere nice or have his chefs prepare something. That isn't an option here, but he could make due.

Derek stands back and studies the stack of pancakes and skillet of scrambled eggs. It looks... edible? Right? Not terrible, at least.

He sighs and starts to clean up the counter. He'd made quite the mess, probably dripping an entire pancake's worth of batter everywhere. You make cooking look so easy, damnit.

Now what? Go wake you up? No, surely there's something else he can do for you. His brow furrows in concentration as he takes the dirty dishes to the sink. The sink that's already filled to the brim with old cups, plates, and cutlery.

Fuck. Guess he's doing the dishes.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You wake up feeling uneasy. Something's missing.

No... someone is missing. Where's Derek?

After checking his bedroom, you stumble downstairs, still in your pajamas.

"Derek?" You call out, getting a little more anxious with every empty room you pass through. Where the hell is he?

"In here!"

Oh. The kitchen. Duh. You turn the corner and see Derek with his sleeves rolled up, arms plunged elbow-deep into soapy water.

"What are you doing?" You can't help but ask, even though the answer is obvious. He's doing the dishes. Without a fuss.

"Oh, uh... just... I used a lot of dishes making breakfast, and-" He stammers, nodding his head over to the stove.

"Breakfast?" You follow his gaze, eyeing the stack of pancakes.

Is this real? Did Derek fucking Danforth just wake up early and make you breakfast? And what the hell is he wearing?

"Yeah. I thought I'd thank you. You know, for the cake."

He dries his hands off on a dishcloth, and you silently take in his outfit. He's dressed up. Or, at least, what Derek probably considers dressed up. It's a little strange seeing him back in one of those silk button-ups he's so fond of after nearly a week of the regular ol' shorts and t-shirts his mom picked out for him.

Oh, shit. He's looking at you. Say something.

"What's the occasion?" You finally spit out, eyes darting between his clothes, the clean dishes, and the fresh breakfast.

Derek scoffs. "Occasion? Does there have to be an occasion for me to do something nice for you?"

"Guess not." You mumble, still a little dazed from everything that's happened in the past few minutes.

"A 'thank you' would be nice, ya know." He crosses his arms and gives you an exaggerated pout.

"Oh my god, Derek." Laughing, you forcefully un-cross his arms and pull him into an embrace, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He groans from the sheer force of your hug, and wraps his arms around you as well, returning the gesture in earnest.

Holding him so close like this, you can't help but notice his scent. He smells... different.

"Is that cologne?" You ask, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes as you giggle.

Derek's cheeks flush pink and he stammers out a response, tripping over his words.

"I-I always wear cologne."

"No, you don't. At least not lately."

"And how would you know? You make it a habit of smelling me?"

He's obviously trying to bait you, so you just roll your eyes.

"Derek. You've practically been living on my lap lately. I know what you usually smell like."

"Okay, well, I wanted to smell nice today. Sue me."

"You want to smell nice today... but there's no occasion?" You lean in a little closer, and give him your best teasing smile. He's just trying so hard today, it's adorable.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but instead just gives you a weak smile. His eyes flicker from your eyes down to your lips, and his arms squeeze you a little tighter.

Shit. If you keep this up, he's probably going to kiss you. Or you'll kiss him. And you aren't quite sure how to feel about that.

Still, you don't want to break the hug just yet. One of your hands makes it's way up to his earlobe, and you start to fiddle with his earring. Your other arm remains firmly wrapped around his waist.

"This a real diamond?"

"Of course." He scoffs, and with how close you are, you can feel his little huff of breath on your face.

"You aren't scared to lose it?"

"I have a hundred more just like it, sweetheart."

Of course he does. Rich bastard. You try to pull away, but he clings onto you.

"Hey, I still didn't get a thank you." Derek pouts, giving you that pitiful expression he's so good at. Damnit.

Fine, he wants a thank-you? You know exactly how to thank him...

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Here, let me get that for you." For the first time, Derek offers to carry the little bag of essentials as you make your way down to the beach together.

As he slugs the heavy thing over his shoulder, he feels a bit of regret for not offering sooner. He likes to think of himself as a gentleman, but obviously he isn't if he's been making you carry this damn thing all along.

"Thank you, love."

All those feelings of remorse fade when you take his hand and smile. His chest floods with warmth and he can't help but wish you'd thank him the same way you did earlier that morning.

He still can't believe you actually kissed him. On the cheek, sure, but a kiss is a kiss, and Derek isn't going to complain.

"It's pretty out today." He muses, looking up at the clear sky. You simply hum in agreement as the two of you trudge through the sand together.

This is a way more romantic setting than the kitchen. That's why Derek hasn't yet confessed to you. Not because you make him nervous or anything.

Okay, maybe it's partially due to nerves. He can't help it. You kissed him before he could get a word out.

You kissed him.

Thinking about it makes him grin like a fool, and he squeezes your hand a little tighter as he walks. He still can't believe he got so lucky.

And hey, maybe he'll get lucky again.

"Race you to the water!"

Or maybe not. Derek groans and drops the beach bag, then rushes after you. He kicks up sand, then water as he makes his way into the ocean.

"FUCK, it's cold." He cries out as the water reaches his chest. Honestly, he didn't even plan to wade in this deep, but he was determined to catch up to you.

"Oh, don't be a baby. It feels nice."

Derek's breath hitches as you snake an arm around his waist, pulling him tightly against your side. Tentatively, he puts his own arm around your back.

"You're gonna regret making fun of me when I fucking drown right in front of you." He grumbles, still a little uneasy being this far in the ocean.

"I won't let you drown. Even if it's a little tempting." You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"It's tempting to let me drown?" He scoffs, feigning annoyance. It's so hard to be mad at you when you're cuddled up to him like this.

"Maybe." Your other arm wraps around him now, trapping him in a tight hug.

Derek's heart pounds and he can feel his brain go fuzzy. This is it. He should tell you, right now, how much he wants you. How much he needs you.

Unfortunately, before he can stammer out a response, a wave draws near. An especially tall wave.

He tries to take a few steps back, but his legs tangle with yours and he stumbles. In his terrified state, he only grips you tighter, effectively pulling you back with him.

The two of you plunge into the water and Derek nearly drowns you in an attempt to right himself. After a few seconds of struggling, he feels you hook your hands under his armpits and pull him up.

He coughs and sputters, then braces himself as that wave he'd seen earlier finally washes over the both of you. For a minute, he's certain he's a goner. The water goes over his head before he can even hold his breath, mouth still full of saltwater.

You hold him tightly against your chest as the wave passes over you both, then start dragging him back towards the shore. When he finally opens his eyes and shakes the water from his ears, he notices the sky has gone dark. Shit.

"Are you okay, love?"

Derek just blinks at you as he wobbles to his feet in the knee-deep water, trembling fiercely. Your hands cup his face, turning it left and right as you inspect every inch of him.

He pulls away, if only to cough up a gallon of water.

"Might need... CPR... mouth-to-mouth...?" He chokes out, laughing in an attempt to get his racing heart under control.

"Oh my god, Derek. First you nearly scare me to death, then you ask for a kiss?" You give him a light shove, but your face gives away the relief you feel.

"In my defense, I did warn you I was going to drown." He scoffs.

Your response is cut off as it starts to drizzle. The sky, which was a perfect endless blue just minutes ago, is now completely covered in dark clouds.

"You wanna finish this inside?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

After showering off the sand and saltwater, you throw on some pajamas and head over to Derek's room.

Yeah, it's the middle of the afternoon, but with the raging storm outside...? Well, it just feels like a pajama kind of day.

"Derek?" You call out, making sure to knock loudly on his door. Don't need any more accidents. "Can I come in?"

"No." He croaks, and you're certain you can hear him sniffle.

Shit. You'd better apologize soon.

"Please?"

No response. Damnit.

"I'm coming in anyways." You announce, slowly opening the door.

Derek lies sprawled across his bed, one arm draped over his face. The room is depressingly dark for the middle of the day, and the dreary whether definitely isn't helping.

Still, his outfit almost makes you chuckle. He's sporting a green robe that you hope he has some kind of clothes under, and his hair is still damp from his shower. God, this man certainly has a flair for the dramatic.

"Derek, love? What are you doing?"

He groans as you flick on his lamp, burying his face further into his arm.

"Sulking." He answers honestly.

You sigh and hop up to sit next to him on the bed, instinctively placing a hand in his hair. A familiar tightness pulls at your chest as you try to find the right words to say. Guilt.

"I'm so sorry for earlier. I shouldn't have made you go that far out, not when you can't even swim. I should have-"

Derek cuts you off, weakly pushing your hand away.

"Stop. Not mad at you."

His half-assed grunt of a response throws you off. What? Not mad at you? Then what the hell is he sulking for?

You sit in silence for a minute, chewing on his words. Fuck, how do you fix this? He almost fucking drowned because of you.

"Still want that mouth-to-mouth?" You tease, nudging him.

That gets him to look up at you. His eyes are puffy and red, a sign he's been crying.

"Is that a serious offer?"

"Was it a serious request?"

You both silently stare at each other, for a lot longer than you probably should. Does he actually want a kiss? Damnit, why are you even considering this?

"Just tell me what's bothering you."

Derek sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

"A lot of things."

"That's real specific. Thanks."

Without even looking, he gently smacks your leg with a hand. Brat.

"C'mon, Derek? Please?" You lean over him, lacing your fingers into his hair once more. He doesn't want you to leave, not really. You're sure of it.

"Well for starters, my head hurts." He grumbles, leaning into your touch.

"And my throat feels weird. I think I swallowed half the ocean."

You start to reply, but he opens his eyes and holds up a hand, shushing you.

"Seriously. When we finally have internet again, check the news. There'll be headlines about it. 'RISING SEA LEVELS MYSTERIOUSLY FIX THEMSELVES; NO LONGER AN ISSUE' or some shit."

You burst into a fit of laughter. God, he's so dramatic.

"Wow, I... Anything else?" You sputter out, choking back more laughter.

Derek just glares up at you, so you gently tug at his curls and plant a quick kiss on his forehead. It's not... weird, right? You've already kissed his cheek. This isn't much different.

He lets out a soft whimper and shifts slightly, scooting closer to you.

"You wanna lay on my lap?"

"Please."

It's not a strange request. Your lap seems to be one of Derek's favorite places lately, as you've both gotten more comfortable with each other. So, you decide to try something a bit different.

"Here, no, this way..." You scoop your arms underneath him and he melts at your touch, letting you move his limp body how you like.

After a little bit of struggle, you get him situated between your legs. His cheek rests against your bare thigh, his stubble tickling your skin. Guess your pajama shorts are riding up quite a bit. Oops.

"How's that, love?"

He just hums in response, eyes closed again as you play with his hair. One of his hands makes it's way up your leg, settling on your thigh, right next to his face. He doesn't grab or grope you, seeming content with the gentle touch.

His hand is soft. You've noticed that before, but now, in contrast with his scratchy stubble, it feels even softer. He has the hands of a man who's never had to work a day in his life.

And here he is, acting like a lapdog.

"I've been trying to tell you something all day." He mumbles groggily, probably already half-asleep.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

There's a long pause. You continue to stroke his hair, and he nuzzles against your thigh. Your eyes wander down his figure, smiling at the green robe. It looks good on him. It'd probably look better off him.

Maybe putting him between your legs was a bad idea, because suddenly your mind is plagued with images of him coming. Fuck, that was nearly a week ago now, and you can still envision it perfectly.

"Are you... gonna tell me?" You finally ask, trying to distract yourself.

"Not sure I should, honestly."

"If not telling me is making you cry like this... you should probably just spill."

"I'm not crying." He shifts, letting his head fall back between your legs as he pouts up at you.

Fuck. He's so goddamn close. You give him an incredulous look in return.

"Okay, I'm not crying anymore." He corrects himself, avoiding your gaze.

"Just tell me what's on your mind, love."

He grabs your hand and moves it to cup his cheek as he finally looks back up into your eyes. His expression is that of pure admiration. God, he looks so vulnerable.

When he finally speaks, it's barely above a whisper.

"I think I'm falling for you."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek's breath hitches. He can't believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Above him, you look equally shocked. He watches as you seem to go through the five stages of grief, expression changing rapidly.

He just lies there, frozen in anticipation. Your hand presses against his cheek a little more tightly and you let out a sigh.

"Derek, no."

No? What the hell does that mean? Is this a rejection? His heart plummets into his stomach and before he can ask, you speak again.

"No, you aren't." You speak firmly, eyes fixed on his.

"Fuck does that mean?" He stammers, starting to get agitated. How can you so confidently declare you know his own feelings better than he does?

"It means you don't like me like that. Not really. I'm just the only person around."

Before he can argue further, you move your hand over his mouth, cutting him off.

"And you're not yourself right now. Not with the withdrawals and whatnot. This isn't right. I'd be taking advantage of you."

Derek's chest tightens and he bites his tongue. Fuck. He didn't think of it like that. Still, he doesn't really care. He'd happily let you take advantage of him. But how to explain that to you?

"It's not- you're not... I..." He rips your hand away, tripping over his own words as he tries to voice his feelings. Why do you look blurry?

Shit. He's crying again.

The worst part is, you're making sense. He can't say with 100% confidence that his feelings for you haven't at all been influenced by the fact you're the only one here with him. Would he have fallen for anyone given these circumstances? Derek isn't sure.

You seem to notice his wavering resolve, because you sigh and gently move him from between your legs.

"Where are you going?" He chokes back a sob, sitting up as you slide off the bed.

"Gonna make dinner."

You turn and leave without another word. When the door clicks shut, Derek just flops back down on the bed, letting the despair take him.

Hey, maybe he'd cry out that gallon of saltwater he swallowed.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Author's note: Sorry for the wait on this chapter... I went a little off-track and wrote some smut about being Mike Schmidt's dentist. Oops.

Anyways, I hope this chapter is as angsty as I intended. I'm trying here. I'm always open to constructive criticism, or feedback of any kind, really. Feel free to put an anonymous message in my inbox, or leave a comment. Is there anything I've written that made you cringe? Are there slow parts that you skim over? Are there any words that you've noticed I use too frequently?

Literally any feedback is welcome, just be respectful about it. Thanks!! <3

[redsrooftopprincess]

Drugs HCs

Warnings: alcohol, marijuana, pills, nicotine

@ninnosaurus inspired me, so here's a few headcanons about the boys relationships to intoxicants.

Leo

Alcohol.

Doesn't drink much. A cup of sake with Dad on special occasions, and occasionally he'll have a glass of wine with April if he's over at their apartment, but it slows him down and makes him feel like too many things are out of his control.

Nicotine.

Keeps a pack of cigarettes squirreled away in a hollowed out brick on the roof of the garage. Occasionally, he'll stay out late on patrol and smoke while watching the sunrise before heading inside. Raphael will sometimes join him, especially when they're trying to work something out, either interpersonally or with a mission. Don and Mikey don't know.

Marijuana.

Never. It dulls his senses and makes him slow, sending his anxiety through the roof. Paranoia is a real problem when he smokes weed, so he just doesn't. He also HATES the smell.

Other/Misc.

Used to look at addicts with contempt as weak and lazy, until he got stuck by a needle while stopping a mugging. He never found out what was in that needle, and he wishes he could forget what it felt like, because there's a part of him that would hunt down every dealer in the city to feel that way again. Now he makes a point to drop addicts off in front of rehab facilities instead of police stations.

Raph

Alcohol.

He'll drink pretty much whatever. When given the choice, he's a whiskey guy. Usually neat unless he's got company.

Nicotine.

Had a pretty bad habit as a teen, gave Leo his first cigarette, but has since kicked it. Occasionally he'll have a cigarette with Leo before bed or by himself after a particularly satisfying ass-kicking, but it's by no means a habit.

Marijuana.

Hell. Yes. You mean he *doesn't* have to be in a fuckton of pain, *and* he can get his mind to shut the fuck up for a little while? He doesn't get to do it often, but he'll smoke if he has a night off, or he'll head down the south tunnels and smoke with Mikey if he notices little bro's depression is getting the best of him. He's not shy about smoking in his room. Especially if he's trying to annoy Leo.

Other/Misc.

The healthist of the four when it comes to substances. As a teen, he had a minor substance problem, but he grew out of that. Tried pills once, hoping they would help with his pain, and ended up puking in the bathroom for three hours. He decided the pain was better. Also takes a LOT for anything to effect him.

Donnie

Alcohol.

Microbrews. He makes his own.

Nicotine.

Occasionally. He'll bum one off Raph when he's really stressed out.

Marijuana.

He and Mikey are working on developing a strain that is strong enough for them to not have to smoke an entire bowl, it's more of a brotherly pet project than anything else. He has to test each batch to keep records, of course. Beyond that, he'll occasionally smoke in the lab when he wants to get more creative than logical with what he's working on.

Other/Misc.

Adderall. RARELY, but he keeps a bottle in the lab. He hates the crash, but sometimes his brain just wants to focus on too many things at once, and he needs to work on something important.

Mikey

Alcohol.

Keeps a bottle of Jameson in his room for the nights when his depression is just too loud, so he can drink himself unconscious. It usually takes more than the bottle. Sometimes he's tired enough that he gets lucky. Outside of that he drinks occasionally, but really doesn't like the taste.

Nicotine.

Hates the taste of cigarettes, but owns a hooka and has a great shisha supplier on tap. Will occasionally host hookah sessions with appetizers and drinks when he's feeling super social. Even Splinter joins them occasionally.

Marijuana.

Yes.

Other/Misc.

Has, by far, the most unhealthy relationship with substances and has tried most of the party drugs out there. However, he's got hard limits on the harder drugs. LSD is by far his favorite, but he only takes it once every couple of months.

Bonus! Splinter

Alcohol.

Sake on special occasions, but he really likes this fizzy lemonade drink Michaelangelo handed him once while at a party. Occasionally one happens to appear in, and then disappear from, the refrigerator. The boys don't ask questions.

Nicotine.

Cigarettes are a hard no. The smell sticks to his fur and he hates it. If the boys smoke he makes them shower as soon as they come inside. He will, however smoke hookah with company when he's feeling up to it.

Marijuana.

Mikey convinced him to try it for his arthritis. He smokes in the evening before bed. Leo doesn't say anything.

Other/Misc.

He knows. Of course he knows. However, he only recently discovered Michelangelo's drinking problem. He is currently meditating on the best way to approach him about it.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @footninja

[vanillablankcanvas]

Part 9 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part10

Trolls - Hard Candy = Hard Drugs 🍭

Boom - Floyd's solo music helped Boom when he was coming out. 🏳️‍🌈

Floyd - high pain tolerance and godlike levels of patience.

Floyd - has been to rehab for hard candy, is currently 10 years sober. Now advocates for health and wellness in Pop Village.

Floyd - Broke up with several ex's when he found they were all only using him for his fame. 💔

Bruce - can and will reorganize someone else's kitchen to what he deems is more efficient.

Bruce - always the first to volunteer to babysit other Troll's kids. Not that he doesn't appreciate his own children, he just loves being about to dote on kids he can actually hold on his hip and carry in his hair. Just being able to do the little Troll things he can't do with his own giant kids.

Bruce - noone on the island knew about his 'past life' except for Brandy. (Canon?)

Clay - had to quit being the Fun Boy cold turkey so that the Putt Putt Trolls would trust in his leadership.

Clay - I imagine a running gag that random Trolls keep calling him Viva's boyfriend/husband, and he keeps trying to correct them, but he is always cut off or they immediately forget. At some point a random Troll is like "What, is Viva not good enough for you?" And he is so exhausted from fighting it, he just gives up and rolls with it.

Clay - will stay up to sunrise reading 'just one more chapter'

John Dory - when doing outdoor work, his brothers silently bet how long it takes before JD is unnecessarily shirtless.

John Dory - ends up helping with raising and handling the critters kept in the village. E.g rearing orphaned Cuddle Pups, shearing the Puffalos, breaking in the Adorabulls, taming wild flyer bugs.

John Dory - when living on his own, he would only come back to civilization just before the start of winter when it would be harder to forage and hunt food. He would spend a week or so stocking up on supplies, interact with the locals, then disappear again.

Rhonda - really likes rolling around in mud, especially after she's just been cleaned. JD > 😑

Random One - the medals that I designed for Clay and Viva's knighthood are supposed to be designed after the Troll Tree.

[deada55]

Kloktober 2024 day 19: What if they never got famous?

Schizoaffective Disorder

A. An uninterrupted period of illness during which there is a major mood episode (depressive or manic) concurrent with Criterion A of schizophrenia

Two (or more) of the following, each present for a significant portion of time during a 1-month period (or less if successfully treated). At least one of these must be (1), (2), or (3): 1. Delusions, 2. Hallucinations, 3. Disorganized speech (e.g. frequent derailment or incoherence), 4. Grossly disorganized or catatonic behavior, 5. Negative symptoms (i.e. diminished emotional expression or avolition.)

B. Delusions or hallucinations for 2 or more weeks in the absence of a major mood disorder (depressive or manic) during the lifetime duration of the illness.

C. Symptoms that meet criteria for a major mood episode are present for the majority of the local duration of the active and residual portions of the illness.

D. The disturbance is not attributable to the effects of a substance (e.g. a drug of buse, a medication) or another medical condition.

295.70 (F25.0) Schizoaffective Disorder, depressive type, continuous.

300.02 (F41.1) Generalized Anxiety Disorder

(F70) Intellectual Disability

The lights went up all of a sudden and shone off the clean tile; the sunrise was a white glow beaming through the windows of all the residents’ rooms. The residents emerged from their rooms two-by-two, with roommates released at the same time to queue up for medications on their way to the cafeteria, the source of the bacon smell that never signaled bacon.

“Hi, Nathan,” Julie was a first shift medication administration technician who started about three months ago after working for a rehab. She kept her hair short, something she learned during her first career working with the children of domestic abuse survivors in a group home, so her hair wouldn’t be ripped out so easily. One time, someone made a comment about how Nathan and Julie ought to trade haircuts to keep each other from going to hell for faggotry, and they had been one friendly mark above the mundane since, but just one friendly mark.

He didn’t answer her, just held his hand out for the cup. His hair stuck to his face from the night before. All seven pills went down at once, so did the water, and he followed the cattle trail to decaf coffee and English muffins at round tables with other men.

“Nervous today?” Someone supervising highlighted the way he chewed at his cuticles, and how some other men at tables around the room reacted to the energy being one shaking leg off. The whole place was sensitive, like the surface of a sea anemone, mouthing over everything, scanning all the time. There was no privacy. On Saturdays, there were visitors, new eyes to gawk and stare and look for something to get better. Now, everyone knew he’d woken up a little bit worse, as nice as the new piece of help was trying to be by his comment.

The morning recessed; they went back to their rooms. Nathan’s roommate was taken to the shower room; he declined for now and laid down, too buzzy to read but too sedated to hold up a book.

They all went into the common room for a while after that, to pace and watch one another luxuriate in their symptoms, which included how the new or the newly manic may try to put together a board game only to find it missing every other piece, or the quiet, fairweather friendships with guys who couldn’t complete suicide or hurt themselves bad enough to spend meaningful time in the general hospital and left in a week or two. Those were special: They usually knew enough to possess some real news about the world. There was a new McDonalds about a mile away from the hospital. Unless you spoke to the nurses long enough to be thought of as a real creep, you wouldn’t ever get to know. That is, unless you had a visitor.

Lunch was the same old thing, except “Dr. Strong” came in for a guy who started banging his elbow, then his head, against the table. He said he couldn’t feel his body anymore and was frightened. Nathan’s food became unpalatable (except for the chocolate milk, which he always drank before anything else, and any day without it was an horrible experience) and he let the guy beside him pick at it while the clock bled out. The flimsy utensils were thrown away, the trays were stacked on a rolling cart in front of a very angry woman with an overactive thyroid, who some patients refused to look in the eyes, thinking her gaze was a curse. By now, some of the guys smelled worse and some of them smelled better. There was another option to shower, but Nathan refused again: He didn’t want to keep anyone waiting, or waste any more time than he already had to-date. He could request PRN, something for anxiety, but he didn’t want to do that either. It felt wrong to walk around numb on days like this.

Nathan got called to the little annex of rooms for contact visits and sat in a dusty old chair from twenty years ago to swallow nausea until it was time. All he wanted to do was say, “I’m sorry.” The Berber carpet was brown and olive, and the walls were mustard, a departure from the white walls that had a definite, bleak answer to any question, into the realm of life subject to interpretation. He could live like that for maybe a week or two, until trying to stuff information in his head fast enough to be trained for a job gave him insomnia, or migraines, or walls of thick, deep moaning through the ocean, or bright black-and-red visions. Then he could always keep living, keep working, and live bathed in the side effects he got from living “normally” until he fucked up an apartment or got fired and forgot to pay the bills and gave up and tried to sleep months off at a time until he got back in the hospital and got ready to let everyone down one more time, no matter what. All he wanted to do was apologize, but he couldn’t say it. All he wanted to do was say, “I’m sorry,” and be told he didn’t have anything to be sorry for.

Someone in scrubs led him into the visitation room, and his parents rose like he were a bride in beige for hugs. Then, they sat catty-corner from one another on sofas in the corner to exchange pleasantries and tell him about recent neighborhood deaths.

“Nathan, you wouldn’t have guessed at all. They only sent one ambulance, and the whole neighborhood knew what happened right after he fell, because his son started screaming. I mean, that’s what he gets for climbing up that high to prune a stupid maple tree, and for that expensive iron fencing that rusted out. I still feel bad, but it seemed like the natural consequence… just not being held up by the pole. You know, it stabbed him straight through! I don’t know who cut him down in the end.”

He pulled his face down with his hand so he wouldn’t smile like an idiot.

Soon, it was time to leave.

“We love you, Nathan.” Dad came in for a goodbye hug first, then mom. He was led out before they were, and from there he was escorted back to the white, echoey hall, where shouts were twisted into cries.

[luvfae]

CLEAN

summary: thanos loves you, but he can’t save you. so he forces you into rehab anyway.

parings: thanos/choi su/bong x f!reader

warnings: drug addiction, brief mention of sa (nothing happens i promise), swearing, sexual innuendos, cheating, angst.

part 2

Thanos didn’t know what it was about you that pulled him in.

Six months ago, he saw you for the first time at one of Nam-Gyu’s parties—slumped on the couch, half-conscious, body folding under the weight of whatever shit was in your system. He had no idea who you were, and he hadn’t planned to care.

He was at the peak of his career, performing sold-out shows, his name everywhere. He could have had any woman in Korea. Models, actresses, industry elites. But instead, he wanted you—the reckless, self-destructive mess who tore through life like you had nothing to lose.

You who partied until sunrise and crashed wherever the night left you.

You who screamed in his face, who kicked holes in his walls, who told him his music was fucking garbage.

You who spat in his face when he offered to pay for rehab, like he did everything else, because you didn’t have a cent to your name.

Maybe he was a masochist.

Maybe he saw something in you that reminded him of himself.

He hadn’t planned to get involved that night. He was done with that life—rehab, withdrawals, getting clean, relapsing, getting clean again. He knew better than to tangle himself in someone who could ruin all his hard work.

Until he saw it.

Some guy, shoving his hand up your dress while you lay there, too far gone to stop him.

The next few moments were a blur—his fist connecting with the guy’s face, the sound of bone cracking, his own breath coming out sharp and ragged as he scooped you up and carried you out. You never even woke up.

That was six months ago.

And you never really left.

Well, you did leave. But you always came back. Always.

You weren’t his girlfriend. Not publicly, not officially. But you were his. And he was waiting for the day you’d be clean enough for the rest of the world to know it.

You promised him you were clean now. A month sober

You weren’t.

You’d steal the key to the medicine cabinet when he wasn’t looking and take whatever you could grab before he caught you.

But he believed you.

Until last night.

When you didn’t come home.

When he woke up alone at 8 a.m., his heart slamming against his ribs. Your phone was still on the bedside table. He had no way to reach you.

All he could do was wait.

Wait and pray you came back home.

And at 10 a.m., you finally stumbled through the door.

Hair a mess. Mascara smudged. Barefoot.

Thanos sat on the couch, staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“Where have you been?” he asked, voice calm, too calm.

You blinked at him—your pupils blown wide, your body swaying. Then, without warning, your knees buckled, and he was there. Catching you before you hit the floor, hands gripping your arms, shaking you gently.

“What did you take?” he demanded, tapping your cheek until your eyes flickered open. “Y/N, you were doing so well. A fucking month clean. What the fuck did you take?”

You blinked sluggishly, your lips curling into a half-smile. “I was never fucking clean, you idiot.”

His chest tightened. “What?”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh. “Either I was good at pretending, or you were too dumb to notice.”

His stomach twisted. His grip on you tightened. “You’re lying.”

You smirked, but there was no real amusement in your eyes. “I’m a liar.”

Then he saw them.

The hickey’s littered across your neck.

His entire body went rigid.

His fingers brushed over the marks, pressing just hard enough to make you wince. “Who did this to you?”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him with that lazy, drugged-out expression, like you barely had the energy to care.

His jaw clenched. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

And then, you said it.

“I’ve fucked strangers.”

His heart dropped.

“I’ve fucked your friends.”

His blood ran cold. His stomach flipped. No. No, you’re fucking with me.

His hands fisted in your shirt. He shook you once, hard. “What fucking friends, Y/N?”

Your head lolled against his chest. “All of them.”

His breath left him in a sharp exhale.

You were killing yourself.

And now you were killing him, too.

His arms tightened around you. Not out of love this time. Out of anger. Out of desperation.

“This is fucking pathetic,” he hissed. “You’re ruining your fucking life. Sleeping around with people who don’t give a fuck about you—”

“I don’t give a fuck about me,” you cut him off, voice eerily soft.

His throat closed.

“I love you.” He whispered. “I love you, you silly, silly girl.”

You just stared at him. Silent.

You’d never said it back. Not once.

Maybe you never would.

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

He picked you up, ignoring your thrashing, your slurred curses, dragging you toward the bathroom. You stank of alcohol and sweat and the filth of whatever cheap bed you’d slept in last night. He forced you into the shower, clothes and all, turning the water on cold.

“I love you so fucking much,” he muttered, voice breaking, scrubbing you clean while you thrashed in his grip. “I feed you. I fucking bathe you. I take care of you. I put a roof over your head. And you can’t even get clean for me?”

You shoved at his chest, voice hoarse. “I never asked you to do that.”

“I don’t care,” he shot back. “I want you to be clean.”

“I don’t.”

“I want the world to know you as my girlfriend.”

“Well, give up.” You wiped your eyes, shivering from the cold water. “I don’t want you.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Thanos rolled his eyes, yanking you out of the shower, wrapping you in a towel. Your words didn’t hurt him anymore. He’d been where you were—hurting everyone who loved him. Hurting himself. Doing things most people deemed unforgivable.

But someone saved him.

And now, he was going to save you. Whether you liked it or not.

He dragged you to the bedroom, pulling one of his shirts over your head, shoving clean underwear and jeans onto you before throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

You screamed the entire way to the car.

Spat every insult you could think of.

Begged him to tell you where the fuck he was taking you.

“Rehab.”

Your screams turned into sobs. Your anger into desperation. Your thrashing into trembling.

“Please, baby.” Your voice cracked as your fingers curled around his thigh, sliding up, up—reaching for the zipper of his jeans. “I’ll suck you off, real good. How you like it. Just turn around.”

He swatted your hand away.

And you snapped. Exploded.

“You fucking piece of shit! I wish I never fucking met you!”

Thanos gritted his teeth, grip tightening on the steering wheel. Me too, baby. Me too.

But he kept driving.

And when he finally pulled up to the rehab facility, he dragged you inside—kicking, screaming, sobbing.

And then he left.

Because this time, saving you wasn’t up to him.

[nityarawal]

10/8/2024

Jewish Atty Wars

(Close 1 Million Jewish Attys-USA)

Morning Songs

Been Alot Of Jewish

Wars

We Thought They

Were Friends

I Hired Ken Carlsson

At Dr. Judi Milin's

Reccomendation

And Julie Anne Steiger

For Therapy

Now She's At The

Academy

I Felt Played

Told To Fake Acting

Classes

Got Stung By A

Tick At Dennis's

Was It From

The Jewish Neighbor

Larry

Dr. Natalya From

Ukraine Said

She Did Her Best

Scraped Out

The Tick Gave Me

Antibiotics

One Dose Of Ivermectin

After Years Begging

Later

I Got A Cyst

In My Brain

So Her And Nurse Darlene

Quit

And Handed Me

Over To Their Daughter

Melody Gray

She Worked In Pharmaceuticals

Got A Black Mercedes

On A Bribe

Sold Drugs With

All The Street Kids

Hitchhiking

For Rides

Where's Melody

She Knew A

Thing Or Two

She Taught Me

About

Stevia Detox

For Lymes

And Some Spirochetes

Native American

Herbs

She Knew More

Than She Realised

Her Dad Was A

Pilot

Poisoned By

Chemicals

Like So Many Of

Us

I Won't Give Up

On Her

Or My Paralegal

Julia Stratton

Ken Carlsson

And The Attys

Turned Her Into

A Penthouse

Freak Show

The Lawyers

Pushed Bigger

Boobs

If She Wanted

A Divorce

Triple Size

Boning Built In

Uncomfortable

T.I.T.T.S

Targeted Alibis

Ken Carlsson

Enabled Her

Drinking

Passed Her From

Guy To Guy

Throw Her In Rehab

Where Is She

Some State Hospital

Dying

Her X Boyfriend

David Lost His

Finger

I Told Him

From Infection

After His Mother

Died

Pirate Knives

Renaissance Fair

That Was His

Gig

To Sunrise

Warfare

You Took His Finger

You Want His

House

Donna Calavara Was A

Good Woman

His Mother

And Wrote Him

Into The Will

Ken Hawks Our

Homes

Jyoti's Was Just

Sold

Did Her Family Hustle

With Dennis's

Neighbor Larry

Like

After Lydia Abrams

Was Murdered

You Know

Most Beautiful

Estates In Riverside

Sold Wholesale

Passed From Jewish

Atty Ken 2

His Plates Say

And Broker Shane Stewart

Posse Of Brokers

After X Sheriff

Keith Harper

Committed The

Crimes

The Pigs Let Him

Roll In Her Estate

Killed Their Assistant

Jodi Kirkpatrick

I Heard From

A Bro

He's Still Hiring

You Know

And I Reported

Him Last October

Still Waiting

For My Rewards

Three Hundred Thousand

Dollars

Reported

Full Disclosure

Eloning For The

Martians

Football Cheerleaders

Just Went Passe

Still Waiting

For Rewards

I Know We All

Need Elon

To Navigate

The Cosmos

We All Need A

Pilot

We Don't Need

An Atty With

A Porn Addiction

Ken Had His

New Thai Tranny

Tucked Into His

Car

The Old Model

Limped Around

Town

He Tried To Pawn

Her Off

On Another

Atty

Bill Whitman

Who Also Failed

My Case

And Uses My

Friends

For

Massages

With His Ukranian

Twins

Too Old To Work

Too Old To Close

Rob Muir Begged

Him To Help

Too Old To Work

Too Corrupt

What's He Doing

With Innocent

Children

My Dear

Too Old To Work

Like Trumpleberry

Biden Has Good

Advice

And Says No

Business Calls

After Eight

In Elon We Trust

If He Could Just

Get My Kids

Back

To Me

Merci

Peace, Love, Eternally,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal

Encinitasbeachhome.com

[d-trashbandicoot]

The last 4 years : a retrospection (part 2)

The first few weeks I couch surfed between mates and a hostel dorm. After I found a place to stay for a month, I doubled down on the job hunt. I stumbled on something that I never really considered before, Emergency medical services. Best part of it was no experience or qualifications were needed to apply, but the First Aid quals I got from my last job got me a shift pretty quick. The rest as they say is history. The work wasn't for the benefit of capitalism but for the people. It also came with training up to a Paramedic, which was one of those odd shift jobs that would also make it easier to get work abroad. The job that would take me to Aotearoa.

You may recall the pact I made with myself. 10 years of sticking it out, no agenda in between, just get something that will take you there. As of today I think it comes down to 8 years.

With the job secured I searched for another place to rent for the month. This was to get more time to find a more permanent abode. 

But nothing came. 

And so again I found another short let, this time to a place for 2 months.

Those two months would be some of the best I ever had. It all seemed to line up perfectly. The job worked in harmony with my lack of a regular sleeping pattern. I was both an early morning and late night person regularly. I saw the sunrise almost everyday. My friend was also leaving their place in time for us to get in on a two bed, and we had plenty of time to find it. I was alive and I was thriving. I had finally found that circumstantial serenity I was always so desperate to find. Now this disorder was nothing more than an additional personality trait, an unwanted guest that you have to entertain whenever they call, a simple understandable nuisance.

Or so I thought.

As the date for my move-out approached, the likelihood of finding something permanent started to look slimmer. At this time I had agreed to go look after my parents' place back home, and doubt started to fill my mind. This happened to be put off briefly when me and my friend went to view a place. It wasn't anything to boast off, but it was fit for purpose. After the viewing I called the estate agents immediately to say we would take the place. Then within 3 hours I got a call to say the landlord changed his mind and was no longer renting the place privately. That was the call that fractured me again. The mood would start to plummet.

My mind attacked the only unhealthy part of my life, the Drugs. I needed rehab, I was going too hard, too often. In reality, it was no different and more dangerous than going to the pub every weekend and binge drinking. Well except the legality of it. But all the drugs I was taking were also being looked into for mental health treatments. A poor justification for recreational use, but whatever. We all got vices. It is only human to want something to alter the senses to ease pain or explore new experiences. My mind disagreed in the end, like the catholic headmaster who just you and your mates smoking a joint in the park, it launched a fear mongering campaign against me to the point it won on that front. I was now convinced I needed to go to Rehab. I had two weeks to try and find a place if I was going to stay and I had to be home 2 days after my move out date. And then it came. The bones screamed, the body ached and the skin felt like a parasite. Nothing but despair and pain was left in my mind. And then memory starts to fade. I don't recall very well what the motion of events was at this point. It was all brief moments, one at work one putting all my stuff in storage. The next moment I was home, in Jersey, alone. 

[therovingrunner]

The Return Of Jan Snow

It’s been a while. Hell, it’s probably been more than 2 years (pre-Covid) since I’ve actually taken the time to write down my thoughts and trail tribulations.

Why? There’s probably a few reasons I could give, from not having time due to work, being fat, lazy, injured or just not motivated to run. Basically LIFE happened.

My last competitive race was the Tankwa Trail in 2021, somewhere in between Stage 2 or 4 of Covid (and stage 6 loadshedding). Covid lead to little or no racing and only social runs with the Wolfpack.

Then events started coming back, and my weekends was spent either marking routes, managing them and then clearing them. Not a whole lot of “me time” to run, other than with my group of mainly primary school learners I started coaching in ‘21, and hell, coach can’t keep up with them unless we do LSD’s (no, not the drug, I don’t need WADA rocking up at my training sessions)

I must confess that the joy I get from coaching, and seeing these youngsters reach their goals, improving or just finding a love for running and trail in specific, has outweighed my own personal needs to some extent.

Have I missed the trail running community? Yes!

Have I missed running & summitting a mountain peak with the Wolfpack (Jon, Jamie, Sam & Colleen)? Yes!

Have I missed reaching that said mountain summit before sunrise and enjoying a cold beer before 9am after a proper trail run? Hell yes!

So let’s back track a little bit. Although I’m lucky enough to play a part in the biggest trail running festival our beautiful country has to offer, UTCT, and got to run a few of the recce runs exploring the route, there has been no major races on my horizon. You get sidetracked by things if there is no real goal race to run. The Otter African Trail Run has been such a integral part of who I am as a trail runner, and the reason I even started running trail, but when that chapter closed in 2019 after Otter number 5, nothing really drew my attention again, other than the Tankwa Trail which is an amazing event with the perfect combo of racing/socializing and having one heck of a trail bash weekend in the Koue Bokkeveld!

With my trusty steed Cole Stanton! We'll be back racing in Nov (or at least attempt to)

Sept ‘22 my running world came crashing down! From harmlessly kicking a soccer ball to hardly being able to walk 50m pain free 2 days later, I underwent back surgery a week later! It felt that my whole being, or that, that defines me as a person in the running community (runner/coach) imploded, and I was house/bed bound for the next 7 weeks.

Coaching happened via preset plans sent on Whatsapp, with the mom’s having to lead sessions and give feed back on times and progress. I’ll forever be thankful for my family (having to deal with old grumpy) and my athletes (having to deal with their mom’s who are apparently much stricter than I am) for sticking with me through this time. We made it out the other side, and they delivered PB’s, records, gold medals and provincial colors the following season!

Rehab followed, and I promised myself I would run one more time before year end! On the 31st of December I laced up my shoes and went for a 5km trot at my happy place down in Cape Agulhas (just don’t tell my physio), a week or to before the set given.

Slowly but surely the running got easier, the pain less and the enjoyment returned, although I still lacked motivation.

Fast forward to May ‘23 and on our way to our annual hunting trip, I bumped in Carel Heroldt, from Dryland Event Management. Over a Karoo thorn bush fire, in a dry riverbed, just off the N1, with a brandy & coke in my hand, a new goal was set! The 2023 edition of the Rhodes Dryland Traverse!

I’ve been lucky enough to run a few Dryland events, 2 Tankwa’s & 2 Traverse’s, so convincing me to run their events is easier than stealing money as a government official or finding dollars in couches at Phala Phala!

So over the next month and a bit I’ll be sharing my “Almost Complete Rookies Guide To Stage Racing”! You can use it if you want, I certainly will be again!

[rohans18]

Smart Wheelchair Market Size, Reports, Demands, Share - Forecast 2029

Global Smart Wheelchair Market, By Type (Standard Powered Wheelchairs, Standard Plus Powered Wheelchairs, Custom-Built Powered Wheelchairs), Product (Electric Indoor Chair, Electric Outdoor Chair, Dual Purpose Chair, Rear Wheel Drive Chair, Front Wheel Drive Chair, Center Wheel Drive Chair, Standing Electric Wheelchair, Others), Application (Neurologically Impaired Patients, Handicap Patients, Others), End User (Rehab Centers, Hospitals, Others), Distribution Channel (Retail, E-Commerce) – Industry Trends and Forecast to 2029

 An expert team performs systematic, object-oriented and complete market research study to provide the facts associated with any subject in the field of marketing via Smart Wheelchair marketing report. The report has a lot to offer to both established and new players in the Smart Wheelchair industry with which they can completely understand the market. SWOT analysis and Porter’s Five Forces analysis methods are used wherever applicable, while generating this report. One of the most important parts of an international Smart Wheelchair market report is competitor analysis with which businesses can estimate or analyse the strengths and weaknesses of the competitors.

Key Players

SUNRISE MEDICAL (Germany)

OTTOBOCK (Germany)

MATIA ROBOTICS (U.S.)

KARMAN HEALTHCARE INC (U.S.)

PITSCO EDUCATION LLC (U.S.)

WHEEL INC (U.S.)

MEDICAL DEPOT INC (U.S.)

Permobil AB

WHILL Inc (Japan)

Pride Mobility Products Corp. (U.S.)

 Browse More Info @ https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/reports/global-smart-wheelchair-market

With the help of credible Smart Wheelchair market analysis report, businesses can make out the reaction of the consumers to an already existing product in the market. The report includes estimations of recent state of the market, CAGR values, market size and market share, revenue generation, and necessary changes required in the future products. A wide-ranging competitor analysis helps build superior strategies of production, improvement in certain product, its advertising or marketing and promotion for the business. Exhaustive and comprehensive market study performed in the wide ranging Smart Wheelchair market report offers current and forthcoming opportunities that put light on the future market investment.

Key questions answered in the report:

Which product segment will grab a lion’s share?

Which regional market will emerge as a frontrunner in coming years?

Which application segment will grow at a robust rate?

Report provides insights on the following pointers:

Market Penetration: Comprehensive information on the product portfolios of the top players in the Smart Wheelchair Market.

Product Development/Innovation: Detailed insights on the upcoming technologies, R&D activities, and product launches in the market.

Competitive Assessment: In-depth assessment of the market strategies, geographic and business segments of the leading players in the market.

Table Of Content

Part 01: Executive Summary

Part 02: Scope Of The Report

Part 03:  Global Market

Part 04: Global Market Size

Part 05: Global Market Segmentation By Product

Part 06: Five Forces Analysis

 More Reports:

Diuretic Drugs Market

Patient Engagement Technology Market

Healthcare Business Intelligence Market

Chinese Hamster Ovary cells (CHO) Market

Anti-cancer Drug Market

About Us:

Data Bridge Market Research set forth itself as an unconventional and neoteric Market research and consulting firm with unparalleled level of resilience and integrated approaches. We are determined to unearth the best market opportunities and foster efficient information for your business to thrive in the market

Contact:

Data Bridge Market Research

Tel: +1-888-387-2818

Email: sales@databridgemarketresearch.com

[uozlulu]

Tentative desire fic outline. Trying to give them equal number of POV scenes. Might add some more to it and modify some things. Surprised I managed to figure out Armand’s story track somewhat because it’s really the more difficult of the two tracks. I’ll shuffle the plot points together in a D - A pattern once I feel solid on the plot points and timeline. Then I’ll start writing

 Daniel beholds Armand with his glowing eyes and flight soon after Armand saves him from Louis. Armand advises Daniel to run, setting for the game and setting things in motion so the book doesn’t get published.

Daniel wakes to Armand observing him sleeping. Daniel leaves immediately.

Armand appears at Daniel’s side at [insert travel destination here] Daniel finds an emptiness within when Armand leaves at sunrise.

Daniel tells Armand he doesn’t want to run anymore, that he doesn’t care if Armand wants to kill him. Armand laughs and marks him anew, his teeth mingling with the scar on Daniel’s shoulder from Louis. Daniel is Armand’s and Armand is Daniel’s.

It’s snowing. They’re in Greenwich Village. They’re returning from a show. The sky is full of smog and it feels suffocating. The coldness of Armand’s hands excites Daniel, and that excitement is reciprocated.

Daniel’s been slowly getting off the drugs, but he still drinks alcohol and Armand’s blood. They live on night island now, and despite it’s beauty and abundance, Daniel is restless. He reads of the AIDS epidemic and feels like he’s spinning his wheels. He’s already into his thirties. He didn’t even realize how much time passed. He goes to the University of Miami and stars researching the AIDS crisis, the more he reads the more he knows what he must do.

Armand confronts him that night outside of the library where Daniel posed as a professor. Daniel’s realizing that he looks older than Armand now, that he’s aging and dying and he has a choice to make. His head hurts from lack of drinking and Armand’s blood is enticing but it’s over. He has to do something with his life instead of be forever a vampire boytoy. Armand cries but lets him go. Daniel finds rehab clinic where he gets help for drug abuse and what’s perceived as some kind of mental illness. He learns to cope with what he experienced, and begins life anew.

Years pass. Armand and Louis create the tower in Dubai. They learn of Daniel’s condition and Louis suggests they invite Daniel to the tower despite the pandemic. Armand comes up with a way to be there without Louis breaking contract. He’s not prepared for Daniel reappearing. They’re strangers now. Daniel barely registers him, even in his mind there’s not much of a flicker of memory.

Armand finds Daniel on a balcony one night with a high-end telescope that has a digital display so the user doesn’t have to stoop to use it. Daniel tells Armand (as Rashid) about how he used to use one with Alice when he was young. Armand peers into Daniel’s thoughts and finds a bastardization of a memory he himself knows. It’s frustrating.

Armand watches Daniel sleeping. Daniel is so very alive, so very warm, but also so much closer to death than Armand has known him. He can hear the weakness in his heart, in his veins, and see Daniel’s body tremor in his sleep. It’s upsetting. It’s the push and pull of not wanting to turn anyone but also not wanting to lose Daniel either. Armand is getting what he wanted and now he has to watch that want come to fruition possibly. Daniel wakes and confronts “Rashid.” Armand lulls Daniel into thinking this encounter is a dream, and prepares to send him right back to sleep. Daniel mentions the memories he’s been dreaming about, memories he thinks are bizarre dreams because “Rashid” shouldn’t be there. Armand sends him back to sleep and escapes the room.

Armand reveals himself. Daniel responds to it with a mix of awe, realization, and “Fuck this.” Daniel confronts Armand about the memories. He wants Armand to fix them. Armand isn’t sure if he can because he never altered Daniel’s memories to begin with. All of Daniel’s memory problems are part drug abuse, part psychological intervention, part his brain protecting himself, and part Parkinson’s. It’s a terrible fight because both of them are frustrated with the whole situation.

The subject of the memories is still sore. Daniel has been remembering flashes of night island and realizing that his dreams are some semblance of memories out of context and out of order. He can remember Night Island somewhat, maybe always has but never remembered its context properly before now. This leads to poor professional choices.

The final scene ends with Armand’s fangs sinking into Daniel’s neck to turn him.

[tiffanyrivers]

Here Are Six Tips To Help You Find An Appropriate Alcohol And Drug Treatment Center

In the last few years, drug and alcohol abuse have become more common within our society. With the amount of people who use substances for abuse increasing by 11%, it's imperative to find a good Inpatient Drug Rehab in Florida facility. If you are looking to be successful in overcoming your addiction to alcohol or drugs, a drug and alcohol addiction treatment center is the best choice. The mental, physical,, and psychological effects of substance abuse can be extremely risky, especially when left untreated. In this post we'll look at six ways to assist anyone in finding a reliable drug and alcohol treatment center that truly works for their needs.

Research

Conducting research about drug and alcohol detox in Florida centers within your region is one of the best things you can do. Let's suppose you are in Ontario. It's normal to search for rehab centers located in Ontario first. To locate the best one for you, it is important to visit multiple centers. Another thing you must do is read reviews on the internet about drug and alcohol treatment centers. It is also possible to inform family and friends about certain rehabilitation centers and ask them for suggestions. It is important to determine which kind of rehabilitation center is best for you.

Staff quality and professionalism

One of the most crucial aspects of a good addiction treatment services in Florida facility is the caliber of its staff. If you're looking to locate an excellent treatment facility like Sunrise Native Recovery, it is crucial to check out the counselors and the staff at the center. If they are knowledgeable skilled, knowledgeable, and caring to your needs, then you must certainly visit this particular center. An environment in which you are acknowledged for your preferences is crucial to ensure that recovery can be successful for any person.

Individualized treatment

Personalization is another thing to be looking for in a quality rehabilitation center for alcohol or drug addiction. To help clients change their behaviour, a rehabilitation facility or alcohol rehabilitation center must be compassionate. Because addiction is a serious disease, the surroundings within which the rehabilitation center is located should be supportive. When one visits the facility for treatment, it is important to inquire about the qualifications of the staff, so they know exactly what to expect when they are there.

Look for a facility with long-term experience

If you are looking for a reputable rehab center for addiction or drug abuse, it is important to take note of their track record and how long they've been in operation for and what they are doing. Some facilities start out as good but as time goes on they become shabby and the standard of care is reduced. It is essential to take note of this and how many people they have helped throughout the many years. It is possible to do this by speaking to people who have had a bad experience or by reading online reviews, or going to their website.

Don't always think that luxury is synonymous with the highest quality

A lavish rehab facility isn't possible. Remember that not all drug and alcohol treatment centers are made equal. A treatment facility that appears luxurious does not necessarily mean it is providing better treatment over one accessible or more basic. It is important to keep in mind this because there are numerous rehabilitation centers that are abusive and could make use of their status as a luxury facility to reel in clients. It is therefore crucial to research drug and alcohol treatment centers before signing any contracts.

Stay away from rehabs that guarantee success

With the capability of many people to obtain addiction counseling on themselves, it's crucial to stay clear from programs that promise results. Furthermore, it is important to realize that there aren't quick solutions to substance abuse. Recovery requires time and patience, and unless you are willing to put forth the effort, the likelihood is that you will not be successful.

Rehabilitation services for alcohol and drug addiction are becoming more more popular. A lot of people don't know which resources they can go to for assistance. If you feel that you are addicted to drugs or alcohol It is crucial to seek out treatment for alcohol and drug addiction to help you get better. You should take time to locate a reliable drug rehab that can assist you.

[sunriserecoverycare]

Is There Such a Thing as Free Rehab for Addiction?

A plethora of people begin their Recovery journey in a residential rehabilitation program as it allows them to live in the same facility where they tend to get the care and comprehensive support. If you are looking for addiction treatments, then you must know there are several options available, including the -rehab center in indiana. Both PHP and IOP are types of treatment available for patients who wish to live independently.

What is iop at Sunrise Recovery Care?

IOP is also known as an intensive outpatient program as it is one of the best outpatient treatments available for recovering addicts. It tends to offer you both medical and psychological help besides minimal time commitment that allows you to return to your everyday life, including working or caring for kids.

When do you need IOP?

IOP treatment is ideally recommended for you if you have gone through the acute stage of withdrawal and you don’t need round-the-clock monitoring. Additionally, the program is ideal for you if you want to start getting back to your routines as you can stay in your own homes and would have more free hours in your day. Finally, while people are pretty eager to be “done” with rehab, if they do not feel confident about what they have handled on their addiction, it would be their best bet to enroll in the best level of care such including PHP.  

What is PHP?

Ideally, PHP is also known as a partial hospitalization program, and this type of addiction treatment program is more intensive as compared to IOP treatment but less so than complete inpatient rehab. When compared to IOP, partial hospitalization at free drug rehab in indiana, tends to require a plethora of visits and sessions per week. The main difference here is that in PHP, you do not reside onsite at the facility during your treatment, as you might have the ability to choose your own housing accommodations.

You can choose Best Addiction Rehab Indiana.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

28 DAYS: CHAPTER TWO

*Spoiler alert: he's not.

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given the choice to go to rehab for 28 days, or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter characters: Dean Winchester, Nick (Iblis), Zeke Gadreel, Missouri Moseley, Jack Kline, Pamela Barnes, Gabriel, Crowley, Meg Masters, Rowena Macleod

Chapter tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY, references to sexual activity (everyone is 18), references to underage drug addiction and prostitution, Dean’s heading into withdrawal, he’s injured and unmedicated

Chapter WC: 3,200

Author’s notes: Sunrise Bay is the fictional soap opera in which Schitt’s Creek’s Moira Rose starred. I couldn’t resist giving it to Rowena.

I don't have ample words to thank @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for their continued support and readings, but I will thank them and declare my undying love.

Text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER TWO

Dean’s chest is tight with panic. 

“It wasn’t my fault.”

John is furious, driving erratically, and hurling threats and accusations. 

“Of course, it’s your fault, Dean — you’re a man. Men don’t get to play innocent.”

If John had learned about Dean’s mushroom-enhanced threesome with Jamie and Carmen any other way than from Jamie’s pissed-off mom, he’d be slapping him on the back and handing him a beer for earning another couple of notches on his belt.

But nobody likes to be told they’re a shitty parent, especially not John Winchester.

“They were trippin’ and half-naked when I got there, I didn’t-”

“Gimme a break, kid. You went there to get high and get your dick wet. I was 18 once, too, ya know.”

Dean’s mind races as John speeds through town. “What about Sammy?” 

“What about him?! You gonna go home and tell him you got caught fuckin’ his English teacher’s daughter?! Ya think that’ll make him proud, somethin’ to live up to?!” 

John is roaring loud as he pulls into a parking spot in front of the USMC recruitment center. He kills the engine and turns to Dean, but Dean can’t look his dad in the eye.

John scoffs. “Don’t worry about Sammy, I think I can handle it.” 

Dean knows John can’t handle it. John doesn’t even know what time Sam’s school starts or how much money he needs for lunch. John barely even knows what day it is half the time.

Dean’s voice is quiet when he speaks. “They’ll send me to Afghanistan, Dad.” 

He’s afraid — for his own life and to leave his little brother behind. He doesn’t want to go to war, and he doesn’t want Sam to have to navigate his teenage years, dodging bullets from John. 

Dean doesn’t realize he’s crying until his tears drop to his hands in his lap. 

“Oh, man-the-fuck-up, Dean,” John growls, wrenching the door of the Impala open. “Let’s go!”

Twenty-four hours after waking up in the hospital with multiple injuries and the acrid contempt of his little brother, Dean is informed he’s being transferred to a rehab facility.

He isn’t allowed any real pain medication, and he’s riding a class VI hangover, even with fluids being pumped into his body. His head, shoulder, ribcage, and hips are throbbing. He’s starving, too, but he knows there’s no way in Hell he’d be able to keep any food down.

In the early afternoon, he’s escorted to Discharge by hospital security. He wishes he’d showered because his skin is itchy, and he knows he looks like hammered shit. When the guards walk him outside, he sees Nick and Zeke, waiting for him in Zeke’s 4Runner. 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Sam undoubtedly hand-picked the Green Berets to transport Dean’s sorry ass to Kansas City. Not only do Nick and Zeke not give a single shit about other people’s drama, but they’re also brick fucking walls of defense.

The security guards disappear back inside the building, leaving Dean no other choice than to limp toward his former teammates. As he nears the vehicle, Nick climbs out of the passenger seat and opens the back door. 

Dean floats an attempt at good humor, which promptly falls flat on its face. 

“You two suck at Roshambo, or what?” 

Nick’s silent, answering smirk is devoid of any trace of mirth. 

Dean purses his lips and bobs his head before ducking to gingerly slide across the backseat next to his familiar duffle. He immediately pictures his Dopp kit inside the bag with his trusty bottle of pills. 

With the combination of his injuries, this epic fucking hangover, and his escorts’ chilly reception, he could really use a Vicodin or two right now, but Sam’s no idiot. He chose Nick and Zeke for more than their lack of investment in bullshit or their multiple factors of intimidation; Dean can only assume that everything in that bag has been thoroughly searched and stripped.

“D’you pack my SpongeBob toothbrush? It’s my fave.” Dean asks from the back as Zeke wordlessly pulls away from the curb. 

“Packed what was on the list and nothing that wasn’t, Chief,” Nick replies, confirming Dean’s suspicion. 

Dean nods, slipping his phone from his pocket to thumb out texts to Gordon and Lydia, letting them know where he’s going. He tells them both that he’ll be in touch soon, each for different reasons. Then finally, he pulls up a video game and slumps into the seat for the longest 50 minutes he’s ever endured.

The facility looks like a high school in a John Hughes movie, but with a bunch of weird-ass people standing around outside, hugging and singing and chanting. 

Dean rolls his eyes and hoists his bag onto his good shoulder with a wince. Every second of consciousness reminds him of broken bones, twisted ligaments, and fragments of self-loathing that thrive under his itching skin. The last thing he needs right now is a round of kumba-fucking-ya. 

He peeks over his shoulder to see Nick hanging out the window with a savage grin. “Go on.” He waves Dean off like he’s shooing a fly. “Have fun, and make lots of friends.” 

Dean scowls before turning back to face the entrance and trudging inside, careful not to move too fast. His hip is killing him even more than his slinged shoulder or his ribs, probably because he’s injured it twice before. Fidgeting in the backseat of Zeke’s ancient SUV for almost an hour didn’t exactly help.

Once the facility’s revolving door spits him inside the bright lobby, a warm, welcoming voice calls to him from the centered reception desk.

“Dean Winchester?”

The voice belongs to a pretty, middle-aged black woman in a nurse’s uniform, rounding the desk to greet him. He continues forward, eyeing her sideways. 

“Yes, ma’am?” He doesn’t know what he expected from rehab admittance, but kindness was not it.

“Sam called. Wanted to make sure you got in OK. Nice boy.” She looks him up and down, and her brow furrows. “Let’s get you checked in so you can get settled and rest up.” 

The warmth of her tone and gaze hug him like a thick, soft blanket.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean responds.

Her ID badge reads ‘Missouri’. Dean doesn’t know if that’s her name, or where she’s from, but it doesn’t matter much to him because she’s already soothed his senses more than anyone he’s spoken to in the last 36 hours.

“Come on, right in here,” she says, showing him to an open office space. 

Inside the room is a male orderly who helps Dean unload his bag before pulling it open and searching its contents.

“Not gonna find much more than Visine in there, buddy. Crocket and Tubbs already got to the good stuff.”

The orderly remains focused on his work, and Missouri focuses on Dean.

“You mind your manners, boy, and let him do his job,” she says. 

Dean drops his eyes to the floor. “Yes, ma’am.”

As the orderly continues his examination of Dean’s belongings, Missouri rattles off some basic rules.

“There’s no fraternizin’ with other patients, no phone calls ‘cept once a week for 10 minutes at a time...”

Dean nods along as she speaks. He flicks his gaze up to watch the orderly drop his iPhone, its charger, and his AirPods into a plastic bin, and Dean shakes his head but remains silent. When the orderly finds the Swiss Army knife Emma bought him last year for Father’s Day, his heart clenches in his chest. 

“You’ll get that back when you check out, Dean,” Missouri assures him, warmth seeping into her tone and eyes. “Now, just a quick pat down, and I’ll show ya to your room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean nods. He’s relieved to realize that he likes Missouri. She’s a bright spot in this quagmire of misery he’s brought upon himself, and that’s a gift.

The orderly pats him down and checks his sling for anything else the place doesn't allow, and once he’s been stripped of all things sharp or shiny, Missouri leads him through the building, pointing out public sitting areas and restrooms. He’s fucking exhausted and beginning to suspect his hangover is actually withdrawal, which he’s been dreading since he woke up this morning.

Before long, Missouri pauses a few feet from a recreation room with several round table and chair sets, some mismatched lounge furniture, and finally, a single flat-screen TV on a low table. 

“Folks, this’s Dean Winchester,” Missouri says.

Dean takes note of three people piled onto a small couch, another guy next to them in a side chair, and two petite women settled on pillows facing the screen. Some Marvel movie is paused on the screen, by the balding man in the chair. 

“Pills,” he says with an accent, narrowing his gaze as the corner of his mouth twists upward.

Dean’s eyebrows and lips quirk.

“Hmm... sex and booze,” declares the tiny, familiar-looking redhead on the floor. She also has an accent, and Dean wonders where all these Brits are hiding in the middle of America.

“Sex and anything he can get his hands on,” says the bright-eyed brunette from the center of the couch. Her gaze sparkles and dances in a way that makes Dean instantly begin to calculate how to get around the no-fraternizing rule.

“You guys’re good,” he says.

The brunette rakes her appreciative gaze over Dean and licks her lips, as a goofy-looking blonde guy reaches across her to grab a large bowl full of popcorn from the lap of some floppy-haired kid.

“Well, kiddo, since your roommate’s here, I’ll take this off your hands. And, uhh, my money’s on coke,” says the blonde guy as he burrows back into his corner of the couch.

The kid brushes his hands along his thighs before standing and turning to face Dean and Missouri. As he approaches them, he holds up a single hand like he’s swearing to God.

“I’m Jack.” 

Dean darts his eyes to Missouri, who’s smiling reassuringly at the boy.

Dean wants to ask, what kind of crack therapy team thought it’d be a good idea to pair a literal fucking child up with the likes of himself? 

Instead, he waves back at the kid with a weak smile. 

It’s awkward, and Dean is far too undermedicated and stressed to have to deal with a kid. The anxiety makes his heart race and his stomach roil. 

“I can introduce him and show him to our room,” Jack offers with a blush.

Everything about this kid and this room and... everything is making Dean’s skin crawl.

“That’d be real helpful, Jack,” Missouri replies, then turns back to Dean. “This’s your roommate — Jack Kline.”

Dean glares at her before drawing a shallow breath. “Yes, ma’am. I gathered that.”

“I’ll head back to the desk, now,” Missouri says with a pointed look before walking away.

Jack motions toward the group and begins introducing everyone. 

“That’s Pamela,” he says, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Mother of two and meth addict. Next to her is Gabe. He’s a compulsive liar and gambler.”

Gabe salutes as he cheerfully munches popcorn with his mouth full. Dean shakes his head, amazed that Pamela and Gabe seem perfectly comfortable with this little shit airing their dirty laundry all over the rec room.

“Crowley’s on the end, in the chair,” Jack continues. “He’s an alcoholic, and usually very cranky — probably because he killed one of his patients—”

“That was two years ago, you twat,” Crowley drones with an eye roll back to the screen in front of him as he presses play.

“It’s part of your story,” Jack adds matter-of-factly before gesturing to the two women sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch. 

“Meg...” Jack says, and Meg waves. “...was a prostitute and heroin addict — like me.”

Dean’s heart jumps into his throat, and he thinks he might throw up right there. Jack can’t be a year older than Emma. He’s a fucking minor, for christ’s sake.

Meg throws Jack a wink before chiming in.  “I second Pamela’s bet — sex… and anything else he can find.”

Meg holds Dean’s gaze for several beats, and Dean feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room. The buzzing in his ears almost drowns out Jack’s last introduction until he hears something familiar.

“...a retired soap opera star and opioid addict—”

“Rowena Macleod,” Dean says with a small huffed laugh. “My, uhh...” He snaps a few times, shaking his head, trying to jog free fond memories from decades before. “My babysitter watched Sunrise Bay. You were amazing.”

“Ohh,” Rowena coos and Pamela chuckles as she nudges Rowena’s delicate shoulder with her toe.

“Seriously, so much of my childhood is wrapped up in those episodes.”

He remembers Spaghettios and hot dogs, animal crackers, and cherry Kool-aid. His babysitter used to paint his toenails, even though he’d make her take it off before John got home.

“Why thank you, darling,” Rowena preens. “‘Twas so long ago, I barely remember a thing anymore—”

“Might be the morphine,” Gabe mutters, and Pamela smacks the back of his head.

Rowena ignores them both in favor of reminding Jack to bring his “new friend” to dinner.

“Don’t forget, Jacky — four-thirty sharp.” She bats her eyelashes and fusses with her jewelry. 

Dean gives her a warm smile even though he feels hollowed-out, heavy and hot. His skin’s tight and prickly, yet he feels like he’s falling apart. He knows what’s happening, and he fucking hates that he can’t do a damn thing about it but get through it.

“Do you want to go get settled and cleaned up first?” Jack asks, startling Dean to attention.

Jack’s eyes are so wide and so blue, Dean thinks he might fall in and drown. He wants to fall in and drown. Anything but this.

Instead, he nods in answer and follows Jack to the staircase.

It isn’t long before they arrive at their room.

“Curfew is at 8 PM, but I usually read until Lights-Out at 10.” Jack stops in front of their open door, and Dean peeks inside.

The bare bed closest to the door holds a stack of folded bedding and a single pillow. The nightstand is donned with a non-descript lamp and a pad and paper.

“That’s me.” Jack motions to the far bed, which is neatly made with what appears to be a furry dragon dead center of his pillow. On that nightstand is a short stack of comic books and a bag of Milky Way candy bars.

Dean is sure he’s being Punk’d at this point.

“Nice dragon. What’re you, four years old?” Dean asks, pushing inside the room and dropping his duffle to the floor beside what is now his bed.

Jack stands in the hall with his furrowed brow. “I’m 17. And that’s a gryphon; dragons don’t have fur, Dean.”

Dean huffs an ironic, pained laugh and shakes his head before dropping his chin to his chest and letting his heavy eyelids close. 

“My bad,” he mutters, rubbing his burning eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his good hand.

Maybe if he goes to sleep, he’ll wake up, and this’ll all be over with. Maybe he can find someone somewhere in this place with something, anything, to put him to sleep so he can wake up without feeling like a bag full of broken glass.

“It’s OK,” Jack replies with a shrug as he wanders inside the room toward the toy in question. “Not a lot of people know what a gryphon is. They’re guardians of the divine. My mom bought it for me before I was born because she wanted me to always be safe. She died in childbirth, and I never knew my dad-”

“Kid,” Dean interrupts Jack’s monologue of fantastical tragedy. “Can we save the overshare for when I’ve had at least a few hours’ sleep and some food?”

Jack absently pets his stuffed guardian, curiously eyeing Dean. “Openness agitates you. I noticed downstairs that hearing everyone’s stories made you... uncomfortable.”

Dean scoffs. “Well... yeah. I don’t need to know everyone’s dirty little secrets — especially not on the first day.”

Jack shrugs, and Dean watches him carefully replace the plush toy atop his pillow. 

“You’ll get used to it. Honesty is the first step.” Jack looks up as he rounds the foot of Dean’s bed on his way back to the door with a wide, satisfied grin.

Judging by his posture and careful pronunciation of the word, Dean has a feeling that learning the importance of honesty was a big lesson for Jack. Dean isn’t ready for any lessons right now. 

“I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready. Just follow the signs. The dining hall isn’t far.” 

Jack disappears out the door and around the corner, and Dean sighs with relief to finally be alone. 

As he unpacks his clothes and puts them in the dresser, he tries to ignore his runny nose and full-body chills. He distracts himself by wondering how long the kid’s been in this place, which leads to speculating what landed him here, and then he’s chewing the inside of his mouth bloody thinking about the fucking pieces of shit who sell dope to kids, and — worse — the kind of sickos who pay to touch them.

He slams his dresser drawer hard enough to rattle the mirror on the wall beside it, closes his eyes again, then inhales in through his nose and exhales out his mouth. 

Tessa, one of the nurse practitioners in the Medical division of the department, taught him breathing exercises. He went to see her under the pretense of managing work-related stress, but really he just wanted an in to meet the hot newbie. Turns out, Tessa isn’t just good-looking; she’s also great at her job because the stupid exercises work.

He and Tessa also talked about spirituality from time to time. She’s been trying to convince him for weeks that asking the universe for help doesn’t make him weak. He’s not so sure he agrees with her, but at this point, he’ll try anything to help him get through the next few weeks without losing his god damned mind.

“I feel... fucking ridiculous doing this,” he starts, quiet as a whisper. “But I’m fresh outta ideas.”

He breathes in deeply and out again, dismissing the sharp pain in his chest that every breath brings him, yet tears begin to flood his closed eyes. 

“C’mon, Dean, you got through two tours in Afghanistan, for fuck’s sake!” he berates himself.

Maybe the universe is punishing him for going overboard. Maybe if he promises to reel it in, he can do this without his usual vices to lean on and places to hide.

“Listen, I swear to dial it back when I get out. No more all-night parties, no more mixing- just, please. Gimme somethin’.” 

He sniffs and wipes his eyes, still shivering, cramping, and swallowing back bile, but at least he has a plan. 

“OK, you can do this,” he tells himself, grabbing his Dopp kit and heading to the bathroom for a hot shower.

As the steam from the shower fills the stall and he stands under the hot spray of water, he continues to tell himself that he can get through the next 28 days without imploding. 

Chapter 3

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ's Masterlist

[alarriefantasy]

Heyyy, I wanted to say thank you cause your recs are absolutely INCREDIBLE and you seem like the sweetest person ever!! I know this is a bit dark so if you don't feel like answering that's totally fine, but do you know any fics in which Louis ou harry are drug addicts? I've red some of them but I can't find any good ones anymore. Thank you soo much, I love your page!! :)

LKSJFLDSFJ THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! I hope you enjoy the stories listed below!!!!

                                   Drug Addiction Fic Rec

Promises by Martynax

Words: 8k

Or, the one where Harry is in the rehab center and Louis has a class project.

You're the Reason I Come Home by lostinsanity

Words: 15k

Or, the one where two polar opposites attract on different sides of a piano at the rehab facility just out of town.

warm nights turn to winter (stayed too long in endless summer) by bravestyles

Words: 29k

Harry has a heroin addiction, and Louis doesn't know how much longer he can stay.

Captain Jack by jaerie 

Words: 31k

Louis has been searching for something and Harry is there to give it to him. Drugs, sex, disappointment, and the tangled web they’ve woven that keeps them trapped in the same cycle.

Love Will Tear Us Apart by lovelarry10

Words: 103k

A story of two halves.

Louis and Harry had it all - a career, friendship, and some of the best sex either of them had ever had.

But Harry ruins it all with one life-changing mistake ... and Louis is left to pay the price.

Lightning Strikes Twice by dinosaursmate

Words: 104k

Rock star Harry Styles was nineteen when he met Louis, a groupie with a huge heart that Harry couldn’t quite shake from his mind. Fate granted him a second chance at the age of sixty, his washed up and lonely existence being transformed by a widower with a bookshop.

Lego House by danceinstylinson

Words: 143k

Louis Tomlinson was just about at the end of his rope, caught up in the mess he’d created for himself, stranded at the center of a maze. Harry Styles was doing just fine the way thing were. He worked at night and slept through the day. He made enough money to just get by. Everything was fine. But one night seemed to change everything. Coming from very opposite sides of town, the two boys meet. One saves the other in more ways than one, and though neither expect a future extended past sunrise, fate seems to have other plans….

Own the Scars by crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)

Words: 144k

Louis has never felt like he was good enough: for his stepdad, for his life-long best friend, for the life he's supposed to want. After an accident that nearly costs him his life, Louis' parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to face his demons. On the long and difficult road to recovery, Louis must confront the truths he’s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth. Because before he can love anyone else, he’s got to learn how to love himself first.

And I Wait For Paradise by You_Just_Mightx3

Words: 209k

…or, the one where it’s not the Harry who touched Louis’ heart that comes home, but an addict thought to be hopeless. A paradise above addiction when Louis wins so does Harry.

Cocaine for Breakfast by guccikings

Words: 309k

- Louis Tomlinson is a drug addict, sent away from his beloved party-scene to recover. There, he discovers that small towns have just as much access to drugs as London did, plus something even better that he just can't get enough of. That something is a boy with green eyes and bouncy curls named Harry Styles. -

♡ credit to the owner of the manip

♡ past themed recs here