#enthusiastic sobriety

[pratchettquotes]

Klatchian coffee has an even bigger sobering effect than an unexpected brown envelope from the tax man. In fact, coffee enthusiasts take the precaution of getting thoroughly drunk before touching the stuff, because Klatchian coffee takes you back through sobriety and, if you're not careful, out the other side, where the mind of man should not go. The Watch was generally of the opinion that Samuel Vimes was at least two drinks under par, and needed a stiff double even to be sober.

Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

[therealslimshakespeare]

How are poly Austin, Calum and OC doing ???

Ooooh how are they indeed? It is such fun to be asked about them, aaaah!! Like..:people remember them. You want more. That’s so fun for me, I love them and @ab4eva and I totally have plans for still more of them.

The Three of Us Update ✨

That more being- how they are now. Which is pretty grand but far too busy. Or at least, Austin is, workaholic that man and you knew that he was dedicated and in a very crucial stage of establishing himself as one of the most respected and in demand actors of his generation but, the fact of it is, the holidays find you about as worrisomely detached from his hectic set-life as Cal is from the both of you an ocean away. There is FaceTime and the group chat and gifts sent back and forth and avid interest for each other’s success and fits of glumness, but the long stretch between last time all together has begun to wear, it’s a melancholy sort of missing of both of them and you long for the closeness. The easy way everything is so right when together.

Your mother and your girl friends are making proclamations these days, general platitudes about how a man who was serious about you would make this something more official after a year and a half of “casual” dating. And they’re right, if that’s what was still happening. To be fair, dating doesn’t seem to be what you’re doing anymore, you and Austin are so far beyond that despite the recent distance and added to it, Callum is as solidly a part of that seriousness that your head spins with what sort of talk is even needed to solidify something so utterly unorthodox and yet so crucial for your world to make sense. No one can know, no beyond the occasional snicker over espresso martinis about “the boys” and double innuendos about sharing that you can always laugh off in the sobriety of the morning after.

In this funk, which would be no funk at all if the ones you love were simply near and life didn’t move too fast and work too slow- you find yourself in London in December. A work trip, but feeling indulgent and more than mopey at another fairy light snow dusted early December spent alone despite ostensibly being able to claim a boyfriend, you stay over. You museum stroll, you enjoy your favorite tea houses, explore the garden exhibitions, try your hand at photography on the various bridges. Get a text from Callum asking if you really came to London, stayed a few days, posted it on your Insta stories and “didn’t say shit” to him about it.

Chastened, and no longer deterred by the three avatar bubbles denoting each member of the group chat, you fire back apologies, a string of demure and pitiful emojis and inquiries as to how to make this slight better.

There’s barely five seconds of typing ellipses before your sentence is declared.

Coffee and baguettes at Burhams, 4:00, Mumford and Sons playing at the Carlton at 7:00, so wear something sexy under the coat. But bring a coat, it’s going to be frigid. I’ll schedule an uber if you give me your hotel address. Why the fuck aren’t you staying at mine? See you tonight. Xx

To your credit, between the giddy smile on your face in anticipation of seeing him and the butterflies in your belly of having an evening that’ll finally match the jollity of everyone around your sad little self, you feel a tiny slither of doubt. You like his message, biting your lip in worry over how to reply, not that you don’t know what you want to say to him and how enthusiastically you intend to agree with his hijacking of your evening, but rather, an uneasy awareness of Austin’s presence in the chat. That very same presence that erases all the guilt of such a conversation, not that there should be any anyway, you’re all friends, but you find your fingers stall when you go to gush in approval of the plan as warmly as you intend.

Five whole minutes go by. Just your solitary and very unappreciative thumbs up lingering there. It’s making it weird, you’re making it weird. This is how you’ve been all this season and you’re sick of it.

Then another row of little dots appear, texting in progress. You hold your breath, melancholy and fond in expectation of Callum’s predictable ribbing over your moderation.

But it’s under Austin’s name when the grey chat box slides into delivered. It’s simple, easy, a pink cheeks smile emoji at the end.

Yeah, and wear tights with that coat, I know you. Tights can be sexy. Pneumonia isn’t ☺️.

God you miss him. And it seems you’re going out with Callum tonight. You should overthink the pulsing bravery and excitement that takes over then, but you don’t. Because that’s a thing to be left behind with the loneliness at Christmastime when you’ve got people to love you.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 4 (smexy times ahead)

Three baskets of onion rings later, Kara feels a pleasant buzz humming through her body. She lets Lena climb the steps back up to street level first, only to find herself having to studiously avoid staring at the woman’s ass. They walk a little ways down the block in comfortable silence. Kara feels confident that they’ve managed to salvage the date– the conversation had recovered relatively well following her tragic backstory. 

She reflects on how Lena hadn’t lingered on the trauma, had neither asked questions nor offered unneeded sympathies. She’d simply let Kara drive the conversation, and followed when Kara had moved on to stories from the academy. Lena hadn’t shared much of herself, but Kara was content with her laughter and effusive smiles.

When they pause at the curb, Kara hesitates. She isn’t nearly ready for the night to end, but she doesn’t want to come on too strong. Now, it’s Lena’s turn to drive–

“So,” Lena says, tucking her hands into her back pockets. “How drunk do I need to be to go home with you?”

Kara jolts, not expecting the forthright question. She barks a laugh. “As drunk as you wanna be,” she says, taking a step closer. “But ideally not so drunk you won’t remember in the morning.”

Kara crooks her arm, and Lena threads her arm through it. She only saw Lena with the one drink, but that doesn’t keep her from continuing to tease. 

“Will I have to take a sobriety test?” she asks puckishly.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

It’s a short walk to Kara’s building. She leads Lena up to her third floor walk up, and unlocks the door to admit them both. Kara enters first, passing a critical glance across the first room as if she hasn’t already power cleaned expressly in anticipation of this possibility. Lena trails in after her, stripping off her leather jacket and as she casts a look around. Her gaze is less judgemental and more curious, to Kara’s eye, as though it might tell her more about Kara.

When she catches Kara observing her, she touches a finger to her nose. “Do I pass, Sergeant?”

Kara shakes her head with a huff. “Shut up,” she mutters. She steps smoothly into Lena’s space, gently pushing her back by the shoulders until she hits the wall. Only then do their lips meet in a collision of heated breath and quiet fervor.

The ball of tension that has been slowly building in her belly since meeting Lena on the scene releases when Lena moans into her mouth. Her hands slowly drift from Lena’s shoulders, to down her ribs– letting her thumbs give a deliberate brush of Lena’s breasts along the way. It elicits a sharp inhale from Lena, and an answering nip on Kara’s bottom lip.

“Jesus,” Kara murmurs. “You are so…”

“So…?” Lena prods. Her eyes are dark and heady, her swelling lips curling into a smirk.

Kara grins back. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning–”

Lena captures her lips again, and this time Lena’s tongue gently quests forward, barely tasting Kara’s lips before Kara opens her mouth to receive her. But barely a moment later, Lena grunts and pulls back again.

“Couch?” she suggests.

Kara nods enthusiastically. “Yeah– yeah, of course.”

She takes a moment to peel off her own jacket and pull up a playlist on her phone, filling the room with a low, sensual beat. She meets Lena at the couch, and gamely sits when Lena pushes her onto the cushions. 

With a grin, Lena plants a knee on either side of Kara’s lap. She pulls her loose muscle tank up and over her head, exposing a toned, muscled midriff under her crop top. Kara’s breath catches in her chest. She’s been with beautiful women before. She’s been with fit, muscular women before. But none of them have captured Kara the way Lena has. 

Catching her staring, Lena reaches down to lift Kara’s hand to rest against her torso. Her skin is warm, and firm, and soft. “Better than a calendar, no?”

Kara swallows the sudden excess of saliva pooling in her mouth. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Lena bends, keeping Kara’s hand on her skin, and kisses her soundly. Kara moans, letting herself be pressed into the cushions. Lena’s free hand slips under her shirt, and soon Kara moves her own hand up to cup Lena’s breast. She lets her fingers play across Lena’s ribs, then tugs Lena closer, until the seat of her ass sits firmly in Kara’s lap.

“You are so fucking hot,” Lena utters, her voice a velvety purr. “So. Fucking. Hot.”

Heat rushes from Kara’s belly and flows directly to her crotch. Her underwear dampens, but she can’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed. She has Lena fucking Reilly in her lap. She is officially the luckiest woman in National City tonight.

“I want you so bad,” Kara returns. “I want to lick your clit until you come so hard you see stars.”

Lena’s eyes glint. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.”

In an instant, Kara has them flipped. She kisses Lena deeply, then makes her way down to the waistband of her jeans. When she pops the button she kisses a trail down the triangle of fabric that greets her. She’s pleased to find that the crotch of the fabric is as damp as hers, filling Kara’s senses with a sweet, musky scent. 

“Glad I’m not the only one who’s fucking drenched.” 

Kara’s voice pulls Lena gaze downwards, a dark brow arching. Kara gives a lascivious smile. “Drenched,” she emphasizes.

Plump lips curl in a satisfied smile. “I look forward to doing something about that. But first...”

Kara hooks a finger around the damp lace and pulls it aside, laving her tongue along the lips of Lena’s entrance. When she dips her tongue into the cleft between, without quite plunging inside, Lena gives a strangled whimper. In an instant, Kara decides that tonight isn’t a night for games. Perhaps another night, should she be lucky enough for another night, she could explore the limits of Lena’s patience. But tonight, Kara simply wants to make good on her promise.

She gets to work. 

Starting with a single finger, she curls up and Lena into. She finds a good spot almost immediately, confirmed by the snap of Lena’s thighs against her ears. Almost immediately, her knees fall open again.

“Sorry,” Lena huffs with a breathless chuckle. “Wasn’t expecting you to get there so soon.”

Kara glances up at her with a puckish grin. “What can I say? I guess I’m just that good.” 

“Show me,” Lena dares. “Show me how good you are.”

Kara obeys, dipping her back down. She adds another finger to Lena’s slick folds, then seals her lips around Lena’s clit. Lena squirms when Kara strokes slowly over the stiff, swollen bud, and gives a low moan that rumbles through her body. Warm fluid coats Kara’s fingers, dripping down through her fist.

Then, Lena’s hand brushes Kara’s head so tenderly, it almost makes Kara come on the spot. Long fingers drift down past her ear, until they cup the edge of Kara’s jaw. The touch is so gentle, affection in a sea of libido.

Kara’s eyes prickle unexpectedly. She blinks the sensation away, then begins in earnest. Stroking and thrusting in tandem, its not long before Lena’s gasping high and sharp ion every breath. Kara feels the way Lena’s thighs strain and tremble with tension, the way her walls clench and grab at her fingers with each stroke. It won’t be long now–

Lena crests with a cry. Another gush of arousal floods Kara’s briefs, and she increases her pace, intending to draw out Lena’s orgasm for as long as possible. Only when Lena’s moans turn to whimpers does she ease off. Kara leaves her fingers slack inside Lena, but removes her lips with a final steadying lick before pressing a sloppy kiss to the inside of Lena’s shaking thigh.

“You were so amazing,” she murmurs, panting.

Lena’s eyes blink blearily open, focusing on Kara with a delayed smile. 

“You okay?” Kara checks in.

Lena nods. She reaches down to withdraw Kara’s fingers and pull her back up onto the couch. Kara flops down beside where Lena slumps, taking a moment to wipe her chin. Still clasping Kara’s hand, Lena lifts Kara’s sticky fingers to her mouth and gives them a slow gentle lick before rolling to kiss Kara on the lips. 

“Stars accomplished,” she murmurs.

Kara grins goofily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Lena giggles. 

“Good.” Kara gives Lena another kiss.

They sit for a long moment to reclaim their breath. Lena lets her head rest on Kara’s shoulder, and Kara rests her head on Lena’s. Their fingers remain laced together, until Lena finally lifts her head with a cheshire smile. 

“What do you like?” she asks plainly. 

Kara deflects. “Oh, I don’t need–”

“We don’t have to,” Lena affirms, “but I want to. I want to make you feel good.”

Kara chews her lip for a long moment, then cranes her neck to meet Lena’s gaze. “I have some toys in the bedroom…?”

Lena’s eyes spark with excitement.

“Excellent.”

—

Later, when they’re both sprawled on Kara’s bed, naked and exhausted with Kara’s favorite strap on discarded on the floor, Kara gazes at Lena’s sinuous form in the darkness. In the pale light of the street lamps outside, Kara can see the shadow of the tattoo she’d glimpsed when Lena had stripped earlier, the tally marks grouped in stacks of ten. She counts thirteen tallies.

“Hey, Kara?”

Kara hums. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question? About what you told me at the bar?” Lena shifts, turning her head to look at Kara. “I think I already know the answer, but…”

“Of course,” Kara returns. As she’d said before, she’s comfortable with talking about it, including answering the questions that many people have when they find out. Even if she wasn’t, with Lena she would be. “You can ask me anything.”

Lena inhales softly. “Do you still talk to Kenny?”

Oh. That isn’t a question she’s been asked before. 

“Yeah,” she responds quietly. “I do.”

She tries to visit at least once a month, but Kenny always forgives her when she can’t quite make it happen. It had taken a while, to get to a point where she was able to talk to him about something that wasn’t about the why and the why and the why… But Cat’s compassion that day in the hall had remained persistent in her memory, driving her back to the penitentiary again and again. Now, it almost feels like they’re back to the way they were before.

Kara sees Lena’s nod, but her bedmate doesn’t say anything. 

“Is that the answer you expected?”

A glimmer of light answers her as Lena flashes a brief, sweet smile. 

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “It is.”

She squirms closer to Kara, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth before snuggling into Kara’s shoulder. Kara curls her pinned arm around Lena’s shoulders, rolling until their bodies are flush. They’ll likely overheat soon and separate, but sleep pulls at Kara’s eyelids. 

It’s been a long time since Kara has been afraid of anything. There’d been moments of fight or flight, adrenaline surges galore, but not fear. But there in that room with Lena, she can’t remember a time she’s ever felt so safe.

[katethetank]

Rating: 18+, minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Quality Stobin time, Robin is a good best friend, Eddie tells Steve about his sobriety CW: Slight angst, drinking, discussion of drinking, drug usage and overdose, sobriety Tags: Alternate Universe - modern setting, Rock Star Eddie, Counselor Steve, Eddie is gay, Steve is bi, slow burn, eventual smut Word Count:2,367

Chapter 3<<Masterlist>>Chapter 5

It’s not an exaggeration to say that was the best date of his life. The conversation flowed like he was with an old friend. The casual, gentle touches were like something you’d share with a long time lover. There was a connection happening that couldn’t be denied.

“It sounds like it was pretty perfect,” Robin says as she tops off Steve’s glass of wine. They’re on the living room floor of his apartment, picking apart every detail of his date with Eddie.

Their date ended several hours ago, and Steve wasted no time calling his soulmate in for reinforcements. “Ugh, Rob, it was! I thought for sure I fucked it up beyond repair with the whole ‘I had no idea you were a rock star, by the way I don’t like your band’ debacle, but he was so nice about it! He actually seemed to like the fact that I was so honest with him. And the chemistry? Babe I swear, it was…electric! Am I making a huge mistake with this though?”

Robin takes a sip of her wine and tilts her head in thought. “What do you mean? Men aren’t exactly my forte, but from what you’ve told me, he sounds pretty charming. A total nerd, granted, but charming nonetheless.”

“Nerds I can handle! I’ve been dealing with The Party for years. Eddie, though. He’s not your average nerd, he’s a fucking rock star, Robbie! They’re kind of notorious for being heartbreakers. Am I just setting myself up for getting my heart smashed to pieces?”

Defeated, Steve slumps back against the couch, scratching at the mud mask that’s drying on his face. Robin slaps his hand away and tsks at him. “Leave it! You need self care, so we’re doing self care! But I hear you, babe. Guys in his line of work don’t exactly have a great track record. They’re usually sluts, which, may I remind you, you’re kind of a slut yourself!”

“Hey! Not cool! I’m spilling my guts here, I need my best friend to support me, not insult me!”

“Not an insult, Dingus! Just stating facts. Look, I know you’ve got a big heart under all that chest hair, and you haven’t exactly had the best track record yourself. You’ve gone looking for love in everyone you’ve been with and it hasn’t worked out. Which is bullshit, because you’re amazing and all these idiots are clearly missing out! But from what you’ve told me, this guy seems genuinely smitten with you. Ask yourself this: did he try to get in your obnoxiously tight pants right away?”

Steve doesn’t even have to think about it. “No, of course not.”

“Excellent! And did he make the advance on you, or did you take the initiative and ask him out?”

“I asked him out…”

“Right! And despite the fact that you unknowingly shit on his profession-“

“Rob!”

“Am I wrong?! Despite that, did he still enthusiastically agree to go out with you?”

“Yes…”

“Great, let’s keep going! Was it then revealed on this date that he’s related to our sweet Southern belle Wayne?”

Steve laughs at the image of Wayne in a Scarlette O’Hara type dress. “Ok, I wouldn’t ever classify him as a ‘belle’ but yes. What’s your point?”

“I’m getting there, stick with me. Do you trust Wayne?”

Again, Steve doesn’t even have to think about it. Wayne has been nothing but kind to him from the start. “Absolutely, he’s the best.”

“So if Wayne saw you on a date with his nephew, and if his rock star nephew was a total scumbag, do you think Wayne would have been ok with this date in the first place?”

“I…guess not? He’s only ever had good things to say about Eddie.”

“So there you go! If you can’t trust yourself, then trust Wayne! Babe, I get that you’d be hesitant about this, and that you want to protect yourself. I do. But sometimes the risk is worth the reward. Just…don’t jump in dick first like you tend to do! Take your time with him, see how it goes. It could be worth it.”

Well. How can Steve argue with that? God, he loves this woman so much.

“Robbie. I love you so much.”

“I know you do babe. Now. Are we gonna Google him? Stalk the socials? What next?”

“Absolutely not! I kind of prefer not finding out anything that way. I’d rather hear his story from him, you know?”

Robin sighs and finishes her glass of wine. “You’re no fun.”

She’s got some good points, Steve has to admit. How many times did he jump into bed with someone hoping that it would lead somewhere, just for him to be sent home as soon as the fun was over, never to be called again? He doesn’t want to make the same mistake with Eddie. Maybe playing the long game is the best option here.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by his phone vibrating on the table. Picking it up, he practically chokes on his heart leaping into his throat. 

🎸Eddie🎸: Hey Stevie! I know you said you’d call, and I tried my best to wait, but I just couldn’t do it

🎸Eddie🎸: I’m packing up to leave tomorrow morning and I can’t stop thinking about you

🎸Eddie🎸: Thank you for giving me a chance to get to know you… that was probably the best date I’ve ever been on, and I’m really looking forward to coming back in a few weeks. Name the time and the place and I’ll be there! Maybe even with bells on, so I don’t scare the shit out of you again 😈

“Oh god. I know that look. That’s him, isn’t it?! You’re so smitten it’s disgusting. Should I start planning the fall wedding now?”

“Hey, we’ve been over this babe, I’m trying not to get my hopes up here, so don’t even start joking about weddings!”

☕️Steve☕️: I had a really great time too! And I agree, best date ever ☺️

☕️Steve☕️: Just told Robin all about it and she thinks so too 

🎸Eddie🎸: Aw sweetheart, you told your bestie about me?? All good things I hope 🤞

☕️Steve☕️: Of course! Except for the pickup lines, those have been truly atrocious

🎸Eddie🎸: You’re charmed by them, admit it!

☕️Steve☕️: never.

🎸Eddie🎸: Yeah right, I bet you’ve got that pretty blush on your face just thinking about it 

“Rob, come here. Selfie.” Steve drags Robin closer to him and he snaps a picture of their mud-covered faces and goofy grins. 

☕️Steve☕️: No blush here, no idea what you’re talking about 

🎸Eddie🎸: Fuck, you two are so adorable I wanna scream 😩

☕️Steve☕️: Record it, maybe you can use it for your next album

🎸Eddie🎸: oh you little shit!

☕️Steve☕️: 😂

“Steven Elizabeth Harrington-“

“Not my middle name!”

“-you are smiling like an absolute idiot! I haven’t seen you like this maybe ever!”

He hasn’t felt like this maybe ever. The butterflies, the excitement, the newness of it all. It’s exhilarating. He leans against his best friend, rests his head on her shoulder. “I think I really like him.”

Robin, always knowing what he needs, gets her arm around him and scratches at his scalp. It’s like an off switch for his anxiety. “It’s ok to really like him, Steve. It’s ok to get all excited and twitterpated. And it’s totally ok to be scared too. Take things slow. Guard your heart. But let yourself enjoy it too, ok? You deserve to have someone fawn all over you.” Steve can’t help but smile. Robin is the best. “Now let’s wash this shit off our faces, it’s starting to itch.”

A few hours and a few glasses of wine later, Robin heads back home and Steve curls up in bed. His skin feels amazing thanks to the mud mask, and he’s a little buzzed - not just from the wine, but from the whole Eddie of the day. He reaches over to his nightstand where his phone is plugged in and brings up their texts from earlier, smiling at the exchange.

☕️Steve☕️: Hey Eds?

He doesn’t expect an immediate response. It’s getting late and Eddie has a flight in the morning. He might already be asleep, but Steve wants to try anyway. Before he can type what he wants to say, he gets a reply.

🎸Eddie🎸: Yes Stevie?

☕️Steve☕️: I think I really like you

🎸Eddie🎸: Well that’s a relief, because I think I really like you too.

☕️Steve☕️: You’re back home tomorrow night, right? I can call you then?

🎸Eddie🎸: Shit, you can call me now if you want to! I’m happy to hear from you any time sweetheart

Without even hesitating, Steve calls. Eddie picks up immediately.

“Hello there handsome.”

“Hey Eddie.”

“Oh, you sound sleepy, angel.”

“Yeah, I just crawled into bed. Robin left a little while ago. Ubered home.”

“You two get a little wild tonight?”

Steve giggles like a damn school girl. “Yeah if by ‘wild’ you mean a few glasses of cheap Pinot Grigio, mud masks, and Drag Race. Not exactly the wild life of a rock star, but pretty close, right?”

Eddie’s deep chuckle coming through the phone sends a tingle down his spine.

“These days it’s not far off! I’ve chilled out a lot over the last few years. All the partying wasn’t worth it.”

“Yeah? So what’s a wild night like for you now?”

“Well, ditch the wine, and swap out Drag Race for Game of Thrones or something equally nerdy, and that’s pretty much it. The mud mask sounds nice though! Might give that a try.”

“So do you not drink at all? Or it is like, an occasional thing?”

Eddie lets out a small sigh and Steve realizes he might have just crossed a line.

“Shit, sorry, it’s none of my business! You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place.”

“No, no, it’s ok. I guess I was just hoping to wait on this conversation. But I want to know everything about you…it’s only fair that you know about me too. I uh…took the rock star thing a little too far a lot too many times. When we first started out it was constant partying. Drinks every night, weed, whatever. But as we got more popular and the venues got bigger, the parties started getting crazier too. People bringing all kinds of ‘party favors’ and shit. Coke, pills, you name it. We all indulged in it…when in Rome, you know?”

Eddie pauses for a moment to take a deep breath, and Steve waits, knowing there’s much more to this story.

“God, this is kinda embarrassing…I didn’t even realize how bad it got until I ended up getting my stomach pumped one night. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t actually an overdose, I just partied a little too hard. Fuckin stupid. Chrissy was there when I came to and she slapped some sense into me. Like literally! When I was coherent again, she came up to my hospital bed with tear stains in her cheeks and slapped me right across the face. Fuck, did I deserve it. She said I scared the shit out of her, and if I didn’t stop with the booze and the drugs, she was going to leave. No more managing us, no more touring with us, she’d cut me off completely. Said she couldn’t just stand by and watch me kill myself. So I stopped. Didn’t have to do rehab or anything like that…didn’t really need to with the wake-up call she gave me. So yeah. Cold turkey. Never touched the stuff again. At first it was for her. I didn’t want to scare her like that again. But as time went on, I realized how much better I felt. How much clearer my head was. The rest of the guys chilled out a lot too. They just have a couple beers after our shows or whatever, maybe a joint. And I stick to my caffeine and cigs. It’s a lot better for all of us.”

Steve is kind of stunned into silence. Not because he’s put off by any of it, he’s just struck dumb by Eddie’s honesty. He can’t believe Eddie already trusts him enough to share this with him.

“Stevie? Did I lose you? Didn’t bore you sleep or send you running for the hills did I?”

“No! God, no! Sorry, I was just…surprised by that.”

“Surprised that I used to be a borderline addict?”

“Surprised that you could trust me with something so big.”

Eddie nervously clears his throat.

“So uh…that’s not like, a dealbreaker for you? My history with this stuff, and that I don’t drink?”

“No Eds. Not at all. Thank you for being honest. Can um…can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Is that a dealbreaker for you? That I drink sometimes? I don’t like, get plastered all the time or anything! Just some wine with Robin every now and then, sometimes a night out with her and The Party when our schedules align. Stuff like that?”

“No, not at all honey. It’s not like…a wicked temptation for me or anything. I just don’t partake anymore. Don’t feel like you can’t enjoy yourself around me, ok? If we get to spend more time together, which I’m hoping we will by the way! I want you to just be yourself, have fun the way you wanna have fun.”

“Are you sure? I don’t ever want to put you in a situation where you feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh Stevie, you really are a sweetheart aren’t you? No honey, it’s fine. Seriously. The fact that you’re even concerned about that speaks volumes.”

“Ok…good.” Steve can’t control the tremendous yawn that escapes him then.

“Babydoll, you sound exhausted. You should get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon, ok?”

“Yeah, I should crash. You get some sleep too, I hope you have a good flight tomorrow. Let me know when’s a good time to call, ok?”

“Absolutely. Sweet dreams, gorgeous.”

Steve absolutely does not blush. “Good night Eds.”

They hang up, his phone goes back on the nightstand, and Steve drifts off warm, happy, and hopeful.

Chapter 3<<Masterlist>>Chapter 5

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

Comments are cool, let me know what you think! Taglist is open!

@annachronisme @mrsjellymunson

[tragicallyuncreative]

Atsila Cade

Johnny didn’t look enthusiastic. He wasn’t a big fan of Curly, especially since he gave him weed under the guise it was a cigarette and had a bad reaction. He proceeded to spend four hours locked in the bathroom, in tears because he was hearing voices and terrified he was getting sick like his mom.

~

I have no clue what story this will appear in, if any. But I will continue to reference my headcanon that Atsila Cade is schizophrenic (obviously, we know little about her in the book other than the fact that she's an abusive alcoholic). I don't want to make her a truly sympathetic character, as there's no excuse for child abuse. However, I see her as much more than a one-dimensional character who's simply evil and abusive for the hell of it.

Atsila was born in the Cherokee Nation Reservation near Ottawa, Oklahoma and resided there with her parents until her early 20s, when she met Anthony Cade. She began showing symptoms of schizophrenia around age 16, which is unusually early but not unheard of. Initially, there was no cause for alarm. It was small changes; withdrawing from others, not sleeping, having difficulty focusing on academics. Her auditory hallucinations were also not a red flag, in face, it was considered a good thing. Many cultures and religions practice shamanism, a practice that involves interacting with the spirit world. This is certainly a valid thing and does not mean one is mentally ill, rather, they are hearing voices because they are receiving communications from ancestors, spirits, elementals, etc. However, Atsila's experience was different. Her hallucinations were intense and harmful, and she developed classic symptoms of paranoia and delusions of grandeur.

By the time she met Anthony Cade, she was extremely vulnerable: a minority woman with a mental illness and desire to escape her circumstances. He was an alcoholic with a bad temper and desire to control others- and she was an easy target.

She was diagnosed with schizophrenia following an involuntary hospitalization and prescribed medication. Like many individuals with this diagnosis, she struggled with medication compliance (stopping because they feel "better", fear that pills are actually poison, etc) as well as an alcohol addiction as it masked her symptoms and quieted the voices. Alcohol did a good job at suppressing her delusions, unfortunately, under its influence she was angry and abusive, no better than her husband.

Her longest stretch of sobriety and medication adherence was nearly a year, when Johnny was six. Her arrest and subsequent court-ordered therapy and treatment regimen did wonders. She became the type of mother little Johnny had hoped for- loving and dedicated to making a better life for her son. She was nowhere near perfect, but it felt like enough for him. She took him to the reservation to meet his grandparents, and he felt connected to his culture for the first time. She made meals. She helped with homework. It didn't last.

Johnny spent his teen years (and later in our happy alternative endings) terrified that he would become afflicted with the same illness that stole his real mother, the person deep down, away. He wouldn't touch drugs or alcohol, afraid it may trigger the process. He obsessively had Ponyboy find books on schizophrenia and read them to him, hoping to find something, anything, that could decrease his chances of developing it. And he clung to the memories of his mother in those good days, going back again and again to the home he hated, to shouting and abuse and fear, hoping for glimpses of her again. And sometimes, he was rewarded.

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

previous chapter

masterlist

chapter warnings: alcohol consumption, noncon/dubcon piv, manipulative!Joel.

Ellie had spent a solid 15 minutes during dinner detailing the new comic she was in the process of illustrating. Her eyes were bright with excitement as she babbled on and gestured animatedly with her small hands. You listened dutifully, adding comments and asking questions where appropriate, trying to appear sincere in your interest. It was difficult to focus when the anxiety was still churning in her stomach and the welts on your flesh were throbbing.

Seeing Joel in the mess hall had rattled you. The pressure from Ellie, as well as the fact that your thoughts had been so convoluted all day, meant you hadn't even considered the possibility of Joel being there at the same time. The way he had stomped out of the mess hall soon after your arrival made you even more uneasy. You wondered where he was going, what he was thinking. You were too consumed with thoughts of Joel to notice Ellie's eyes narrow on you like a snake watching it's prey.

"What's this?" Ellie suddenly blurted.

She grabbed hold of one of your hands and yanked your blouse sleeve up your arm. You squeaked and pulled away from her but it was too late - Ellie had already seen the faint red rope marks on your wrist. You batted her away gently and she let go of your hand.

"The fuck happened to your wrist?" She frowned, her big eyes flickering from your hand to your face.

"Nothing, El," you lied cooly, tugging your sleeves down to properly cover the marks. "The cuffs on this shirt are a bit too tight, I think."

You would never hurt Ellie by telling her the truth. You cared about her far too much to purposely expose her to Joel's darker side and jeopardise her happiness. Or Joel's.

She searched your face for a moment, scrutinising your features for some indication of dishonesty. You mirrored her sober glower playfully, then stuck out your tongue. It was an attempt to break the tension and distract her, and it seemed to work. Ellie giggled a little, uncertainty still evident in the crease of her brows, but she let the moment pass without any more dispute. She changed the subject back to her comic idea, fortunately for you.

"Anyway, so the main character of this story is going to be like, really fuckin' smart..." Ellie continued rambling.

After another ten minutes, Ellie had only eaten half her plate of vegetables and venison before abandoning you in favour of a party she had been invited to. You didn't mind. Infact, you were relieved. It was the perfect opportunity for you to bolt back home and retreat under the covers of your bed. But just as Ellie was walking out the door, Kate, Rhi and Jess almost collided with her as they came strolling in.

Kate spotted you instantly and called out your name, waving to you enthusiastically. You sighed to yourself and waved back half heartedly. It looks like your plans would have to wait.

••••••

Joel was dozing on the couch later that evening when there came a succession of loud knocks on his front door. He groaned as he got up, his back stiff and aching, and made his way to the door in a only a few large strides. He thought it must be Ellie coming home early from the party - but deep down he hoped it was you coming over to collapse into his arms and beg for his touch.

When he opened up the door he was greeted by Tommy. Tommy stood on the doorstep with his hands on his hips, his mouth downturned in grim sobriety. His expression made Joel stand to attention instantly.

"Tommy? Whatsa matter?" Joel asked straight away. "Ellie alright?"

"Ellie's fine. But Carl spotted raiders North West of the mountain this evenin'," Tommy explained with calm urgency, his voice low despite no one else being nearby. "We need to get a group out there and scoutin' by day break at the latest."

"Fuck," Joel muttered, shifting his eyes up and sighing.

Raiders were not a common threat but they posed a serious danger to the safety of the community. They usually consisted of groups of more than a dozen men, all of them armed somehow, searching for any place or any people to strip of supplies. With its agricultural vitality, amenities and abundance of resources, Jackson would be a prime target for raiders.

They had to gather some patrolmen and venture outside to find them.

Joel and Tommy knew first hand how ruthless raiders could be. It pissed Joel off to think of a bunch of strangers trying to bust their way into his town, wanting to steal what did not belong to them, thinking they were some big bad gang. Joel would gladly execute them all on the spot.

Joel's eyes flickered back to Tommy, who was staring back at him with a steely resolve that signalled he was ready to hunt and slaughter these assholes right this minute. Joel's jaw ticked.

He had to do it. He had to go. There was no way he wouldn't. Joel gave his brother a decisive nod, indicating he was prepared to join him.

"Round up Harry and Troy, meet me at the gate at 4o'clock," Joel ordered in a low voice. "Don't tell no one what's goin' on. Only Maria."

Tommy nodded in agreement then spun around on his heel, stalking away from the house and into the darkness of the night.

Joel ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily. There would be a slight change of plans tonight, but it would still work out. He had been on a few of these missions before, special patrols where the more experienced men tracked and hunted groups of raiders and infected and eliminated them. Such operations could take anywhere from a couple of days to a month, depending on the weather conditions and the expanse of area that was being compromised.

It was impossible to tell how long Joel would be away for this time. He couldn't risk leaving without seeing you first. He needed to be certain that you wouldn't forget that it was he who took care of you, his hands your heart was cradled in, he who owned you. You were definitely frightened of him right now, so he planned to assuage that fear with something more pleasurable.

Joel glanced at the clock hanging in the loungeroom wall and took note of the time. 9.20pm. There was still time to have a drink and visit you before he had to leave for this expedition.

Joel started up the stairs to begin packing his bag.

You pushed the peas and mashed potato around your plate with your fork, only partly paying attention to the conversation happening around you.

"Are we having a party at the Bison for Cassie, a big final hurrah before she gets married to one dick for the rest of her life?" Rhi asked, earning a round of giggles from your friends. You were too preoccupied with your thoughts to join in.

You randomly wondered if any of them had been in a situation like yours before, if they too had loved someone who hurt them but were too ashamed to confine in anyone. Probably not, you deduced. They were so much braver and stronger than you. They weren't fucked up like you were.

Jess snapped her fingers infront of your face. "Hello? We need your input here!"

You jolted upright, accidentally irritating the marks on your backside and briefly wincing from the pain. You looked around at your friends' amused faces. "Yeah, sure, sounds fun."

"You okay?" Kate asked tentatively. She wasn't entirely oblivious to your mood, it seemed.

"Yeah," you replied casually, forcing a tight smile. "Just thinking of Cassie's gift and the design for her glory box."

Rhi clapped her hands together and squealed. "Oh! I forgot to tell you guys! I spoke to Sheila at the haberdashery and she said she has a panel of satin that would be perfect for Cassie's present. It looks alot like her dress, too."

You made a more conscious effort to engage in the conversation, not wanting any more attention on you.

"The wedding is in a month, so we better get working on it," you said confidently.

"How about tomorrow night?" Jess suggested.

You and your friends remained in the dining hall for the next half an hour going over your plans for Cassie's gift and the preparations for her hens night. It ended up being a welcome distraction for you and by the time you all finished dinner and agreed to go hang out at Kate's house, you felt a little less on edge.

By the time dusk crept over the town and the specks of stars appeared across the canvas of the evening sky, Oscar knew he was going to have a difficult time falling asleep that night.

••••••

His day hadn't been particularly stressful or challenging - infact it had been quite easy going - but from time to time he would wake up with a heaviness in his chest, and today was one of those days.

From this morning up until now, he felt an underlying anxiety inside him, a sorrowful clawing at his heart that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Unconsciously he knew why it was there. He had sort of been expecting it. But despite the years of enduring this burden of melancholy, Oscar had never quite gotten used to it.

And so instead of wallowing in his room with only the dark shadows of his memory for company, he decided to go to the Tipsy Bison and have a drink. He rarely drank to get drunk, but just enough to feel something close to happiness, a balm to soothe his unspoken hurt and make him forget for a little while. It helped with the nightmares.

When Oscar stepped out onto the street to begin the walk to the bar, he was struck by how beautiful and clear the night sky was, how the stars twinkled so prettily against the backdrop of black and deep blue. He marvelled at the heavens above him as he walked, welcoming the distraction from the dull ache in his ankle.

It was almost healed now. He would be back to patrolling soon. But right now he was enjoying the library shifts alot. It was different. It was new. And you were there.

The atmosphere of the main street was quiet and lonesome at this time of night. The cool air nipped at the nape of his neck, a timely reminder of the impending change of season, he thought to himself.

Oscar wished he could see you right now. Just to say hello. Ask if you were really alright. You looked sad today at the school and it worried him. Although he hadn't known you for very long, he found himself caring about you quite alot. There was something about you that attracted him. Not necessarily physically - although you were certainly beautiful - but emotionally and intellectually. He enjoyed the way you spoke and described things, how you listened to what he said with genuine interest, how your quiet company relaxed him and soothed the unrest in his heart.

But you were probably busy with your friends. Oscar supposed you must be popular in the community. How could you not be? You probably had a boyfriend, too; but he hadn't been daring enough to ask you about that. It didn't matter, though. He was content to be your friend. He just hoped you wanted his friendship, too.

When Oscar reached the Tipsy Bison he pushed open the saloon style doors and relished the hallmark ambience of the bar rush over him; the twang of the country music coming from the battered jukebox in the corner, the voices of the patrons talking and arguing, the yellowing glow of the lights pouring through the light haze of cigarette smoke. The Tipsy Bison was a little less than half full but was by no means subdued.

Oscar didn't stop to survey his surroundings before approaching the bar and ordering a beer. He took a seat on one of the stools and leaned his elbows on the counter, then ran a hand through his black curls. The anxiety was slowly consuming his thoughts, to the point that he hadn't even realised that Joel was sitting two spaces away from him.

Always vigilant of what was going on around him, Joel had noticed Oscar as soon as he sat down. He watched Oscar through his periphery, noting the defeated sag of his shoulders and the nervous way he raked his hand through his hair. Joel, being no stranger to self hatred and internal conflict, was adept at recognising when someone was struggling with something personal, and he could see something was bothering Oscar. Admittedly, he was curious. Especially now he knew you were working together at the library.

Joel had spent many hours patrolling with Oscar over the last few years and they shared a mutual respect of one another, not a friendship as such but a kind of comradery that only the patrolmen of Jackson shared. While Joel didn't care for cultivating friendships, he was comfortable enough initiating conversation with people when he was interested enough. And right now his interest was piqued.

"Somethin' on your mind, Estrada?" Joel asked without turning to face Oscar.

His question startled Oscar out of his thoughts, forcing him to straighten his back and look over to Joel.

"Oh, hey Miller," Oscar offered Joel a small grin, then shifted off the stool and onto the next one to sit beside Joel.

"Just the usual shit," he mumbled before taking a a swig of his beer. He let out a noise of satisfaction after swallowing it. "Goddamn, that hits the spot."

Oscar was a good man. He was friendly, talkative, and well liked by everyone. He didn't indulge in crude jokes or talk about sex, which Joel was grateful for (he fucking hated listening to crass banter almost as much as he hated someone talking unnecessarily). Oscar was never disrespectful towards anyone and he was a responsible patrolman.

Joel hummed in response and toyed with the neck of his bottle, his thumb smoothing over the condensation that had formed over the glass. A comfortable minute of silence passed as they both savoured the beer Tommy had spent countless hours crafting and perfecting.

But he didn't exude overtly masculine energy. He wasn't argumentative or had a bad temper, like alot of the other guys. He wasn't bloodthirsty or quick to prove his capabilities. To Joel, these traits automatically made Oscar weaker than him. And a little bit of a pussy.

It was because of these attributes that Joel did not perceive Oscar to be much of a threat regarding you. He had believed you when you said there was nothing going on with Oscar. Joel knew you well enough to know you were telling the truth. You were never good at lying, anyway. And you were always so open for him, so willing to please - you were such a good girl.

Joel recognised that a large part of your attraction to him was his own strength, his protective virility complimenting your soft, feminine nature so well. He too found it very appealing. So ofcourse you wouldn't be attracted to Oscar. You needed someone who could take care of you properly, and Joel was that man.

But Joel had to be honest with himself; witnessing the fear in your eyes had aroused him with such an unexpected ferocity that it was all he could think about tonight. Your innocent doe eyes wide with panic as you pleaded and begged, fuck, it filled Joel with a primal desire to devour you completely, body and soul. He couldn't wait to extract that reaction from you again.

But he knew he had to be careful with you. Scare you or hurt you too much and too quickly and you might tell Tommy or Maria on him, get him kicked out of Jackson, make Ellie hate him forever.

"Look like somethin's eatin' ya," Joel said casually, finally turning his head to look directly at Oscar. "Bad dreams again?"

No, Joel had to be a little bit tender, especially now. You'd learnt your lesson after he punished you, solidifying the fact that you only belonged to him. Joel could afford to be gentle right now and coax you back to feeling safe and satisfied with what you two had. Show you how kind and caring he could be if you stayed a good girl. Without the sappy relationship bullshit that your bitch girlfriends no doubt planted in your head.

Oscar gave a small shrug of his shoulders and sighed. "Most nights. Some are worse than others."

Joel nodded knowingly. He was no stranger to being startled awake, gasping for air, disturbed by the horrors projected in his mind in nightmares of the past. They still plagued Joel often enough for him to want to get drunk or fuck away his feelings every night. He wondered if Oscar had any secret vices.

Joel cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, unable to hide the awkwardness he was feeling.

"Ya got no family here," Joel stated matter of factly. "That's part of your problem. You need somethin' to live for, needa have some roots."

Oscar chewed his bottom lip, listening reverently to what Joel was saying. Joel was uncomfortable speaking so candidly but it was necessary. He needed to in order to gain some insight into Oscar's intentions.

"Me...I got my kid and my brother," Joel said with an offhanded shrug. He sounded gruff but earnest. "They keep me goin'."

Oscar was silent. Joel glanced back up at him.

"You been in Jackson a while now. You got yourself a woman?" Joel asked, trying to come across as casual rather than inquisitive.

Oscar looked down and gave a tight shake of his head, then took a long chug of his beer. Joel raised an eyebrow.

"Nothin'? No girlfriend?"

"Nah, man." Oscar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Joel looked over both of his shoulders before lowering his voice into a hushed hiss. "Not even just a once in a while fuck?"

Oscar barked a short laugh. "No, definitely not."

Joel's nostrils flared as he inhaled, a mixture of relief and pride surging inside his chest. He knew you were telling the truth. Now Oscar just confirmed it. There's no way you would go behind his back. Especially not with this pussy Estrada.

Joel hid the smug satisfaction threatening to spill across his face. Instead, he scratched the side of his face nonchalantly. "Fuck it, women ain't nothin' but trouble anyways."

Oscar exhaled a partly suppressed chuckle. Joel finished the last mouthful of his drink and set the bottle down on the countertop with a thud.

"Gotta good way to get rid of those bad dreams, ya know," Joel smirked at him.

"Yeah?" Oscar gave him a curious half smile in return. "What's your remedy, Miller?

"Let's get you hammered," Joel grinned wolfishly. "Won't be thinkin' too much about anythin' then."

Oscar chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, Miller, I don't think--"

"Hey Clyde!" Joel cut off Oscar to call out to the bartender down the other end of the bar. "Another couple of beers and some shots of whiskey this way."

Joel smacked his hand over Oscar's shoulder in a brotherly gesture of affection.

"Trust me, you'll be feelin' alot better after this."

"Okay okay, just a couple more," Oscar acquiesced genially. "Thanks, Miller."

"Anytime, buddy."

This is too fuckin' easy, Joel thought.

Kate had walked you back to your cottage after dinnertime and stayed for an hour curled up on your couch drinking a cup of herbal tea. When she left you tried to read through the book Oscar had given you and create notes for upcoming lessons for your class, but you were so tired that you fell asleep in bed by 10pm.

It was sometime after midnight when you sensed the dip of the mattress under your body and then the warm caresses underneath your tank top.

The scruff of his beard tickled your face as he peppered warm kisses over you cheeks. His rough hand roamed over your body with greedy hunger, only stopping to squeeze your breasts and the soft skin of your stomach. Your brows creased as you began to rouse from slumber. Even through the drowsy haze of sleepiness you could still identify the familiarity of Joel's touch and scent.

"Joel?" You murmured groggily, your voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah, babygirl, it's me," Joel whispered.

He gave you a sloppy wet kiss on your mouth, pushing his tongue past your lips. Your body was unmoving underneath his touch, still heavy with the sedative remnants of sleep. It took some time for your muddled brain to fully register the taste and smell of alcohol that enveloped your senses.

He has been drinking. Possibly drunk. And now he is in your bedroom, on-top of you.

The realisation made your body snap to attention with panic. Your eyes fluttered open and you brought your hands up to press against his chest and break away from his plush, hungry lips. Joel relented and pulled back, bracing himself on one hand above your head.

How the fuck did he get in?

You could feel the heat of his erection pressing against your thigh and you exhaled a small gasp when you realised his lower half was naked.

"What-you," you mumbled, "what're you doing?"

You shrunk back into your pillow and dared to stare up at his face to try gauge his mood. Joel's gaze met yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, the curls of his hair dishevelled as if he had been running his hands through them. There was no cruelty in his expression this time, no anger. It was such a huge contrast to his demeanour the last time he was in your bedroom and it made you feel even more disorientated.

And fuck, he looked so sexy.

"It's jus' me, baby," he whispered, his voice soft and slurred with lust. "Needed to see you."

His fingers dipped underneath the band of your sleep shorts and a lustful groan rumbled in his throat when he cupped your naked sex. You shifted your hips slightly and Joel moved his hand further down, his fingertips gliding across your lips. He found your entrance and slowly pushed one of his thick digits inside your pussy. You moaned softly at the intrusion and involuntarily parted your legs when his whole finger slid inside.

"Joel," you whispered breathlessly, your eyes still locked.

"Pussy missed me, ain't that right, sugar?" Joel purred.

He lowered his face and kissed you once again and this time you allowed him to, accepting his tongue to roll lazily into your mouth. His thumb pressed against your clit gently and began to move to in slow circles as his finger slid out of your pussy, then back in again. Joel continued fingering you and your body slowly began responding to his touch, your pussy becoming wet with arousal. He pushed his finger all the way inside you and curled it against your g spot. The intense pleasure made your eyes roll back and pull yourself away from his lips.

It felt so fucking good.

"Fuck," you panted, "J-Joel."

"So wet," Joel groaned. "See how your body wants me, babydoll?"

He was right. Your body was betraying you - your dignity, your honour. You shouldn't want this, not with Joel. Not after how he treated you these past few months, and definitely not after what he did to you with his belt.

Fuck fuck fuck, what if he is back to hurt you again?

You reached down and grabbed onto his thick wrist with your small hand.

"Joel, no," your voice cracked. "You hurt me. I don't want to do this."

"Ssssh," he cooed. "I ain't here to hurt you, darlin'. I wanna make you feel good. Lemme show you that I care about ya."

Joel nuzzled his nose against your cheek tenderly then licked at the corner of your mouth. You couldn't help but let out a tiny moan.

Why was he acting so different? Why was he being so tender now? Did he really want to show you that he cared?

The logical, rational part of your brain was being overruled by the naive softness of your heart and the yearning between your legs. Some small part of you knew that you should be wary and not trust Joel at all. But it was hopeless - you loved him. Still.

Your hand unwrapped from his wrist. A silent sign of permission. Joel removed his same hand from inside your shorts. Despite yourself, you whined at the loss of his touch at your core.

Joel sat back on his splayed knees inbetween your legs, the upper half of his body still covered by his flannel shirt. You bit your bottom lip and watched him, nervous to be so vulnerable underneath him yet excited, the arousal in your belly growing. He looked so broad and powerful.

While gazing down at you Joel began unbuttoning the buttons of his flannel with enticing dexterity. In only a few seconds he had stripped it from himself and discarded it on the floor. You drank in the sight of him naked, his bare torso dotted with scars, the muscles of his biceps flexing, how his thick cock bobbed up against his soft stomach. Saliva was pooling on-top of your tongue inside your mouth.

Joel took hold of the bottom of your shorts and tugged them down your legs. You hissed at the sting when it passed over your ass, but Joel didn't seem to notice. He slipped the shorts down your legs and threw them to the floor. You were now naked except for the thin tank top you fell asleep in.

"Pull your legs up," Joel rasped. "Wanna see that sweet pussy spread open for me. Come on, honey, show me."

He wrapped a hand around his cock and watched you obediently bend your knees and reach down to part your lips with your fingers, exposing your sensitive flesh and your hole to him. You lifted your head up off the pillow to see Joel groan and stroke his dick.

"So fuckin' pretty," he murmured. "Just waitin' for me to fuck her." His eyes flickered up to your face. "That what you want? You want me to fuck you, babydoll?"

You couldn't disguise the thrill of desire pulsing all over your body. You were mesmerised by every inch of the man infront of you, any hint of apprehension or fear having vanished now Joel was naked inbetween your legs.

"Yes, Joel. Please." You practically moaned.

Joel smirked, satisfied with your willingness to submit. "Keep that pussy spread for me, sugar."

Your fingers remained still as he leaned over you and spat out a warm wad of saliva onto your pussy. Joel watched intently as it slid down to your hole. You felt yourself fluttering at the sensation. Joel planted one hand on the mattress near your head to brace himself and hovered over you; his other hand notched himself at your entrance.

You held your breath in anticipation. Then Joel pushed himself into your tight wet heat.

The initial stretch from the head of his dick entering you was uncomfortable and overwhelming. But Joel was mindful tonight. He slowly sheathed himself completely inside and allowed a few moments for your body to adjust to the feeling of fullness. A long soft moan escaped your lips.

"Oh my god, Joel," you breathed.

"Feels so fuckin' good, babydoll," Joel groaned.

His eyes were downcast, transfixed, while he rocked his hips back to slide his cock out half way, then forward to move back inside you. He did so again and again, creating a slow and steady rhythm of fucking you.

Your hands travelled up to skim over his biceps, fingertips dancing over his muscles. Joel may have been considerably older than you but his stamina and might were impressive regardless of age. You were in awe of just how powerful his body was, how gorgeous his face was.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as his fat cock parted your insides so deliciously. It felt so natural to be underneath him again. You dug your nails into his shoulders and moaned softly with each thrust.

"That's it," Joel growled lowly, voice gravelly with passion. "There's my good girl."

He fucked you with a slow, hard momentum that made your stomach muscles contract and your inner thighs quiver. You could feel the stretch from his veiny thickness in each punch of his cock. Your body and mind were totally intoxicated by the carnal bliss Joel was enrapturing you with.

His actions were passionate but not at all rough. In fact he was being so gentle tonight, almost loving. Was this what making love is?

Joel was breathing heavily above you, his mouth slack, his eyebrows knitted in intense pleasure. Joel's hand snaked down and started rubbing your clit with two thick fingers without disrupting the pace of his hips snapping into yours. The stimulation added a whole new level of intensity. You shut your eyes tightly.

"Oh fuck yes, Joel," you groaned loudly without inhibition.

You no longer felt the sharp burn of the bruised welts on your ass as your body was being pushed into the mattress. You did not feel the tenderness on your red wrists, or the confused sadness of your heartbeat. You only felt Joel.

"Ya like that?" Joel panted. "Whose this sweet pussy belong to, baby? Whose your daddy?"

He stared down at you as he continued massaging your clit in steady circles. He angled his pelvis in a way that allowed his dick to tap into your g spot, that sweet part of your plush insides that he knew drove you crazy.

You dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders and tilted your head back, a guttural moan rising from your throat. Your head was swimming, unable to formulate a thought or a verbalise an answer except for his name.

Joel's movements stilled as he shifted to sit upright on his knees. You whined and opened your eyes. He was watching you, his eyebrows raised.

"P-please," you whispered weakly. "Dont stop."

"Ya didn't answer me," he muttered.

You were too distracted to perceive the underlying hint of danger and annoyance in his words. His cock was resting thick and heavy inside you. It was tortuous. You tried to grind yourself against him, desperate for friction to relieve the tension built deep in your core.

"Joooel," you whimpered. "I'm sorry, you just feel so good, so amazing, please, please keep going "

Joel wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed lightly, causing your pussy to clench around him.

"I'm gonna ask you again," he drawled calmly. He rocked his hips back and forth once teasingly. "Who owns this fuckin' pussy?"

"You do, Joel," you moaned, arching your back.

"Whose your fuckin' daddy?" Joel snarled, flexing his hand on your throat, a telltale gesture that he was holding back and close to snapping.

"You," you mewled pathetically, running your hands over his chest with fervor. "it's you, Joel."

He suddenly thrust all the way into you until his hips were flush against yours, his pubic bone slamming into yours. You cried out in shock. You were totally full of his girth with his heavy balls resting against your ass. The stretch at the opening of your vagina was actually painful. You could feel yourself tearing slightly.

"Ow, fuck, fuck! Joel," you whimpered, pressing your palms into his chest reflexively. "No, it's t-too much, too deep."

"Babygirl, this is my pussy and I'll go as deep as I fuckin' like," Joel growled. "So you're gonna shut the fuck up and take it."

The hand around your neck squeezed down, cutting off your air supply. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your eyes wide, your hands now limp by your sides. Joel started moving once again and was soon fucking you in deep, fast thrusts that hit your g spot each time, the action punctuated by Joel's heavy panting and the sound of the bed frame knocking against the wall.

Your mind was starting to go fuzzy, your vision blurry. The fiery pressure in your belly was growing and when Joel swiped the rough pad of his thumb over your clit your muscles squeezed around his shaft.

"You're gonna come on my cock," Joel ordered through ragged breaths. "And you're gonna thank me for it. You hear me, little slut?"

He relinquished his hold on your throat and you choked as your body gasped in a rush of air. You moaned and your eyelids fluttered when he then gave your cheek a few light rapid slaps.

"Gonna thank me for splittin' you open," Joel murmured, the drawl of his accent low and rich, pouring over your ears like thick honey. "For givin' this needy pussy what she's been beggin' for."

All you could do was moan as Joel relentlessly pummeled his cock into you, his thumb still rubbing your clit. It didn't take much longer for your orgasm to hit. The feverish climax flooded over your entire body and left you whimpering breathlessly and without any energy to move. Joel fucked you through your orgasm and allowed you a minute to recover before he ripped away from your body. You cried out from the sudden withdrawal.

Joel crawled up the bed so that he was straddling your torso. He grabbed a handful of your hair and lifted your head up from the pillow so that the fat head of his cock was directly infront of you, close to touching your lips.

"Thank me," he growled.

Joel began to pump his cock with his other hand. His dark hooded eyes narrowed on you. You licked your lips and stared back up at Joel. You felt the familiar desperate need to please him, to hear his praise reign over you.

"Thank you Joel," you purred. "Thank you for letting me come."

Joel groaned. His grip on your hair tightened. "Keep goin'."

"Thank you for splitting me open."

He fisted his cock faster, his hips rocking slightly as he chased his pleasure. You batted your eyelashes and moaned softly.

"Thank you for fucking my needy pussy."

Joel growled through heaving breaths as he came, thick ropes of cum shooting onto your face. You shut your eyes while his hand tangled in your hair held you still while. He continued to pump his cock and empty his load all over you.

"That's right," he panted, "take it. Good fucking girl."

When Joel had finished he let go of your hair and shifted to stand up from the bed. You blindly lifted the bottom of your tank top and gingerly wiped his cum from around your eyes, then the rest of your face. When you were able to open your eyes again you saw Joel already getting dressed.

Your heart sank. Was he really just going to leave straight away?

Joel looked at you as he hitched his jeans up.

"Raiders been spotted near Jackson. We got to get a patrol group out there tonight."

You felt your heart crack. He just fucked you and now he is going away?

You couldn't help the tears pooling in your eyes. "You're going?" You asked in a small voice.

Joel looked away from you as he zipped and buttoned his jeans. To your relief he wasn't wearing a belt.

"I gotta," he replied gruffly. "Don't know how long I'll be."

"Joel," you whispered.

You bowed your head and cried. You knew how dangerous this kind of mission was and despite the hurt you had endured at his hands, the possibility of him being injured or dying was devastating. You felt the warmth of his large hand stroke your head gently.

"Comin' back for you, sugar. Be good for me while I'm gone, ya hear me?"

"Yes Joel," you croaked.

Joel pressed your face into his naked belly, your cheeks still sticky from his cum. You wrapped your arms around his middle and sobbed. He allowed you to cry, smoothing your hair in soothing strokes until you calmed down.

Joel had stayed just long enough for you to fall asleep cuddled into the crook of his arm. Your features were slightly strained as you slept, as if your worry and sadness of real life had seeped into your dreams. Your cheeks were still stained with a mixture of dried tears and his cum. Joel checked his watch. It wasn't long now. He managed to extract himself from the bed without waking you and finished getting dressed. He watched you silently for a few moments before leaving to find Ellie.

••••••

However, neither of you could have foreseen the significance of events that were to develop during Joel's absence, nor the catastrophic repercussions of his return.

Joel knew your body craved him just as much as your heart did. You were so easy to placate. Now he could go with Tommy and hunt down those piece of shit raiders without needing to worry about you getting stupid ideas in your head.

What did you all think of this chapter? How do we feel about Joel? How about our main character?

Things are going to ramp up in the next installment.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose

[sleepywrite]

I may be writing a fun little Chilaios fic, so here’s a small draft that may contain so many errors lol

Draft:

Retirement has been a recent goal that Chilchuck wanted to reach and finally, here he is.

This achievement paired with a solid year of sobriety is what encouraged him to finally begin to contacting his family after nearly six whole months of radio silence. This is the best he has felt in years.

Chilchuck sinks into the oversized sofa chair, his feet barely touching the floor as he sips on his soda, pushing out a large, satisfied sigh. His laptop sits in front of him on the living room table, the white loading screen taunting his dark thoughts. His health was not the only thing that was neglected, it was shocking how quickly his body turned his lust for a quick drink into one that craved masturbating nearly every day.

The relief his current entertainment provides can almost scratch that same craving, except that the craving now gets the face of a pretty, desperate blond that haunts his every fantasy.

Chilchuck digs his heel into the couch as he watches the white waiting sign turn to the welcome screen filled with color.

"I hope your day has been amazing, let’s make it better!” Chilchuck smiles at the familiar greeting and looks down at the description as the time ticks down. The content is different from the previous video, which still fills Chilchuck's mind with memories, all of the camboy's thick thighs shaking and covered in bodily fluids.

“Today I am trying out a new monster toy, while you watch!” Chilchuck sat back in his chair biting his lip, this was gonna be a treat that he was gonna eat up all night long.

“ChimeraStreams is beginning!” Chilchuck tenses up, feeling tiny tremors of excitement move through his body. The livestream switches to black, but slowly changes as Chimera removes his hand from the camera lens.

“Hey everyone,” the camboy said enthusiastically, glancing towards the corner of the screen as people begin to join, “I’m still setting up so everyone can have fun with me, so hold tight! I plan to make the stream longer than usual!” Chimera’s eyes lit up with genuine excitement, teasing the audience as the chat fills with flirty greetings.

Chilchuck takes a breath, studying the mans face and naked torso, the only part of his body fully in view, and he is absolutely captivating.

[kinardbegins]

✮ main masterlist + ao3 ✮

casper. 21. he/him. uk. tommy kinard enthusiast. bucktommy truther. follows from softhairedhotch.

9-1-1 masterlist:

sense of belonging [bucktommy]

i'll give you roses [bucktommy]

family line [bucktommy, tommy & rocker]

sobriety [bobby nash & gn!reader]

sharing beds like little kids [bucktommy]

mr mystery man [bucktommy]

need your arms to hold me tight [bucktommy]

anxious mess [bucktommy]

finally home [bucktommy]

in every universe [bucktommy]

we'll build a blanket fort [buddietommy]

elevator love [bucktommy]

caleb collins (9-1-1 oc):

i don't wanna say goodbye (cause this one means forever) [caleb & brother]

hot cocoa [caleb collins/may grant]

[firsttarotreader]

Lucien Flores - The Fool

The nineteenth character of our series “Pedro’s Characters as Tarot Cards” is Lucien Flores. Lucien represents “The Fool”.

The Fool walks joyfully into a new adventure. He’s excited, he is not scared of the dangers he will face. There is an idealism to him, he is ready to discover the world, he’s spontaneous and even kind of innocent. This card’s energy is one of optimism, freedom and infinite potential. A bold risk-taker, he doesn’t hold back. A person under The Fool’s energy is a free spirit, an adventurer, with a bright smile, a youthful spark in their eyes and carefree style. Their presence is invigorating,they are optimistic and enthusiastic about life, jumping in on new adventures and opportunities with passion and courage.

We don’t know everything about Lucien Flores yet, but what we have seen shows his adventurous spirit, someone who arrives at his former love’s house bringing her the possibility of a new beginning, full of excitement and freedom. He’s there to apologize as part of his sobriety steps, and we learn from Rose, his ex, that he partied too hard, and that was one of the reasons why they broke up, although what they had was passionate and intense. He is still like that, he is not afraid, he sneaks out of the party with her, takes her to a corner, kisses her, with his spontaneous and carefree attitude. He doesn’t even care about her husband who’s in the house, he ignores the danger, he is a wild card, a man who went on to become a successful actor and who’s ready to boldly jump in on a new adventure.

For now, this is it in our Character Cards journey! When we are able to see his next characters, we’ll resume our series! Hope you all have enjoyed it so far! 🥰

[zot3-flopped]

I agree with your anon. I don't think Niall has a lot of confidence in his vocal ability. I DO think that out of the four he enjoys music. Singing it, playing it, performing it. He's enthusiastic. Which could come off as confidence but I think he's just having fun. I actually like some of his music but I can't watch him perform live. It's too cringy. I guess kudos to him for just going out there and doing the thing and not trying to be cool but it's not for me. Louis sings for attention. From his cult. He always looks uncomfortable and even in pain sometimes. I don't think he likes it but he needs it. Unfortunately he's tone deaf and doesn't have the discipline to put in the work to have the muscle memory to combat it so he's always going to suck at singing. That's on top of the lack of care he takes with his voice and his health. Zayn has a great voice and I think he's pretty vain about it but he has zero idea where to play to his strengths and where to edit and I personally can't listen to one whole song all the way through because the mumbling and the indulgent way he writes and sings takes me out of it. Then we have Liam. Good voice. But the man is as exciting as watching rocks grow. His voice is boring and generic. His songs are boring and generic and his stage presence is boring and generic. But he thinks he's all that. Always has. I don't think he compensates for low self esteem like his fans say. I think he struggles with the bitterness he feels over not being more successful because he thinks he was the best. That's why he wrestles with his sobriety. It's why he lies. It's why he lives such an extravagant lifestyle. Because he thinks he deserves. He fakes it so it looks like he's as successful as he thinks he should be.

This is a perceptive ask. I wish the guys hadn't made so much money in 1d. You're right when you say that Liam hasn't had the kind of success that warrants his international playboy lifestyle.

[nathaniel-donovan]

with: @maevemacnally where: leaving an aa meeting.

Nate's sobriety had already hit that one month mark and he felt better for it - he didn't feel so on edge with himself either, which was something he was starting to notice. No, he still couldn't sleep at night and admittedly it was then he struggled the most, but he was trying - just like the next person, just like Maeve. Nothing was an instant fix and the more days went by, the more he found acceptance in that. Attending AA hadn't been something he was enthusiastic about doing to start with, yet he was beginning to find some form of comfort by going. It also didn't make him feel so alone - which was Nate's problem, he didn't like being alone, and so his attempt to let Maeve know she had somebody there, was also for his own benefit. "You still hungry or are you just gonna head home?" he asked as he approached, knowing that he was going to get a dessert for himself anyway, he just thought he'd ask if she wanted to join.

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

There was nothing healing about it....

That's a pretty big leap to make.  There's no way for you to know it wasn't therapeutic for himself to talk about his struggles.  He had periods of sobriety so healing was taking place.  Just because he would fall off the wagon, it does not mean his vulnerability was performative.

You're probably right that I stated it a little strongly. Although it is very much my analysis of the special he did with Ant Middleton. . Watching that video made me very conscious of the many non-healing ways people can talk about mental health.

There are two points I want to emphasise. The first is that I strongly disagree that periods of sobriety are evidence of healing for someone who is addicted. People with addictions can be sober for periods of time without addressing or healing the underlying distress.

At one of the points where Liam was talking about mental health for the first time, he described what going sober meant for him at that time - he'd exercise so intently that he couldn't work or do anything else. That reads very strongly as another addictive mechanism - not healing.

The other is that this absolutely intended as a criticism on people who worked with Liam and made content with him - not on Liam itself. I would never use the word 'performative' to describe the way he engaged with mental health. I think his desire to make people happy was expressing both an important part of himself and a deep wound. When he talked about mental health he was exposing his desire to please, as much as he was exposing himself in what he said - and without being acknowledged, how could that be healed.

The reason that I responded that way the LA Times article was the comment from the addiction specialist who worked with him when he was out of 1D and is now going public. What the person said about Liam being really enthusiastic - really made me think of the dynamic with Ant Middelton. It made me think that Liam was trying to make these men happy - giving them what they wanted.

I always hoped Liam would find people who could help him see this dynamic and help him heal, and I was always worried to see it replicated again and again.

[gobbogoo]

Ranking The TF2 Mercenaries on how long they'd survive in The Amazing Digital Circus:

Ah, the joy of smashing your new and old hyperfixations together like a child playing with action figures... who is this post for? Me, of course!

Weeks:

Demoman: It's a world without alcohol. Even without his physical body's reliance, Demoman's psyche is a patchwork of unaddressed trauma held together entirely by booze. He'd be " jus' a one(thousand) eyed bloody monster" in like a week. Either that or he'd reach some sort of state of enlightened sobriety and discover true inner-peace.

Medic: The man was already balancing on the brink of madness, and being trapped in a world without biological functions and family-friendly restrictions would 100% push him over the edge. He'd initially be very interested in testing the limits of his fellow humans' unique digital bodies, but after a couple weeks all he'd have left would be his sadism, and that'd make him spiral FAST.

Sniper: While seemingly stable, the guy would last a couple months, tops. Sniper is an outdoorsman who takes himself very seriously. He would DESPISE everything about the Circus, from its artificial aesthetics to its goofy antics. He'd go full conspiracy-theorist looking for an exit, shut himself off from everyone else, and inevitably end up exactly like Kafmo.

Years:

Spy: If you were to design a personal hell just for Spy, it would probably look exactly like The Amazing Digital Circus. Tacky colours, goofy antics, all-seeing eyes, and 100% family friendly. He'd cope for a few years just as he put up with the other mercenaries, but it'd inevitably wear him down. Once he became certain he wasn't ever leaving this place, he'd probably consider madness the logical next-best option.

Scout: He'd last quite a few years by turning every adventure into an opportunity to show off, and would bask in every meaningless reward, but his general obnoxiousness would be his undoing. He'd inevitably isolate himself, and at that point Caine's validation would begin to lose its lustre. Eventually he'd have one hell of an existential crisis, and there wouldn't be anyone around to pull him out of it. The family-friendly rules wouldn't help, either.

Decades:

Engineer: Engineer would be able to survive for a good few decades exploring and documenting the circus's inner-workings. His self-reliance and general lack of empathy would ensure he never got particularly attached to anyone else, and his practical outlook would keep him from dwelling on the existential horror of his situation. However, once the projects dried up he'd have nothing to point his extremely powerful mind at, and the boredom would eat him alive.

Heavy: Heavy voluntarily spent something like 30 years isolated with his family on a mountain, and even after working as a mercenary, he was 100% willing to return to that lifestyle until the day he died. So-long as the circus gave him something to punch every now and again, he'd settle into a routine and be perfectly content with it. Madness wouldn't come for him until he was either the only one left, or he'd been there longer than a century, when the mind begins to struggle with the weight of experienced time.

Forever:

Soldier: Soldier has the unique advantage of being very dumb, and in possession of a stable sort of insanity. The existential horror of the circus would never occur to him, and his brand of enthusiastic masochism plus his shoddy memory would mean he'd never grow tired of the endless adventures. He'd treat each and every one like a life-or-death mission given to him by "The President," and would probably forget he was even trapped there to begin with. Because he'd never grasp that it was all fake, I could conceivably see him surviving within the circus indefinitely.

Pyro: Pyro wouldn't just "survive" in The Amazing Digital Circus, they'd THRIVE. It's basically Pyroland made "real." They'd love everything about the place, from the aesthetics to the NPCs to the adventures. Pyro would adore Caine, but more importantly they'd be the first/only person that actually aligns with Caine's skewed understanding/expectation of humans. Caine would likely love having someone who so genuinely loves all his antics. Even if Pyro was the only non-AI left, I can't envision a scenario where they'd ever go mad.

TL;DR:

The Adventures of Soldier and Pyro, from now until the end of time!

[mymistakewriting]

TK Strand Headcanons

He didn't grow up drinking soda, so he avoids it by default. The first time he had a soda, Judd had him try some of his while Owen was busy. He complained about it hurting his stomach the rest of the day.

Despite not seeming like he would, TK is the one with the "mom bag" out of the 126. Keeps everything from granola bars to pads and tampons to extra clothes and medical supplies. Carlos' car is just as messy for the same reason.

Due to his past with addiction, overdose calls are ones that Tommy and Nancy refuse to let him take point on. He's the one doing check ins or driving. They don't want to risk him relapsing because of a rough call.

Keeps notes in his phone of important dates (birthdays of his team, his sobriety anniversary, etc.), along with food preferences and schedule notes for the others at the 126.

Hates people touching him during an argument. It's not because he thinks they'll hurt him, though. He's afraid of lashing out and hurting them. He'd never be able to forgive himself if that happened.

Calls Paul or Nancy on his hard nights or when he has nightmares. He's too embarrassed to go to anyone else.

He loves kids but doesn't always know how to communicate with them. He usually starts looking for help or a distraction five minutes in.

TK is responsible for all of the streaming services for the 126. He was very enthusiastic about sharing and set up profiles for the others before he ever said anything about it.

Can't really cook. That said, he's good at baking. Makes muffins and biscuits for team breakfast - he always ropes Paul or Judd into making stuff to go with them.

He definitely panic-researches any new restaurant that the 126 go to in order to make sure that they have options for everyone. It's a big reason they usually just cook as a group.

He's definitely the one to go to for taste testing. He doesn't even ask what it is, just tries it and gives an opinion. It makes him very easy to prank.

He's fully aware that the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. He learned to mimic that with his fake smiles in New York. It's a hard habit to break.

TK still has days where his entire body aches. He's only now getting to where he lets anyone know. (He's started taking Grace's advice of soaking in a hot bath with epsom salts in it on his really bad days, though)

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

JINJER's TATIANA SHMAILYUK Celebrates Seven Months Of Sobriety

Vocalist Tatiana Shmailyuk of Ukrainian modern metal frontrunners JINJER is celebrating seven months of sobriety.

On Saturday (July 15),the 36-year-old singer shared a new mirror selfie on Instagram and she captioned it: "#7monthssober today. Let's see how far I can get".

Last December, Tatiana spoke to Radioactive MikeZ, host of the 96.7 KCAL-FM program "Wired In The Empire", about how she met her husband, former SUICIDE SILENCE and current P.O.D. touring drummer Alex Lopez. She said: "I met him through Internet. Of course, he was a famous person in the heavy music industry. So I liked him. And then it kind of happened that they [SUICIDE SILENCE] invited us to be a support act for them in Bratislava, Slovakia back in 2017. So I was, like, 'Well, that's destiny.' We took a picture together after the show. And then we started chatting through Internet. It was not very consistent talk — once a month, once every three months, short [messages]. And then we were talking about us, JINJER, coming to the States, and at that time it seemed impossible to come here, because, oh my God. [Laughs] And a year after, in 2018 I think, we went to the United States supporting CRADLE OF FILTH. And he came to our show to say hi and stuff. And then here and there, that's how it happened. So I think I made it happen. [Laughs]"

When Radioactive MikeZ noted that she was the "aggressive one," Tatiana clarified: "Not aggressive, no. I just was more enthusiastic. You know what I mean. Sometimes women have to do the first step to get what we want. [Laughs]"

Tatiana also talked about what it was about Alex's appearance that first drew her to him. She said: "Yeah, I felt like he looks like me, but like a male version of me. We're both shorties, brown eyes, brown hairs. I love Mexican culture, and he's full-blown Mexican."

Asked how she likes living in Whittier, California, where she shares a home with Lopez, Tatiana said: "Well, I like it because it's in the middle of everything — 30 minutes to downtown L.A., 30 minutes to Laguna Beach, 30 minutes to another beach to another beach and another beach, and then an hour to Big Bear mountains. So it's the perfect location. But I don't go out much because, honestly, I didn't find anything to go out to. [Laughs] And I have a lot of work to do, so I'm just sitting there chilling in the house, enjoying the sun and hummingbirds flying here and there. So, [it's] pretty cool. I love California in general — it's a beautiful place. I don't think there's a big difference between [Whittier] and another small town somewhere in California."

JINJER will embark on its own headline tour following the band's support dates on DISTURBED's 2023 "Take Back Your Life" trek with fellow special guests BREAKING BENJAMIN. The headline trek kicks off on September 7 in Huntsville, Alabama, making stops across Canada and the U.S., including Quebec City, Montreal, Toronto and more before wrapping up in Vancouver on September 25. Several of the tour's stops are produced by Live Nation.

JINJER played its first live show since Russia's invasion of Ukraine on June 10, 2022 at last year's edition of the Greenfield Festival, which was held in Interlaken, Switzerland. The concert took place just days after it was announced that JINJER had been given permission from authorities to leave their war-torn nation and tour Europe as ambassadors of the country.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

The Addict as Expert: New York's Therapeutic Communities

People who sincerely sought to end dependence on drugs rarely found institutionalization in the Rockefeller Programs helpful. Instead, many turned to therapeutic communities, a new and innovative trend in drug treatment where ex-users designed and directed recovery. Evolving from the same general treatment philosophy as Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), therapeutic communities relied upon a fellowship of substance users to catalyze personal transformation and sobriety. Unlike the outpatient meeting format of AA, therapeutic communities were drug-free residential treatment programs. They aimed to fundamentally rebuild the addict’s personality and lifestyle before facilitating reintegration into society. Understanding drug abuse to be a symptom of a deeper character dysfunction, therapeutic communities facilitated emotional development through cultivating self-awareness and self- discipline. To achieve these ends, centers employed confrontational group therapy, which encouraged high levels of personal and collective responsibility and an elaborate system of demotions and rewards that moved patients within a strict hierarchy of residents. As residents progressed through their multiyear stay, they took on increasing leadership and control in the community. Therefore, while strictly autocratic, therapeutic communities were typically controlled and staffed by ex-addicts, many of whom had completed the same programs.

Charles Dederich founded Synanon, the first therapeutic community, in Ocean Park, California, in 1958. A recovering alcoholic and originally a fervent Alcoholics Anonymous adherent, Dederich developed an enthusiastic following for his unique program of communal living and group confrontation sessions. These raucous group encounters, or “games” as they were called, were based on the rejection of the traditional, restrained treatment environments. The leaders of the Probation Department of New York’s Kings County Supreme Court turned to Synanon as a model when they wanted to start an experimental program for the male drug felons under their department’s supervision in 1963. They founded Daytop Village and recruited David Deitch, a former Synanon resident, to oversee the program in 1964. Like Synanon, Daytop emphasized the addict’s role and responsibility in ending dependence on drugs. There was constant support but also mutual surveillance of every aspect of daily life. For seemingly minor transgressions, colleagues and staff publicly berated residents. For example, a resident might be forced to wear a sign and a diaper to admit that he had acted “like a baby” or carry a lightbulb all day after forgetting to turn out the lights. The regimented, intense environment was designed to create stressful conditions that residents learned to manage with new, healthy strategies.

By positioning the ex-addict as the expert on rehabilitation, therapeutic communities saw ex–drug users as role models and agents of positive change in society, as opposed to corrosive, permanent outsiders. Within the program, people derived authority about recovery not from academic or clinical training but from the direct, personal confrontation with addiction. In an inversion of modern notions of therapeutic expertise, patients were the catalysts of their own cures. Although some therapeutic communities, such as Odyssey House in New York, employed professional counselors, a significant percentage of most centers’ staff were prior residents or other ex–drug users. The programs appeared harsh to some, but proponents felt that professional social workers’ techniques of gentle questioning and observation could not meaningfully pierce an addict’s elaborate shield of defenses, withdrawal, and self-delusion.

Searching for a meaningful state response to growing drug use, politicians experimented with funding therapeutic communities. Mayor Lindsay’s decision to back these programs reflected his administration’s experimentation with more locally controlled, community-based programs and an appeal to the Puerto Ricans and African Americans who had been instrumental in his electoral victory. In 1966, the city hired Efren Ramirez to lead New York City’s treatment efforts. Dr. Ramirez, a proponent of therapeutic communities who had directed programs in Puerto Rico, felt that the addict, once “reformed,” was the best authority on recovery. He explained, “The rehabilitated addict, in our opinion, is an expert in drug addiction.” He helped establish the Phoenix House and develop a burgeoning network of therapeutic communities. This treatment modality— for a number of years—became the centerpiece of the city’s drug-treatment efforts, subsidized increasingly with state funds channeled through the NACC [Narcotics Addiction Control Commission].

Although funding for these programs was motivated by the political desire to control drug use and crime, adherents felt their mission to be fundamentally distinct. A cofounder of Daytop Village explained the difference:

But we must be careful not to confuse steps taken to protect society from the addict (jails, the “Rockefeller program,” the federal facilities in Fort Worth, Texas, and Lexington, Kentucky, and in my opinion, methadone maintenance) with those now being taken to rehabilitate the addict himself.

Casting addicts themselves as agents of their own rehabilitation inverted the dominant characterizations of the period, which depicted addicts as either unredeemable or requiring the intervention of specialists. These programs positioned addicts as not only redeemable but—once sober—integral to the treatment of other drug users and, therefore, to the general social welfare.

As a state strategy to control drug use and crime, therapeutic communities posed their own set of problems for politicians determined to pacify communities and reduce crime rates before the next electoral contest. They were residential programs with average stays of two years and were thus expensive to establish and operate. Although they proliferated rapidly, the houses were necessarily small and intimate, and there were not enough funds, time, or trained ex-addict staff to treat even a small percentage of the addict population in New York. Additionally, membership in a therapeutic community was considered a privilege and the strictly regimented environment led many residents to be expelled or simply leave before completing the program. Statistically, the program was successful for those who finished, but a significant majority dropped out. Moreover, local communities engaged in extensive grassroots organizing to oppose the placement of treatment houses in their neighborhoods. In one of many examples, hundreds of community members picketed the Daytop program on Staten Island to oppose its placement and successfully delayed funding for many months. These confrontations forced politicians to choose between supporting addicts, an unpopular if not completely demonized constituency, and the significantly more politically powerful and resourceful neighborhood groups, churches, and business owners.

Some African Americans and Puerto Ricans charged that white program leaders and funders preyed on their communities, just like drug peddlers, and built institutions that were not sufficiently accountable to or controlled by local communities. Influenced by struggles for community control in schools and buoyed by a federal commitment to encourage “maximum feasible participation” of local people in their own social services, proponents demanded culturally relevant programs. They called for programs led by and responsible to their communities that built up the self-esteem of drug users (as opposed to breaking them down) and instilled cultural pride. Many would come to see political education and activism as integral parts of their programs.

Critics also challenged the basic philosophical tenets of therapeutic communities that located the source of addiction in individual personality defects. An article in Health/Pac Bulletin, a publication produced by health activists affiliated with the New Left, explained,

The therapeutic community tends to reduce drug addiction to the level of an individual problem. This position derives from the concept of the addict as a sociopathic personality. If on the other hand, addiction is attributed at least partially to a sick society, then its cure is to involve the ex-addict in changing society.

These critics questioned the emphasis on reintegrating addicts into society, since they claimed society produced the very problems that generated drug addiction in the first place.

But therapeutic communities captured the imagination of many New Yorkers in the late 1960s. Famous musicians, such as Pete Seeger, Duke Ellington, and the Grateful Dead, played in a four-day musical festival and fundraiser for Daytop in Manhattan. There were television documentaries about Daytop and the members staged a long- running, critically acclaimed off-Broadway show about their experiences in recovery. While the desire to mitigate the crime and disorder associated with drug users motivated much of the support for these programs, many people also were attracted to the struggle for human redemption that recovering addicts represented. The prominence of Daytop, the Phoenix House, and other therapeutic communities illustrates the extent to which societal responses to drug abuse were up in the air in the late 1960s. While many people only approved of programs that approached drug users as criminal pariahs, concern about a “heroin epidemic” also provided openings for groups to advance alternative sources of authority and knowledge about addiction. However, the costs, limitations, and political liabilities of these therapeutic communities, coupled with the intractable nature of much chronic drug use, pushed lawmakers to search for other strategies to control it."

- Julilly Kohler-Hausmann, Getting Tough: Welfare and Imprisonment in 1970s America. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2017. p. 50-54.