#addiction tw

[simvanie]

7 Sins Legacy - generation 5 (gluttony)

Britney: There he is! We had to use the spare key to let ourselves in because you were still upstairs-

-We haven't been able to reach you all weekend after you called me that you wanted to close the restaurant for a couple of days because you weren't feeling well-

-Are you having a headache? Oh sweetheart, have you gotten ill? How do you feel? Gulshan: Britney, please... I really don't want to talk about how I feel right now.

Britney: I totally understand that you wanted some time to process the fact that the restaurant just lost a star. But it's not the end of the world! You're one of the best chefs I know! We'll have that star back before you know-

Gulshan: I'm fine, Britney! I'm gonna have a smoke and then we should all get to work.

Britney: Is he alright? I know losing a star isn't nothing, but he looks like an absolute wreck...

Sean: Let me talk to him- Maybe he's more open to share what's on his mind when we don't give him the feeling like we're all staring him down.

[uncanny-tranny]

I guess what gets me about fatphobia is seeing someone literally recovering from addiction and gaining weight being framed as a bad thing because a substance use problem that is eating you from the inside out is preferable so long as you are twenty pounds lighter.

It has never been about people's health.

[raviposting]

But 148 lives, I owe at least that much. And then I can go. | I should have died in that fire that night. Or one of the many nights after, trying to correct that mistake. But I'm still here.

@lgbtqcreators bingo: layout (in/sp)

[dog-teeth]

something to recognize that choosing recovery again and again is difficult work, and you are not weak for faltering

[filmnoirsbian]

cancer season

[compassionatereminders]

And a lot of people will be all in favor of legalizing weed because "actually weed has a lot of useful qualities for a lot of people" and I am not disagreeing with that argument at all, but actually the reason why we should decriminalize drugs is because criminalizing them ruins lives and kills people. Like the issue is not that they accidentally criminalized one useful substance, it's that turning a debilitating illness into a law enforcement issue is a problem regardless of how dangerous the drug of choice is

[newsfromstolenland]

Five supervised drug consumption sites are slated to close in Toronto after the provincial government announced a ban on such facilities near schools and child-care centres — a move that some harm-reduction experts are slamming as a "deadly mistake."

Health Minister Sylvia Jones made the announcement Tuesday at the Association of Municipalities of Ontario (AMO) conference in Ottawa.

"In Toronto, there's been numerous stories of altercations, stabbings, shootings and even a homicide in the vicinity of these sites," Jones said at the conference.

"Our first priority must always be protecting our communities, especially when it comes to some of our most innocent and vulnerable — our children."

Full article

Make no mistake, people will die as a result of this decision. The claim to be "protecting children" is being used yet again to excuse putting the lives of marginalized people at risk.

If the government really cared about not having people consume substances in front of children, they would support supervised consumption sites! By giving people a place to consume drugs safely, you give people an alternative to using drugs on the streets (where, incidentally, children often are)! And what about the children whose loved ones experience addiction? The children whose family members might OD without these resources?

But as usual, they're lying when they say it's about protecting children. It's not about that. It never is.

This is actually about not valuing the lives and safety of people who experience addiction. This is about thinking that it's a waste of money and resources to keep people who use drugs safe, doing a cost benefit analysis with people's lives on the line. This about deciding that an entire group of people are expendable for no other reason than that they use drugs. Pretending that if we remove support and resources for them, all these people will simply go away.

I'm so sick of the "protecting children" line being brought out whenever people need an excuse to be cruel. More often than not, the actions being described as a way to defend children actually cause them harm.

It's not protecting children to deny the existence of trans people. It's not protecting children to deny them sex ed. It's not protecting children to remove a source of safety for people who use drugs.

You can't protect children by sacrificing the safety and well-being of marginalized people.

Tagging: @allthecanadianpolitics

[deaddovedecadence]

Hello, how do you think the batfam will react to a reader with bad habits? And the reader is underage. Like at one time the reader got into not the best company or just wanted to seem cool, and now she smokes, maybe reader abuses alcohol. I'm just wondering how the batfamcan handle this.

And I apologize for the English, I am writing with a translator

❤

Alfred

disapproving english eyebrow™️

no but seriously he’s have you detoxing the minute he finds out about it. Having a nice drink at dinner with the family is fine but only if he’s able to supervise what you are drinking and how much. He’s be damned if he has to deal with another bruce

Bruce Wayne

doesn’t panic, even if his brain is screaming at him to trap you away forever and keep you from everything that could hurt you.

Calls in Dinah to talk to you about what is and isn’t safe for you because he will fuck it up and if he fucks you up after all of this progress that you guys have been making, duke will be the cause of his murder

Dick Grayson

oldest daughter exhaustion because he does NOT want to deal with another jason-smoking-to-fuck-with-bruce-and-becoming-addicted situation.

Tells you that if you don’t knock it off he will make you and is smiling while promising that you will not enjoy his methods

Jason Todd

panics his ass off

He yells at you for being stupid because he’s trying to quit and how did you get into that and why did you ever think it’s a smart idea and just panics in general

Cassandra Cain

thinks that it’s easily solvable, most reasonable

She starts you excerising with her every single time you get the urge so that you literally can’t move your arms anymore. Duke often joins in and eventually it becomes a form of bonding for the three of you

Duke Thomas

he gets you patches or helps wean you off of it because they’re a good sibling like that.

honestly to themself, takes the time to think about whether they want to keep you addicted and act like the good sibling by keeping you supplied increasing your dependence on them but then realizes that his brain is getting a little too demony for their taste and stops

Tim Drake

makes you listen as he lists every side effect of every substance that you are taking

threatens the crowd that you were with if you don’t start quitting immediately. Feels a cold quit is good punishment for being on substances in the first place

Damian Wayne

thinks it’s stupid and yells at you, considers violence but is restrained by duke and dick

[whumperofworlds]

Whumpee who recently got off of some addiction (drugs, caffeine, something like that), but during captivity, Whumper forces them to take the addiction back.

(Was thinking of that one story @kabie-whump wrote with Ventis. 👀)

[medicinelarrie]

I may have been late to this fandom, I wasn't here when the band were together. But I remember watching Liam audition for TXF the first time around, I remember watching 1D get put into a band, I remember my sister's unbearable love for (what I thought at the time were) a stupid boyband. I remember her spotting Liam at our local shopping centre and her and her friends following him around, too scared to actually say hello. And then I got into this fandom, and I loved those boys so wholeheartedly. I was so proud of their accomplishments, I was so happy when Liam was telling us of his struggle and that he was sober. And I was so worried for him when he clearly wasn't doing so well. He wasn't a perfect person, and he had done things wrong. He was a victim too, a victim of the industry since he was 14 years old. He deserved a chance to be better.

I hope that he can finally be at peace.

My thoughts are with the Payne family, his son, and the boys tonight ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Addicted to You

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 19. Losing a Sense Fandom: Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, f!reader, dark!Jason Todd Summary: Kidnapped and locked in a room for months, your life has become nothing but Hood, the drug he gives you, and the pleasure you receive from both. But this time when it is time for your next dose, Hood is nowhere to be found... Word Count: 3073 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Addiction, Drugs, Poison, Forced Drugging, Kidnapping, Locked Away, Extremely Dubious Consent, CNC, Sex Pollen-Like Drug, Thigh Riding, Getting Off in Front of Others, Withdraws, Pain, Sensory Loss, Sensory Overload Notes: Thank you to @ohtobeleah and @mayhem24-7forever for reading this over and encouraging me along the way 💗 Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

It’s been too long. 

Hood should have been back to give you your next dose hours ago. He hasn’t let it get this bad since the beginning, back when this was meant as a punishment and not part of your normal routine. Ever since he realized his mistake, what the poison he fed into your system had done to you, he never pushed you past a mild discomfort. 

But right now, you were in agony. 

You look desperately towards the door as if you can somehow will him to appear, but it remains firmly shut. A low moan is pulled from your lips as the ache in your gut begins to shift into a stabbing pain and every nerve ending begins to prickle like needles under your skin. The short silk slip you always wear feels like sandpaper as does your satin sheets as you writhe against them, desperately seeking relief. But it’s not just the drug you need, it’s him: his skin pressed against yours, his heart beating against your cheek, his scent soothing your aching body. He has become as much of an addiction that your body craves as the liquid he injects into your veins. 

But he’s not here.

Curling into a ball in the center of your king-sized bed, you try to remember what it was like before he brought you here, before the endless cycle of euphoria and torment. But your brain can barely remember to keep breathing right now, let alone try to recall who you were before this room. No, for the past—had Hood mentioned it had been four months already?—your world consisted of this room, this bed, the drugs, and Hood. Nothing else mattered. 

But where was he?

Suddenly, the metal door to your room heaves open and you try to lift your head, only for it to fall limply back against the bed.

Struggling to gather enough strength to try again, you hear a voice call out, “B! She’s in here!”

“Hood….?” you whimper, your vision swimming too much to clearly make out the figure standing across the room.

“Oh my god.” 

As he hurries over to the bed, you are finally able to see this newcomer is— unfortunately—not Hood. This man is in a tight, dark one-piece costume with a splash of bright blue at the top that matches the mask he wears over his eyes. His dark hair falls across his face as he leans over to examine you. But as soon as he places a gloved hand on your head, you cower back as fresh pain rips through your body. It’s as if his hand is blazing hot and has seared its mark onto your skin. Even as he draws back, the pain remains, throbbing and burning with every pound of your racing heart. 

Unaware of what his touch has done to you, the stranger reaches out again as he coos in a soothing voice, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.” 

You brace yourself for another wave of pain as his hand nears your shoulder, but then a familiar modulated growl pierces through the air. “No! Don’t touch her!” 

Your eyes snap to the door and you let out a small cry of relief as Hood storms into the room. As always, the sight of his smooth red helmet and glowing white eyes causes the painful knot in your chest to ease slightly. However, that relief quickly evaporates as you realize something is wrong. A man in yet another costume—this one black with a cape and pointed ears on top of his mask—has a tight grip on Hood’s arm and is practically dragging him into the room. He looks familiar and some sort of recognition stirs in the back of your mind, but you don’t care enough to focus on it. Right now, all you want is Hood and the drug.

“Hood…” You stretch one hand out, trying to reach him, but you’re in too much pain and he’s too far away. 

However, the movement is enough to spur Hood into action. He drops low and spins, freeing his arm from the man’s grasp. Then he sprints forward and dives onto the bed, gathering you into his arms in one fluid motion. Immediately, the painful prickling across your skin lessens and you snuggle your face into his chest. 

Weakly, you moan, “...gone so long…hurts…”

Hood rips off his gloves and runs his hand over the bare skin of your arm. It feels like cold water washing over a burn. You crawl deeper into him, curling like a kitten in his lap, as he whispers, “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here now and I’ve got what you need.” 

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the familiar glowing syringe. The need in your system now outweighs any pain. Eagerly, you push up your sleeve and hold your arm out to him. 

But as he takes it, the man with the pointed mask growls, “Jason!”

Hood looks up at him and you swear you can almost hear tears in his voice as he says, “I know, I fucked up. But if I don’t do this, she’ll die.” His glowing eyes drop back down to your face. His bare fingers trace the line of your jaw, and your eyes flutter closed with a wanton whine. “Please, just let me help her and I’ll go with you. No more fighting, I promise. I just have to save her…from what I did to her.”

The man hesitates for a moment—another moment the drugs aren’t coursing through your system. You squirm in Hood’s grasp, groaning as the mix of need and pain once again begins to become unbearable even with his touch dulling it. Finally, the man nods and Hood drives the needle into your arm.

The relief is instantaneous. You throw your head back with a euphoric gasp as the drug surges through your bloodstream. The prickling of your nerves shifts, where before there was pain, now there is only pleasure. Each brush of the bed sheet or your slip on your skin feels like a lover’s caress and you moan as the fiery tension begins to build in your core. It quickly reaches its peak and you wail in blissful relief as your eyes roll back into your head, your body collapsing forward against Hood. 

Panting softly, you bury your face into that small space between where his jacket and helmet meet. The small sliver of skin showing floods your senses with his essence. Your tongue slides against his skin, savoring the saltiness of the sweat formed there after his scuffle with the other two men. Already feeling the pleasure in your core building once more, you hum hazily against his neck.

Watching your lurid display, the man in the pointed mask asks, “What have you done to her?” The horrified disgust is obvious in his voice and though you know it is at least partly directed at you, you can’t make yourself care. Not with the drug flowing through your system and Hood cradling you in his arms. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I swear. She’s the one who told the Joker about my mom and how to lure me to that warehouse the night he killed me. I just…I just wanted her to have a taste of the pain, the hell, she put me through. But I never wanted this.” 

“What happened?”

“I paid Ivy to make a new toxin for me. It was only supposed to give her an unbelievable high with an even worse crash when it wore off. I was planning on giving her a few doses and then letting her go. I didn’t know she was already high when I grabbed her and gave her the first dose. She couldn’t tell me what it was but somehow the two drugs mixed together and altered how she responded to it.” 

You are barely listening to what Hood is saying. You’re annoyed he is giving these other two all of his attention and barely even touching you while the drug is at its most potent. With a frustrated huff, you swing one leg over his beefy thigh and begin grinding against him. Yet Hood barely reacts. His only acknowledgment is to place both hands on your hips to steady you as he continues speaking.

“This stuff was supposed to wear off after a few hours but only…it doesn’t. I tried to wait it out between doses as long as I could, thinking she might eventually come out the other side, but each time she almost died. So now I just keep giving her more when she starts to come down and before the after-effects get too much for her. She wasn’t supposed to go this long between doses, but you two got in my way.” 

“Why does she only respond to you?” The first man who entered the room finally speaks up. “When I touched her, she acted like it hurt her. But with you…” The man glances away as you continue to rut against Hood’s muscular thigh. 

“It’s my pheromones. Ivy said because I’m the one giving her the drug, whatever Ivy put in it is also making her addicted to…well, to me. And when she doesn’t have enough of the drug in her system, my touch helps ease some of the symptoms.” He runs his hand over your hair and it sends a shiver of pleasure through you causing you to tense up around his thigh. “But even that’s not enough. She needs regular doses or she’s going to die.”

“Does she know who you are?”

Hood shakes his head. “No. She's never even seen me with the helmet off.”

 “B, what do we do?” the first man asks.

The man in the pointed mask stares at you for a long time. You continue to grind on Hood’s thigh but you stare back at the man, cocking your head to the side. The familiar feeling you had when you first saw him returns, tickling at the back of your brain. “B” the other man had called him. Ba…Bat…Batman! The name suddenly pops into your blissed-addled brain. But that made no sense. Why would Batman be here? He helps people and you don’t need help. Not now that Hood was back and you had your drug. 

But he continued to stare at you for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he says, “We take her back to the Cave. We’ll see if we can create some sort of antidote or cure for whatever Jason did to her. Hopefully, we can reverse this.”

“And…Jay?” The other man looks anxiously at Hood and you feel him tense beneath you. 

But Hood shouldn’t feel tense. He should feel just as amazing as he makes you feel. You begin to reach for the zipper on his tact pants but he gently pushes your hands away. You look at his helmet, staring at his unblinking glowing eyes trying to understand what he is doing. 

He cups your face—sending another warm bolt of pleasure through you—and he whispers, his voice modulated as always, “It’s okay, baby. It’s all gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Then he presses his helmet to your forehead, his version of a kiss, and lifts you off his lap so he can climb off the bed.

The sudden loss of his presence feels like a bucket of ice water has been thrown on you. The drug is still causing your pleasure sensors to go off like fireworks, but there is an emptiness without him near you. 

“Hood?” you ask, voice trembling as you reach out to him. 

Turning back to the bed, he gently scoops you into his arms and all is right in the world once more. You snuggle into his chest, your fingers digging tightly into his jacket so he can’t leave you again. He carries you past Batman, pausing to give him a slight nod. Then, for the first time in four months, he takes you from your room. 

Three months later, you stand before one of the cells in the Batcave containing the man who not long ago was more vital to you than food or air. Yet as you stare at him, he could be a stranger from off the street for all you knew. You had never actually seen his face since he never took off his helmet, never heard his voice not masked by his modulator. For the first time, you look into the eyes of the man who had destroyed your life and held you captive for so long. 

With a small tilt of your head, you say, “So…you’re Hood.”

Jason Todd nods from his seat on the floor of his cell. “I am.”

You hum slightly, your eyes shifting across his face as you soak in every detail. He’s so much younger than you expected—probably no more than twenty or so years old. The dark hair that falls across his face is marred by a thick streak of white on the left side. His blue eyes bore into yours, and you can tell he’s searching for something, maybe a spark of what you once felt for him or a raw hatred for what he had done. But you know he will find neither in your face. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I’m not sure how much Bruce told you, but he managed to find a cure for what you did to me.”

Jason nods again. “He told me. He said it almost killed you a few times but you’ve made a full recovery.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips. “I wouldn’t say that.” But then you change the subject without elaborating. “Bruce also filled me in on our connected history. Apparently, when I was sixteen, I gave The Joker some information that he used to hurt you.”

Jason scoffs. “‘Hurt’? Is that what he told you?”

“Yes,” you reply. “I’m not doubting this didn’t happen but I don’t remember any of it. But that’s not surprising. Drugs had already taken over my life at that point and I was either high or looking for another way to get high 90% of the time. If The Joker offered me money or drugs, I’m pretty sure I would have done anything I had to to get my hands on it.”

Jason pulls his legs into his chest and wraps his arms around them. “That doesn’t excuse what you did or what happened to me because of it. But—” His eyes dart to your face then to the ground “—it also doesn’t justify what I did to you. I’m so sorry things turned out the way they did. I never wanted to hurt you like that, bab—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t call you that anymore I guess. It’s just that after a while, with us in that room together, I actually fell for you. The things I said, what we did, I meant all of them. I know it’s crazy and you probably despise even looking at me right now, but it’s true.”

“I don’t hate you.” 

Jason’s head shoots up. “You...you don’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I guess I’m supposed to hate you or be disgusted to be standing here in front of you or something, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything when I look at you…because I can’t. Whatever Bruce did to save me from those drugs you gave me, I’m now just numb. Like all my senses were overloaded and now…there’s nothing. I can’t even feel physical sensations. I burnt my hand yesterday making tea because I forgot the kettle was hot.” You hold up your thickly bandaged hand then let it fall. “Luckily, Dick was around and noticed before it got too bad.” 

His face contorts into sheer horror as the full ramifications of what he’s done hits him. Half sobbing, he cries, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…I just wanted you to know how it felt…”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” you say. “And you don’t have to apologize. Like I said, I don’t feel anything. There’s no hate, no pity, no longing, no shame. I’m just…” you hesitate as you search for the words. Eventually, you just shrug. “I don’t know what I am. But Bruce thought it might give both of us some closure seeing what has become of the other so that’s why I’m here. But, honestly, I have nothing more to say. Goodbye, Jason.”

As you turn and begin to walk away, he cries out, “Please!” His hand juts through the bars of the cage as he presses his face against it, his eyes pleading and wet with tears. “Just…can you accept my apology? I know it means nothing to you, but it’d mean everything to me. I can’t…I can’t live with what I’ve done to you without that.” 

He’s right. It doesn’t mean anything to you so you figure why not. Reaching out, you take his hand.

And immediately drop to the floor as an immense rush of pleasure floods your body. Every nerve fires at once and your vision goes white as you come with the most intense orgasm of your life. Not even the combination of the drug and Jason buried deep inside you had ever felt like this. After so long feeling nothing, feeling that much pleasure at once is overwhelmingly euphoric. When your vision returns, you find yourself drooling and twitching on the Batcave floor.

He releases your hand and everything begins to fade until you can’t feel anything again. Yet just as the numbness begins to overtake you, he grabs your hand again sending the overwhelming sensation through you once more. It’s not as intense as the first time, but it still leaves you gasping and moaning in pure bliss. 

“God damn…I can’t believe it worked.”

Slowly, you lift your head to stare at the man still holding your hand. “H-Hood?”

The tears are gone from his eyes, their blue flashing dangerously in the dim light. Slowly, a cruel smile creeps across his face and he coos, “There she is. There’s my girl.” His hand cups your cheek causing your eyes to flutter as heat rushes to your core. “Now, how about we get outta here?”

Tag list: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @ohtobeleah, @writercole

@sunshineflowerchild789, @wildbornsiren, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @schaarfyx, @merlehs

[uncanny-tranny]

"Treatment" for addiction that requires you to lock up, confine, coerce, or otherwise strip addicts of their autonomy, it isn't treatment. It is a revenge fantasy that prioritizes your desire for subjugation over the actual betterment of addicts.

[gayshitanddadjokes]

The worst thing about having a self-harm addiction is that it isn't taken seriously as an addiction. I get cravings, I relapse, I was dependent on self-harming for over a year, but that isn't taken seriously as an addiction. There isn't a substance involved so it isn't an addiction. Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to be able to call myself an addict even though I know that I am one. Whenever I try to tell anyone about it they get this mental image of the stereotyped emo kid self harming to MCR 'to feel something' and laugh when I try to call it an addiction (not that that isn't totally valid. It's where a lot of us started, myself included). I can't confess that this is something I struggle with because my own mother told me that I wasn't actually addicted, there just wasn't a better word for someone who self harms. Of course, it not being treated as an addiction helps in a social sense due to all the stigma around addicts, but it has its own stigma.

[handweavers]

my dad likes to do this thing to "prove" that he's not addicted to alcohol by being like (apropos of nothing) "by the way i haven't had vodka in nearly 2 months and i've only been having 4 beers every night which is a normal thing that everyone does" and after everything that's ever happened in my whole life with him i can't fight anymore i'm just like uh-huh. ok

[filmnoirsbian]

PHEW anyways I think at some point it became normalized to do drugs recreationally so you say you used to do molly or whatever and people are like oh yeah I've done that nbd but what they mean is that they did it maybe three or four times while out with the girls or whatever and that's fun! That's chill! But some of us did drugs every night to the point where it became impossible to divorce our personalities from that. Like who am I off of drugs? Idk but she's boring! That kind of thing. And then we get sober for whatever reason (which is GOOD it's GOOD to be sober sorry for being an afternoon special about it but it's actually such a good thing to not be so high and drunk all the time that you genuinely don't remember entire years of your life!) and suddenly we're confronted with the fact that we don't actually know this person! This sober us who is suddenly staring us down in the mirror like ok! When did I become that person? I wasn't there for that! And that's scary and unsettling and it's hard! It's hard to get to know yourself when you keep comparing yourself to everyone else's wacky fun cool girl stories about you and you have to just laugh along like yeah haha I was a riot! Except I was quite literally rotting on the inside that entire time and I don't remember most of what you're talking about! And now it feels like I can't measure up to that person you knew who was larger than life and great to be around because everything feels like a lisa frank notebook when you're high out of your mind but unfortunately you cannot continue to exist that way because you will literally die! So here I am trying not to die and feeling boring about it!

[compassionatereminders]

The way people will judge disabled people for not committing a hundred percent to any supposedly healthy lifestyle choice... Are we seriously gonna act like the people WITHOUT chronic fatigue aren't skipping the gym all the time? Like the people WITHOUT clinical anxiety don't still struggle to quit the smokes? Like the people WITHOUT chronic pain don't still fail to get out and exercise on a daily basis? Like the person who DOESN'T have an addiction doesn't still drink a bit too much on the weekend? Like the people who DON'T have ADHD don't also struggle to cook a healthy meal every night? So how and why are we expecting the people who ARE in pain, who ARE mentally ill, who ARE fatigued to somehow do a better job than fully abled people? Make it make sense!