#mat for drug addiction

[intheroomblog]

Explore Medical Assisted Treatment for Opioid Addiction

Overcoming addiction can be quite stressful, but help is available. With MAT addiction treatment, you can address and overcome drug addiction by combining medicine and therapy. MAT drug addiction treatment is an effective strategy. Withdrawal symptoms and cravings can be lessened with medication assisted treatment, which facilitates therapeutic concentration and the development of healthy coping strategies. The likelihood of a long-term recovery might be considerably raised with this all-encompassing strategy. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, you might want to discuss MAT with a medical expert.

[the--quotifyer--innit]

"I must go through a complete withdrawal. Remove her from my system. It was the same with opium."

-Thomas, season 4 ep 2: Speak as ye choose

'It was the same with opium'

Opium is a highly addictive non-synthetic narcotic that is extracted from the poppy plant, Papaver somniferum. The opium poppy is the key source for many narcotics, including morphine, codeine, and heroin.

Was Thomas a drug addict? Maybe so, but there's more:

Early in the 18th century* the Portuguese found that they could import opium from India and sell it in China at a considerable profit. By 1773 the British had discovered the trade, and that year they became the leading suppliers of the Chinese market.

And:

Thomas Thorne, born: 1796

Died: 10 October 1824 (aged 28)

Well?? Was our favourite recency poet an opium addict??

[venuscrashed]

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request a criminal mind BAU Team x Male Reader where on a case the reader gets captured and tortured and even though everyones supper worried, Spencer is the only one to know that reader had an addiction very similar to his and was there for Spencer every step of the way through his struggle and Spencer doesn't want his best friend and father figure going back into addiction.

If this is to dark and makes you uncomfortable it's perfectly fine not to write it

Sorry this took so long. PSATs suck

Also I headcannon older!Male reader while call Spencer Speed since his brain is fast.

“Garcia tell me you have something,” Hotch stormed into the room with Morgan and Reid behind him. The rest of the team sat around the table while other cops were in the room. Garcia’s face was on the screen with a sad, depressing smile. Hotch sighed and lowered his head, he looked to JJ and stared for a bit. “JJ.”

JJ straighter up as she her eyebrows raised. “Yes?”

“Contact the press and saw we have missing persons report. Don’t say it’s and FBI agent and tell them the Unsub took a hostage.”

“Wouldn’t they know that it’s fake considering the unsub is only a serial arsonist?” She looked back and forth between each member and could only sign. She stood up and walked out the room only to look at Reid as she passed by him.

“Reid?” Morgan looked at him with worry, “Are you ok?”

Reid looked to him with slight tears in his eyes. His hand started fidgeting with his lip trembling. “I’m fine. Now let’s go find (Y/N).”

The whole team walked out to see a news castor on the lobby tv speaking about you. They disclosed certain information as your face was displayed on the news. It hurt Reid to see the false happiness behind that smile you wore for the FBI photos. It pained him to not be able to tell anyone about your problems but he made a promise.

Emily came running out of the room as she got her gun. “Garcia found his location. It’s in some laundry mat that’s a front for a drug business.”

“Drug business?” Reid looked at her with desperation in his eyes. He followed after her, practically running just to confirm his fear.

“Is there a problem with that Reid? You can stay if you’re worried for yourself.” Emily said while getting into the drivers seat. She looked back at him in the mirror suspiciously as he got in.

“I’m fine. It’s not me that I’m worried about.” He looked out down the street while they were driving. He felt so stupid for letting them take you. He felt responsible, he was right there! The memory of you be taken plays over and over again as fear settles.

For a couple moments there was only the siren of the car. Soon, a whole wall of police cars was seen in front of a run down building. It was rusting and had garbage all over it. Fainted graffiti can be seen that said “monsters house” on it.

“Agent Hotchner!” A cop yelled, pulling the whole fbi team towards him. “He’s asking for you. Saying something about the smart one and trade. No sign of your guy though.”

“Thank you. Take your team and Agent Morgan around the back and prepare for entry.” Hotch look towards Reid before picking up the microphone. “I hope you know what you’re doing Reid.”

Reid nodded and took off. He loved around the house and found the basement door on the outside. He carefully opened it. Gun out, he descended the steps.

Once he got to the bottom he looked around in the darkness. He started to move down the hall towards the one door with light behind it.

His breath hitched as he sees you laying on the ground. Blood and empty pill bottles surrounded your body. Your hands were chained to the wall as the blood dripped down onto your head.

Reid ran to your side. He picked up your head and frantically examined it. His heart beat grew louder with every cut that was looked over. Your eyes were bloodshot, clearly drugged. Patch’s of skin were torn off as bone was exposed. The nose cartilage was twisted leaving you to breathe through your mouth. Blood pouring from your chopped tongue.

Reid panicked as he tried to lift you up. “He’s in the basement. Call ambulance.”

“You’re not calling anyone.” The unsub walked through the door, locking it behind him. The lead pipe shined under the light. The thing that scared Reid the most was the new drug bottle in his hands.

Reid stood up as fast as he could and pulled his gun out. “You don’t want to do this.”

“You think the FBI scares me. You think they’ll catch me?” The unsub chuckled lowly. “He couldn’t catch me before.”

Reid’s breath hitched. His mind finally connected the dots. This was the same man that drive you towards your addiction in the first place. The first case you couldn’t solve when you started out at the BAU.

You started twitching while moaning out incoherent words. Reid moved closer.

“Move boy.” The unsub started to walk closer. Lead pipe in hand, ready to swing. “I’m gonna kill him once and for all. And ain’t no one going to stop me this time.”

“You don’t want to do this.” Reid frantically put his finger on the trigger. “You don’t want revenge. You’re only mad that you didn’t get the fame you wanted. That’s why you killed all those people. That’s why you left survivors. Killing an FBI agent will get you your fifth teen seconded of fame. Then what?”

The man froze in his tracks. He clicked his tongue. His gripped tighten on the lead pipe out of anger. “What are you talking about boy? Everybody in the god damn state fears me. If you’ll him the whole country will know me.”

“Then they’ll forget you. I mean can you name any famous killers that killed an FBI agent. They weren’t talking about you then why would the now?”

Watch your mouth boy!” The man raised his arm to attack but got cut off with the sound of your voice.

You laughed lowly as you looked up at him. Your face was drenched with your blood. Your white teeth was shingling under all the blood the flowed down. “Face it Leo. You’re irrelevant.”

You bursted out laughing. The man was angered with all his strength going to his hands. Reid was terrified but started counting down the seconds Hotch was going to come.

“I’ll kill you! Once and for all.” The man fall down onto the ground face first. His blood pouring out onto the floor while Hotch stood behind him.

The gunshot still rang through the room as EMTs ran in for you. The rest of the team ran in. You were taking outside into the ambulance and Reid followed behind.

The sirens were blaring while you guys rushed down the street. Reid could only watch as the medics tried their best to keep you safe.

Your eyes fell into Reid’s worried face. A small smirk formed as you laughed again in your face face. “You didn’t have to worry Speed. He couldn’t kill me when I was sober and he couldn’t kill me then. That man was pathetic.”

Reid smile as say back and relaxed. “You’re strong I guess.” You two laughed the whole ride back. That was when Reid vowed to stay sober with you.

[smollkittykat]

something something dean feels so incredibly guilty for what he has done to cas in the endverse that he is actually the person to hand him that first blunt, the first pack of pills.

"To take the edge off." he had gruffed once, when Castiel had told him that his head felt so incredibly empty now that all angels had shunned him out, handing him a pack of opiods he had taken from a pharmacy during one of their raids.

and then he watched cas slowly slip away into addiction. watched himself like a bystander when he would find the angel passed out somewhere, drugged out of his mind, hauling him back to the smallest shack in the camp because cas refused to take up more space than necessary.

Cas would stumble while walking, laughing cruelly at his own expense.

Then Dean would put him to bed and Cas mumbles something about how he never got to get Dean's freckles -quite- right when saving him in hell all those years ago, when he was something ancient and useful.

And Dean laughs, even though his chest feels hollow, and tells him that's alright. He strokes a hand through matted black hair until he hears Cas fall asleep. Then flees.

When Cas wakes up, he's alone but there's a new pack of morphine on his nightstand and that is the closest that this version of Cas ever came to being loved.

[cmncisspnandmore]

Turned Tables

Spencer x hearing impaired reader

Summary: If someone had told you that one day you would be the one who needed saving you would have told them they were crazy. But when you find yourself going through something that you vowed you would never let happen. Only one person knows enough to be able to pull you out of the endless hole you seem to be falling deeper into.

Warning: mentions of injury, drug addiction, drug abuse, depression, overdose, chronic illness, 

~~~~~

It was like the entire event was playing in your head in slow motion, all the time. Sure there were moments of relief. When something requires your attention fully, and there were moments where you just shoved it down. But those moments have been coming less and less lately. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore it. The gnawing in your gut, the feeling of utter hopelessness and despair you felt in those moments. In the moments where you attempted to commit every feature of his face to memory hoping that they would be your last. 

It never came.

~~~

The next thing you know you were in the hospital and had to learn to deal with the aftermath. 

With the pain.

The side effects. 

The loss of your hearing.

The coffee shop was beautiful at sunset. The warm yellow glow from the lights strung in the window giving it a mystical feeling. It was cozy, it felt right, the only thing missing was Spencer. He was supposed to be meeting you here, it was your usual Saturday night coffee date, you had already ordered him his salted caramel and mocha latte, you were sipping on your vanilla latte. The sky was a dusty pink and purple as the sun set over the skyline. 

There weren't many people in the coffee shop but that wasn't unusual, who drank coffee at 7:30pm. Not many people, most of the time it was you and Spencer and maybe a few other people working late. Tonight was no different, you lean your elbows on the table and stare out the door watching as people stroll by. 

Then it was like time slowed, there was a moment when people started running, there was a commotion in the streets. The crowd outside moved faster, then a man appeared, his back to the window where you were sitting. His movements were strange and jerky, and then he turned. His glassy brown eyes made contact with yours, and the moment you glanced down you noticed the web of explosives taped to his chest. Your mind reeled as you watched him take his finger off the button, the world seemed to slow.

You didn't remember what happened immediately after the explosion, you were knocked unconscious for a little while, but when you came to. The ringing in your ears was enough to make you vomit. And so you did, right next to where you lay in a pile of rubble. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of your body hurts. 

You couldn't move your legs, the pieces of brick from the front of the building pinned you down. You tried to push yourself up, but your arms felt like jello, you weren't even sure they were still attached. You couldn't hear anything over the ringing in your ears, it was deafening. Every movement felt like it took the strength of a 100 bodybuilders to do it. You turn your head to the side, rubble raining down from the ceiling every few seconds, causing you to cough and squint through the dust. 

As some of the dust settled you could see the friendly barista who took your order, a local high school girl. She was in her senior year, her brown hair was a matted bloody mess, her green eyes glassy. The blood spilling from her mouth, the stillness of her chest. It took only moments for you to figure out she was dead. 

You turn away from her, the image of her glassy eyes burned into your brain. It would haunt you for years. You laid there, every passing moment felt like eternity. The shock slowly wore off and you were becoming more and more aware of your injuries. Pain laced your chest, your breathing becoming rapid, as you struggled to pull air into your lungs. Pain seared through every part of your battered body.

You saw the lights, but never heard the sirens, you could see the shadows of people moving around, the lights of their flashlights coming through the settling dust. You could feel the vibrations of their heavy boots coming closer. Not wanting to be missed you throw your arm up with everything you had, and sure enough someone saw you.

A fireman came over to you, his mouth was moving, but you couldn't hear what he was saying. He slowed his talking down and you were able to make out what he was saying by the movements of his mouth. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his brow furrowed. 

“N-No… I-I need… you to call someone… F-FBI.. Agent Spencer… Spencer Reid…” You managed to gasp out, and the fireman nodded. His mouth moved again and you struggled to make out what he was saying… something about getting you out you assumed because he left. You struggled to keep your emotions in check as he left, panic coursing through your veins. But he came back with a few others, as they started to remove the rubble and debris from around you and on top of you.

They worked around you, under the instruction of a paramedic who was sitting by your head. You managed to catch a few words she was saying, “Crush syndrome, Heart, Arrest.” But that was all, the ringing in your ears was the same, and the vertigo was still unbearable if you moved. It felt like you were on the worst worst free dive from an airplane. Endlessly spinning towards earth with no parachute to slow you down. 

The paramedic placed an IV and gave you fluids through a bag she held up, she would look down at you and tell you that you were going to be okay. At least that's what you assumed she was saying. She gave you oxygen, and held the mask over your mouth, she mimed deep breaths to you when you would start gasping. The Paramedic and the Firemen worked carefully to free you. It was a painfully slow process. 

Out of the corner of your eye a pair of white and black converse, mismatched socks and jeans.You couldn't hold the tears back anymore, they cascaded down your cheeks in messy trails. Leaving streaks of clean skin beneath the dirt and dust, Spencer slid on his knees next to the paramedic and looked down at you.

His frantic words were lost to you as he conversed with the Paramedic. His hazel eyes locked with yours. His hand comes to rest on your forehead and brushes some of your Y/H/C hair out of your face. His eyes shining with unshed tears, as he speaks slowly, “You’re okay, you’ll be okay. I’m here.” his soundless words promised. 

Your eyes raked over his face, trying to commit every feature to memory, “It’s okay… I love you spencer.” You whispered, your voice barely audible between the background noise you couldn't hear.

“I love you too,” you knew how those words looked. You had watched those lips say those words hundreds of times. There was a moment where something was said and Spencer's face changed. The Paramedic injected something into your IV line and you glanced at Spencer your eyes wide. 

“You’ll be okay.” He mouthed, and then they removed the final piece of rubble, you gasped for breath, and then nothing. The world went dark.

~~~

Someone's hand tapped your shoulder and you jolted in your seat. You glanced over at who startled you, Spencer stood there, his hand outstretched to you. In his hand lay your hearing aids, you sigh, reaching over and putting them in. They didn't give you your hearing back, you were still significantly hearing impaired. They helped you catch every third word or so, you relied mainly on lip reading and signed English in combination with the hearing aids. 

“We need to talk,” Spencer said after you had your hearing aids in, his hands moving to sign as he spoke. 

“About?” You seethed, you were pissed off this morning, you hadn’t slept well. You suffered from frequent bouts of Tinnitus, it was debilitating at times. 

Spencer sighs, although you couldn't actually hear it, you saw the way his chest heaved, the exasperated look on his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out an orange pill bottle. Your blood ran cold, your fingertips numb. You suddenly felt like you were floating out in space unanchored. 

“Why didn't you tell me you needed more of your meds? You know that you’re supposed to keep them on hand for when the headaches get bad.” He shook his head, and an annoyed expression on his face.

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” You lied, it fell easily off your tongue. You found yourself lying more and more, and the more you lied the easier it got. It didn't leave a bitter taste in your mouth anymore, you didn't feel guilty about lying anymore. It didn't even occur to you to correct Spencer that you HAD filled your prescription. Last week actually, but you had taken them all. 

You didn't know when it started, but the weightless feeling, the good floating feeling that the opioids gave you. They turned from relief to a way of surviving. They no longer were there to just take the pain away, they numbed you to everything. When you took them off and took your hearing aids out, the silence that followed was nothing short of bliss.

You found yourself taking them more often, not because of the headaches, but because you craved those feelings again. For those moments, the scene didn't play over and over. You didn't repeat the moment your hearing was stolen from you. It was just nothing. Pure nothingless bliss. 

Staring at Spencer you realize he's been talking to you, but now that your hearing was mostly gone it was easy to pretend you just didn't understand it, that you weren't lost in your own world. His hands waved at you and your eyes slid to his lips. 

“Sorry, i didn't get that, can you say it again?” You ask, watching him closely.

“I asked if you needed me to pick up your meds, i can grab them on the way into the office,” he signs again, slower this time. 

“No, no, i”ll go out and get them,” you smile, if Spencer stopped by the pharmacy he would find out that you just refilled. He would learn your dirty little secret. “You’re gonna be late,” You gesture to the grandfather clock standing against the far wall.

Spencer looks over, and runs a hand through his curls, “I’ll see you later?” He comes to kneel in front of you, his hands resting on your blanket clad legs. You give him a small nod, and lean forward pressing your lips to his. The taste of his extra sweet coffee still lingers on his pink lips, his hands squeeze your knees and he sits back on his heels. “I love you,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead before standing.

“I love you too” You call after him, you watch as he closes the front door of your shared apartment, and let out a sigh. You reach up, ripping the hearing aid from your ears and letting them clatter to the coffee table. You pick up your phone, open a text message thread and send a text. 

Y/N: park noon?

D: Yes. 40?

Y/N: Yes. 300?

D: See you then.

You smile at the phone, and quickly erase the text thread, and put it down on the table. You glance at the time again, you had a few hours to kill before you had to go meet your dealer. At first it felt wrong, and weird. Meeting a drug dealer when your boyfriend was an FBI agent, but when you learnt just how easy it was to get pain meds you changed your feelings about it.

It was better to buy them on the street, fill the bottle that you got refilled monthly and act as if they were the same. Spencer never noticed, since the accident he had become accustomed to your tuned out personality, he understood you were dealing with a lot. You had a life changing event and it would never get better. If anything the audiologist prepared you for the fact that you would probably lose more of your hearing within the next 10 years. 

You would never hear Spencer whisper how much he loved you after making love, never hear his laugh, or his ramblings. You would never hear the way he sounded when he woke up, or be able to listen to your favorite songs in the same way again. You’d never hear your future children first cry or their first laughs. 

You wiped the tears that were tracking down your cheeks, now wasn't the time to cry. You pulled yourself off the couch, grabbing your hearing aids as you left the living room and headed into the bedroom. You changed out of your pajama shorts and put on a pair of leggings and one of Spencers’ sweaters. You sighed, glancing at the hearing aids that lay on the bed, the beige and clear material staring back at you. One more physical reminder of what you lost. That was all those were. You despised them. Some days you refused to wear them, against Spencers protests. But you never left the house without them, fearing that the lack of ambient noise and the inability to catch even part of what was happening around you making you anxious. 

It was time to leave by the time you had finished getting ready to go, hearing aids in tow. You grabbed the keys from the counter and started the 15 minute walk to the park. After arriving at the park you take a seat on the park bench you usually meet on and wait. 10 minutes later Dylan walks up, his hands in his pockets, he looks the part of a man out on a jog, his armband with his phone nestled inside it. 

He sits down on the bench next to you, and looks over at you. “Beautiful day,” his voice is distorted and hard to make out. But you just smile, and nod. He never expects his questions to be answered. After another moment he leans over and taps your shoulder, “Ma’am, i think you dropped this.” He holds out a case, it's small no bigger than a man's wallet and as you reach over you ‘accidentally’ knock over your bag, some of the contents spilling out. Dylan leans down to help you put the items back in and while doing so exchanges the case with the identical one you have in your purse effectively transferring the money from you to him and the pills from him to you.

“Thank you” You smile as you grab your bag and stand, and Dylan gives you a head nod. The whole exchange takes no more than 2 minutes, then you are back on your way home. Pills in hand, as you enter the apartment the ringing in your ears from the night before starts again. You reach up taking your hearing aids out, hoping that will help somewhat. But much to your dismay it doesn't stop the persistent high pitched sounds that your brain is trying to interpret as sound. 

You put your hand to your head, and squeeze your eyes closed. You reach into your bag blindly and find the case of pills, taking 2 out you pop them in your mouth and swallow them dry. You stumble over to the couch and lay down, trying to move as little as possible. Hoping for the seet relief the pills bring to happen soon, 

A few hours later the ringing was still there, unable to take another moment of it you forced yourself to your feet, heading into the kitchen to once again grab the case and take 2 more. Normally you would never take more than 2, but they don't seem to be working anymore. You dry swallow 2 more, and sit on the floor in the kitchen with your back pressed against the bottom cabinets. Your head is back against them, focusing on taking slow even breaths, your eyes closed to try to calm the vertigo. 

After some time you drifted off to sleep…

~~~~~~

Cold water raining down on you from above startled you awake, you were aware of the warm body pressed against your back. Their hands brushing your hair away from your face, the tidal wave of nausea crashes into you and you throw up all over yourself. It’s quickly washed down the drain from the torrent of icy water from the shower head. 

You gasp and sputter as the water continues to assault you. Hands run soothingly up and down your arms, you can feel the vibrations of someone talking behind you. Turning slightly in your seated position in the bottom of the claw foot tub you look over your shoulder and see Spencer, his own hair is soaking wet. His lips slightly blue as he shivers under the cold water. His lips are moving as he talks to you, but between the water running into your eyes and the chattering of his teeth. 

“I cant… I don't know what you’re saying,” You manage to gasp out as your own teeth start to chatter. Reluctantly Spencer removes his hands from your arms, he reaches over and turns off the cold water. You let out a sigh of relief as the cold water stops cascading down your already numb body.

Spencer reaches out and grabs your chin in his long fingers, ‘You overdosed,” he mouths slowly, and realization hits you. You took 4 of the pain meds Dylan gave you. You took 4 within 2 hours of each other. 

“I-Its not what you think,” you mutter, pushing yourself to stand and step out of the tub. Your clothes weigh a million pounds from the water. Your eyes fall to the floor that is slowly becoming soaked beneath you. You see Spencer climb out of the tub after you, his own soaked clothes adding to the water accumulating on the floor. His hand comes under your chin again, forcing you to look at him as he speaks. 

“Why did you lie to me?” His browns pull together as he signs the question, the betrayal on his face is evident. 

“I don't know what you mean.” You grab a towel from the rack and wrap it around yourself, your entire body feels drained. Like it was hit by a Semi truck at 100 miles an hour. You start to dry yourself off as Spencer stares at you. The heart of his gaze is overwhelming, the disappointment rolling off him in waves. 

‘

“Don’t. Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Really? So the pharmacist was lying? He just told me that they filed your prescription last week for no reason?” He gestures wildly, you know hes yelling. You don't have to be able to hear to know that he was yelling at you. It was visible in the way his chest heaved, the way he signed the words to you. His entire body language screamed ‘anger’ like a giant flashing sign. 

“OKAY! I lied!” You yell back, and the shock is evident on his face. The anger disappears to something you recognize instantly. The same look you get from everyone who knew you before. Pity.  “So what? People lie all the time. It doesn't mean I have a problem.” 

“Then why when I pulled your phone records did it show that for the last 6 months you have been meeting a guy once a week, a guy who by the way is a known drug dealer?!” Spencer is yelling again, and the shame slams into you. You never wanted him to be angry at you, you just wanted the pain to stop.

“If i hadn't come home early today, if i hadn't shoved my fingers down your throat while you were unconscious, you would be dead. Do you get that? You need help, Y/N. Let me help you. I’ve been there before i've been in your shoes. I can help you, I can get you the help you need.” His face softens, his hands brushing away the tears that started falling down your cheeks.

“But… I just wanted it to-to stop… “ you sob, as Spencer reaches for you and wraps you in his arms. This whole situation felt familiar, only this time it was you with the problem. Not him. When you had first met Spencer he was in the throes of his own addiction. When your long time friend Penelope Garcia called you one rainy afternoon after not hearing from her teammate, she asked if you could stop over. You only lived a block from Spencer apartment, so you trudged through knee high snow, making the short trip to his building. There you found the door unlocked and heard what sounded like someone struggling to breathe. Your instincts kicked in and you entered the apartment calling out your arrival.

That’s where you found spencer sitting on the floor of his living room, his head down on his knees. His entire body shook as he fell into a panicked spiral. You sunk down onto the wood floor and whispered to him that he wasn’t alone. That he was okay, that someone was there. When he finally calmed down enough he blurted to you that he was withdrawing from Dilaudid, alone. 

Your heart thundered in your chest as he sobbed, as the shaking wracked his body, and stole the little energy he had left. You decided at that moment that he wouldn’t be doing it alone anymore. You were going to help this stranger whose soul was shattered by battling demons you could only imagine.

Now standing soaking wet in the bathroom, Spencer was promising to do the same for you as you did him. He would be your anchor in the rocky waters of addiction. He would hold your hand through the vicious mood swings and physical pain that came along with getting clean. He had already done so much for you after the accident. You weren’t sure why you felt surprised he was still here. Why was he still holding you and telling you everything would be okay, when the last few months you had been distant and even cruel towards him. You had no idea.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not angry. I’m going to be here for you. Through it all okay?” He says holding you slightly away from his chest so you can read his lips.

“Okay…” you whisper, a small smile spreading over Spencer’s lips.

“Okay. We’ll do this, we’ll face this together.” 

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-nine

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: it's pretty angsty, this one...

el's thoughts: i hope yall love this as much as i dooo

masterlist

They’d been blessed with a strong wind. Y/N felt it ripple through her hair that Inej took out of its matted braid. The strength of the breeze was a telltale sign of a storm coming.

As soon as they were on deck, Inej turned to Kuwei.

“How long does she have?”

Kuwei had some Kerch, but Y/N had to translate in places. She did it distractedly, her glittering eyes roving over everyone and everything. Nina stepped in to help translate when the Inferni mentally zoned out every few words.

“The high will last one hour, maybe two. It depends how long it takes her body to process a dose of that size.”

“Why can’t she purge it from her body? Couldn’t Nina help her?” Wylan asked, turning to the Heartrender almost desperately.

“It doesn’t work,” said Kuwei. “Even if she could overcome the craving for long enough to start purging it from her body, she’ll lose the ability to push the parem from her system before it’s all gone. You’d need another Corporalnik using parem to accomplish it.”

“What will it do to her?” asked Jesper.

“You’ve seen for yourself,” Nina said bitterly. “We know what’s going to happen.”

Kaz crossed his arms and finally spoke from where he stood beside Y/N. “How will it start?”

“Body aches, chills, no worse than a mild illness,” Kuwei explained.

“Then a kind of hypersensitivity, followed by tremors, and the craving.”

“Do you have more parem?” Matthias asked.

“Yes.”

“Enough to get her back to Ketterdam?” Kaz followed up.

“I won’t take more,” Y/N protested, hooded eyes flickering up to look at Kaz in refusal.

“I have enough to keep you comfortable,” Kuwei said. “But if you take a second dose, there is no hope at all.” He looked to Kaz. “This is her one chance. It’s possible her body will purge enough of it naturally that the addiction won’t set in.”

“And if it does?”

Kuwei held out his hands, part shrug, part apology. “Without a ready supply of the drug, she’ll go mad. With it, her body will simply wear itself out. Do you know the word parem? It’s the name my father gave to the drug. It means ‘without pity’.”

When Nina finished translating, there was a long pause.

“I don’t want to hear any more please,” Y/N said breathlessly. “None of it will change what’s coming.”

She drifted away toward the prow. Kaz watched her go with an aching heart.

Inej sought out Rotty and got him to dig up the wool coats they left behind in favor of their cold weather gear when they’d landed on the northern shore. She found Y/N near the prow, gazing out at the sea.

“One hour, maybe two,” Y/N said without turning.

Inej halted in shock. “You heard me approach?”

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t those silent feet that gave you away. I can feel your body heat and the warmth from your breath.”

“And you knew it was me?”

“Everyone feels so different. I never realized that before… I was barely able to focus on one person’s heat directly.”

Inej joined her at the rail and handed over Y/N’s coat. The Grisha put it on, though the cold didn’t seem to be bothering her. Above them, the stars shone brightly between silver-seeded drifts of cloud.

Y/N was ready for dawn, ready for this long night to be over, and the journey, too. She was surprised to find she was eager to see Ketterdam again. She wanted a mug of too-sweet coffee while she sat in Kaz’s window seat as he worked at his desk. She wanted to hear the rain on the rooftops while she lay in her warm bed at the Slat. There were adventures to come, but they would have to wait until she’d had a hot bath and a clear mind once again.

Y/N buried her face in her coat’s woolen collar and said, “I wish you could feel what I feel. The warmth from everybody on the ship… was overwhelming at first but now it’s comforting. I can pinpoint where everyone is and just knowing that they’re all safe…”

“I can only imagine,” Inej hummed. “I only hope it brings you a sense of peace.”

“I don’t really deserve peace, don’t you think?” Y/N chuckled coarsely. “I nearly burned down a city, and killed more people, and all I did was complete my assignment as a Ravkan soldier. The Phoenix.”

“That’s a horrendous way to look at this. Don’t do that to yourself.” She scolded the Inferni softly. “You’re so much more than a soldier anyway. You’re a friend to all of us here. You’re a Crow from the Barrel. And I think Kaz sees you as more than another soldier or a friend.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm and desperately avoided eye contact with the girl beside her. She knew the Crows weren’t blind to what was going on between herself and Kaz, but no one has had time to address the growing bond. She hasn’t even had the time to mentally process what she was feeling. For the first time in her life, she just let her feelings bloom, but now she had to face the facts and think through it all. It was fun to live in a bubble where it was just the two of them in all these life threatening, world changing events where there feelings had no real effect on their lives.

‘What if their feelings were solely caused by the trauma they were forced to face together?’

“I feel the need to tell you that…” Inej let out a breath. “Kaz isn’t one to deal with feelings and things of the like. But with you- You changed him so much. For the better. I’ve seen it already. You communicate with each other between glances and he’s opened up to you in a way I’ve never seen from him. I would even go as far as to say he loves you.”

Y/N’s wide eyes snapped up to look at Inej.

“I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ve never seen him like this in all the years I’ve known him. Y/N you mean so much to him, more than you think you do. Nina even mentioned how his heart beats faster when you’re around but it’s also more sure of itself. You can’t fake that.”

“I…”

“Just think through it. If you need anything, come find us.” Inej gave her the sweetest smile before she turned on her heel and walked back to the others. But as she walked away, Y/N saw she had another reason to depart. Kaz was standing in the shadows near the mast. He had a heavy coat on and was leaning on his crow’s head cane—he looked almost like himself again.

Kaz murmured a few words to Inej causing her to lean back in surprise. Y/N couldn’t make out the rest of what they said, but she could tell the exchange was slightly tense before the Suli girl let her shoulder slouch for a split second as she made her descent below deck.

“What did you say to Inej?” Y/N asked when he joined her at the rail. She tried to ignore the beginnings of a pounding headache.

“I have a job I need Nina to preform.”

Y/N hummed tiredly as they stood together, gazing out at the waved, silence stretching between them.

“We’re alive,” he said at last.

“Some of us more than others but it seems you prayed to the right god.”

“Or traveled with the right people.”

Y/N shrugged. “Kaz Brekker, are you going soft?” He said nothing and she had to smile. “No sharp retort?”

He ran his gloved thumb over the rail. “No.”

“What’s your plan when we get back?”

“When we’re a few miles out, Rotty and I will row to the harbor in the longboat. We’ll find a runner to get word to Van Eck and make the exchange on Vellgeluk.”

Y/N scrunched her nose as she leaned forward to rest her chin in her palm. The island was popular with slavers and smugglers. “The Council’s choice of yours?”

“Van Eck suggested it.”

Y/N frowned, her eyebrows furrowed in thought as she tried to keep her mind active and awear as she spoke with him. She was proud that she remembered the right island when writing her letter to Nikolai before they made it to the Ice Court. ‘Why would the mercher make a call like this?’ “Why does a mercher know about Vellgeluk?”

“Trade is trade. Maybe Van Eck isn’t quite the upstanding merch he seems.”

They were silent for a while. Finally, she said, “I want to own horses again.”

Kaz’s brows furrowed, and he cast her a surprised glance. “Really? Why?”

“I used to ride with my father when I was young. And during my time at the Little Palace, there was always a horse for me to take out. It was my only way of feeling free, and I’ve grown to miss it. Ravkans breed the best riding horses.”

Kaz hummed and looked back out to the stars. Y/N smiled softly at the side of his face and leaned slightly closer to him, her limbs growing heavy. “But we’ll go home first.”

“We will go to Ravka?” He smiled down at her. A smile that she’s noticed was reserved for her and her alone.

A please flush warmed her cheeks. “No,” she chuckled, her speech slightly slurred now. “We will go to Ketterdam. Home first.”

“You should go rest. The drug will begin taking it’s toll on you.”

Y/N shook her head. “I would really rather not be alone right now.” She watched the gears in his head turn as he thought for a moment.

He held his hand out to her, “I’ll wait with you.”

“Don’t you have plans to prepare for and see through?”

“I can spare a few moments.”

She smiled and took his hand slowly, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to but he didn’t move. Together, they walked below deck to the large room Kaz had taken ownership of. He brought her to the bed and let her lay down as he pulled the desk chair to the bedside.

Y/N let out a quiet moan as her muscles ached and her bones creaked as she tried to get comfortable under the rough sheets. Her body felt a sudden chill but she could still feel the different body heats through out the ship. Her nose scrunched in discomfort for a short moment before she looked up at Kaz who remained by her side.

No words were exchanged as they stayed in each other’s presence. Y/N silently stared up at Kaz with glossy eyes, admiring the way the light from the oil lamp flickered across his face. Her eyes began to burn and her chest grew heavy.

Kaz turned to her as the sound of her breathing grew labored. An unsettling pit formed in the depths of his stomach, bracing himself for the after-effects of the drug to kick in. “Should I go get Nina or Kuwei?”

He got no response only quiet groans so he decided to just stay at her side.

When the tremors began, she begged him to leave.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she said, trying to roll on her side.

He brushed the damp hair from her brow with his gloved hand. He hissed quietly as her skin burned him through the leather fabric. “How bad is it.”

“Bad.” But she knew it would only get worse.

“Do you want to try the jurda?” Kuwei had suggested that small doses of regular jurda might help Y/N get through the day.

She shook her head. “I want… I want— Saints, why is it so hot in here?” Then, despite the pain, she tried to sit up as Kaz walked to push open the small circular window. “Don’t give me another dose. Whatever I say, Kaz, no matter how much I beg. I don’t want to be like them, like those Grisha back there.”

Kaz stayed silent for a long minute. “Y/N… Kuwei said the withdrawl could kill you. I won’t let you die.”

She flopped back down, and her whole body rebelled. Her clothes felt like crushed glass against her burning skin. “I would have killed every one of the druskelle.”

“We all carry our sins, Y/N. I need you to live so I can atone for mine.”

“You can do that without me, you know.”

He reached to her open palm and placed his atop of her’s. “I don’t want to.”

“Kaz,” she said, turning their hands over so she can trace the creases of the black fabric. It hurt. Touching his gloved hand burned her fingertips, but she still did it. She might not ever get to again. “I am not sorry.”

He took her hand and laced their fingers gently. She winced, but when he tried to pull away, she clutched him tighter.

“Stay,” she panted. Tears leaked from her eyes. “Stay till the end.”

“And after,” he said.

“I just want to feel safe again. I want to go home.”

“Then I’ll take you there. We’ll set fire to hay bails in the country side just for fun.”

Y/N looked into his eyes with longing. Longing fora normal life, longing for her pain to go away and longing for him. “Kaz…” Her throat was so raw it hurt to speak anymore. “My Crow.” She smiled tiredly anyway.

Kaz didn’t let his eyes stray from her face as her eyes began to close out of pure exhaustion.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Y/N could barely make out Kaz’s facial features through her hooded eyes. She watched his eyes squeeze shut and noticed his breathing become shallow as he placed her hand down on the bed beside her.

“My Saint, don’t go.”

taglist: @katherinereid @littlecat21 @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @brekkers-desigirl @clunaes @wonderland2425 @bookloverfilmoholic @karensirkobabes @bookworm-center @el-de-phi @so-get-this-sammy @skittleabyss @crispy-croke @cometsghost @auttumnsayshi

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Lambert’s stuck in a rut. His life’s going nowhere and his dreams never seem to leave the A1 architectural drawings he carries around in his rucksack. He has Aiden’s bar, his respectably placed outer London apartment and his Japanese Peace Lily. That is… until he meets a tall, silent bar tender with shoulders like the Qinghai-Tibetan plateau and eyes like twin suns.

CW: mutism, war injuries, Lambert running his mouth. Set up of a longer work which has never seen the light of day, but I like the opening a lot.

Lambert had been visiting the same shitty, rundown bar since graduating. Three years bachelors, two years postgrad, twelve months running after a middle-aged racist with a caffeine addiction—internship—and then five years of… this. No one prepared you for the heady heights of listless adulthood; that odd grey area between being a cutting edge, aspiring young whippersnapper and a washed out, lonely old man with seven cats. Lambert was staring down the barrel of thirty simultaneously wondering where the fuck his life was sprinting off to and what the fuck he had even done with it to begin with.

Every night he pulled a late one at the office labouring over his distant dream of sustainable, affordable housing for the working class that wasn’t a lifeless block of concrete. You know, the kind that drew inspiration from the hallowed corridors of nineteenth century Newgate prison. The kind of place that leeched the life and happiness from every one of its occupants until they were as grey and empty as their home. Someone’s community was meant to be at their heart, something that defined them. Like the roots of a tree—you know, the person being the… tree. Look, he was never so good at conceptualising his vision in words. He’d sooner draw you a fucking picture. Which is where we were fucking at right now.

Lambert had become an architect on the back of a dream he’d had sitting on a swing set in the condemned children’s playground at the very centre of his council estate. Half the kids he’d known had given up because life was grey, drugs were easy, so what’s the fucking point, right? If only they were faced with more than the grey—

That dream had driven him through his studies like a man possessed—by a demon comprising of an unhealthy amount of Monster and a stubborn, spiteful drive to succeed—followed by that tedious twelve months as a gopher, but now he was here… or there, or whatever spatial demonstrative you wanted to fucking use, he didn’t know what to do. The dream had shuddered to a halt. Red tape, politics. The kind of thing that stood fast in the face of an outsider. Because he would always be an outsider. Something—something—attitude problem.

The same thoughts gathered like a storm cloud over his head as he trudged down the steps to Aiden’s. Both the name of the place and the owner, because Aiden straddled the line between new money glam and old east end rust in a way that was both tackey and unique. He managed to pull it off somehow. Lambert threw himself down in his usual stool, dumping his satchel full of drawings at unceremoniously at his feet, and thumped his forehead on the bar. “Usual, Sal.”

Sal wasn’t his real name. His real name was Derek. But everyone called him Sal because of the time he’d stepped in for the chef, cooked the Friday night chicken curry and given everyone salmonella. Environmental health nearly had a fucking field day but, much like many of Aiden’s licensing and business woes, the matter had cleared up mysteriously overnight.

The glass tumbler settled gently on a place mat in front of Lambert’s head. He heard the pop of the cork and the slosh of expensive whiskey—he’d worked his nuts off for his salary, so he could drink it away if he wanted to, thank you very fucking much—and then nothing. No greeting. No, “‘ello mate, what’s the story?”

Lambert lifted his head to rip on Sal and ask if someone had half-inched his tongue out his ugly mug, only to almost fall from his stool in shock. The man standing before him wasn’t Sal. Nothing like him in fact. Easily clear of six feet with a few inches to spare, a scruffy mop of dark hair and a face like someone had tried to pry out his teeth with a claw hammer. There was a gap in his lip, twisted scars all the way up the side of his face to his eye and ear. Angry, red. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Lambert said, mouth running away with his thoughts before he could marshal them.

The barman didn’t even flinch. His fingers tapped on the side of the bottle, hazel eyes dropping to the fifth he’d just poured, and Lambert realised he was waiting for some kind of acknowledgement that the drink was satisfactory. Lambert tore his eyes away and tried to bury the squirming, uncomfortable feeling that came with making an absolute cunt of yourself in front of someone new. “Yeah, cheers. Uh… add it to my... tab, uh—” Lambert glanced up and caught sight of a name badge, “—Eskel.”

There was another badge next to it. Light blue, with dark letters printed in Arial font. ‘I can’t speak, but I’m a good listener’. Lambert stared at it for a moment, fingers tapping on cool glass. “Can’t speak, huh? That because of—” Lambert gestured at his own face and Eskel nodded, “—right, bummer.” Eskel nodded again, but Lambert could swear he was being laughed at. Those hazel eyes glittered with something, and it wasn’t unshed tears at being so cruelly gawped at. Well, that was a fucking relief. “Yeah, I guess bummer is the understatement of the century.”

Eskel tilted his head and ducked his chin, with a quirk of the eyebrow.

“So, if you know my drink order, you know I have mac and cheese, with crispy bacon bits, and a side of onion rings.”

Another nod. Lambert squinted.

“You know, I’ll… uh—is Aiden out back? Fucker owes me a pony from the last—”

Lambert didn’t get through his excuse before he was sliding from the stool and hot footing it around the rope barrier to the back room. The corridor leading to Aiden’s office always smelled of industrial strength disinfectant and drunken regrets, and Lambert rubbed at his nose as he pushed through the door.

“Please, come in, not like I’m up to my bollocks in paperwork,” Aiden murmured, ensconced behind a teetering pile of brown folders and a box-shaped computer monitor from the early noughties. He was in his late-thirties, with wisps of grey hinting in his neatly groomed beard. Sharp green eyes left the lines of neat print on off-white paper for barely a second to acknowledge Lambert’s presence. “Shit week?”

“About a six on the shit-o-meter,” Lambert replied, gaze sliding sideways as the pinball machine to his left squealed and trilled. Gaetan, short, with a clean-shaven head, docs and a cut-off denim jacket, grumbled irritably as he missed out on beating Lambert’s high score. “Alright?” he asked and received a grunt in return. Gaetan was just shy of twenty years Aiden’s junior and oozed ‘younger brother complex’ from his every pore.

“Six isn’t bad.” Aiden sighed and threw his pen onto the table. “So, what’s the rub? Bacon not crispy enough?”

“What happened to Sal?”

“He finally bought that ticket to Marbella. Him and the missus flew out last night on the red eye.”

“That selfish prick,” Lambert growled. “Not even a by your fucking leave.”

Aiden shrugged and tapped morosely at his keyboard. Most of Aiden’s employees were itinerant in some way; students looking for a quick buck at the weekend, job-hoppers still searching for their calling and lazy schmucks looking for an easy ride only to realise that bar work was hard going. But Sal had been a permanent fixture for the last ten years, always dreaming about a ticket to the sun, and then wasting his pay packet on the horses or weekend jollies to France for cheap box wine.

Lambert rubbed at his beard. “The new guy. He for real?”

“Eskel?”

“Yeah.” Lambert yanked a rickety old chair over from the wall and sat on it backwards, arms folded beneath his chin. “Looks like one of Emhyr’s goons used him as a scratching post. ‘I can’t speak but I’m a good listener’?”

“He’s former forces. Not sure which. He’s… uh, part of that new government initiative. Veterans’ Strategy Action Plan.”

“Thought that was meant to put them in prisons and healthcare and shit?” It wasn’t unusual for Aiden to get involved in charity cases. Despite his feeble attempts at cultivating a fearsome reputation, he was a soft touch with a heart of gold. There wasn’t an AA programme, drug rehabilitation scheme, ex-con reform schtick or fresh start for young offenders’ initiative that he wasn’t involved in. Something about giving back to the community, or doing right by his dad, or something. Everyone had their dreams.

“Eskel’s… uh, he’s got some shit goin’ on in his head, you know. What he went through was hard. He’s happy to do some security on Saturday nights, knows how to pour a good Godfather, so he’s a decent gamble.”

“Shit going on in his head?”

Aiden narrowed his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “You know that’s confidential, and I’ve already told you too much. Fuck off and eat your dinner, I’ve got shit to do. I’ll join you for a quick one before you leave.”

Lambert rolled his eyes and left the office, pausing only long enough to bid farewell Gaetan and receive another grunt in reply. By the time he returned to the bar, Eskel was placing his mac and cheese on a neat place mat next to his whiskey. Lambert paused at the corner, taking a moment to admire the line of Eskel’s waistcoat around his muscular frame. Not too shabby. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having some new eye candy around the place. Eye candy that didn’t talk back. Winner-winner-chicken-dinner.

“He was busy,” Lambert informed Eskel as he sat down at the bar. Eskel afforded him another nod, with a quirked brow, and then turned back to wiping down the pint glass in his hands. Lambert picked up his fork and focused on wolfing down his dinner as quickly as humanly possible. He watched Eskel work discreetly, looking up only when Eskel’s back was turned or his focus elsewhere. Lambert watched his forearms flex as he restocked the fridge with bottled cider, the fold of his shirt collar beneath the rugged line of his jaw with its light peppering of dark stubble. It was because Lambert hadn’t been laid in—

He began to run the numbers and it was just so fucking depressing he stopped—

—which was why he was hyper focused. New slab of man meat. Yeah. It had absolutely nothing to do with the meandering thoughts set a-wanderin’ by Aiden’s vague comments. What was the ‘something going on’ in Eskel’s head? What did his voice sound like? What had happened to his face? What did he like to do at the weekend, and did it involve lube—?

It was too awkward. Every time Lambert opened his mouth to talk, he knew he’d get that same calm look, perhaps the eyebrow, and in the end, he said nothing.

Aiden appeared an hour later—for Lambert, it had been an hour of pretending to play Candy Crush on his phone while watching Eskel go about his duties—and they shared a beer, a few giggles, and then Lambert headed home to his empty apartment to water his Japanese Peace Lily. No, it wasn’t a fucking euphemism. Vesemir said he couldn’t be trusted with another living thing. Not even a goldfish. He couldn’t even cook (although Lambert argued that those two things definitely didn’t fucking correlate, and boiling pasta definitely counted as cooking). He laid in bed that night and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Eskel and his quiet, calm eyes.

[party-hearses]

pairing: dieter bravo x gn!reader (no use of y/n, no reader descriptions)

rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI

wordcount: 600

summary: you (kind of) write dieter a letter.

warnings/tags: ANGST, mention of drugs and alcohol. i think that's all but please lmk if i forgot anything!

a/n: this is for @beskarandblasters phoebe bridgers/boygenius drabble challenge! and who would have guessed that not only is it the first thing i've written in almost 6 months, but that 600 words still took me far too long to complete. beta’d by the best bro in the entire world @bastardmandennis but she’s perfect so all mistakes are my own. comment and reblogs are appreciated if you enjoy!

You watch, tongue between your teeth, as Dieter’s chest shallowly rises and falls from his crumpled place on the couch. 

Sunglasses still perched on the bridge of his nose, matted green robe tied loosely around his middle. 

The color of stomach bile, of envy, of resentment.

Crushed cans and empty liquor bottles litter the room like confetti — a party you’re no longer invited to, a celebration you’ve all but been cast out of. The light of the moon, too-full and too-round, bounces off the shimmering glass, casting brilliant beams of light across the angles of Dieter’s sleeping face. 

I love you, I don’t know why. 

A seedling planted at the base of your spine the moment you first pressed your lips to his, the growth nurtured by passing joints back and forth under the liminal space between late night and early morning, ‘I’m sorry’s murmured into the damp skin at the nape of your neck. 

Watering the sprouts of something that feels too much like exhaustion, until they stretch to a length that feels too much like suffocating. 

It was always going to end this way. 

Dieter — too charming, too personable, too manic, too much. Held hostage to his own impulses, all he knew how to do was put his teeth to your throat and take. Consume.

He stirs under the light of the moon, hands searching for something, anything, to ground him, the raucous shouts and clinking glasses of the party gone, now. The infinite emptiness of the room swallowing him whole, now. 

In another universe, you might have stayed to grasp his hand, to whisper i’m still here against his trembling fingertips. 

Are you still here? 

In another universe, he might have never taken you back to his trailer to pick you apart at the seams in the first place, to make you blush and squirm and whimper under the searing muscle of his tongue.

The possibilities filter past your eyes, a View-Master slide of every wouldbecouldbeshouldbe superimposed over the Dieter in this universe. The Dieter who wrapped the same tongue around the black hole of selfish, teeth scraping each letter into the tender flesh of your palm. 

Just another wannabe ingenue, chewed up and spit out by the fame machine, with nothing to show but a blossoming cocaine addiction and too much credit card debt. 

And what choice did either of you have, really, when you saw him on a pedestal and he saw you as an equal. A matching desperation to be seen, to be taken seriously in an industry that you didn’t take seriously. 

I know you, I know you, I know you on the back of every breath of sticky smoke exhaled over the twinkling view of the city from the rooftop. I know you, I know you, I know you. 

It was always going to end this way. 

His unruly brown waves are matted to his forehead, sweat-damp skin glistening like you’re looking at him through the lens of a kaleidoscope. 

You wonder how bad the hangover will be, how much his hands will shake as he rolls the first joint of the day, how long it will take him to notice. 

It can’t even be called a letter, really. A scrap of paper, what might have been a receipt at one point in time. Faded, sticky, oil-stained, now. Folded in half and tossed to rest on his chest, still rising and falling rhythmically. 

The loopy scrawl of your handwriting, weariness evident in every stroke that connects those four words. 

You don’t know me. 

It was always going to end this way.

[creepzkilla]

Do you have any dark Jeff the Killer headcanons? I'm going through Jeff brainrot right now

೫˚∗:↳˳⸙;; ❝ GENERAL J.T.K HC’Sᵕ̈ ೫˚∗

★Tumblr relies on reposting, please repost my work.★

tw.warning—-hard drug mentions, self harm, knife mention, blood mention

A/N. i hope this suffices! for general HC’s i don’t typically do a bonus drabble, but if u guys want a bonus drabble lmk!

He does hard drugs. He does coke on regular ngl. Hes a fucking feind for them. Every drug in the book. , benzos, adderall,, morphine, MDMA, heroin, you name it, he's done it. He particularly steals medicinal drugs from Ej, since you know, he's a "doctor". and he has a cocaine nail… #coke addict!

Sorry, Jeff-Girlies, but his face is fucked up. Like 3rd degree burns on. like freddy kruger or Deadpool. The left side of his face is particularly fucked up, with deep burns that burned tissue...Almost like a leather material. on his right side its kinda normal with a few burns here and there. but the right side of his face is mostly preserved, and my he is pretty good looking on that side.

He orders prostitutes-- then kills them after they're finished. he usually stays at dingy hotels with mold growing everywhere and barely anyone there. he brings the woman back to his room and then kills her after he finishes--only after he finishes, not her. usually dumps her body in the bathtub, leaving them to rot until the next person finds em.

Jeff always has eye drops on him since his eyelashes were burnt off. his eyes always get really dry and he has to constantly use eye drops. like he could chase a target and he then suddenly his eys get really dry. this mf will stop chasing them and stop and put his eye drops in before tracking them down.

He really likes dragging the knife across his skin, watching it draw blood, only for it to heal. he really likes experimenting to see how far he can go to see if he will heal. burned alive, drowned, suffocation, decapitated, knifed, bullet to the heart-- he's done it all, and he's healed every time.

His hair is really matted and patchy. Its not soft or anything it is really fucking dead and fried. his hair is practically all dead ends….on the side of his burns he practically has no hair on that side since it was burned off… on the side where his face is practically intact, his hair is full, but extremely fried.

He’s a sick fuck. He always executes the targets in the most fucked up tormented ways he can think of. He also loves the chase. Jeff will putrposely act like they got away, for only to appear right behind them and end them. He loves to get creative with the deaths too. Experimenting !

His favourite way of execution is letting them bleed out. specifically cutting there mouths so it’s into a smile like him, except it cuts into there cheek bones, breaking the skin completely. And cutting of their eyelids! now they are just like him!!! so beautiful!

insanity level: 8-9/10

[tamayakii]

another chance.

just some ficlet/hcs about an idea i had, super unedited and a mess. I wrote it at midnight :3 anyways let me know if u want more. warnings: murder, drugs; specifically cocaine, suicide,

The smell of nicotine swirls in your lungs, the pink smoke dances across your lips. The clothes cling to your sweaty skin as you stare up at Valentino, heart pounding. “Do this and I promise to let you sleep, Princessa~” he coos sweetly, his second pair of hands holds you close as the other hold your face tightly. 

“Yes Val..” You murmur, sleep… sleep sounded so good. He twirls you around to face the stage, how did you end up here again? Your droopy eyelids get heavier as you stare at the stage from the sidelines, Vaenltinos yells but its all drowned out. Just one show, you tell yourself, one show then a week of sleep. A sugary drink is brought to your lips and you grimace, 

“Drink up~” Val whispers in your ear, tipping your head back as he forces the disgusting liquid down your throat. “One show is all i need from you, shake that sexy body and show Velvettes amaazinng outfit and then you’re done.” You take a deep breath as the music begins, you can hear the crowd roar with excitement. 

“Yes val.”

Valentino had taken you in soon after your death and fall into the Sloth Ring, You were a performer in life, a popular singer across multiple countries. Your provocative style and voice had made you an icon, many credited your fame to your producer.

Little did they all know was your producer was a creep, a terrible person, just all of the negative adjectives. The only thing he could truly be credited for was your crippling depression and even worse addiction, you were under his thumb 24/7

He was the reason why you’re in hell.

One day, while coming down from a high, something snapped in you- When he had turned around as he talked about a new show in Japan, you grabbed your grammy award statue. Swinging up and as he turned around, you hit him. And you did it again, over and over again. Screaming with frustration as you bludgeoned him to death, beating his skull in. Blood and brain matter splattered across your arms and face. 

He was unrecognizable, nothing was left above his shoulders- for the first time in years, you felt relief.. Freedom even, before the reality of what you did hit you. Bile climbs up your throat as you look down in horror, you step back up. 

You killed him. You were a monster.

Your pristine white carpet was matted with blood, you trip over your coffee table, screaming in horror. You couldn’t escape what you’ve done, you can’t go to prison, what about your family? Friends? Your fans?!

Breaking down as you gaze at his lifeless body, what were you going to do! 

A horrid thought fills your brain but.. It was the only way to atone for your crimes, suddenly your tears stop and everything goes numb. Everything that you start to do feels like nothing, one moment you’re in your living room and the next in your bathroom tub, bleeding out from your wrists and empty pill bottles strewn across the marble floor.

You deserved this.

And thats how you came to hell. YOu had killed your producer and then yourself; Landing in the ring of Sloth. Your first night was rough but someone had recognize you from their time alive, inviting you to their club, where you met Valentino and just like everyone else he employed, you fell for his charms.

Instead of being a stripper/porn star/prositute, He used your voice. You were his best advertisement right next to Angel Dust, the perfect thing to promote all of the V’s. 

Velvettes fashion, Valentinos music, and Vox’s newest technology. 

For a long time, you let them move you around like a puppet, not fighting back. They let you sleep, cause when they did? They could do anything with you when you were awake. It was an easy exchange, let you sleep and they get to use you as their personal advertisement. 

Your popularity boomed, performing in Asmodeus’s Lounge, in Velvettes fashion events, you filled out stadiums and more. People wanted you. They wanted to be you but you could care less, yes; when you were alive you would eat all of this attention up but now? All you wanted was sleep.

Angel Dust had known of you, and you know of him. Few times you cross paths, you thought nothing of him; no literally nothing. Often when you did cross paths, you were too exhausted for anything. And him? He saw you once, sleeping under Valentinos wing, and for some reason, he was filled with jealousy and disgust, disgust that he was jealous.

But when he moved out of the studio, you took the brunt of Valentinos abuse, the number of concerts boomed, the drugging intensified and so much more. You often cried for sleep, sobbing for the comfort of your bed. Breaking down after performances, clawing at Valentinos legs. 

You were going on a week of no sleep, being forced to be on the move constantly. One day, when no ones eyes were on you (which was rare) you had stumbled out of the Vee’s building, stumbling across the broken sidewalk. You couldn’t tell if you were dreaming but you kept on going until you tripped over a body and passed out. 

Hours passed. Days passed.

You finally wake up, in a warm bed but.. Not your bed. You look around, blinking one eye at a time as you try to lif your heavy body. You didn’t recognize this room, “mmmnhgg… Hello?” you groan out, and something at the end of your bed makes a noise. You look over and see a black and white cat, with one eye. You gasp gently, “kitttyy..” you whisper, reaching over and offering your hand to the feline. 

“KeeKee!! There you are- oh! You’re awake!” a feminine voice squeals, and you look up. She looked vaguely familiar, ah. You knew her from the news, talking about her Happy Hotel.

“Areeenn’t you the lady who sung on the news and then fought Katie Killjoy?” you ponder, raising an eyebrow, she freezes before letting out an awkward chuckle, she rubs the back fo her neck. You give her a dead eye look, “that was fun” you monotone. 

“Ah.. yes.. But!~ my name is Charlie Morningstar!!” she exclaims, quickly pushing away her embarrassment, she extends her hand and you gladly accept it, shaking it with a small smile. You offer her your name in return, “I found you on the street passed out, so i took you to my hotel, you were asleep for a loooooong time! I was getting worried!” now it was your time to be embarrassed.

“Ah… my apologies. I haven’t slept in awhile.. But.. thank you for taking me somewhere safe.” 

Charlie is extremely happy that your awake, obviously you needed to sleep somewhere safe and ya know- not on the sidewalk!! Plus, she recognized you from your music!! She’s a liiiitttle bit of a fan- 

She excitedly tells you all about the story of her finding you, and you take her. She practically swoops you up and shows you around the hotel, and it does look quite well. Throughout, your phone is buzzing angrily on the nightstand of the room you occupied. 

“This place is amazing..” you whisper, she told you about her dream and her ambitions about redeeming sinners. Perhaps.. You could be redeemed. “Are.. are you looking for demons to redeem still?” 

“Yes!! We’re always taking in sinners 24/7! ..” she then gasps, eyes sparkling, realizing why you must’ve asked!!! “Do.. Do you want to try?!” she squeals loudly, clapping her hands. The hotel is.. A bit decrepit.. Cobwebs here n there but if redemption was something that could happen..

Well..? will you give it a try?

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

Can you write an Ettore x Reader where Reader is the one who forces him/herself on Ettore?

Iɴ Tʜᴇ Dᴀʀᴋ

A/N: Heyyyy!!! Thank you sm! You are my first ever nonnie! 🥰❤️ Welcome Welcome! Hopefully, I did your beautiful idea justice! Also sorry this took me a while to complete. Also sorry this is so long I couldn't stop typing. Also again, sorry, if this isn't exactly what you imagined, i kinda just let my fingers do the work.

And im so sorry this took me so long so hopefully your still here!

TW: unprotected sex, p in v, degradation, name-calling, slight somnophilia, dubcon, hints to SA, hints to drug addiction, hints to child neglect

Word Count: 4.1k

No one was shocked when your sentence was read. Not even your mother was fazed when she heard the fate that lay before her only child, her baby girl.

Everyone expected it. For a crime as cruel as yours the death penalty was warranted, what people didn't expect was to be delivered news that you would be sent on some sort of space mission instead.

Your mother thought that a worse fate was being sent off to space to die. Not having a body to bury, a grave to clean and to pretend that you had died of anything else. She'd tell her friends it was a car crash, a robbery, cancer. Anything to hide her guilt.

Cause this was all her fault. Had she been the mother you needed and stopped bringing those men into her home....you would never have suffered the way you did. She never forgave herself the first time it happened, you had come downstairs waiting for a snack despite her telling you to stay upstairs no matter what.

You did not know who he was, a man who came often in a black car. All you knew was after he left your mom laid on the couch for hours wasting away. A white powder under her nose. Money was tight, and the offer of 10 minutes in exchange for a free fix was all too tempting to her.

And thats only when it started. It had happened many times after that despite your fight and protest.

And there was only a series of unfortunate events after that. A doctor confirmed your chances of having children were 0, you'd have to settle for alternative options. Kids at school picked and teased you for your dirty closed and matted hair. You weren't the brightest and struggled in every subject except art.

You loved art and enjoyed painting and the freedom that came with it to create whatever you were feeling.

When high school years rolled around you were detached from everyone and everything. You clung to your brushes with stained hands. The teasing never stopped, even the teachers looked at you with a look of disgust.

All but one...Mr Moore...the art teacher. He encouraged your artistic talents. You thought he was sincere, thought his encouragement came from a real and valid place. But it was all for his personal gain...his sick fantasies and tortured mind.

You barely remember when it happened, everything went by so quick. Afterwards, you were so angry you couldn't help yourself. He was the first blood you spilt and painted your canvas with.

You fled and ran off to another town, leaving your mother behind. It was there you realized that maybe you could make a difference, maybe you could get justice not just for yourself but every woman who had gone through the same thing.

It wasn't hard finding men in the area who had gone to jail for assault or worse. And when you did track them down you enjoyed every moment. Blood was a great liquid. And the paintings you'd leave on the wall were masterpieces.

When it was all said and done you had killed 24 men all convicted of assault. Many rallied for you to be released, that you were a hero, not a murderer. But with the killing of 3 officers, the government wouldn't let you go unpunished.

Your first week on the ship was a headache.

Dibs already didn't like you, unknown to you it was due to your inability to conceive. You hated her, she too was a criminal but yet felt as though her crimes meant less than everyone else's.

You cared for no one else. Spent most of your downtime in the activity room where luckily there were only a few art supplies. Colouring utensils and children's paint set.

You sat on the couch your designated sketchbook in hand as you drew, only ever using the red utensils. You missed how smooth blood was, how bright it shone and how dark it dried.

You heard a soft "hm" from behind but when you looked no one was there. Brushing it off you continued your art session until it was time to sleep.

It wasn't until a month on the ship you noticed him. He was quiet but dangerous. You could not lie and say he didn't bring an odd feeling to your stomach, one you had not felt before.

It wasn't hard to get Dibs to give you information on him, specifically on why he was here. And what you found out had you licking your lips in anticipation.

He was one of them. The men that prey on young vulnerable girls like you once were. The ones that attack them in the dark and give them no chance of fighting back.

And so started the plotting, the watching and the fantasizing. You could tell he felt a need to be in control. He rarely spoke but when he did it was to bark orders at whoever was doing chores with him. He visited the box often, he must miss the touch of a woman...

A plan formed beautifully in your mind. One that had no chance of failure.

You wiped down the walls despite it looking clean glancing at him every few seconds. He wore no shirt while cleaning the floor and his eyes too found their way to you.

You moved gracefully every inch was calculated. You gave enough of a view to have him wanting to see more. When you finished cleaning the walls you moved to helping him with the floors, close enough so he could smell you and feel the heat radiating from you.

You saw as his head moved closer and all that could go through your mind was a green light. Standing up you walked away giving him a look over your shoulder before turning the corner. You could hear the sounds of his footsteps following after you.

When Ettore turned the corner he saw no one and was visibly confused. He noticed a door ajar the room inside pitch black. Stepping in he closed the door behind him. He could hear your breathing and knew you were inside. Blood rushed within him as he realized he was finally gonna get to feel a woman again after all this time.

But his hopes were crushed as he felt something prick his neck. he reached back grabbing you his hands wrapping around your neck but it was far too late as he felt his limbs weaken and was pulled off to sleep.

Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z ZZZ

When Ettore was slowly pulled out of his slumber he was still weak. His limbs felt heavy, and his eyelids felt taped shut. But there was one distinct feeling, one he knew well and loved.

He could feel someone's hands on his chest, their legs sitting on both sides of his torso, a repeated movement as the person lifted and lowered themselves on him.

He could hear their airy breaths, the panting and soft moans.

When he could finally open his eyes everything was blurry, the person above him a one big fuzz of colour. His eyes were glazed over and despite him feeling no pain anywhere they were filling with tears. Turning this woman above him into a beautiful painting of watercolours.

Is this what all those women he hurt felt like? Did they go through the same motions?

He tried to lift his arms only managing to twitch his fingers.

Did they feel this weak? This powerless?

He heard her laugh, a sinister laugh almost. As if mocking him for even trying to move or fight back.

"You know you like it." She whispered in his ears. the words making him gag. He had to say them himself. He would count how many times he had said that on his hands, but then again he only had two hands.

He managed to move his arms again. They slowly came up to her trying to push her off, to get shove her away. He liked being in control, he didn't enjoy this moment of fragility.

"Just give in. Don't fight it." He could feel the pleasure bubbling in his stomach, he hated it, hated how good it felt, hated how much joy he was getting from this sick act.

...Sick act? Is that what it was now that it was happening to him? A sick act?

He could hear how close you were, he could feel it too. His hips craved to buck up wanting to feel more, to be deeper. He managed to get his hands to move as they lazily rested on your waist. And once again you laughed at him taunting him about how much he was enjoying this. The way you clenched around him. And when you finally did cum he loved the sensations, his own release close after.

But he felt you get off of him. Watched as you moved to the side, a gentle hand touched his cheek.

"Please." It was barely a whisper, all he could muster to say.

"Don't worry. I have to paint a mural first." He wasn't sure why the words invoked fear in him but his body went into panic as he desperately willed himself to move, to scream.

You brought a blade to his stomach and you cut deep enough to gather blood into a bowl. The floor next to him is your canvas as you start your masterpiece.

He tried to crane his head to look but you shifted him back with a giggle.

"No peeking!"

He's not sure how much time was going by or if he was still bleeding. Eventually, he heard you stop moving as you muttered perfect. The door opens and closes, he's alone for a while before you finally come back and lean down next to him.

"What shall we do with you now....to kill you would mean risking getting myself in trouble...to leave you alive and well would mean risking you retaliating...choices choices."

You ran your fingers through his hair before a light bulb went off in your head.

The next hour was the most pain Ettore had ever gone through, and the most devastating moment of his life.

When he was finally found hours by Monte he couldn't help but throw up his lunch.

Ettore is on the floor naked, wings painted on both sides of him, below them the look of feathers falling, his body contoured with his own blood and the words above his head

"He flew too close to the sun."

And lastly...in his hands, he held his own penis.

He would end up telling Dibs he did it to himself, the embarrassment on his face evident. He couldn't admit to what happened to him. Couldnt bear to face the music. He wished for death some days, not being able to feel pleasure anymore had him seething.

But he did nothing, when he looked at you he was oddly terrified.

And every time he met your eyes and saw the smirk on your lips he knew what you were thinking about what happened

In the dark

A/N: YAY I FINISHED ANOTHER ONE!! So I'm not sure why my brain went in this direction but I actually liked it. Again sorry to the anon if this isn't what you wanted...I humbly apologize.

General Taglist (the only one 🤣🥲) @thought--bubble

[intheroomblog]

Explore Residential Treatment & Drug Addiction Recovery Program

Looking for medication assisted treatment near you? Find addiction recovery programs for drug and alcohol addiction treatment, online aa na meetings, ga meetings happening all around the world.

[brrbrina]

echoes

part: 2/?

pairing: joe burrow x og!c

warnings: cheating, angst, fluff (?), pregnancy (?) and i think that´s it.

The day after Joe left the house for the very first time, Kendall felt a wave of sadness take over her body. She was devasted, and tired, she constantly woke in the middle of the night as if the house she was sleeping in was haunted.

Every single part of that bed smelt like him, every part of her body was once kissed by the lips of a man who had kissed someone else and she despised that. She felt like her world stopped, when they met, falling in love was not on her plans, and falling in love with a man like Joe wasn´t what she wanted.

"I think we should go with the big backyard one," Joe said hugging her from the back, "This way our babies would have the space to run, and then the babies of our babies" he chuckled putting his lips against the back of her head, Kendall smiled and closed her eyes; it was one of the moments she felt like her life made sense in only a way love makes you feel.

Now, that memory pained her, she was tied to him for life, for two entries now, she didn´t know what to do. The night Kendall found out she was pregnant -again-, happiness took over her body, brainstormed ideas of how she would tell her big baby and the love of her life the good news. The night she confronted Joe became savory, the memory of her telling the news to the father of her son was stained by betrayal and insincerity.

"I made waffles and fresh orange juice" Joe smiled at her showing the plates in the breakfast bar, which was once planned down to the smallest detail. "I think you should go" Kendall sighed "Natalie has a friend coming over today for a playdate and I don´t want her to create a false story on her head in which you come back here and we live happily ever after".

"Who is Mat?" Joe asked her and Kendall looked at him with surprise, "You do know I'm the father of Natalie and that baby you´re carrying right? You are not messing up the mind of my children with that man coming and hanging with them..." Kendall stopped him "You have a lot of nerve telling me I´m the one "messing" with her mind when you were fucking someone else" Joe looked down.

"While Natalie was sleeping here, happy that her daddy won a game so she could tell her friends in school he was the best, you were putting your dick inside another woman, so no, I'm not messing anything up, you did" water filled her eyes and her voice trembled when she stopped "You took away the happiness of being pregnant with MY baby and turned into a grey cloud above me every single day" she felt her knees weak.

"I hate you so much Joe, I hate you because a part of me needs you like a drug I'm addicted to, and I hate you because you destroyed the life WE built together, my kids will grow up in a broken home and the worst part of all is that I will never tell them what you did, that´s the difference between me and you. I´m putting them on top of everything and you didn´t even think twice about the damage you would cause" She said sobbing, and Joe felt his blood drop to his feet.

He left Kendall´s place and drove to the condo he was living in at the moment, he found no motivation in anything, he missed the chaos of his past life. He remembered clearly when he and Kendall got married.

"... You have filled my life with colors and turned it into a musical every time you´re near me. I promise to love you and take care of you and the family we will hopefully soon start. There is not a day where I take you for granted, waking up beside you it´s a pleasure and something I will love to grow old with.

You are the woman of my dreams, the best road trip partner, and the comedic duo made for me, I will make sure to remind you that I´m the man that I am because of you. That every mole on your body holds a million I Love You´s you will hear forever. I´m so happy that I´m becoming Mr. Carter" Kendall chuckled "I know you´re the designer but you´re the muse of my life, of every romantic, naughty, or funny thought that comes to my mind you´re the one I see. I love your laugh and I will try my best to come up with the biggest dad jokes so I can crack a small out of you. Here´s to a lifetime of love, I love you, Kenny."

He didn’t have the guts to admit when he stopped loving her because he wasn't sure if he ever stopped.

People always say you don´t know what you have until it´s gone and he realized that too late, when he met Jackie, he loved the adrenaline of starting a romance again. But now it was painful, he missed everything about Kendall. The way she always made him choose the color of her nail polish or how the pantry was always stocked with Joe´s favorite candy.

How was he so naive to lose his soulmate, the mother of his kids, the love of his life but also his best friend. He hated his life now, a life without her or his kids was a living nightmare, his baby was about to be born, and he hadn´t seen a single eco photo of him. Kendall was sad and blue all the time, the only thing keeping her going was her babies and the company she worked so hard for.

She missed Joe, she couldn´t forget him, and she was tired, she was about to give birth and her life would be upside down once again.

"God I miss you so much" was the first sentence that came out of her mouth when she boldly called Joe at 1 am, she had been crying nonstop, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was the love of her life.

He showed up that night, and he stayed there. It was pointless for him to go home when his pregnant ex-wife was almost about to give birth.

The next few months were a roller coaster of emotions, their baby was born, Joe wasn’t there when he arrived to this world. He was on a work trip when baby burrow arrived and everything happened too quick. Kendall went into labor at 7 am and her baby came out of the womb right away. He looked so much like Joe, it was a very strange feeling, when Natalie was born. He was there, he held her hand as she was pushing their baby girl into a world in which they would do anything to make her happy. That was the only promise Joe made to Kendall that she was sure he would keep.

The new baby mama had been crying nonstop, she wasn’t sure of how she would manage her life now as a single mom with a soon to be a 6 year old.

“How are you doing?” Joe said entering the room with ballons and flowers, Kendall started to cry again. They weren’t in bad terms now, they will share the most important thing on their lives forever. There are science fairs, dance recitals, birthdays, christmas and thanksgiving they will have to share.

“I’m not gonna lie, i’m very scared” Kendall said holding her tears. “Kenny you’ve done this before, you are the best mom ever, Natalie and baby are so lucky that you’re their mother” Joe said smiling with teary eyes. “I know i’ve done this before but i wasn’t doing it alone you know?” The guilt eat Joe alive every second of the day. “Hey, i’m not going anywhere, i can stay home until baby is a bit older” Kendall chuckled, and then start to cry again “What’s wrong?” Joe looked at her concerned “Everything Joe, our baby is here and we don’t even have a name for him, and Natalie keeps asking when is her daddy coming home and i’ve run of ways of explaining her why he’s not” She cried “I hate my new life, I hate going grocery shopping alone and carrying everything by myself, i hate driving everywhere and i really really miss you Joe” he was crying when she said that.

“I know I fucked up, and no amount of sorry’s will mend what I did, we can work this out, for the fourth of us - “ He was interrupted by the nurse entering with baby burrow after checking that everything was okay with him, Joe saw him for the first time and started crying, he held him in his arms and the nurse walked out of the room. “He looks so much like Natie” he whispered and Kendall giggled as she wiped her tears away. “Both of them look like you it’s not fair” she said crossing her arms “We can always try and make one that looks like you” Joe smirked and Kendall’s mind went numb, she didn’t had and expression on her face “Sorry maybe that was too much” he cleared his troat.

“I will make you fall in love with me again, I promise my love” he kissed her forehed and that was the last thing Kendall heard before she fell asleep. And she was so happy to hear that.

a/n! Hiii, i hope you like this chapter, i think the next one it’s the last one of our little series. :) I’ll try to post over the weekend but i don’t promise anything. If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments. And i would love to hear you thoughts on this chapter and how do you expect the next one will be!!

[nyxronomicon]

backslide.

sunday x reader drabble

cw: !! addiction !!, reader relapses, hard drugs (nothing specific. pills), sunday is reader's drug addict's anonymous sponsor, vomit/cold sweat/reader feels like shit (drug hangover), angst vibes

an: been listening to backslide by top nonstop and i can't stop thinking about the line "i'll take anything you have if you could throw me a line" <- sunday taking advantage of a reader's desperation not to fall back into bad habits. anyway thinking about a whole fucked up toxic au with this but idk if i'll write more lol.

You woke up in a cold sweat. Your eyes darted to your bedside table where the pill bottle usually sat. Your heart raced. You wanted to hurl. You wanted feel normal again. You frantically searched for the bottle in the dark room, remembering that after you took the last two pills, you threw it across the room where it lay, open and empty.

You promised yourself you would quit. The pain was nothing compared to the downward spiral of taking those pills again. But still, there was an itch in your mind that only one thing could scratch.

You bolted to the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before vomiting. God, you felt like shit. You'd feel better if you just took a couple more...

No. You had to stop the thoughts. This was how it always started and you knew better now. No matter how badly you wanted it. Though, it was almost easy to say that when it was the middle of the night and you were out. Your dealer was chronically unreliable, so it'd be at least a few hours before you'd even get a response.

Still, staring into the porcelain bowl, all you could think of was how much better you'd feel with just one more.

After some time in the bathroom, you returned to your room, picking up the empty bottle. You're not sure why you convinced yourself there might be one more in there, but you dropped the plastic disappointedly after finding it was still empty.

Every inch of your body felt weak. Over-exerted. You were dehydrated, hungry, tired, irritable. But all you could think about were the little pink pills that made you feel good. God, you'd do anything to get a little high. You could wean yourself off tomorrow. You'd already relapsed.

You opened your phone and looked at your contacts. Your weary eyes were fading in and out. You had to get a hold of your dealer. You just needed one more.

"Hello?" a man answered in seconds, sounding slightly groggy but definitely not the man whose number you dialed. Your thoughts moved at a glacial pace, but you finally pieced together who it was.

"Sunday?" That's right. You changed your dealer's number to his- your drug addicts' anonymous sponsor.

"Bad night?" His voice was so soft and welcoming, even at this ungodly hour.

"I..." Your breath hitched. You had to tell him. It was part of the process. But it was the third time you'd relapsed. You could barely go a week without your fix.

"Do you want me to come over?" He asked after your long pause.

"... It's 4am." Your voice is hoarse, he can hear that now.

"That's not what I asked." He responds, sleepiness gone from his voice. It was laced with concern. He was so kind and patient with you. You wished you could be better. You wished you could stop bothering him like this.

"... there's a key under the mat." Echoes of just one more bounced around in your head. It was almost making you dizzy. You laid back down, phone resting on your ear.

"Get some rest. I'll be there soon." Sunday's voice was nearly cut off by the dial tone, but you didn't really notice. Your heavy eyelids slid closed, thoughts fuzzy and jumbled.

"Get some rest." You repeated his words in a whisper, succumbing to a deep sleep.

[dreamersbcll]

OKAY SO let's suppose sam went to rehab in those years she wasn't with tara, what if years later tara also finds comfort in alcohol and drugs and there's a moment where she realises how big of a problem this is becoming and sam is the only one that understands her

“Stranger”

and it echoes when i breathe, till all you see is my ghost

——————————————————————————

Sandpaper.

That’s all Tara could taste the moment she woke up. She was lying flat on her back, her eyes fixated on the ceiling above her. Popcorn ceiling. Today, it was white, but last night, it was an array of colors— like a rainbow.

Tara felt more like the storm that came before the rainbow.

She couldn’t quite remember the night before or even the day before that. In fact, she wasn’t really sure whether or not she was alive right now.

All she could do was stare at the ceiling and count the white popcorn puffs. Her mouth was so dry— sandpaper. The pillow beneath her head was stiff. She moved her hand behind her head, only to find out that it was a crumpled t-shirt that supported her head.

Groaning, she propped herself up, blinking hard. Her vision was blurry and doubled, and her head swam with nausea. She was pretty sure five people were in the room with her, all in various sleeping positions on the floor and dirty mattress.

This wasn’t a home. It could’ve been one a long time ago. But now it was just a house with a dirty mattress and too many addicts sprawled across it.

Tara got up, swinging her legs onto the floor. If she leaned forward too far, she would crash into the person curled up next to the radiator. Fuck. Her head was pounding. Was there water anywhere? She surveyed the room, only seeing empty liquor bottles and various needles and joints littered across the floor.

Never mind that. She needed out. The walls were closing in, and she couldn’t breathe. The more she looked around, the more she realized she shouldn’t be here.

She shouldn’t fucking be here.

Pushing herself to her feet, she winced, her head pounding. Fuck.

Carefully, Tara made her way out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house. As she pushed through the front door, she squinted as the sun hit her face first, blinding her. She stumbled back, her hand covering the sun, blinking rapidly. Shit. Was it always that bright? How long has she missed the sunlight?

She averted her eyes, noticing her shoes were sprawled across the dirty welcome mat. She bent down quickly, ignoring the wave of nausea that ran through her body. Mind over matter. Mind over fucking matter.

After she put her shoes on, Tara perched herself on the porch railing, her legs dangling above the ground. She looked across the yard, watching cars passing by. Kids were walking with their mothers, people were walking their dogs, and runners were jogging. She was always surprised that the world kept turning even if it stopped for her.

Looking down, she dug her nails into her thighs. If she looked closely, she would see under the half-mooned crescents all of her sins that she tried to hide. There was a scar across her left thigh— she believes it was the time she attempted to heat the spoon with a faulty lighter. Or maybe it was when she tried to see how many rings she could make with one lit cigarette.

Time was a fickle thing. She can’t remember what she did last week, but she still remembers how excruciatingly visceral it was to watch Sam go. Nothing had been the same since then. Tara hadn’t been the same since then.

She knows she made terrible choices. The moment she held the joint to her lips, she knew it was over. Seven years ago, she watched Sam light her first joint on their porch, coughing and gagging as it worked its way through her lungs.

Sitting on the porch railing next to Sam, Tara remembered that she smiled as Sam coughed and damn near threw up. Good. That’s what Sam deserved for trying to disappear on Tara.

But Sam did anyway— and like every little sister, she followed her big sister down the same path.

Here she was again, on a porch rail of a home that she didn’t recognize or know, wishing she was someone else— feeling sorry for herself.

Yet this was all her fault. Tara knew the risks; she knew her fate. Fuck, she saw it with her own damn eyes. She remembers very well seeing Sam lose hair, come home in the early hours, and the bruises. God, she remembers the bruises. It was as if Sam didn’t care for herself or her well-being at all, as if she was asking for the pain.

Tara didn’t understand then. But she does now, and god damn it, was it fucking agony.

She always wanted to be just like Sam, and now she was. She was just like Sam.

Laughing a bit, Tara hiccuped, wincing as her ribs flared in pain. Fuck. She doesn’t remember where that pain came from. She doesn’t remember where any of this pain came from.

All this pain, all this pain that she was so goddamn afraid of, still a part of her. She tried to run, she tried to hide, but it found her. It found her on the sunniest days, the quietest of nights, the most tranquil mornings. No matter how far she ran or how many times she hid, it found her, and it infected her.

If someone opened up her chest, she was sure they would find nothing but decayed organs and bones broken to dust. There would be a heart that no longer beat- black and molding. Around her chest cavity would be littered needles, vials, and blood that no longer were needed.

She was so sick of being tired and so tired of being sick.

Without thinking, Tara pulled her phone out, wiping dust off the cracked screen. She mindlessly scrolled through her contacts for a moment, wondering who would respond, wondering who was there.

One name stood out to her— the one she hadn’t heard from in years.

What the hell? Tara couldn’t remember her own last name at this point.

Clicking on it, she pressed the speaker and let it ring. She expected it to ring for one, two, maybe even seven times.

She didn’t expect it to pick up on the first ring.

“Hello, this is Sam.”

Sam’s voice was clear, clearer than Tara had expected. She doesn’t remember the last time she heard Sam so level, so calm. It had been years. Fuck, it had been nearly a decade.

Her big sister was always her rock, love, and safe place. She hadn’t heard that voice so clear in so long. Sam was back.

But now Tara is gone.

Time was a fickle thing.

“Sam,” Tara breathed, her voice cracking. She answered. Her big sister really answered.

Her big sister paused, putting together the pieces. Sam spoke slowly, calmly, as if not to spook her little sister. “Tara? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Tara swallowed hard, looking down at her feet. She was missing a sock. Where was the lace on her left shoe? Has it always been like that? When did she last have a shoelace?

Fuck. She can’t remember. She just can’t remember.

Running a hand through her hair, Tara laughed a bit. This was all so fucked-up. She shouldn’t be here. She should be in the second period, learning about chemistry. Sam should be finishing college, planning to stay home for the summer, maybe stay for the rest of their lives. They would’ve been so happy.

They should’ve been happy.

“Sam, I, I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. I don’t know, fuck,” she choked out, her chest twisting.

Hot, shameful tears started to run down Tara’s face, coating her sinful lips and hands. She was so pathetic for becoming this monster. So fucking pathetic.

There were no words she could say, no phrase that could fix this. She couldn’t even find the words to say I Need Help.

But she tried anyway.

“Sammy,” she cried, ducking her head in shame.

It took all of five seconds for Sam to respond.

“I’m on my way. Send me your location, and don’t move. Got it?” Sam said levelly, her voice stoic.

How could Tara ever deny her big sister?

Tara let her tears flow freely, coughing a bit as she listened to her big sister get into her car and pull away. Wherever she was, whatever time of day it was, Sam would find her.

Sam would save Tara from herself.

Just like it was always supposed to be.

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

We Go Together - Ch. 1

Series Main List

A Jedi!Charles x TIE Fighter Pilot!Max Star Wars AU

Ch. 1 Warnings: Language; near-drowning and crash-landing injuries; hurt/comfort; head wound; discussion of war and death; forced drug addiction (by the Imperial Navy) and associated withdrawal

He’s dying. 

Though it's not happening as fast as he always thought it would. Ever since he strapped into his first TIE fighter, it should just be a blinding flash of conflagration, the flesh searing from his bones in the cold of space, and then… nothing. 

But this is disturbingly peaceful. Midnight blue water fills the cockpit and surrounds him. Metal and machinery creak in protest under the increasing pressure as the ship sinks. His head throbs with a disorienting ache from the force of impact. Tacky blood mats his hairline, streaking his face and tainting his tongue beneath the vacuum-sealed helmet as he gasps the remainder of his air supply. 

It won't be long now. The design of his pressure suit and atmospheric unit only works in the vacuum of space, and something will fail under the water’s invasive weight. He groans against the pain in his skull, exhaling sharply as he fumbles for the last of his restraint harness tabs. A seal hisses and bursts behind him, but he still can’t move from his bench. Cold water stings his skin as it floods into his suit and displaces the air. 

An impossibly warm line of solid strength wraps around his torso. Dimly, he registers the feel of it - it… it feels like an arm. He floats free of his bench, guided by the bracketing heat that radiates through his pressure suit. 

Every instinct compels him to struggle, to fight back. So he does, trying to flail his arms in the water against the… person? Being? - whoever attempts to immobilize him and pull him from his ship. 

That's not how this is supposed to end. He needs to stay with his ship - a pilot till his death.

Waves of calming, comforting peace wash over him. The foreign sensations seep into his soul, snuffing out any will to fight. Every combative instinct in him settles and surrenders to the flood of serenity that overtakes him. 

Soothing. So soothing. 

Saltwater burns his nostrils and eyes as his movements grow sluggish. A solid presence holds him from behind now - a body moving, legs kicking as an arm claws for the surface. His eyes drift closed as his lungs burn with the need for air.

Numbly, he paws at the pressure seals of his helmet. No familiar hiss of breathing tubes or vacuum seals sound in his ears - just the gurgling of bubbles as he loosens its hold. He wrenches it off just as his head breaks the surface. 

He gulps down air, dizzy from the onslaught of relief. Saltwater burns his head wound but it’s a distant second sensation compared to the feel of his rescuer holding him close. Just so warm, so reassuring, so calming… did he mention warm? Black spots eat at his vision, and he chokes on a mouthful of saltwater. 

The arm around his chest tightens. “Hold on, mate.” A grunt of exertion follows. 

He’s never felt so heavy, his arms and legs near impossible to move now. His waterlogged pressure suit suffocates him and it hurts to expand his lungs. Blackness eats at his consciousness and his eyes close as he succumbs.

He jolts awake when he suddenly lands against something solid. There’s… there’s no water around him. He’s surrounded by frigid, brackish air, but he can breathe freely… and he greedily inhales. The world spins before his eyes, or… or is that the rocking motion of the boat? Or both? Nausea eats at him either way. 

Swallowing a mouthful of bile, he strains for a glimpse of his… captor? Rescuer? 

He doesn’t trust his vision at first. The young, male humanoid doesn’t look remarkable. Wet, dark curls plaster to his forehead above a lean, pale face. Neat, short facial hair paints a dark contrast to his skin tone, as does his water-soaked clothing. The stranger also heaves for breath, sprawled against the boat’s rear bench, exhaustion evident in his lean but strong build. 

Questions flood the pilot’s addled brain but his tongue is too thick for words. A violent shiver seizes him as a gust of wind whips through the boat. He thinks a groan passes his lips, but he’s not sure. 

“You can rest now.” The other man’s voice carries a mellifluous, otherworldly accent as it floats on the biting wind. “You’re alright.” 

The words discomfort him, but he falls helplessly back into darkness.

Charles glances over at the unmoving figure in his bed before sampling the broth. Two days now and the TIE pilot still labors in the throes of high fever. Charles wishes he could do more to ease it, but he’s already cleaned and dressed the gash on the pilot’s head to the best of his ability. The wound appears to be healing cleanly, but he suspects the fever torturing the pilot has more to do with the extreme trauma of the situation. 

Not to mention the withdrawal. 

Again, Charles samples the steaming soup. He reaches for another pinch of fresh astrid leaves and stirs to release their savory aroma. With any luck, the broth will sit well on the pilot’s empty stomach when he wakes. If anything, his body needs the energy to heal, and then… then they can figure out what to do next. 

He blinks back over at the sleeping figure. A surprisingly tall man for a pilot. He looks about the same age as Charles which surely must be older than the average age for TIE pilots who have notoriously short lifespans. That could only mean that this man is better than average - a fearsome killer of his masters’ making. 

The body concealed beneath the ruined pressure suit hadn’t surprised Charles, though. Like any elite warrior, the pilot is all tough sinew and whipcord muscle with strong, broad shoulders. Small scars litter the man’s limbs and torso, but Charles hadn’t noted any additional injuries aside from intense bruising. However, the five digit number imprinted on the inside of the man’s left wrist had stopped him cold.  

11410 

Imperial operating numbers change with post designations and squadron rankings, but Charles doesn’t understand that string of numbers. Even now as he stands at the stove of his meager kitchen, the five digits hover in the back of his mind. Perhaps the pilot would be inclined to tell him about it. Or maybe not. 

He’ll need to be careful either way. Ever since Order 66 passed and branded every Jedi a traitor, he can’t reveal too much about himself. Or his abilities. As he reaches for a wooden bowl from the shelf over the stove, he hopes that the pilot won’t ask too many questions about his rescue. For better and worse, the man had been in such a state of shock that he likely wouldn’t remember much, anyway. And he most certainly had passed out before Charles lifted him into the boat hands-free. 

Sighing gently, he laddles out two spoonfuls of broth into the bowl, blowing across the surface to displace the curling steam. With another glance back towards the bed, he takes a deep breath and prepares himself. 

It’s time for the pilot to wake up, and Charles reaches out with a gentle ripple.  

*

He stirs under soft, worn covers, cracking an eye open. Fire burns in a hearth across the room from him, and he can’t recall ever being surrounded by such suffocating heat. He doesn’t know why he’s awake, but he’s so hot… too hot. 

His limbs weigh too much to move, but he takes in his surroundings with a wary gaze. The dwelling is simple, functional yet oddly inviting. Imperfect raw wood, sea-smoothed stones, and thick, crude woolen fabrics. None of it is familiar, and none of it feels right. 

He needs to leave. Immediately. He needs unyielding metal, sharp edges, and cold precision. He needs to hunt… he- 

A stab of panic seizes him in a rush of startling, unfamiliar sensation. It doesn't make sense - he’s always perfectly in control. Always riding the razor’s edge, always focused - always sighted on his target. 

But now? Now, there’s no target. There’s no focus. There’s no… control. He hears himself gasp as his heart pounds and sweat beads on his brow. 

What’s happening to him? 

“Calm yourself, mate.” The voice from a half-remembered dream washes over him. “You have a fever, and you just need to rest. My name is Charles, and you're safe.” The man owning the voice steps into view, hovering just on the edge of his vision.

“What…" he croaks, barely recognizing his raw voice. “What did you do to me?” His hands fist in the bedsheet, agitated and angered as a tremor seizes him. He grits teeth against it, needing that persistent, aggressive hunger filling his veins. 

“You’re in the worst of it - and I know that probably doesn’t make any sense to you right now. But it will.” Charles speaks softly in a low soothing register as his face softens with concern. “Your body is trying to compensate for what it doesn’t have anymore. Just breathe now - breathe the free air, in and out. Slowly - here, follow me.”  

He grips the bedcovers tighter, refusing to succumb. He doesn’t need comfort. He never has. What has this Charles done to him to make him want these things? Fuck, he needs… he bears his teeth, ready to jump out of his skin and go for the jugular. Anything to reclaim that intense high, sharp edge of control. 

He jolts up from the bed with a savage snarl, lunging forwards. His head swims from the sudden movement, overcome with fatigue and disorientation, and his offensive attack crumbles. His hands fall weakly to his side as he slumps over and the bedcovers pool around his waist.

To Charles' credit, the man doesn’t even flinch. He merely places one hand in a trouser pocket as he stares back and holds a steaming bowl with his other hand. His face is carefully guarded, regarding him with eyes in the most stunning shade of green as he speaks softly. “They have done quite a job on you, mate… you must have spent many years in the pilot corps.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He growls through labored breaths, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face as black spots eat at his vision. “You don’t know anything about it!” 

“I know more than you would ever want to know.” Charles suddenly stands taller with a disconcerting wisdom beyond his years. “Psychological conditioning and biological manipulation are dangerous endeavors. Drugging a person’s mind for a constant state of adrenaline-fueled aggression and hyper-awareness will take its toll in days, let alone years. And you, mate, have had more than your fair share.” 

“You lie!” He roars. “You lie to cover your own deeds and manipulation!” 

“What’s your operating number?” 

“SD-62-1.” 

“Where were you born?” 

“Unnecessary.” Anger vibrates along his skin, nostrils flaring through raging breaths. 

“What’s your name?” 

He shakes his head, pain blooming deep in his skull. “No.” 

“What’s your name?” Charles presses again, voice soft and even. “Come on - think.” 

“No! I don’t-” The bed sheet fabric rips under his hands as he struggles. “I don’t have a name.” 

“Yes, you do. Now, what is your name?” 

“I DON’T KNOW!” His words echo off the stone walls as the realization sinks in. How… how can someone not know their own name? Of course he has to have one… at least, at some point in his life. But now? What is it…? 

He freezes, recognizing every muscle in his body coiled and tensed in familiar readiness for a fight. Sweat from his palms dampens the sheet still clenched in his fists, and it clings to his chest and the back of his neck. What… just what the fuck is happening to him? 

Charles takes a small step forward, eyes warm with kind understanding. “Your body has spent so many years in a state of agitation, it’s chasing the only way it has to maintain that state now.” A small smile quirks the corner of his mouth. “And you can try to call me a liar, but I can see the uncertainty in your eyes.” 

He drops his head to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as if to hide. This stranger has no place to comment on his business or what he thinks or how he feels. Taking a deep breath, he loosens his grip on the bed sheet, muscles protesting in pain as he unclenches his fingers. Everything hurts - from the throbbing ache deep in his skull to the tightness in his chest to the pull of the bandage on his head. He shakes his head, jaw tensing. “I don’t want this. Don’t… don’t do this to me.” 

“I don’t have the drugs they use in your air supply. You’ll continue through withdrawal until your body levels out.” Charles sighs regretfully. “I wish I had an easier way for you, mate, but… well, like I said before - biological manipulation is a dangerous endeavor.” 

His head spins and his vision swims. The last of his strength leaves him as he slumps backwards, landing against the pillow. It offers meager cool relief against his sweat-soaked brow and he squeezes his eyes shut as if to block Charles out. The man has already ruined him, and he won’t let Charles do anymore damage. 

“Before you go back to sleep,” Charles’ voice draws up alongside the bed. “I have some broth for you. It should help, I think. At least, it will give your body some energy to heal.” 

He shakes his head. “No.” 

“I think you’ll be surprised.” A gentle hand falls to his shoulder and a current of peaceful calmness overtakes him. His mind fuzzes as he loses the will to protest. Charles’ hand drifts to support his head with surprisingly tender strength, and the rim of a wooden bowl presses gently to his lips. 

Warm, savory aromas wash over his tongue, filling his belly with a comforting fullness. The haze in his mind grows as his body stills under gentle strokes of Charles’ fingers on his nape. His mind catches the undertow, drifting away to the safe shores of sleep.

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