#addictive substances tw

[emotionaleating]

„but you survived“ but i didn’t want to lol. i wasn’t supposed to. i hate that i did. i’m angry that i did. i want the pain to go away so badly.

[lacquerheadd]

pov: you ask the good mayor for some chems…

[rileylastname]

maybe it’s because it’s “too obvious” but im surprised how few readings I’ve seen of the Substance (2024) that discuss the themes of addiction and substance (ha) use & abuse.

in moderation you can use the substance to become a better, more fun, easier, happier version of yourself. then you realize you no longer want to be who you are when you’re not on the substance. then taking the same dose that used to be enough before isn’t enough anymore, so you want to take more, and just a little bit more couldn’t hurt, right? so you start to take even more. but this is only taking away from sober you, which is painful and difficult and even scarier than what compelled you to take it in the first place, so of course you can’t stop now. now you want to take even more, you NEED to take even more. sober life becomes harder and harder to bear, especially compared to how much easier everything is on the substance. now you’re not only using it to enjoy that feeling anymore, you’re using it to hide from what you’re turning into without it, from what you’ve already turned into.

every minute that you’re sober is spent counting down the days until you can use again, and the ends of being high are spent dreading going back. the sober self is upset and jealous at how irresponsible the high self is. the high self is upset at how much of a buzzkill the sober self is, and wishes they could exist on their own, without requiring their sober tether to existence. but the sober and high selves are the same person, you are one, and you become jealous and angry at yourself for ruining your own life in a vain attempt to become an impossible version of yourself that you most desire to be.

you want so badly to have all—and only all—of the best parts that you milk yourself dry, until you end up with all—and nothing but all—of the bad parts. by the time you truly feel that you have indeed lost everything and know you need to stop, the damage is already done, and there is no going back. you wish you had stopped at the first chance, you wish you had never started to begin with. and even then for many people the only way to deal with this terrifying, painful reality is to use even more, because you have made this terrifying, painful life without your substance feel unliveable, even scarier yet than what had made you use in the first place. there is nothing left to do but to hide from your own life, and the only ways to do this are to stop, to love yourself and take care of the person that you are now… or to keep taking more and more, using until there is truly nothing left, not even yourself.

[borderlinejackiee]

tired of being angry and full of rage

[fmluder24]

The exchange "Could a drug addict do what I do?" / "Apparently." is incredible as someone who lost multiple family members (including a highly accomplished doctor) to substance abuse complications. Literally anyone anyone anyone can struggle in this way and I hope that The Pitt gets Emmys for this scene alone.

[bladeechan]

Jokes aside, I'm clean for almost a year (//ω//)

[meowssile]

its OKAY to not want to recover. its OKAY to enjoy having an addiction or illness. it is YOUR body and so it is ultimately about what you want.

whilst i personally wish i never got addicted to certain things, i now have no want to change it because having an actively fulfilled addiction makes me happy.

it's also okay to want to gain an addiction you don't bodily yet have! you aren't being insensitive to cis addicts. this is about YOU and YOUR body. nobody else.

[chronicallycouchbound]

People who use drugs deserve love and kindness.

Abstinence is not the only form of recovery. AA/NA doesn’t work for everyone. Sometimes people choose to use instead of meeting other needs, which is valid. Some people use for recreational purposes. Some people use for medicinal purposes. Some people who use have substance abuse disorder. Treatment looks different for everyone. Not everyone needs or wants treatment, for various reasons. The only thing Naloxone enables is breathing. Active use is not shameful. People who use drugs often also deal drugs. People in recovery should not shame active users. Active users deserve love. Active users deserve someone to check in on them, get them safer use supplies, and get them pizza. Active users deserve to be listened to. They deserve better than to have that be the first time anyone ever treated them as human since they began using.

Let’s care for each other.

[emotional-moss]

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

[emotionaleating]

pls don’t flirt with me i want to be nonchalant so bad but i unfortunately crave connection so intensely that i will give you my entire soul and forgive you over and over until i’ve lost myself completely and feel like i’m drowning

[psych-disability-polls]

For those who have experience with addiction,

*this does not need to mean when it became a fully fledged addiction, just when first became at least a little problematic in your life

[f4t-tr4nny]

give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs

[akirathedramaqueen]

Stolas: A Gradual Descent to the Bottom of the Bottle

This post analyzes Stolas's situation with alcohol and discusses whether the show effectively represents this systemic issue, and what it implies about real life.

The take is certainly not unique, but I decided to post it anyway to spread awareness about how subtle, seemingly harmless, occasional drinking can seamlessly turn into a full-blown addiction over time.

TW: substance abuse, addiction, alcoholism

Is Stolas an alcoholic?

The answer seems obvious at first. You look at him—all posh, intelligent, and articulate—and you might think, "He doesn’t look like one." You won’t find him, Satan forbid, somewhere under a porch, or truly dependent on the bottle, like drinking during the day—or not absinthe, anyway.

Sure, he drinks sometimes, but it’s fine . . . right? Everyone drinks sometimes. Everyone deserves to feel a bit happier after something bad happens once.

Or twice.

Or thrice . . .

. . . Oh.

Not so obvious anymore, eh?

The real issue here is that the answer is kind of between 'yes' and 'no.' My TL;DR is that the show makes it pretty clear his drinking is becoming problematic, but it’s not quite there yet. And it will become alcoholism soon enough if nothing changes.

I think what we see happening to Stolas right now is an excellent, textbook example of how people end up there. So let’s get into his head, explore where he stands, and what it means for us and for him.

It starts easy

It doesn’t happen in one day. It's not like you get up early one especially glum morning and decide, "Hey, that's a good day to ruin my life!"

It's a vulnerability that makes you susceptible to drinking. Constant pressure. Anxiety. Depression. Trauma.

And you might find yourself wanting to do everything, anything, to get it out of your brain. Not think about it for one evening. Forget.

What a pathetic fucking man!

Her attacking you, whether physically, verbally, in public or private. You, having no one to turn to, having no way to mend it, having to keep up appearances for your kid.

We all have bad days. Bad situations. It’s not to say that one wild night is inevitably going to turn you into an alcoholic. But when you allow the bottle to be your crutch for life, when it becomes a habit to avoid uncomfortable, traumatic events, then . . .

Then it turns into a coping mechanism

You know, it’s . . . it’s simpler. It’s comfortable. Soothing.

You can’t kick her out of the house. You can’t make the man you love love you back. You can’t get a support network because she ostracized you from royal social circles and made a laughing stock out of you.

But you can forget. Forget that one excruciatingly humiliating night. Where not only was all your dirty laundry thrown out on the dance floor for everyone to see, but also, that said romantic interest made it clear it’s only about sex.

You used to have a smoking wife, a kid, you had it all! I hope you didn't give it up so you and him could get it up

Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time.

Forget well enough to fall asleep drunk on the floor among the only living beings who didn't run from you yet. Maybe only just because they are in pots and don't have legs.

And it spirals out of control

Things get gradually worse. Your only lifeline—your . . . uh, romantic interest and daughter—fall out of reach. He finds every reason to avoid you. She hasn't visited you since that LA incident.

Your only power move with a divorce request turns into a lengthy, exhausting proceeding and leads to an assassination attempt. Your—what are you even anymore?—romantic interest pretty much ignores your distress call, or so you think.

You go with a showdown. You can't stand the ambiguity anymore. You want to know whether there's something behind your transactional thing. It's either 'yes' or 'no,' and . . .

It doesn't end too well.

Lastly, you go to a party to try to unwind (or at least be polite, because it's rude to ignore invitations). But your ex's (???) ex acts cruelly, and you don't feel comfortable there. And the wound is still fresh, bleeding . . .

Fuck it, the absinthe won't cut it. Beelzejuice it is then.

And here we are, back to our starting question

Stolas wears a functional alcoholism guise. Or dangerously close to it. Because that's what I believe is going on.

He is still a functional member of society, but he is shown not being capable of processing his trauma without the bottle in hand. And, as things get worse for him, we see the bottle or the glass or any other alcohol container more often on the screen.

For now, he's hanging on, but it's just a matter of a flip switch—the moment when every second of his life will start to feel unbearable without alcohol, simply because there are no other ways to cope.

It's worth noting, though, that Stolas isn't the only character depicted struggling with the urge to drink away his problems.

The most obvious example is Verosika, who is a severe case of alcoholism. We won't delve deep into her character since I want to focus on gradual decline rather than the end result, but we rarely see her without a bottle. There are a couple of scenes where she doesn't hold one, but these moments are situational. She's also been to rehab at least once and only got out because of her reputation.

But there is another character I'd like to dissect, because this will answer the lingering question, "Is there a way out?"

Blitzø, and why he didn't fall victim to this

We saw Blitzø drinking too, at the Bee’s party. To a rather disturbing degree, actually.

But why does no one say he has an alcohol problem, even though he did use alcohol as a coping mechanism? 

Because Blitzø is an example of how the addiction might be prevented and what ultimately makes a difference, a turning point.

To start off, we first see him not in the bar. We see him at home with a pint of melting ice-cream. Dude sugar-bombed himself to sleep . . . after the already mentioned disastrous date with Stolas at Ozzie's, that is.

And then he gets a call from Loona, who asks to pick her up from the party. He has no plans to stay there whatsoever.

But what changed his mind? Pressure did. 

He was pressured by both Loona and an old acquaintance to stop by. (I stress that no one is wrong for this, by the way—he still had the agency to turn the invitation down.) He reluctantly agreed to one drink . . . which we know how ended.

It's much harder to keep it to just one drink when you're sad and alcohol makes you feel better. Nobody wants to be sad.

But with all that said, Blitzø is extremely resilient. In contrast to Stolas—who is strong in his own way but slipping despite all the privilege, magic, and immortality that Blitzø thinks make him invincible—Blitzø never let that one drinking occasion become a habit.

Because he has a support network. However closed off he is, he has his business to take care of, Loona, and M&M. He has things he likes to do and he has people he cares about.

Stolas has all the money in the world, but no friends or activities he could look forward to. He doesn't seem happy with his royal life at all, referring to himself as an owl in a gilded cage.

So the difference is, essentially, this: Blitzø has alternatives and doesn't see alcohol as an outlet. There is a wonderful post from @warblogs17282 which has similar points I make, but also, it shows another angle of Blitzø's relationship with alcohol—his, unfortunately, long history with addiction in family. So that contributes, too.

Is Stolas a lost cause?

Gods, no. But it’s definitely a problem by this point. 

Is he an active alcoholic? Maybe not yet. He isn't Verosika yet. But he is getting there, which I think is the point the show makes.

Alcohol might be a one-time patch on especially rough days, and you might wake up the next day strong and aware enough not to make a habit of it. But the problem is, Stolas already has a habit, and he doesn't have anything to replace it. 

To solve it, he needs just that—a replacement for the bottle. Someone who cares. My hope is that one particular red lizard will share his pint of ice cream and his love. And maybe then, grim days won't be as grim anymore, even when the absinthe stays in the store, or wherever these royals get their alcohol.

Closing note. Why it’s important to talk about this in real life context

Warning: Extreme TMI

I had an alcoholic in the family, and this topic triggers me because, for him, it also started as "no biggie."

He was still functional for years, coming to work regularly. But he was slipping. He drank more, skipped work, and eventually became unbearable for his family—my family, even if not immediate. His wife requested a divorce. He got isolated. He drank even more. Eventually, he got fired because it's not appropriate for a director to skip work and reek of ethanol. The smell was so strong that people couldn't be in the same room with him. He tried other jobs. He aced interviews thanks to 30 years of experience and a solid background. But he got fired again because he couldn't live up to his legacy anymore. At the end, he descended into what you would call full-blown alcoholism.

So, you followed his story, and my question is: Did it start here, when he couldn't help it anymore? Or did it start a couple of years before that, when alcohol became too comfortable as an outlet for struggles?

I've had rough months too—with the war in Ukraine and everything happening with my family—when I realized it became comfortable for me to drink my problems away. Because it works. Because it’s pleasant not to deal with anything, to force your brain to shut up and be happy for one evening.

And it's terrifying to realize I had (thankfully, I don't have anymore for a long time by now) those patterns of thinking: "Jeez, I just want to drink and forget this happened."

Because I saw where it leads. And the farther you go, the harder it becomes to say 'no.'

So please, pay attention to the ones you care about. Pay attention to yourself.

[wheatnoodle]

TW//

substance abuse, addiction, self medicating

-

eddie munson does not trust steve harrington.

more specifically, eddie munson does not trust steve harrington to be driving his sheep.

now don’t get him wrong, eddie likes steve, he really does! they get along wonderfully and spend a lot of time together since dustin brought them together. thats not the problem.

the problem is that when billy hargrove rocked harrington’s shit a few years back, eddie gained a new customer. a customer who asked for “something stronger” because weed wasn’t helping his migraines and his night terrors.

when robin notices eddie staring daggers into the side of steve’s head because he watches him wipe his nose on his hand as he steps out of the bathroom, she tells him it’s a nervous motion to calm himself down. eddie doesn’t buy it for a second.

he stares at steve all night. waiting for his nose to start bleeding or to catch a glimpse of something dusty on his hand or around his nostrils. but he doesn’t say anything though. at least not until it starts getting close to curfew and steve is standing from the couch.

“alright, kiddos! time to pack up before your parents start to panic,” he claps his hands together before reaching into his front right pocket for his car keys. eddie’s up in an instant with a nervous smile, ignoring the groans of protest in the wheeler basement to focus on steve.

“hey, why don’t i drive the rats home? you- you said you’ve got an early shift, right? go home, go to sleep.” he hopes he sounds convincing. eddie shoves his hands in his back pockets, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his feet. steve’s brows pull together in confusion and he lets out a chuckle.

“it’s alright, man. you drove them, i can take them back,” steve says and shakes his head. eddie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“i just mean, you seemed tired during the movie. sort of…nodding off…” eddie can see the tension in steve’s body. his jaw clicks closed behind his lips and he’s suddenly staring at eddie with a stronger intensity than he would like.

“i’m fine, munson,” steve says firmly, quiet for only eddie. eddie holds his ground. this isn’t king steve, this is just steve. there’s nothing to cower from.

“steve,” he says softy, almost pleadingly, “i’m not okay with you driving them tired.”

“i’m. fine,” steve punctuates. his eyes are wide, hurt, as they flick between eddie’s. he knows he won’t back down.

“steve.”

after a few beats of silence, steve scoffs and turns on his heel. without even a goodbye to the group, he’s out of the basement and out the door.

eddie turns back to the party who’s staring at him like he has three heads.

“…okay. rats, buckley, let’s head out.”

[prettyboy-parker]

changing

tony gets out of rehab.

tws for addiction, substance abuse, vomiting, angst.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It’s day 73 when the call comes. 

Peter is technically on the clock, hunched over his notebook in one of the staff laboratories. He’s supposed to be working on the project proposal he was assigned over a month ago, but he shoved those papers somewhere in his office when he hit a mental roadblock. He’s thinking about the various applications he saved on LinkedIn, about how his time at Stark Industries is creeping closer and closer to being over, when his phone lights up and vibrates on the desk.

Tony, the screen reads. 

Peter feels like he could throw up, cry, scream, and throw something all at the same time. But instead he very calmly picks up his phone and answers the call.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Pete,” Tony breathes, and hearing his deep voice for the first time in months makes Peter’s heart ache. But he reminds himself to stay neutral; he knows how Tony can sweet talk. “How are you? I told Pepper to wire you enough money to keep you okay for now, but I don’t know if she actually did. I heard about the whole penthouse thing, I get it’s a liability but god, I wish I could’ve done something to help-“

“Hey.” Peter interrupts, grabbing his keys and heading into the hallway to take the call. “I’m fine, Tony. When did your program end?” He knows when the program ended. He’s been counting the days on his calendar. 

Tony is silent for a second. 

“A couple weeks ago. My therapist told me it would be best to wait a bit until I called you. I’d rather not have her boss me around but I know she’s probably right.”

Tony laughs dryly, and they fall into an awkward silence.

“Look, Pete-“

“It’s going to take time, Tony,” Peter says softly. “You sound like—you sound good. But I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

It hurts him to say. He loves Tony with his entire being, but he wants to cry and cuss him out and curse him for something that he was never totally in control of. It would be so easy to say nothing, pretend like nothing ever happened, to go back to how everything was. But Peter can’t do it. He can’t do it all again.

“Yeah, that—yeah. Okay.” 

Peter stares at the white wall in front of him. There’s a vinyl graphic printed on it in black: Everyday is another step towards shaping the future. A mouthful of a slogan if you asked him. 

“I’m going to go, Tony. I’ll call you later.” 

“Sure, yeah. I lo—I’ll talk to you soon.” 

Peter ends the call.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Make you a drink, Pete? It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”

Peter looks up from his textbook at Tony, who’s standing behind his personal bar. It’s a bar so impressive he’s sure it rivals the most exclusive clubs in New York. Tony looks good—dress shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened around his neck from a long day of work.

“No thanks,” Peter says with a smile.

“More for me, then,” Tony replies.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Tony Stark went to rehab for the first time after he graduated from MIT.

His dad said he’d either get clean, or he’d be completely cut off from any future involvement in Stark Industries. If it wasn’t for the contract presented to him, Tony would’ve thought Howard was just bluffing. 

He was sent upstate to some egregiously expensive rehabilitation center, away from the prying eyes of the press. He jerked around and didn’t take it seriously, but it was enough to convince his father that he wasn’t going to end up dead off a bender. He still drank a lot after that, but he saved the coke for special occasions. 

And then—well, and then his dad died, and it was his turn to run the company, and he almost died in a cave in Afghanistan, and then there was the whole Iron Man thing. 

So, he drank. When being Iron Man started wearing down his body, the alcohol helped ease the pain. He’d show up to board meetings with a drink in hand and get trashed at his own charity events. Everything became impossible to do on his own. And then the coke came back, making him pull all-nighters in the lab, so wired he could barely keep his hands still. And that’s just how Tony was—how he became.  

But then he met Peter. 

Tony’s never changed for anyone. He’s stubborn like that; too caught up in his own habits to ever want to change them. But Peter fell into his life in a whirlwind of eagerness, wits, and a heart too big for his own good. Years went by, they saved the world, and then Peter walked away. 

He tried picking a fight with him. Probably over something stupid, he can’t remember. He said mean things. Loving someone means you know all their insecurities, their fears. He knew which buttons to press to make Peter really hurt. Tony has always gotten a thrill out of riling people up, whether at press conferences or company meetings. And then he did it to Peter. He was crying so much, could barely form a sentence as he hurriedly packed an overnight bag. Goodbye, Tony, he had said, stepping into the elevator and asking FRIDAY to take him downstairs.

Tony can’t remember much of the week after. He completely cleared out the cabinet where he keeps his good liquor and made the mistake of reaching out to old acquaintances from his 20s. Once a bad influence, always a bad influence it seems. 

As soon as he was conscious enough to listen, Pepper flipped out on him. She screamed and cried a little and turned bright red, before telling him he needed to go to rehab or she’d get the board to vote to remove him as a shareholder.

There was a lot of back and forth. He would almost ask FRIDAY to wire over the tens of thousands of dollars treatment would cost, but then back out at the last second. He’s Tony Stark, he can do whatever he wants. He doesn’t have to listen to Pepper or the board, they’re not his parents. 

He thought he’d made up his mind. That was until Peter wanted to come by the penthouse to get the rest of his stuff, but requested Tony to be vacant during the time he was there. 

He flew to California the next day.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

Peter smiles, sighing happily as he leans in to press his lips to Tony’s. Tony licks along his lower lip, but Peter winces when he tastes the whiskey on Tony’s lips. He’s lowered gently onto the bed, sinking into the soft, silken sheets as Tony climbs on top of him. 

“Tony,” Peter breathes, the scrape of Tony’s facial hair against his neck making him shiver. Peter jerks his hips upwards, searching for the friction of Tony’s cock against his own.

“Just give me a bit Pete, I promise I’ll be ready for you soon,” Tony murmurs between kisses against Peter’s flushed skin. 

Peter is just about to ask him what he means when he’s flipped over onto his knees.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

They see each other for the first time in three months at a coffee shop.

Tony is standing outside awkwardly, waiting for Peter to arrive. He has his hood pulled up over his head and his hands are shoved into his pockets. He looks anxious, continuously looking back and forth across the street. Peter watches from afar as he mutters something under his breath, most likely to FRIDAY. 

Peter exhales deeply as he turns the corner for real (he was not stalking, okay?) and clears his throat to get Tony’s attention. The older man whips off his sunglasses, hands shaking ever so slightly as he tucks them into his pocket.

He looks good. Better, most definitely. He’s gained some of the weight back that he’d lost, and the circles under his eyes are much less dark than before. He still seems unsure of himself, missing that signature Tony Stark charm.

“Peter!” Tony calls out. On instinct, they both move to do something—hug? Shake hands? Kiss? But Peter decides on a shy wave instead.

“Hey, Tony. Good to see you made it in one piece.” 

Tony smiles. “I’m lucky I didn’t get jumped the moment I stepped out of the tower.”

Peter laughs, genuine this time. Tony holds the door open for him, gesturing to him to go inside first. They find a small booth in the corner of the cafe, tucked away from prying eyes. 

“You look nice,” Tony says once they sit down, looking at Peter’s layered top and sweater. “Very librarian chic. I like it.”

“Ha. When do I get to tell you you’re being too loud?” He snorts, and that makes Tony laugh.

It’s so easy. Being with Tony is so easy, it feels so right. It makes him feel good, especially since Tony’s jokes feel softer around the edges. He’s being careful, obviously, but he so clearly wants Peter to be pleased. Tony has never been subtle. 

They stay in the cafe for another hour and a half. When they leave, Tony gives him a warm smile and waves him goodbye. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

He can barely look when he does it. 

He can hear the tap tap tap of Tony’s metal Amex card on the lab table, the soft scrape of the metal against the steel. Peter tightens his grip on his pencil, trying to focus on scribbling out whatever note he started to write. He doesn’t know what’s worse: pretending not to care, or watching with disdain. Peter hates watching Tony when he does a line. Hates how his hands shake while cutting it, hates how he scrambles for his handkerchief as his nose begins to bleed. It makes Peter feel sick.

“You okay, baby?” Tony asks from behind. He's still sniffing. 

“Yeah,” Peter replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Peter’s filling out an application for a bio engineer position at a new medical startup when his phone buzzes.

Tony: Hey Peter

Tony: If you’re not interested, no problem, but what do you think about a picnic on Saturday?

Tony: I can rent out the park 

Peter snorts as he unlocks his phone. Renting out a public park is as Tony as it gets.

Peter: Sounds fun. I’m not that spoiled, I can exist with other plebeians in public 

Tony: haha very funny. Be ready at 2

Peter feels like he has butterflies in his stomach as he adds the date to his calendar. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Their alarm clock says 2:03 AM.

Peter is staring at the ceiling. The warm light from the master bathroom spills over into the bedroom. He hears Tony heaving, groaning into the toilet bowl. He’s already thrown up what little contents were in his stomach—now he’s just dry heaving. 

Peter’s been listening. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“I think all my problems are solved when I lay in the sun.”

Peter’s sprawled out on the picnic blanket, their finished meal pushed to the side. Tony’s looking at him through the tint of his sunglasses. 

“You’re telling me.” He chuckles softly, taking a sip of his sparkling water. “Maybe they were right about Vitamin D.”

They sit in silence for a while. Peter listens to the chirping of the birds, the fluttering of their wings. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees above them. In the distance, a child squeals in delight as their parent kicks a soccer ball to them. He listens to the soft rise and fall of Tony’s breathing.

“Hey Pete?”

“Hm?” Peter asks. 

“I’m sorry. For everything—for the voicemails, for it all. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“I know, Tony.” Peter replies. “Thank you.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“You embarrassed me, Tony.” 

Peter shucks his suit jacket off, tossing it onto the couch. He’ll get it tomorrow morning. Tony sinks into the big leather chair across from him, loosening his tie.

“I didn’t embarrass you.” Tony barks out a laugh, but it comes across more bitter than it should. “Get me a drink, will you?”

Peter scowls, shooting Tony a look. His partner is staring at him expectantly, eyes bloodshot.

“You almost got into a fight with Osborn. You insulted an attendee’s mother. You made a scene when I said I didn’t want to dance with you. Of course I was embarrassed.”

Peter feels frustrated tears prick the corners of his eyes. He toes off his shoes while Tony gets back up and heads to their drink cart. He doesn’t even bother getting a glass, just grabs the bottle of bourbon.

“If anyone should be embarrassed, s’me,” He slurs, nearly tripping over Peter’s dress shoes as he approaches the other man. “M’sorry. I can make it up to you.”

Peter tenses with anger when Tony grabs him by the wrist and kisses the top of his head. 

“No, Tony. I’m going to bed.” Peter wrenches his wrist out of Tony’s grip. His eyes blur with tears. He tries to wipe them away with the back of his hands; he can’t look Tony in the eyes. 

“Fuck you,” Tony spits, and Peter cringes. The coke makes him so, so mean. “Refusing to dance with me, even after all I’ve done for you, un-fucking-believable-“

Peter’s shoulders shake as he disappears into the guest room. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A month later Tony takes him out to dinner to celebrate his new position at a private lab, working for a researcher named Dr. Reed Richards.

It’s extravagant and familiar. The menu has no prices on it, and most of the dishes Peter can’t even pronounce. The waiter keeps calling them sirs. 

Tony’s cleaned up nicely. He’s wearing a three piece suit in a dark grey, his beard and hair freshly trimmed. Peter likes Tony like this: healthy. He likes when Tony laughs at his jokes, smile lines wrinkling around his mouth and eyes. He likes catching Tony listening intently as Peter describes the new projects he’s working on. 

They’re leaving the restaurant as they discuss Peter’s prototype for a regenerative bandage based on his web fluid. It’s so normal, this intellectual back and forth. God, he misses working with Tony in the lab. 

Peter is in the middle of describing a possible equation change for a prototype when he realizes Tony has stopped listening. Peter trails off, meeting Tony’s heavy gaze. 

“Can I kiss you?” Tony asks softly. He waits for Peter’s answer, but he doesn’t have to wait long. 

“Please,” Peter murmurs, reaching out to grab Tony’s waist, and—

They kiss. 

[dy-mph-na]

poetry on addiction, abuse...