#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.

[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.

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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.

[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

[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

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Data Bridge Market Research

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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.

[oftatteredwings]

⸻  MILES TELLER. HE + HIM / have you ever     heard of BASKET CASE by green day, well,     it describes BENJAMIN ‘BEN’ SCOTT to a tee! the 35 year old, and WEST END ACTOR  was spotted browsing     through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know     them? would you say  HE is  more hot-tempered or OUTGOING  instead?     anyway, they remind me of an expertly tuned acoustic guitar, bloody knuckles, jogs at sunrise, the constant urge to burst into song and a lazy smile, maybe you’ll bump into     them soon! 

time in notting hill ; 5 years.

tw: violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, mentions of homophobia

ABOUT.

Name: Benjamin Eric Scott Nicknames: Ben, Scotty, Benny Boy Age: Thirty-four Date of Birth: 24th August 1987 Occupation: West End Actor Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Biromantic/bisexual (male leaning) Birthplace: Brooklyn, New York, USA Current Location: Notting Hill, London, UK

Benjamin “Ben” Scott grew up in Brooklyn, New York, to a stay at home mom and a doctor father.

When he was a kid he wanted to be a spaceman, exactly like Buzz Lightyear. That was the dream.

His mom had other ideas since he’d spend his days putting on plays with the other neighbourhood kids and dancing and singing. So, not long after his 9th birthday, she started to push and finally got him a job on the first Broadway production of The Lion King. That was what he did for almost ten years —- he lived on the stage.

After graduation he went on to study drama at Juilliard School, getting into a kind of routine. School, theatre, school, theatre, and then he’d spend Sunday at the gym. He didn’t have much of a social life, just hung out in seedy bars with his theatre friends, getting into fights and very rarely waking up in his own bed, usually bloody and bruised whenever he did.

He dabbled in relationships here and there, fell for a guy in his final year of college, but things weren’t meant to be. Everything was badly timed. He’s probably still a little in love with him to this day, but he’s never been too good at admitting that out loud.

Finally, following graduation, he got his first movie role, nothing major, but hella exciting for him. Movie roles were pretty rare, though, so he paid for his tiny apartment in Hell’s Kitchen with constant stints on Broadway.

He ended up in a bad place. Fell into an abyss of drink and drugs, going out each night after the show pretty much just trying to pick fights. It was almost a game, trying to hide the bruises the next day.

At 26 the relationship he ended up in was beyond toxic, neither one of them any good for each other and he only landed himself in more trouble.

Things went too far one night on his way home following the show; some guy thinking it was funny to continuously rib him over his sexuality. Ben, seeing red, lost it completely and could have quite easily beat him to death.

Prison was his next port of call. He was there for a year, got out on good behaviour, although his stay behind bars did its job in destroying what little movie career he had left.

Since getting out six years ago he’s been working on his anger issues. He’s been to rehab, attended meetings, seen a therapist and he’s big into meditating. His Frenchie, Simba, helps him through.

Moving away from New York was definitely a part of the process, he moved over to London for a couple of years to try something different, got back into theatre and filmed a pilot for a show that sadly wasn’t picked up.

He lost his acting big break thanks to what happened, a major role in a much anticipated movie gone, so he’s stuck with theatre alone for a while.

TIMELINE.

1987: Brooklyn, New York 2006: Hells Kitchen, Manhattan, New York 2015: Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York 2016: Los Angeles, California 2018: Notting Hill, London, UK

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

- younger siblings; his has three of them, any gender, go wild. I’d love to see them if you’re interested! - college ex; they really did meet at the wrong time, it was never going to work for long, yet ben was so in love with him and he’s still not over it. - toxic ex; this whole relationship was a bad idea. everything about it was toxic, but at the time he couldn’t resist her. maybe if they’d attempted the relationship at another time things would have been better… but definitely not then. - one night stands; there’s been a lot of them. he’s bi so both male and female work. - gym buddies; if he’s not working he pretty much lives in the gym. it’s a great distraction. - close friends; those he’s held dear for years through everything. - nyc friends; people he’s known for years and trusts completely. - dog park people; he has simba so he’s there a lot walking him.​ - fellow aa or na people; anyone he’s met through those meetings. - past work colleagues; anyone he’s worked on broadway/stage or on a movie/tv set with in the past.​ - current work colleagues; self explanatory.​​​

[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.

[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

[justatiredghost]

Living for the Moment Ch15 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other? Read More AO3

Things were different, now, and it pissed Klaus off. People came and went constantly, that was how he lived his life. No one was ever going to be permanent, he was supposed to be better at this. But missing Dave wasn't all that had changed.

He’d spent most of his life just trying to be numb, to bury all the hurt and trauma because it never stopped. It was the only way he could actually achieve some level of peace, even if it came with its own sorts of trauma. But then, the numbness helped with that too. Any moments of lucidity were just a torturous search for more drugs to drown out the world again.

Then Dave had come along and ruined all that.

He couldn’t forget the moments they’d spent together when he’d actually laughed, genuinely, and the glimpses at what he could have had if he wasn’t so fucked up. He knew normal life wasn’t really in it for him, but he still couldn’t help but reach for something, anything, that might make him feel like that again.

Maybe he’d been happy for the first time in so long, since they’d been too young to fully understand, before Reginald had dug his claws in and tore them apart, he didn’t know. What he did know, though, was that getting absolutely wasted to block it all out wasn’t enough anymore. He’d actually wanted to be present, to experience and remember, and that was hard to give up again.

He felt lost, reaching for a cigarette instead of the joint hidden in his shoe. He’d tried to enjoy the party, to flirt and take anything he could get this hands on like usual, but it all felt so hollow and he’d ended up leaving alone.

He was trying to put his life back together, to how it used to be, only to find he didn’t quite fit anymore. Too bad his only option was to force it, it wasn’t like he could actually change his ways and go sober.

He’d been walking blindly, too caught up in his own thoughts, so when he looked up to find he’d wandered to the park Dave has taken him to, once, he stopped in surprise. Cursing, he dropped the butt of the cigarette and ground it out under his foot with more force than necessary. It had been weeks since they’d gotten out of rehab, since they’d last seen each other, and he still couldn’t get him off his mind. What was wrong with him?

He was about to turn and leave when he heard a quiet cough. He turned only to find Dave himself sitting there, alone out here so late at night that it was practically morning, smoking a cigarette and staring vacantly. He looked so tired, eyes red, and Klaus couldn’t bring himself to turn and leave like he’d initially planned. It wasn’t like he could actually do anything to help him, it was obvious he was struggling with the whole sobriety and homelessness thing, Klaus just wished it wasn’t so hard.

With a defeated sigh, he headed over, dropping into the seat next to Dave, startling him out of his thoughts. He lounged back, arm thrown across the back of the bench behind Dave, and made himself comfortable. Dave couldn’t help but huff a laugh at his sudden appearance and offered up his cigarette.

“Good seeing you,” Klaus said. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re sharing.”

“It’s good seeing you too,” Dave said, accepting the cigarette back once he’d taken a drag. His voice was harsh and he sniffled, turning his face away briefly to rub a hand across his face, letting Klaus know that his eyes weren’t just red from lack of sleep. He hated the idea of Dave out here, crying alone.

They were silent for a long time. Klaus didn’t think there was anything he really could say. They could talk about how hard sobriety was, how painful homelessness was, and how much struggle it took to get through both in a world that was built to keep them there, but they both already knew all that. They’d both already lived it. So Klaus just sat with him, glad he smelt of cigarette smoke and not weed. He couldn’t even really talk about what he’d been up to since they parted ways either because it all involved copious amounts of drugs.

“I’m scared,” Dave said eventually.

“Shit sucks,” Klaus said. He’d never been very good at these sorts of conversations. “Sorry it’s hard. But you’ll get through.”

“And if I don’t?” Dave asked.

“Dunno,” Klaus said with a shrug. “But it wouldn’t be the end of the world. You could try again. Or do something else, whatever.”

“I missed you,” Dave said with so much emotion behind it it too Klaus by surprise.

His first impulse was to ask why. It was difficult, thinking his presence, or lack of presence in this case, could actually have an impact on anyone. It felt like, sometimes, he only existed under the neon lights, when the drugs and alcohol were flowing. Come daylight, he would disappear along with every memory of him. That’s how it should be, at least. And yet that wasn’t the case for Dave.

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly, because if Dave was going to be so honest and open about it, he should at least try to respond in kind. “Missed you too.”

Dave leaned into him, resting his head against his shoulder. He was quiet for a long moment until he finally spoke again.

“I’m just so tired.”

“I know,” Klaus said, voice quiet in a way he hoped was comforting. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit. I’ll let you know if we need to clear out or anything.”

“Wake me for the sunrise?” Dave asked.

“Sure.”

Klaus moved to put his arm properly around Dave only to realize it was the hand that said, ‘Hello,’ that rested on his shoulder. But it was with the hand that said, ‘Good Bye,’ that he took the cigarette back, taking a heavy drag and watching the smoke curl up into the dark sky. He had no idea what he was doing anymore.