#and I'm so sober? and it's been long enough that I'm not withdrawing

[joyridingmp3]

it's been one of those days again

[wizard-on-whales]

So Different Than What you see

NSFW - Minors do NOT interact

It's James 40th birthday and his first one sober so to celebrate the special day you give him all his favorite things

Warnings: Angst (sorry), mentions of alcohol, withdrawal symptoms, smut, oral M receiving, mommy issues

✭-----------------------------✭

The past few months seem to have blended into one. For James the days were long and the nights even longer. They were spent tossing and turning, his thoughts plaguing every corner of his mind. You knew he had been struggling since he started his battle with sobriety. His frequent withdrawals causing him to sweat and shake like a madman, frustrating him even more than normal. With his birthday coming up you knew you had to do something special for him, something that would mean a lot and boost his spirits a little. So for the past week you had been writing down every little idea you had, trying to figure out how to put it all together for one day. You had planned on waking him up with something special, one of the only things he can never say no to…a blow job. You giggle silently to yourself the night before as you crawl into bed next to his already sleeping figure. You pressed your chest against his back, snuggling close to him before dozing off, your plan lingering in your mind.

You woke up the next day, already disappointed by the fact that James was nowhere to be seen. You sat up in bed, looking around the room for him as his side of the bed lay cold and empty. You pout slightly before pushing the blankets off and marching down stairs, looking for him. There he was laying on the couch, curled up in his normal sweaty ball. His eyes made contact with yours and your heart shattered as you saw the glossy tears streaking down his face.

“Oh baby,” you say gently, walking towards him and sitting next to him. You push his hair out of his face, resting your hand on his cheek and stroking it slightly, “what's wrong?”

“It's nothin’,” James replied, looking away from me and bringing his hand up to quickly wipe away his tears. You grabbed his hand, feeling it shaking under your touch.

“Baby, don't lie, you know I’ll help you… but you gotta let me,” James pulled his hand away from you and sat up abruptly.

“I said I'm fine,” His tone was heavy with annoyance and anger as he pushed himself off the couch and stepped away from you. You quickly stood up and followed him, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“James, stop,” Your voice was stern as you stepped in front of him. His breathing was heavy, his eyes bloodshot, his pupils bigger than normal. All symptoms of a withdrawal, it was clear he was having another episode, his body desperate to fall back to his old ways, desperate to drown himself in a bottle. You wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face in his chest, pulling him as close as possible. He didn't say anything, just buried his face into your shoulder as his body let out a heavy sob. He clutched the back of your shirt desperately as his hot tears fell against your neck. You gently rubbed your hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. Slowly, you started to bend down, dragging his body with him as you say on the floor. Despite him being almost twice your size, you tried your hardest to pull him onto your lap, practically rocking him like a baby. Normally he would have felt humiliated by the action, but right now it was the only thing he wanted. He wanted your gentle touch, he wanted to be held as close as possible, and lastly...he wanted his mom. But he knew he couldn't have her and you rocking him was the closest he could get to the feeling of being back in his mothers touch one last time.

You both stayed like that for a while, his cries slowing down minute by minute. You picked his head up from your shoulder, your hands on either side of his face as you wiped his tears. You pulled his head down far enough to place a small kiss on his forehead.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. Another silent tear fell from his eye but you caught it before it could stream down his cheek.

“I feel so lost…” his voice was timid and horse from his crying, “I don't know what to do.” Another sob fell from his lips, causing you to pull him close again. Your hand found its way into his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

“Tell me what I can do for you baby, I just want you to feel better,” James sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, not caring if he was getting it dirty.

“I don't know…” he admitted, his voice still quiet and broken. You thought for a second, racking your brain for ways to make him smile. You thought of your list, reminding yourself that it's his birthday.

“Well…for now I have a whole list of stuff planned for you today…are you up for any of it?” You ask gently, not knowing if he'd want to do anything or if he wants to just curl up in bed. He thought about It for a second before wiping his eyes and nodding his head. The action made your heart swell. Right now you didn't see James as who he is. Not as a metal head, not as the singer of Metallica, not even as the 40 year old man he is. But you saw him as a boy, the same boy you saw in his childhood photos. The sweet little Jamie that suffered so much but kept a smile on his face. You gently pulled yourself away from him, your body missing the warmth of his already. You stood up and held your hand out, offering to help him up, “C’mon…let's go have some fun, yeah?”

“Yeah..” he agreed softly, a small smile etching his face as he grabbed your hand. You dragged him upstairs, still determined to mark everything off of your list. You made him sit on the edge of the bed before finally speaking again.

“I had planned on waking you up this morning with something a little special…do you want that?” You suggested, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He wrapped his around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he looked up at you with desperate eyes.

“Please,” he sighed, his voice shaking. You gave him a smile, leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. He kept you close, his fingers gripping into your sides as he desperately tasted you. The kiss was salty from his lingering tears and tasted like vanilla from your chapstick. You pulled away from him, dropping to your knees and grabbing the band on the gym shorts he slept in. He watched your every move as you pushed his shorts and boxers down. You wrapped your hand around his still soft cock, giving it a pump as it started to grow in your hand. James let out a quiet grunt as his eyes watched you, his hand made its way into your hair, playing with it gently. You look up at him and give his tip a kiss before taking him in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around him, pushing him deeper into your mouth. His desperate whimpers encourage you to keep going as your head bobbed up and down, sucking him off. His hand gripped your hair tighter as his body started to clench up. With his emotions all over the place you could tell he wasn't going to last long but you continued your movements, your hand pumping the base of his cock as your mouth tasted him.

“Oh, fuck baby, I'm gonna- oh,” James cut himself off, unable to finish his sentence as he released his load into your mouth. You pulled away from him, your salvia and his cum dripping down your chin. He moved his hand to wipe your face for you, before pulling you up into a kiss.

“Thank you,” he whispered, breathlessly. You rested your forehead against his as he pulled you into his lap, not caring that his lower half was still a sticky mess. The two of you stayed like that for a while, the room quiet as James calmed down a little.

“I love you so much,” You break the silence with your words, causing James' eyes to flutter open. He leaned forward and connected his soft lips against yours in a warm kiss.

“I love you more,” he gives you a soft smile, his hands squeezing your sides, his thumbs gently rubbing your skin through your shirt.

“Impossible,” you smile back, kissing him yet again.

✭-----------------------------✭

I have more written for this one but it was getting pretty long so let me know if any of you want a pt.2 :)

[bcolfanfic]

If you have any,,, id love to hear more hcs about the intervention

*cracks knuckles* some background first (that is over-riding my wedding headcanons a lil re: the first time they see bucky post attempt- ah c'est la vie). also these were, shocking no one atp a collab effort with @swifty-fox

it comes up to begin with bc the bucks decide to go hang out and muck about in nyc where the others live. yayyy!!! boy time!!!

except not *yay* in that bucky's drinking has been getting. bad.

he tries hard to mask it, takes up chewing gum every second of the day to mask the smell on his breath but he's not perfect. drinks in the shower before they go out for the day with the guys, and he's off but the guys mostly chalk it up to bucky's typical buckyisms. gale maybe knows he probably isn't sober, but he's stressed and hurting and for the sake of having fun with their friends just tries to pretend he doesn't know. esp when he's not being sloppy, just a little off.

then croz walks in on bucky doing shooters (these, if you're unfaimialr) in a bathroom he had them all stop at. tries to be gentle about it- tell him he doesn't need those, if he's thirsty they can stop and get some water. but bucky snaps at him that to not talk to him like one of his kids and things escalate. they get into it and poor brady who volunteered to go see why they were taking so long in the bathroom is the one who has to break them up just like he did in bagram. war flashbacks. literally.

croz doesnt want to make much more of a scene about it so he doesnt walk out blasting what happened, but he does text gale about it. (as written in el dorado he does tell everyone right there bc he’s pissed) and at this point it's obvious to everyone that bucky isn't sober and i just </3. when bucky leans into gale and says he doesn't feel good gale kinda jumps at the opportunity to go back to their hotel. wants to take care of his bucky, but is also hurting and honestly a little embarassed.

then a lot of things happen that i think i'm gonna save to write in a fic but. including not limited to gale realizing bucky is hiding alochol in diff bottles when bucky asks him to grab a water from the mini fridge and is like uhhh no no not that one, not that one. and gale breaking his own heart having to help him drink when theyre back home because he almost went into full blown withdrawal trying to just up and quit cold turkey to save face.

to your actual question about the intervention, it's mostly curt's idea- that he shares on the phone when the bucks are back in wyoming. and gale is pretty much certain it's a horrible idea but he doesn't know what else to even try so he agrees. all the guys that were on the nyc trip fly out, and gale gets bucky out of the house for the morning (curt knows where their spare key is) so that the other guys can at least. get in the house without bucky physically stopping them.

but bucky knows something is up when they pull back in the driveway. sees all the cars and *knows* what this is and just looks at gale like he's committed the ultimate betrayal </3

it's a pretty rough start. curt starts talking all "should we go dig that bullet out of the wall or d'you wanna stop pretending your healing journey is over" and when bucky understandably kinda freaks at that he makes him tell the other guys what he's talking about. poor thing doesn't want to. tells curt's that not fucking fair he's such a narc, a bad friend but curt is like no. this is eating you up inside. you need to say it out loud. they're your friends. they love you. *i* love you.

ends up telling them, and that crack in the armor is enough that he's at least not snapping at all of them/letting them talk.

but it gets rough again when it's ultimatum time. croz’s is not letting him around his kids- not because he thinks bucky would *ever* hurt them, but bucky is just. a liability in a lot of ways with this and the whole point of ultimatums is that they are. tough to hear. they have to be. or they don't work.

demarco's is that if bucky genuinely refuses to get help then gale is getting on a plane with him (whether gale thinks he'd actually be able to go through with that or not he agreed to let demarco say it). and that's when bucky snaps again. talking so hard he's spitting about oh i don't even get to go back to wisconsin? just gonna leave me in wyoming to die, huh?

and gale bursts into tears </3 which is what really makes bucky break because gale *never* cries. but now he's sobbing because god bucky's trying so hard but he's still not better and he's hurting the people he loves. he's hurting them a lot.

bucky on his knees crawls to kneel in front of him and take his face in his hands "i'm sorry im sorry please don't cry, leave if you want just don't cry baby

and gale's crying telling he just wants him to listen to him and to their friends whydoy only care now cause ‘m crying- look at /them/, it’s not fair.

bucky wants to barf when he listens, turns around and looks at their friends and seems them looking back at them like *that*. but some part of him, the part that is desperate to get better feels really damn lucky to be so loved by them that they even showed up. that they want him to get better.

[mxssingmemories]

brave // sam and dean x sister!reader

summary: you've been battling a secret addiction for months. when your brothers finally notice, they do their best to get you through it.

wc: 2k~

warnings: weed, angsty shit, withdrawal, drug use

a/n: this was written for the one and only @supernerdycookietrashblrr! hope ya like it, sorry it took so long

You knew that one of your brothers would catch on soon enough. They were both incredibly observant thanks to years of being in the hunting business, so it didn't surprise you when Sam caught on after only a month.

He'd noticed little things first. You stopped bringing home papers or report cards with big fat A's written on the front in red ink. Then came the attitude.

You're a sweet teenager, or at least you were. At 16, Sam knew you might be prone to episodes of attitude or teenage rebellion. What he wasn't prepared for was the constant snarky attitude, and, for lack of a better word, downright bitchy behavior. He genuinely had no idea what to do, and it steadily got worse as he put off having the conversation he knew he had to have with you. 

The turning point for him came when your appearance changed drastically. Your eyes were bloodshot almost every time he looked at you, and your shaky hands were obvious as you tried to hold your gun steady. Your safety on hunts-and possibly in daily life-was obviously at risk, and he wasn't going to leave that alone.

"Jesus, Dean! How can you not see it? She's fucking shaking! Her eyes are always bloodshot and she's got the attitude of a drug addict!" he shouted, the volume of it making the sound travel to your room. Your heart beat faster in your chest as you tried to ignore it, putting headphones in your ears as you blinked away the stray tears in your eyes. 

With a sigh, you pulled a joint out from the container under your bed. Your hand finally grabbed a lighter after fumbling for one for what felt like an hour. You flicked the lighter open, watching the flame dance for a minute before bringing it to the tip of the joint. 

A loud cough was forced out of you as you inhaled deeply, the smoke temporarily filling your lungs as you allowed yourself to zone out. You continued this process until the joint was almost gone, the lines of reality blurring sweetly as you allowed yourself to feel. You were pleasantly distracted, seemingly watching everything from third person.

You were so out of it, though, that you missed the knock at the door. You also missed the more frantic ones after thirty seconds, and the door slamming open. Unfortunately, you didn't miss Sam's loud yell.

"What the fuck?!" he shouted, watching you as you immediately threw the lit joint and headphones on the floor.

Angrily, he stomped it out, walking closer to you as fast as humanly possible.

"I fucking knew something was wrong. What the hell, kid? Why didn't you tell us sooner! We could've caught this shit early! You can't just sit here and get high on God knows what!" he practically screamed in your face. You sat there silently and took it, allowing him to get whatever he needed to say out before you explained yourself. To your credit, thinking was a little hard-you were still high, although thankfully not as much as you were before he walked into the room. The minute he stopped talking, you began.

"You don't get it." you said quietly, teary eyes making contact with fierce ones. "I've tried everything I could. You think I'd want to talk to you about it? Sam, you and Dean are on the road almost every day. I only come on half of the hunts you guys go on, and when I do, I'm usually put to the side like I mean nothing! Do you know how that feels? I know you guys love me but you're shit at showing it!"

"Listen-" Sam started, but you immediately cut him off.

"No! I can't just sit here and listen anymore! I can't even stand being sober! You know I'm high on almost every hunt we go on, right? Did you even notice that?"

At these words, your brother's eyes widened in shock. You knew he probably didn't, but after walking in on you with a joint to your lips you thought he would assume so. It didn't make it hurt any less, either.

"Why do you even care?" you muttered, a sob coming through on your last word. It all hit you in that moment; your brother, who you worked so hard to hide it from, had caught you with a joint in your hand. He didn't even just catch you high, he caught you in the process of doing it. You curled in on yourself almost immediately, not wanting to be more vulnerable than you already were. Your whole body shook as you involuntarily let go.

"Dammit," your brother mumbled as he sat down softly on the bed, hoisting you into his lap as he cradled you in his chest. You were still his little sister no matter what. At that moment, you went from 17 to 7 in his mind, and he let his instincts take over.

You sobbed into his chest quietly as he rocked you back and forth, his hands rubbing your back softly while he reassured you. You let yourself break in that room, your brother's steady arms around you letting you feel safe for the first time in months.

This feeling was disturbed in less than 5 seconds when Dean walked in the room.

He made eye contact with Sam quickly to asses the situation, briefly trying to read his face before giving up and scanning the room. His eyes almost immediately landed on the joint laying on the floor. Dean's jaw clenched the moment he saw it, the look in his eyes turning from concerned to deadly in just a few seconds. 

He picked it up quickly, turning his gaze back to you. The disappointment in his eyes was obvious as he walked over to you both.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled, voice strong with frustration. 

You sobbed even harder in Sam's arms, the weight of everything coming down onto your shoulders all at once. The realization of how much you'd hurt yourself and your brothers wasted over you, causing you to curl in on yourself even further.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you choked out in between sobs, clutching the fabric of your brother's shirt like a lifeline. Dean's face softened ever so slightly as he came to your side, kneeling down in front of you. His voice was gentler than before as you did your best to meet his eyes.

"I know what you're going through, kid. You just have to understand we're here for you, yeah? We're gonna get you help." he reassured, placing a hand on your arm. You instinctively flinched back, tucking your head back into Sam's chest. You missed the look of hurt on Dean's face, his own eyes welling up with tears as he started to process the situation.

Sam signaled for Dean to leave the room for a minute, allowing him to get you in a suitable position and hopefully recover from the situation a little bit. He shifted slightly to where you were sitting up instead of hidden, meeting your eyes with a gentle smile.

"You're alright, kiddo. I've got you. We're gonna get through this, hm? There's a rehab center right around the corner-"

"No. No! No rehab! Please, Sam, I can't do that, you don't understand-" you shouted, almost hyperventilating as you defended yourself. There was nothing worse than that in your current state of mind.

"Okay, okay," he relented, rubbing your back slowly. The tension visibly left your body as you took a deep breath. "We'll try it at home, but if it doesn't work, you know we're gonna have to do that, right?"

You nodded resignedly, leaning back into his chest as you kept breathing as deeply as you could. You would have the difficult conversation in the morning-for now, you just wanted comfort, and Sam was all too willing to give it.

Morning came sooner than you would've liked it to. The bright sun shone through the curtains as you stretched, rubbing your eyes while forcing your feet on the floor. The voices coming from the dining room were quiet; the smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the bunker led you to it.

Your presence startled both Sam and Dean, so much so that Dean dropped a piece of bacon on the floor.

"Morning, kid," he greeted you, bending down to grab the bacon. You cringed as he put it right in his mouth, Sam side-eyeing him from the other side of the table.

You hesitated before taking a seat at the table, the tension in the room thick enough that you could cut it with a knife if you wanted to. Sam cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"Okay, we've talked about this, and we're going to give this a shot at home." he said, his voice firm but with more compassion than you thought you deserved. "We're going to be here every step of the way, but this means that you're going to have to follow the rules we set, okay? No exceptions."

You nodded gratefully, tears springing in your eyes at the thought that you'd have to live without your friend. Gently, you felt Dean wrap his arms around you, and for once, you let him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into your ear. "I was a dick, and you didn't deserve that. I'm still pissed, but not at you. You're going through more than we knew and I didn't see that. I love you." 

There was no restraint left in you as tears welled up in your eyes. You allowed them to run down your face freely as you buried your face in his shirt.

You could feel the material getting wetter and wetter with each passing second. Either he didn't notice or he didn't care; he just kept holding you through it.

When the tears subsided, you pulled away from your brother. Determination was in your eyes as you looked him in the face, placing a firm smile on your face quickly.

"Thank you," you whispered, turning to Sam. "Both of you."

They both nodded, each having a hold of one of your hands and squeezing gently. The detox would start in a few hours-you'd been smoking at least two joints every day for long enough to know this as a fact-but you let the moment be still for a minute. This calm was something you wanted to have fresh in your mind for the coming hours.

As you'd predicted, the withdrawal hit around midday. The anxiety was the first symptom to come. Your leg shook constantly, the tapping echoing through the living room loudly.

Your brothers exchanged worried glances as they watched you sit on the couch with your head in your hands, the constant fidgeting not going unnoticed by either. Of course they'd done their research on this, so everything was expected, but it hit hard having to see it firsthand.

The next symptom to hit you was unfortunately the nausea. You bolted up quickly from the couch, running to the nearest bathroom just in time to get up the light breakfast you'd had this morning. Two pairs of footsteps trailed behind you, eventually crouching down beside you. Sam held your hair back while Dean rubbed your back, letting you get it all out. 

Once the worst had passed, Sam helped you clean up and guided you carefully back to the couch.

"I can't do this shit," you muttered weakly, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Listen to me," Dean sighed. "Yes you can. Sam's done it, hell I've done it. You are stronger than this you hear me? We'll guide you through it. You know damn well you're never gonna be alone in this," he reassured quietly. 

As his words washed over you, you sat quietly with your hand in his. Somehow he'd managed to stir up a flicker of hope and determination in your heart and you swore right then and there to use it for good.

Days of being sober turned into weeks, those weeks gradually turning into months until you hit one year. 

"Mornin', kiddo," Sam smiled, spatula in his left hand as he waved at you with the other. You smiled back, mumbling your own greeting before sitting down across the table from Dean.

"Today's a big day, hm?" he asked, making eye contact with you from across the table.

"Yeah, it is. Just-" you cut yourself off with a whimper, which surprised the both of you and scared the shit out of Dean, dropping his spatula as he turned to make sure you were alright. Sam's hand instantly covered yours, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand as he urged you to continue.

"Thank you guys for being here. I don't think I could've made it without you. I was a bit of an idiot to think you didn't care and I can't thank you enough for proving you do. I love you both so much," you whispered, allowing a few stray tears to leak out of your eyes.

Dean said nothing as he turned the burner off, walking over and pulling your head into his chest. Sam joined the hug not 5 seconds later, and you let yourself breathe. The sense of safety you felt like this couldn't be compared to anything, and you thanked Chuck for them and their love. 

The thought of even touching weed hadn't come to your mind in at least 5 months. It definitely wasn't easy to get to the place you were now, but you were finally okay. Even though you hadn't said it, it had a lot more to do with your brothers than they thought.

[jtl-fics]

For Want of a Nail

New Kings If Neil hadn't gone to Hernandez's house? (@stabbyfoxandrew)

New Kings AU | Unusual Fic Asks - Closed

Andrew felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. It'd been a month and a half since anyone had heard anything from Neil Josten. Neil Josten may not even exist anymore but everyone was telling him to be calm, telling him to wait.

He snapped at the upperclassmen who did not matter and drew his knives more than once just to make them shut the fuck up. He wants to leave, wants to head out and start tracking down clues to find Neil and bring him back.

If he has to go to jail then he'll go to jail. It's never scared him before and it's not about to scare him now. He is more than happy to be Neil's trophy husband this time around when he gets out.

He makes plans to leave in the dead of night. He writes letters to Aaron, Kevin, Nicky, Wymack, and Betsy to explain himself but in the end that's the only kindness he can give them.

Neil had long been the highest thing on his totem poll. He has no idea what it would take to have someone come above Neil or to have Neil's importance to him wane.

He has plans to lock himself in a storage unit he's rented that is temperature controlled and remote so no one will hear him screaming for his medication. He can't be going through withdrawal on the meds.

He leaves the Tower in the dead of night and makes his way over to his GS having already started to come off of his medication slightly so that he'd be sober enough to drive out of town.

"Where are you going? It's not safe for you to drive." comes a voice and oh great he's hallucinating Neil. It was something he'd often done back at East Haven, his perfect pipedream always just out of reach.

"I'm going to go get you. I'm sober for the next hour before the effects start to hit." he returns with a roll of his eyes.

"Get me?" his hallucination asks. Andrew doesn't want to turn and look into Neil's young face. He's not sure he can handle seeing it.

"You ran off before Wymack, Kevin, and I could get you." Andrew scrubs a hand through his hair wondering why he's talking to this figment of his withdrawal. Except he knows why and that reason why is that he misses Neil desperately.

"Andrew...are you..." he hears the figment of his imagination trail off and then footsteps and then-

His hallucinations have never been able to actually touch him.

He whips around and there standing in the parking lot at 3 AM is a young and exhausted looking Neil Josten. Andrew's hands shoot up to cup Neil's face and he is alive and warm under his fingertips.

"Drew, it's you." Neil says with a watery smile and that was all he managed to get out before he pitched forward and utterly collapsed into Andrew's arms.

"Neil?" Andrew questions before realizing that Neil had truly lost consciousness, he can feel Neil's forehead burning against his shoulder where it lay"Neil!" he exclaims and gets a proper arm around Neil before he falls to the ground. He manages to get the passenger door to the GS open and puts Neil inside before rushing around to the other side.

Abby's old address in mind he twisted the key and started her up. Stomach churning as he broke speed limits and ran lights.

[mr-nauseam]

So some time ago @rosesandalfazemas ask me for a list of fanfic recommendations... You probably have already read most of them or even know more works because this is a small world and I'm outdated but well!

ENGPORT FICS -AO3 EDITION

> Lovesick by Ludwiggle73

Summary: Fresh out of rehab, Arthur Kirkland is ready to get his life back to normal—or, at least, as normal as a rockstar’s life can be. He’s supposed to be sober now . . . but everyone knows love can be a drug. He might have a new lease on life, but the withdrawal of a lovesick heart could very well be the end of him.

...

This is a classic, you know I will never shut up about this one but is punk ENGPORT, what we needed in this damn world and a great character study about England!

> O grito das gaivotas (The cry of seagulls) by Saso_615

Summary: João took out two bottles of rum and his precious instrument from the boat they had settled on the beach. Arthur was already close to the greener parts of the island ; palm trees, different kinds of plants, tall grass and bird chants drew the prince's attention. Though, he would be stopped by his captain who wanted to stay closer to the water.

"I'll teach you how to dance like the women in my country. Venha. (Come)" He placed a hand behind Arthur's back to lead him to a perfect spot.

"I will not dance like a woman!" The brit protested, though it only made the portuguese laugh.

"Come on, even for me?"

...

I just read the title in Portuguese and I UNDERSTOOD NOW WHAT IT SAYS AND WHY IT IS WRITTEN LIKE THAT. Eu sou agora muito poderoso.

What can I say? It's fucking amazing. PLEASE read the warnings also if you can't stand a bastardized characterization of Spain I think it would be better to don't read this one but If you can. Go ahead!!

> Of Pointed Teeth and Tongue by Allheroeswearhats

Summary: Arthur Kirkland, against his best wishes and reason, is in love with the memory of someone he met on a beach many years ago.

...

*I pound the table*

THIS IS PURE ART. YOU HAVE NO IDEA JUST READ IT!!

> Sailing away by chocoCate

Summary: There is a secret place in the depths of the castle of Picas, a magical room accessed through an invisible passageway.

Only a few people have been lucky enough to observe the room, drawn by an arcane magic that dates back to the time of creation.

Inside, the hands of a clock guide the destinies of the chosen, consecrating them as the new rulers of Picas.

Only Kings, Queens and Jacks have the honor of observing its ancestral mechanisms, of perceiving the strange sensation of the magic that caresses their skin and envelops them completely, of listening to the ticking of the hands that write their future.

No one escapes the destiny marked by the impassive hands, according to ancient legends.

But someone tries; well, this is the story of that attempt.

...

IS IN ITALIAN... I translate that description BUT HEAR ME OUT!! JUST USE THE TRANSLATOR BECAUSE THIS ONE IS A CARDVERSE ENGPORT + PIRARES. WHAT A WONDERFUL CREATION. THIS ONE REALLY WORTH ALL THAT WORK.

> For i want what i cannot have by primaveris

Summary: Not at all, Arthur, Afonso wants to say, you're so much stronger and braver than I could ever dream to be.

...

I read this a long time ago but I remember even now, how, like a ghost these words hunt me for we so touching. A cute and tortured fan work.

> Watch me cry all my tears by our beloved: Kai_Maciel

Summary: An aging, sickly sailor leaves his empty house to venture into the sea once more. This time, he won't be coming back.

...

The title is a foreshadow of how you will end after read this one but I swear IT WILL WORTH IT!!

> The Dark World is Not Far from Us by le_serpent_qui_nous_devore

Summary: Summer, 1943. War warms the Mediterranean. Portugal simmers in his own resentment.

...

VERY HISTORIC. NOT EXACTLY A ENGPORT ENGPORT ONE IN A EXPLICIT WAY BUT IS A MASTERPIECE

> Alliances by NothinToSeeHere

(best username 🤭)

Summary: Arthur stumbles across his nemesis, Francis and brother, Allistor together in a compromising position, and lifelong friend Miguel (Portugal) is by his side in an instant. Much angst, and lots of fluff for the rarepair lovers!

...

Dude YOU DONT KNOW. BUT THIS ONE MAKE ME FALL INTO ENGPORT. I read this one on tumblr and gOD WHAT A EXPERIENCE!! Very emotional 💗👌

> Murphy's Law by extrastellar

Summary: Arthur is single and salty, and he can't even be left in peace at a dumb frat party, but at least the bloke who interrupted his sulking is actually pretty hot. So it's just Arthur's bad luck that everything that can go wrong, does go wrong and he ends up without a name, or a number, and a mission.

...

One of my comfort fics 💗

> Jorge's Day by Shachaai

Summary: A small group of Nations attend a garden party on the feast day of a patron saint some of them share. It's obviously not a birthday party for one of them. It obviously is.

...

Shachaai IS ONE OF THESE NAMES. Like of course! if you became a engport fan you will ending reading one of their stories because they will make all engport content existing for years but that one is my favorite

> A Guiding Star by sailorgreywolf

Summary: Portugal and England's once strong and enduring relationship is filled with rough edges and complications that must be resolved if they are to return to their love.

They have a heart-to-heart talk.

...

This one dont have a summary but I make one. I hope it mades justice to it.

> A faery song by our godness: cakewizard

Summary: What an odd nation his friend was, Portugal thought and took his offered hand. He was more careful during the rest of the trail, watching for upturned roots and low hanging branches, England’s tight grip on his hand leading the way.

...

People will say they carry the burden of making the world's best engport and they will be right 🙄

[the-black-dragons-den]

seeking advice if you have experience with cannabis cessation, addiction recovery, substance use disorder, and/or mental health issues, specifically depression, anxiety, and/or borderline personality disorder

tldr; I have to quit cannabis and i'm having a hard time because of my mental health symptoms, specifically being irritable as fuck and i need help/advice on how to get a handle on that

even if you don't have any advice for me, please reblog

background info:

so i've been diagnosed with major depressive disorder (highly treatment resistant), generalized anxiety disorder, and borderline personality disorder.

for the past several years, i've been using cannabis quite effectively to combat the various symptoms of my mental health diagnoses. but in my state, you can't get a medical marijuana card for mental health diagnoses.

i'm starting a trade training program soon, and it's free, and part of the requirement is to be drug-free, including cannabis, since it's still federally illegal. it's not like a "fail-once-you're-out" kind of thing (for cannabis), it's that over a series of drug tests, your levels have to start going down, and they want you clean by the 3rd week of the program.

the program starts at the beginning of september. i've had one drug test at orientation that I definitely failed, but i've been reducing my intake dramatically. used to smoke several bowls a day and in the course of a month, i've gotten myself off of flower entirely. i hit a concentrate pen a couple times a day, and i'm weaning myself off of that too.

lucky for me the withdrawal symptoms from cannabis are basically the mental health symptoms i use cannabis to combat

the difficulty:

i've definitely been feeling the effects of lessening my intake. the anxiety hasn't been too much of an issue but the depression is creeping in. however. i have lived in the pit of depression and anxiety for so long that that stuff doesn't even worry me any more. i'll be able to deal with that okay. i've also come too fucking far with my mental health to give up now, depression is a weak bitch and i've grown strong.

what i'm struggling with is a particular symptom of the BPD. overreactive emotions, particularly irritation. i get irritated by. the littlest things.

like if someone's rude to me (or if i perceive it that way). or if someone's going under the speed limit. or when they stock the shelves too full at the store and stuff falls on me while i'm working. or not getting enough sleep. when someone in the apartment parking lot thinks the "no back-in parking" rule doesn't apply to them. the AC being broken in my car, during our fucking 90 degree summer. little stuff.

it sticks into my brain like a metaphorical porcupine spine and it lives there the rest of the day. and by the end of the day i have like 85 porcupine spines in my brain and i'm ready to lose my shit. it feels, in a way, like my brain is on fire - raw and exposed and vulnerable and like the tiniest thing is going to make it melt entirely.

this is going to sound like an overreaction (but hey that's BPD for you) but i feel like the world has been designed to be sandpaper against my brain, and i'm not allowed to show any signs of discomfort. i am doing my best to put into words how fucking uncomfortable it is for me to live like this, and the words do not feel like enough.

being 100% sober from cannabis is actual hell for me, because the cannabis is the only thing i've been able to find that calms that rage, the irritation, the frustration. it lets the porcupine spines slide out. it puts out the flame and puts a balm on the raw, sandpapered embodiment of my resilience.

this morning i had a tough morning. slept terribly, woke up sweaty and cold, had the worst headache of my life last night. the meat we set out (in the fridge) to thaw for the crockpot didn't thaw. went to work exhausted. aforementioned overstocked-things-fall-on-me. scanner shits out 45 minutes into my day. customers asking me for things when i clearly am not an actual store employee. that's like 8 porcupine spines by 9 am. by the time i had my break, i was overwhelmed, totally pissed off, totally irritated, just rage-swirling in my brain. on my break, i took a hearty puff from my concentrate pen. and then. i was fine. for pretty much the rest of the day. like irritations still came up but they didn't stick like they did before, they rolled off much easier. because that's what cannabis does for me.

but i don't get to use cannabis to de-rage anymore. and that's the problem.

the advice/help i need:

suggestions for handling irritation in the moment so it doesn't get to the point of being overwhelming, therapy tricks, etc

suggestions on anything natural i can take or introduce into my diet that will help with the withdrawal

suggestions on how to avoid going back to cannabis (and therefore blowing my chance for this program)

basically any anger management suggestions

i really ought to get back into therapy, but since i'm not working while i'm taking the class, i can't super afford therapy right now

this is a sincere plea. most people think i'm a really nice person and they don't realize that it's because i'm on at least a little bit of cannabis almost all the time. without it, i'm such a bitch, and not because i want to be a bitch but because i feel like my brain is getting clawed to pieces and i just react, because, BPD.

anything you've got. help. please.

[smolldork]

sobriety update: withdrawal edition

ok i am officially... 60+ hours without alcohol after several weeks of not being able to stay dry for a whole day. usually drinking in the morning to not feel hungover, in the afternoon to avoid all the thinking, and in the night to try to get some sleep. just sober enough in day time to pretend i wasn't drinking and to do what i absolutely Had To Do so i wouldn't let anyone down

so yeah, sure, i had a bad time

but i still thought it wasn't bad enough to cause >>>physical<<< dependence, and boy was i wrong about that

withdrawal is dreadful. i wouldn't wish that on anyone and i'm aware mine wasn't even one of the worst ones, i can't imagine what delirium tremens are like. going cold turkey gave me flashbacks of withdrawing from desvenlafaxine lol (my last antidepressant), the sensations were similar but more intense

to name a few: irritability, fatigue, anxiety, shakiness, pain, not being able to think clearly, not being able to sleep, poor balance/coordination, feeling weak, depressed, intermittent fevers, dissociation, my mouth got dry like the desert and i couldn't drink water without feeling SO MUCH NAUSEA I SWEAR... and you may associate some of these with hangovers but 1. i'm an alcoholic, i know what my hangovers feel like, 2. they never lasted me more than a day and they get better along the course of the day, not worse, and oh!! how could i forget!!! 3. the cherry on top was ✨ hallucinations ✨ while i tried, and failed, to fall asleep . . . yeah that was NOT fun, but it wasn't my first time hallucinating so i wasn't so scared

what DID scare me for a moment tho, was that when i finally got to sleep i woke up suddenly and everything was spinning, and i panicked thinking that i had drank and idk forgot about it (as per usual), but the panic was so REAL that i knew i hadn't. it had been so Intense™ to feel something like that in my body again after being numb for sooo long. thankfully, in a fleeting moment of clarity and courage, earlier that evening i had spilled in the bathroom sink all the alcohol i still had hidden in my room. remembering that made me feel safe, because the cravings were kicking in like crazy

slowly, but surely, getting better now. the worst is over, and i truly feel like there are better things ahead. going to church and connecting with people who care about me, even if some of them don't know what i'm going through, has been a beacon of life. i'm very very grateful, and i feel hopeful again 🤍

.

"with man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” — matthew 19:26

let's gooooo

[mx-lamour]

6 - Corpse

[The latter half of #5 - Dinner]

For the next few days, then, Alek only looked in on Sasha during the daylight hours. She slept soundly during that time—almost too soundly, but the subtle movement of her breathing assured him that the girl was still alive. He left water and some honest food with her, within easy reach, should she wake and feel strong enough or willing to consume it. 

There might be teeth marks in it later, but she hardly ate more than a nibble. It worried him. Alek's instinct told him that, if she was changing, she might need blood instead. She might need blood anyway, in a sense; the girl was ghastly pale. But Alek's body insisted she was still human. Or, at least… human enough.

Late at night—or early in the day, depending on one’s frame of mind—Alek asked Strahd for his observations. Strahd was cagey in answering. He continued to insist that Alek leave the girl alone.

“Come sit a while,” Strahd bade him. He pulled a chair closer to the hearth. “I can hear you pacing clear across the grounds.”

Alek sighed and sat down, even kicking off his boots to stretch out his legs and warm his toes by the fire, which was mostly lit for the sake of light. Summer was fading, but it would take a while longer for any real chill to nip the air. Still, the gesture was comforting.

Strahd began to speak of other things. He started on about logistical matters, but gradually eased in personal details that he had discovered about his various boyars, their families and their dealings with each other, attempting to pique Alek's interest with a bit of gossip.

It did not take terribly long for Strahd's goading to work on him.

Soon enough, Alek had lured Strahd in turn, and they sat together by the fireplace, reminiscing on all manner of things. Old battles and tom foolery. Trying to embarrass and outwit each other. Their voices rose in exuberant debate over unimportant details. Alek even managed to coax a peal of laughter from the dark lord.

“You are incorrigible,” Strahd bluntly accused.

Alek grinned. “Pot, kettle,” he retorted. Once they’d sobered themselves again, he remarked, fondly, “It's been too long.”

Strahd quirked an eyebrow in response.

“I haven't heard you laugh like that in… what? Fifty years? Maybe longer. That's hard to believe.”

Strahd leaned back in his chair. Alek could see the distant shadow creeping over him while he thought about the intervening time.

“Strahd.” Alek clapped a hand on his shoulder, jostling him gently. “I'm glad.”

Strahd glanced sidelong at Alek, then down at the hand on his shoulder. He frowned, not discontentedly, but with bemusement, as though he were examining an intricate piece in an important puzzle. 

When he looked back up, Alek offered a reassuring smile, almost proud. He patted Strahd's shoulder again and withdrew his hand, settling in to enjoy the low embers crackling in place of the flames.

They observed the rest of the evening in companionable silence, until the dawn encroached and Strahd was forced to withdraw to his crypt. Alek dozed lightly in his chair.

. . .

Alek had finally decided to visit Sasha again at night, to see if she would wake. She was already sitting up when he opened the door, and when he stepped into the room, she tossed back the blanket and leapt up to meet him.

“It's been so long!” she cried, welcoming herself into his embrace. “Oh, how I've missed you!”

Alek hugged the girl close, chuckling at her enthusiasm. “You’re feeling well now, I take it.”

“Much better,” she agreed, squeezing him tightly around the middle. Then she stepped back. “But no thanks to you,” she added, pouting. “And you never sent Lord Strahd down to see me, either. It was very unkind.”

Alek thought for sure that Strahd would have visited her sometime within the last several nights. “You haven’t seen him at all?”

Her eyes were like polished glass, and sharp at the edges. He swore they had been gentler once. “No. I have been locked in this room—”

“It wasn’t locked,” he murmured.

“I don’t know how else you would explain it. I thought to come looking for you, but the door wouldn’t budge.”

“Stiff hinges,” Alek replied lamely. Strahd must have put some kind of enchantment on the door, if it would only open from the outside. There was a chance that Sasha had not been strong enough to open it, but Alek knew he wasn’t so otherworldly powerful that he wouldn’t notice a sticky door if he encountered one. And, if the vice grip Sasha had just had on his waist was any indication, she should have been able to handle hers just fine.

Sasha sized him up. She sighed, and the pout of her lip softened. “Oh, I can’t stay mad at you,” she lamented, picking at the deep slit in the collar of his shirt. “You came for me. The rest hardly matters, does it?” She drifted closer, peering up at him sweetly through the fringe of her lashes.

Alek’s hands found themselves sliding over her hips. He braced himself.

This was a bad idea, he thought. And yet… Old memories ran fresh through his mind. Hadn’t some of his worst ideas been some of the best?

. . .

Strahd thought he felt a small tugging sensation at the corner of his mind, as though he had forgotten something important. As though he had left a candle burning too close to something he shouldn’t have…

A feeling of dread crept over him. He tried to examine the feeling, to pull on the snagged thread, but the thought refused to reveal itself fully. And there was nothing worse than grasping at some crucial piece of information that simply would not come.

Strahd stood, balancing his fingertips against the top of his desk, and closed his eyes. He bowed his head, as though he were examining the lines of a battle map beneath his hands. That prickling sensation, behind his eyes. That was part of it. The apprehension constricting his chest could be anything yet, so that, he ignored.

There was something else. A tenuous thing. A fog of an image, or a feeling, still too hazy to make out.

Distantly, he heard Sasha shriek.

. . .

She giggled when Alek flipped her around.

[To cover my own butt, I'm guessing you should hop over to Ao3 for the rest.] ↓↓↓ * * * [Ao3 Collection] [prompt list by @syrips]

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2023 No. 8 - "It's all for nothing."

Scogan Bingo challenge Caresses and Kisses

"Why did you come for me, Logan? Why do you bother? It's all for nothing."

At first, Logan hadn’t been exactly sure why Stark had called him in – fixing shit that was broken almost beyond repair was definitely this guy's specialty, not his. That was until he entered the operating theater's induction room and was hit in the face with a whole tidal wave of self-pity, bitterness, and hopelessness.

Right. So that was what Tony and Emma meant by, If we put him under like that, you could have just pulled him off that kill switch and watch him blow up.

"You don't get to do this, bub. This is not how this works." Logan approached the sick bed with gritted teeth, fighting a bout of nausea that had been sitting in his throat ever since he'd entered that torture cell in their enemies' base where Pryde had sent him, once they'd finally, finally gotten the clue regarding their team leader's fate they'd been looking or in vain for so long.

Stark's team of scientists and medics had been nice enough to cover up the bloody, disfigured mess, still attached to approximately a dozen things that had no business being on and in a human body. Sync was already standing by silently in the corner as well, his dark sin looking another shade greyer than usual, to do his part with the help of a lot of borrowed telekinesis, to put back together into a working shape all that Stark's nanobots wouldn’t be able to regrow and mend ... Still.

The truth that no one had the guts to speak out loud right now was, there was no telling if Scott would ever leave this tower on his own two feet again. If he made it through the procedures at all. And there was definitely no way his system wouldn’t give up upon all the infusions and implements ready to be pumped into him if the guy didn’t see a reason to keep it running in the first place.

So Logan bravely bested his growing urge to run off right again, to withdraw to some of the Tower's many guest rooms with a whole truckload of Whiskey until there'd be hopefully some good news from the cellar. He'd given in to that cowardice far too often in the last few years, because he was an emotional cripple like that, especially when he felt he could afford it without leaving too much damage.

There'd luckily always been someone else around to catch Scott after the guy had been at the end of yet another sadistic bastard's torture porn fantasies, sure. This time though, there weren’t a lot of people of their kind for such trauma counselling left. And most importantly, the woman they'd both loved was no longer there, once more.

If Logan didn’t want to lose the guy whom he'd felt almost as much affection for next, he needed to stop pretending that those feelings only mattered in periods when the two of them agreed on whatever the political climate of their home was like and whatever lifestyle they conveniently shared at any given time. So Logan took Scott's hand unceremoniously when he sat down on his bedside, ignoring the chair thoughtfully prepared nearby just as much as the weak instinctive twitch away from him from muscles starved almost to the point of atrophy. Jesus, the things Logan would give for a couple of capable mutant healers or a rebirth pod right now.

It didn’t matter. They'd get through this new disaster as well. He'd had this tall, resilient body in his arms often enough, naked and clothed, unwavering and collapsing, to be absolutely convinced at this point, there wasn’t anything Scott Summers couldn’t come back from. Not as long as there was something left to come back to.

"I'm not letting you clock out, Slim," Logan repeated, with the same sober determination that he was always meeting that stubborn bastard with when he needed Scott to understand how fucking dead ass serious he was and therefore kept his emotional impulses in check for a hot minute. With Logan's free hand on his more-or-less-casual lover's hollowed cheek, he gently turned Scott's face back to him to make sure, he would be looked at, at least with as much clear vision as the so-far quite provisory treatment of Scott's badly inflamed eyelids behind his glasses would allow. There were things between them he couldn’t be hiding, not right now, and the salt trickling in his beard at his next heavy reminder was in the top 5 of those. "You know Jeannie wouldn’t want you to."

"Jean is gone," Scott snapped at him with as much bite as he managed to in this state. But he didn’t try to pull away again even for the show this time when Logan gently tightened his grip around his hand, on his temple, his jaw, trembling fingertips stroking through the almost inexistent short buzz cut that Scott's latest involuntarily stay at an enemy's lair had demanded. It had to hurt like a bitch at those wounds, easily some of the most perverted, grotesque ones, that Logan couldn’t see right now when a breathless sob shook Scott's chest. But it was at least the first normal kind of reaction to everything Scott had been through, to what they were both going through right now, that Logan saw ever since tracking his sorry ass down. Somehow, that was calming. Pain was harder to deal with than anger, no one knew that better than him. But it was also always easier to heal once the Band-Aid was off. "It doesn’t matter, Logan, don't you get it? It doesn’t matter how often she comes back, how often we all start over. We're always destined to fall, no matter what we try."

"That's where you're wrong, Slim. You get to give up once we tried everything. Not a second sooner." To leave absolutely no doubt about what he meant, Logan leaned down to his lover slowly enough, both to give him a way out of too much intimacy, in the face of cameras and an audience … And to tell his own turning stomach once more that things like the stench of far too much heavy medication, of glycerin and copper where there should be none and weeks without a proper hygiene were fleeting inconveniences at best, now that they got Scott here, now that they would help him, with everyone doing what they were best at. Logan's job in that was reminding Scott of what they'd once had, for a while, on the moon, before they'd let circumstance rip them apart. And that maybe, they wouldn’t have to have this conversation right now if they'd been smarter about things back then. If they'd never broken up the damn team. He tasted grief, and hunger when he covered those too-dry, chapped lips with his carefully enough.

But after Scott had indeed stiffened for a moment, probably indeed because the two of them usually didn’t make things between them yet another gossip headline about Scott's love life, he raised his head from the pillows weakly. Another shaky sob died in his throat as he opened his mouth, just enough for Logan's tongue to gently slip through for a second, remarking its territory in the only way he could right now.

"I'm broken, Logan," he whispered, still crestfallen about what might admittedly be the biggest hit he'd taken just yet, at least with this only just recently reborn body. But at least the way he was holding on to Logan's hand now, leaning into that touch on his cheek, on the side of his neck, felt like he was seeking purchase within that gloom of what was maybe waiting for him when he woke up instead of reluctance to even face it.

"We all are." Logan leaned in for another kiss, shorter this time because there were footsteps approaching and Sync over there kept on clearing his throat impatiently. "There's still a hell of a lot of people left to make shit right, though. When you wake up, I'll have the coordinates for our next mission ready, so don't think you get an extended sick leave. Now let those guys do their magic and get some sleep. I'll be there when you wake up." Men like them didn’t do promises, because far too often in this line of work, there was no way you could keep them.

But the weak, half-sided twitch around the corners of Scott's mouth said, guy knew that this was one of those reassurances Logan was deadset on keeping for once.

He did.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

[schizononagesimus]

can i ask what you're withdrawing from? no matter what substance it's so hard. wishing you a smoother ride <3

Like, everything, dude. It was bad. I wasn't planning on being specific about it but like, that was just out of shame and shame is for losers which I am decidedly not, so. Long post incoming, and a lot of information you didn't ask for. I know so, so many people who say that they use too much of their substance of choice and have tried and failed to stop that I just felt the need to really elaborate... plus, it serves as a reminder for me as to why I'm quitting.

Right now I'm struggling with coke withdrawal because I caved literally the day after I started trying to get sober (my roommate gave me a talk about the possibility of transference to worse shit shortly after I declared cold turkey, and well... Sorry if you're reading this, nawee, you were right and I'm trying and I very quickly learned and I'm sorry for being too scared to tell you).

Everyone where I live does coke like drinking fucking water and it's super normalized if you go to bars or parties or clubs or like, fucking anywhere really. Always wanted to try it, did that a year ago, NOPE. Not even once. Don't fuck with coke, kids. Especially when it's so available. And don't be naïve and say you just need to hang out with "the right people" because this can happen to ANYBODY. One moment of hedonistic indulgence and you're fucked.

And that's without the coke being cut with fent, which... mine might've been, man, I've had coke cravings before but never anything this bad. I was being stupid and snorted coke from someone I don't know because I was down for anything because my brain was just screaming at me (if you know what OCD thoughts feel like, drug cravings feel a lot like that). I dunno what a speedball feels like because I'm not a coke connesieur--that's me with weed and shrooms--so I really don't know what I took, and that's like harm reduction 101- know what you're taking, and who you're getting it from. I should also note, I don't even fucking like coke, it was just there so my brain said "why not" (which is generally my attitude to free drugs, which is very very bad).

Anyway, so on to what else was the problem! Why did I need to get sober to start with? Well, I was smoking enough weed that I started to puke every time I did it, and then I greened out in class (see why no one here can know who I am in the academic world?). That was when I realized I had a problem. I was smoking so much weed before class because, to quote the post I literally made just before making this decision: "ive experienced such vile antisemitism in my queer studies class this year that im [...] going to class high...", which essentially amounts to "I am so afraid I need to not feel in order to function." I have no idea if I had anyone in that class fooled as to why I was so fucked up, but I did feign food poisoning after I left the classroom to lie on the cold tile of the public university bathroom and a woman saw me lying there over a toilet and asked if I was okay. The moment I lied was the moment I noticed something was very deeply wrong and had been for a while. I was so sick I considered taking myself to hospital. When I started coming to after coming home and passing out for hours, I remembered why I started doing drugs to start with: they're fun. This wasn't fun anymore.

But with weed, man, I've been smoking weed since I was 15. There was just nothing else to do in my hometown. I never smoked much, and I always knew what I liked because I've been smoking pot for over a decade. I don't even really like weed highs that much; literally it is just something to do when you're bored. Another rule of doing drugs "safely" (there is no safe way to do drugs, only safe-r ways) is don't do them because you're bored or sad or avoiding something etc. I was all three of those things, plus just trying to feel anything but the constant stress and fear. Did I realize something was wrong when my grandpa offered me weed and I felt so relieved to just get high after being sober the whole trip? No, of course not.

So then we can talk about the fact that I was getting nearly blackout drunk twice a week. Genuinely, I'd been trying to drink less prior to this. I had started having really bad stomach problems every time I drank especially wine, so I was trying to cut down (fun fact, this was likely a result from drinking too much in the first place, and I'm very glad I listened to my body). The problem? I don't back down from a challenge. I'll chug anything. If I'm drunk enough, I'm the challenger. I'm the guy who finishes people's drinks because they "know I can" and get me to drink more. Don't even get me started on the fact that people love giving me free drinks for being charming and talented (I... I wish I was kidding but that's just what I've been told). But basically, I see drinking like a competition, and I have two separate friend circles who like to go out every week, ergo, getting properly shitfaced twice a week. Luckily because I had been cutting back, alcohol is the least of my problems right now, it's more the social element that's dangerous and I need to be changing where and how I hang out with people, too. Fun fact: I can drink alone because I don't actually like being drunk (another pro tip- if you don't like how something feels, maybe don't do it!), I just think beer tastes nice, so I'll have one with a meal once in like a literal blue moon (haha... ha. Get it.) Another scary story for you, a friend of mine who is virtually a drinking buddy (red flag #1 and, list of relationships I need to change) and I were drinking at her house (red flag #2) and she invited a new person to introduce me to after taking us outside to smoke a buncha pot (substances in my body at this point: 2) and some cigarettes (substances: 3, red flag #3). I don't even like being crossfaded literally at all (I don't like being drunk or weed high so??? Why would I do this??? The answer is addiction but we're getting to that). I was already very drunk, and beginning to get nauseated from the weed thanks to my new problem when the usually-pleasant dizziness of cigarettes kicked in as we took the lift up to my friend's apartment. My introduction to this new person she was having me meet was me excusing myself to throw up in the bathroom at like 4pm on a Sunday. There is a time and a place, and this was not it.

So let's take a tally: so far, we're at three substances, with two left to go.

Cigarettes. I've learned a lot of people don't even think of them as a drug, which is kind of fucking insane, considering... well, everything about them. I started smoking a little over a year ago because I always thought I'd like it (we'll get into some mild pathology shortly), then continued because it was fun and accessible, and then by October I was smoking more and more because of unavoidable stress (gee I wonder what happened in October that could've caused that!). I was smoking so much that I was smoking through having the fucking FLU and while marching myself to the urgent care for tamiflu I chainsmoked so much I puked in the urgent care for what I lied and told them was "unrelated to why I was there." I only starting smoking more after that. Now, I've never been a pack-a-day type, but once I'd hiked my way up to smoking five a day and feeling absolutely nothing from it--just doing "maintenance"--I wanted to smoke less so it could become fun again. I should also note that I did restrict myself in some ways with cigarettes, because I wouldn't smoke after like, 8pm unless it was a night out because they made me too wired to sleep. Quitting cigarettes has been the hardest thing (which is what everyone says), but it's even harder because 1) they literally help you quit the harder stuff (another fun fact, cigarettes make you crave alcohol and weed less, I saw it in an NIH study somewhere (I can't find it bc I'm bad at Words to do the Google thing); problem is that conversely drinking makes you want to smoke and smoking makes you need to drink more to feel drunk) and 2) This is the one drug I actually genuinely like, and I don't intend on quitting it fully, I just want to reframe it as a fun thing not a maintenance thing, which is really difficult because see point #1.

And finally, shrooms. These guys genuinely were a good idea, for a while. Seriously- shrooms helped me a lot. I take certain medications which happen to prevent or stop bad trips, so I only ever had a good time... for a while. It helped me work out a lot of emotional stuff. No hangover, would feel great for days after... And then I started doing them everyday because I was in the middle of such a bad bipolar episode that I was either manic or suicidal one minute to the next and totally spiralled out of control. I barely even remember those weeks, I just remember not being able to walk hardly because I was so high, crying myself to sleep because I didn't want to be high anymore, I just wanted to be happy. The thing is about shrooms is that they'll only amplify whatever you've got going on, which I consciously knew, but you're not thinking logically when you're in the middle of a bipolar swing. I tried doing them every other week after that, and eventually stopped entirely when I finally realized it wasn't helping. And yes- I was following microdosing advice, it just super isn't for me. I settled on doing one trip a month, which really did help my mental health for a time, but it was just a bandaid, like any addiction is. Then when I started having my additional addiction issues come to fruition I started taking shrooms to go out, and man, taking shrooms as a party drug is so not the move because they're so wonderfully meditative, but I was taking them just because I had some on hand. You can see where the drug problem was starting to be realized. I still genuinely think shrooms can be great but 1) sparingly 2) in the right environment 3) not as an unsupervised mental health aid (especially if you have bipolar). This period of time was really when I started expressing addictive behaviours in a serious way, I think.

I can spot about sixty different reasons I ended up here. Trauma's a good start. Birth father was a serious addict and so was my mom, and later in life my parents were teetotallers because of it. I straight up just thought drugs seemed like a good time because I got into rave music and metal via scene kid culture in like 2010 (which I am still into those things and god it's not helping). Potential of partying in undergrad dashed by lockdown, saved for graduate school emotional breakdowns. Bipolar disorder. Being an academic should be on the list for things that might make you addiction prone, good lord (and not to mention cigarettes being part od the classic academic and poet aesthetics, both of which I am). I like going clubbing and dancing and raves. And really, I just always knew I'd like drugs, had a bucket list of ways I wanted to experience them, and so when I had the ability to do so, I did. Truthfully though, I don't regret any of this. I got the experiences I wanted, and I'm facing the consequences, but for me, that's part of life; there's no use in regretting your actions having very obvious and predictable consequences, like, once it's done, it's done.

Now I'm in the position of smoking half a cigarette a few times a day so I don't take a shitton of benadryl or literally slit my wrists. Now I say that second part very specifically because cutting is also an addiction, and something I have been trying not to do for most of my entire life. Trauma's a bitch like that, and many other comorbidities. I'd avoided cutting entirely until a couple weeks ago and I scared myself so shitless with it that I did a buncha drugs instead! Holy shit, but like... Better? I guess? Basically, I'm so afraid of the world that I'd rather not experience it at all, but I don't actually want to die, so instead I just have to microdose self-destruction so I can feel in control of the fear. See how that sentence could've been about, say, alcoholism or cutting?

My goal is not to be totally clean forever; I do just really like cigarettes and a good beer occasionally, I just don't want it to be a coping mechanism, I want it to be fun, and I want to be alive.

Thank you and everyone for your kind words recently, it has genuinely made getting through this so much easier.

And yes, I'm seeking professional help.

[ase-trollplays]

The Road To Hell

This takes place after the thread "Close Call."

Corali sat on her bed at her hive in what could loosely pass for pajamas, a tank top and boxer briefs. She'd arrived back at her hive after her night out with Arriak less than an hour ago in much better spirits. As much as she wanted to keep her near slip-up a secret, she felt compelled to tell her friend. If Thiomi was going to take the role of her sober companion, she needed to know when things like this happened.

The phone only rang once before she answered.

"Hello, Corali. How are you?" Thiomi greeted. She sounded a little bit down compared to her usual self.

"I'm good. Are y'all?" Corali asked.

"I'm fine... I'm just a little tired," she responded a little bit too quickly, though Corali seemed to either not notice or not consider it worth pointing out. "How are you, though?"

"I came real close to fuckin' up tanight. Just thought ya should know."

There was a long pause, and Corali started to wonder if telling Thiomi was a mistake after all. Just when she was about to ask if she was still there, Thiomi finally broke the silence.

"How... close were you? You didn't relapse, did you?" She asks, her tone filled with worry. Corali ran a hand through her short hair and sighed.

"Nah, but I came damn close. I had the whiskey right up ta my lips ready ta throw everythin' away, but a friend... A damn good friend found me b'fore I got a taste."

"Oh my god..."

Corali could practically feel Thiomi holding her breath on the other end, and she braced herself to get scolded. Yet another disappointment to add to the ever-growing pile. "I know yer still sore about that video, an' I knew ya'd be disappointed about this, too--"

"I'm not disappointed. I'm more s-scared than anything. I'm s-so s-sorry for whatever drove you to that point. ... And, I'm s-sorry for being s-so harsh last time we talked. I s-should have waited until I was calm to message you."

Corali gave an exhale of relief of stress she hadn't realized she was carrying. "'S alright. I needed the wake up call. There ain't nothin' ta apologize fer, anyways. Ain't yer fault I been stressed ta shit since bein' sober."

"S-so, what happened that made you almost relapse?"

"My job fired me. Well, manager said it's more like a suspension, but I'm fuckin' fired. They don't want legis possibly comin' after them ta get ta me on account that coffee shop incident. I ain't allowed back fer half a sweep.

"Between the anxiety, Dan actin' a ass, the last a my withdrawal symptoms, Dar still not talkin' ta me, an' that video prolly fuckin' whatever good will he mighta had... That job was the only thing I still had left, an' now I don't even got that anymore."

"Oh, Corali..." There's so much sadness in Thiomi's voice that Corali swore it felt like a needle got stabbed into her heart. She may not be disappointed, but she's clearly upset. "I'm s-so s-sorry you're having s-such a hard time. I wish I could do more, but... I'm not s-sure I'm really helping much or just s-stressing you out."

"Yer helpin' more'n enough. Ya took care a me after my big blow up, kept takin' care a me when the withdrawal was at its worst. Ya got me hooked up with a Alcoholics Anonymous group-- Which I'm still attendin' by the way. If ya wasn't helpin' me, I wouldn't a lasted longer'n one night."

Corali couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. Thiomi really was someone special. She was more reliable than anyone she knew, and one of the most caring. When Corali was training her in self-defense a sweep ago, she was determined and didn't give up. She didn't give up then, and she wasn't giving up now.

"So, whaddya gotta say ta that? No more doubtin' yerself fer not bein' perfect."

"Okay, no more, I promise."

"That's better. I'm happy ta have yer help."

"And I'm proud of you for coming so far, Mareth."

"..."

"..."

There was a long, incredibly uncomfortable pause as Corali mulled over her last statement. Amid her confusion, she could feel something else brewing deep in her chest. A feeling slowly but steadily growing and burning warmer and hotter.

"Did. Did y'all just call me Mareth? Like, yer dead 'rail Mareth?"

"Oh my god... I-I... I didn't mean to, I... It s-slipped out."

The feeling in Corali's chest burned hotter.

"An' just how does the wrong name happen ta slip out? It ain't like we sound anythin' alike."

"I-I-I don't know! I was thinking about her, I guess?"

She was now boiling with an emotion she couldn't quite describe. Was she angry? Was she sad? Anxious? Disappointed? Was it regret?

Whatever it was, all she knew is 1) It hurt like Hell, and 2) Thiomi caused it.

"So, what. Every time we talk, yer thinkin' a her? Am I just her replacement ta you?"

Another uncomfortable pause, but Corali doesn't allow it to stretch on as long as the last. "Answer me, Thiomi!"

"No!! You're not! I mean... That's not how it s-started."

Corali felt like her chest was going to burst with this raw, unwanted, searing hot emotion. Hot tears pricked the corners or her eyes, and she furiously wiped them away. She now knew what she was feeling.

Betrayal.

"Uh-huh. Right. I see how it is. Y'ain't helpin' me. Yer helpin' Mareth. Yer just usin' me ta make ya feel less shitty about gettin' the person ya actually want killed. Ya figure 'If I help Corali, it'll be just like Mareth is still here.'"

"C-corali, I--"

"Nah, nah, nah, I get it. I'm just yer replacement goldfish. That's all."

"Please, just let me expla--"

"Don't call me. Don't come ta my hive. Don't message me on trollian. Just leave me be. Ya'll've done enough."

Corali hung up the phone before throwing it across the room and shattering the screen against the wall followed by a pained mix between a wail and a shout. It was all she could think to do to vent her hurt feelings in that moment. All of her wanted to break down and cry, but she refused to let her own emotions overwhelm her.

Instead, she exited her respite block and stomped upstairs to her garage where her ATV sat across from her home gym. She was going to wail on her punching bag and work out until she didn't feel anything anymore.

She regret not drinking that whiskey shot when she had the chance.

[fandom-gt]

Here's another TUA idea: well-meaning cock vore. Diego is trying to help Klaus get clean (Klaus is either unwilling to sober up, or he asked Diego to help him since his willpower is weak), and eventually resorts to stuffing Klaus into his dick in leau of a better option. I'm picturing this happening pre-season one, but could work later as well.

How did it get to that point? It was some combination of not being able to leave Klaus unsupervised (even when he's tiny), needing to protect tiny Klaus (vigilante work is dangerous), and Klaus being an absolute annoying pain to deal with as he's going through withdrawal.

Diego is so relieved to have found a solution after everything he's been through trying to wrangle Klaus during this, he decides to leave Klaus in there for a while. He's safe, he has plenty to eat, and best of all, he's not driving Diego crazy. Though the feeling of him in there is driving Diego crazy in a completely different, way more pleasurable way....

I also like to think that, if Diego and Eudora were still dating, she would agree with his decision to leave Klaus in his ballsack. Maybe she'd been sick of Klaus too, but even if she didn't see anything leading up to the vore, she thinks it's a good thing. It just doesn't come across as cruel or unreasonable; in fact, just the opposite. She would praise Diego for being such a good brother, for caring so much about his degenerate sibling. His soft and caring side turns her on....

After it's been long enough that the worst of it should be over (which is several days or weeks), Diego comes Klaus out on a probationary basis. Klaus is only free while Diego has time to watch him, then he goes right back into his nuts. Diego's more excited for and gratified by the feeling of putting him back in than he lets on to poor Klaus. This goes on for a long time, until Klaus has been clean for long enough that Diego feels he could extend the short leash he has an Klaus.

Klaus has been thoroughly traumatised by the experience, not that he'd ever let on to how deeply it affected him. His complaints come off as dramatic and performative, like how he's always written off to be. Diego can't tell the difference between when Klaus is putting on an act to distract from his real wounds, and when he's genuinely desperate and on the verge of breaking down. Klaus pretends the latter never happened.

The only upside is that Klaus is now too scared to even think about using again. He'd sooner shoot himself with a gun than shoot up if it meant Diego might find out about it.

Diego is proud of himself and the service he did for his brother. Klaus totally owes him after everything he did for him. Klaus pretends to be grateful, but the taste of his brother's semen and the sting of it in his eyes and nose is never going to leave him. Now he gets nightmares of the mausoleum and the fleshy dungeon of Diego's balls, sometimes where they're one and the same. He's yelling for Dad to let him out while the sweltering mausoleum around him shudders in pleasure and ghosts made of vicious cum scream and claw into him, swallowing him up, drowning him.

-Eek

UA Shorts

[kisstheashes]

Kiss Me Goodbye

TW: drugs, suicidal ideation, partner abuse

She tasted as if strawberry candy burst and left your mouth alight with tingling, fizzling aftermath, your lips cracked and pained from the juice. His fingers tangled into her freshly washed thick hair, disappearing into the locks. The pair gasped between kisses, their tongues tracing each other and drool starting to fall down their chins. They refused to part, until their soft gasps didn't allow them enough extra air to survive. Heavy panting splattered the air as they parted, her excited grin being met with his own; shier and half hidden behind his own hair.

Their eyes turned to the fire in front of them- made with termite-broken wood and scraps of fabric. Embers danced high into the sky, alerting anyone who cared to look where the couple might be. After a few minutes the boy stood up, grabbing his bag and pulling out an old, beat up aluminum tray, starting to cut a line of cocaine on the solid surface.

The girl frowned. "Crisis, is that necessary...?" She watched his starved body move, pacing and prowling like a feral dog. Even the way he rifled through his own bag reminded her of a dog, pawing through a pile of trash. She didn't remember him acting like that before.

Crisis paused for only a second to glance at her from under his hair. He continued preparing the cocaine, voice flat. "If you want to be my girlfriend, don't worry about me. I've already told you that." He picked up his straw and did the line before she could protest. Crisis stood taller and squared his shoulders, glaring at her. "Well?"

She opened her mouth to speak, and only sputtered for a few long moments before finding some footing. "You don't need to be high every second of the day to not go through withdrawal, Crisis," she spoke softly. Her frown only deepened as he stood unmoving, staring at her. She hesitated and bit her lip before letting her words spill out. "I don't like seeing you hurt..."

He paused.

Crisis grabbed the tray and slammed it on the piece of concrete they'd been sitting on. The clang ricocheted off the nearby buildings. She jumped and scampered to find more cover. Crisis grabbed her arm in a death grip before she could, an animalistic growl leaving him. "If you don't want to see me hurt so bad, fucking kill me!" He yanked her close enough she could feel his breath on her face. She cowered, tugging uselessly on his arm. She whimpered, tensing to protect herself. Crisis growled again. "If you care that much, you'd kill me. But no one fucking cares enough to kill me. The only way I'm staying sober is if I'm dead." He shoved her away, not looking at her.

She yelped as she tried to catch herself and fell over the concrete barrier, landing on her ass with a grunt. "You asshole!" she yelled. Her body shook with fight-ready adrenaline, trying to find the threat. She reminded herself she didn't need her knife. She stood and dusted her hands off on her torn jeans, scowling. "You can't tell me you love me then tell me to kill you! That's fucking bullshit Crisis! You don't ask people you love to kill you!"

His sharp eyes never left her, glaring the whole time. "I don't know where you come from baby, but where I come from, you might have to kill your blood so you can live. You should be fucking happy about it! I'd even let you kiss me goodbye." Crisis scowled and stormed off, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Don't fucking follow me. Find Axis."

She stood next to the fire, body frozen. She could not will her feet to chase after him, to catch up, say she's sorry. She opened her mouth, unable to speak for a few moments, before ripping the words out of her throat. "Will you kiss me goodbye now?" The question came out softer than expected, she didn't know if he would even hear it.

Crisis paused, her question barely whispering on the wind. He turned, staring her down, eyes alight with chaos. He strode towards her and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her into a passionate, hard kiss, his teeth breaking the skin on her lips. He gripped her hair and forced her on him, his surprise assault continuing until he couldn't breathe.

She gasped as he grabbed her, not having enough time to take a breath before his lips were on hers. The familiar feeling sent waves through her, relaxing her tense muscles and leaning into his lips. Once relaxed she returned the assault with just as much fervor, tugging on his lips whenever she could. She clung to his shoulders, refusing to let go.

They both gasped for air as they parted, and his grin split his face wide, showing off his oddly sharp canines. "Put out the fire and I'll carry you for a bit."

She giggled like a schoolgirl with a crush and started stepping out the fire like she was playing in a puddle.

Crisis's grin didn't break as he leaned against a broken building and watched her. "That's my girl."

[misophorism]

Captain's Log #4

Today is October 24th, 2024. A lot has changed in my life, but much has stayed the same. A platitude obviously, but it's true. Barely anyone follows me on this account, and those who do almost certainly don't read these, but anyone who happens to this time is probably aware that my sister died very suddenly. It was in July. My mom was a wreck, and I spent a lot of time caring for her. I didn't have time to process my own feelings about it, really.

I don't want to spend an entire CL talking about her, so I'll keep it short: good riddance. She was a horrible human being from the moment she was born. She spent every moment trying to worsen my relationship with my parents as much as possible, gleefully joining in when they were abusive, exacerbating any issue I had while minimizing them to make herself seem like the ultimate victim. My sister was a manipulative narcissist to the core, and the world is better off without her.

With that out of the way, my life feels... I don't know how to word it exactly. It almost feels as though there is more breathing room; I feel less pressure. There is more room to navigate, more space. I was reliant on phenibut for about 5 years. I first started withdrawing from it in 2016. I tell most people it was an addiction to a benzo, since everyone knows what a benzo is, and, to be fair, I was also popping benzodiazepines like nobody's business back then. But it was a phenibut reliance that landed me in the emergency room, and gave me the worst, and nearly fatal, months of my life, from December 2015 to about March 2016.

I'm off of it now, and tapering off of the helper drug that got me to quit it (baclofen). That also sucks, but it's much less psychoactive, I think? Phenibut is not an intoxicating drug like benzodiazepines, but it exerts a noticeable effect on your perception; notably, it boosts motivation, mood. It creates music enhancement. Makes you talk for hours. And really, when you're on it, you aren't truly intoxicated. But the withdrawal is basically identical to benzodiazepine withdrawal, and likewise, it can be fatal.

But there's something else that not many people mention. When you come off phenibut for the first time in a long time, you experience life how it is. Things feel real. That's hard to quantify, or even qualify. Many people know what it's like to be intoxicated, but phenibut lasts pretty much 24 hours, so you can just take it around the clock, and never spend a single moment sober as long as you have enough.

I got back on it after leaving an abusive relationship and being saddled with PTSD in 2019. I decided to quit in 2023, and was mostly successful, got stuck on it a couple more times, and now I'm off.

Still reliant on baclofen, as I've said (but that's a normal drug. It's one your doctor prescribes and you pick up at the pharmacy—phenibut is not like that). But the taper has been easier than I thought it would be. And now, I'm experiencing my first fall off of phenibut, and without any amphetamine, since 2017.

I can feel fall breathe. I can smell the crisp air, the scented candles wafted apple cinnamon through the house. I take in splashes of brown in trees, I watch the autumnal sun set over Virginia. I can feel it—all of it, infesting my every atom.

This may seem like standard purple prose, but it is not. For the past five years everything I have just described has been blunted. Phenibut robs you of this experience. It prevents the realness of life from manifesting—it's the opposite of reifying; it is fictionalizing. It feels all like a dream, not quite dissociation but nevertheless not real.

Fall and winter always feel like periods for change for me. Virginian heat waylays all progress during the summer. But here I am, applying for new, better jobs at 10 PM. Thinking about vanishing so I can focus on getting ASF out, and working more so I can pay the artist. I feel—well, anxious because of the taper, but nevertheless alive. My body feels lighter; when I lay in bed, I feel not only comfortable in my skin and bones, but like I should.

Despite all the drug use in my past, I'm a healthy adult (minus the physical disabilities). Last time I got bloodwork, everything checked out. I have sources of income. I don't particularly like any of them except writing, but they're there. I have potential.

Before my sister's death, I had so much fury rumbling beneath the surface—one more wry comment from my mom, one more sarcastic, braindead remark from my sister, and tornadic rage would've bubbled forth and I could have very well gotten life in prison. That little kid—that child, that ten-year-old boy in a wheelchair—is still there, simmering with so much earth-shattering fury that he had me eyeing knives and balling fists.

But even if he is still there, he is not in control, at least not anymore. I hated my sister. I truly do not think I have ever hated someone with so much vehemence except my father, and her death quieted little Adam, for a moment, for a time. He's satisfied. He's been avenged. He has vindication.

And now, 25-year-old Adam is sitting here, writing this entry, as that little boy gives me notes from the past.

All of this makes me wonder—am I happy?

I'm a depressive. I'm a suicide. And I'm only 25 years old. There are few times in my life where I can say with conviction that I was happy. One: Summer 2016. Two: Winter 2016 - Spring 2017. Three: Spring 2019.

What I feel now is not what I felt then. I am not happy. But neither am I suffering, at least in this present moment. I often suffer. Agony is as familiar to me as the color of my skin and the bags beneath my eyes.

But it isn't with me now. Instead, I am calm. I can stretch my limbs wide, close my eyes.

Let's hope it lasts all winter.

[casspurrjoybell-24]

The Alpha's Boy - Chapter 10 - Part 1

Book Two In : The Alpha's Trilogy

*Warning Adult Content*

Alistair 'Star' Claymore-Phoenix

My body hurt, everything was sore, my muscles ached in places I had no idea they could ache, this is why I didn't go to the gym, the after-effects were painful.

'Just because I was a werewolf doesn't mean I was in great shape,I mean come on, I'm a drug addict.'

I had found a couple more pills hidden in my bags that I hadn't realized I hid, so I was still high but not enough to stop myself from going about my day but I dreaded the future that I knew was coming, I knew I was either going to need to find more or I was going to hit a withdrawal.

Neither of those options sounded fun to me.

Not that I had been looking but I had taken notice of the fact that all the medical cabinets in the house were empty aside from toothpaste and contact solutions.

That the kitchen had not even a Tylenol bottle in sight.

It made me feel gross and a bit angry with the fact they didn't trust me enough to even have simple medications laying out but how could I blame them?

They didn't know me, I was just some drug addict that their Grandson took in to raise and I could only imagine what my parents had warned them about.

I sighed as I looked out the living room window to the long driveway, Darren was hauling his suitcase into the back of the SUV, while Silas spoke to Nani and Miquel.

I wanted to go out there and say goodbye, give them a hug and promise them I would be better the next time they see me but I didn't make promises that I couldn't count on keeping and at this point, I didn't know if I would be able to keep a sober promise or even promise them that I would see them again.

'What was that supposed to mean?'

I pushed the dark thoughts from my mind as I opened the front door.

Silas looked over and gave me a warm smile, something I could always count on him to do.

He had a good habit of making things feel safe, he made me feel like I was wanted and had a purpose when all I felt was dread and hopelessness.

"We're gonna miss you bud," Silas said, hugging me from the shoulder and putting a hand in my dark locks, making a mess of my hair.

"Don't give them too much trouble. I'll call you every night. Promise."

"And if he doesn't, I will," Darren said, giving my head a pat when Silas moved his hand.

I gave my Dads a soft smile, I wanted to do right by them, I didn't want to fuck this up.

I watched their car until it was nothing but dust on the dirt road.

I sigh left my lips as I turned back towards the house.

Preston was giving me the morning but said once he was finished lunch he'd be looking for me.

I looked up at the summer sky... clear not a cloud or bird in the sky.

'Ali, Ali.'

I jumped, blinking for a moment to realize I was alone, my skin crawled for a moment with the phantom voice in my head.

I shook myself turning towards the house pushing myself to get ready for the rest of the day.

"It won't be too much work when Riot gets back. I want you up early tomorrow, help me wake everyone up. I'll show you the morning routine, and after that, you and Riot should be fine to work alone while I go on vacation."

'You're going on vacation?'

"Oh, Yeah, Riot and I take two weeks every year. This year he went to Newfoundland to visit some friends, it's beautiful there this time of year. Once he gets back I get my turn, I'm going on a road trip with a few buddies for mine, one is in Calgary, the other is in Edmonton. We're going to go east for a bit. Normally Miquel would help us out but he had a hip replacement in the winter. So really, you came just in time, how lucky is that?"

'Oh yeah? So lucky,' I signed, knowing he wouldn't understand me.

Preston ran a tanned, dirt soaked hand through his blond mop of curl before turning to me with a smile.

"Maybe tomorrow night we can watch a few movies, I need to clean up tonight. Riot gets back in a few days and if the house is a mess he'll skin me but I could use some company if you're interested. You play DnD?"

Uh, no. no DnD. But I'm down for a movie night.'

"It's settled then, I'll see you in the morning, five on the dot."

Preston dusted off his jeans, getting up from the gator as my eyes widened at the time he gave me.

He just smirked at me, ignoring my increased volume 'Hey' from my cell-phone as he walked away with a wave.

"Stop yelling at me and set that alarm. Night, night Star."