#smoking withdrawal symptom

[thiccsys]

i got banned on roblox for one day because i misspelled crab hahaha im tweaking im tweaking dont do this to me while im hyperfixating on roblox (its all i can think about i dream about it too please unban me)

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

ppl who do mushrooms and weed bc they are "natural" (many things are Natural and doesn't mean they are good for you) will literally say shit like actually is has been PROVEN mushrooms are much less dangerous than alcohol!!!! alcohol is the DEVIL!!!!

gurl a glass of wine will never do to you what mushrooms can do to you. i've had a friend almost die bc she took "very safe" mushrooms that were legal and guaranteed by a certified shop owner that they were okay. she took a small, recommended amount. and she had a trip so bad she couldn't drink water bc she couldn't remember how and then she couldn't sober up, or eat chocolate which usually helps, etc. and she needed to be supervised bc she almost died. and other ppl in the group weren't doing so great either.

[karmaphone]

wow I really do treat my nausea and crohns with weed huh 😭😔

[cease]

it fucking boggles my mind that some stupid ass stoners will swear up and down that withdrawals from weed is Not real and everyone who talks about experiencing it must be lying. it’s so fucking irresponsible. genuinely cannot stand how some ppl engage with weed in such a way that they minimize any and all risks (such as withdrawals, like i’m talking about now, but also like.. the possibility of developing psychosis if it’s something that you’re susceptible to ie it’s in the family or what have you. as an example). like there’s this idea that your experience is the experience and it’s entirely safe for everyone in all situations and there’s no risks of anything at all is just. i could scream.

obligatory disclaimer that i am also a heavy weed smoker and listening to experiences outside of your own / being able to accept factual information as true is not an attack on weed or ppl who use it (good fucking god). the point here is being responsible / informed / caring for yourself and others

idk if i need to say this either but don’t reblog please. this isn’t an eloquently phrased psa or whatever and i’m sure others have put this to better words that are more encompassing of the issue i’m describing. this is a personal post. i’m just. frustrated and complaining on my soapbox. thanks

[glitchdollmemoria]

i google how to feel less sick from cigarettes i open quora "first, stop smoking" stop being fucking patronizing. stop it. i know i shouldnt be smoking. i am fully aware of the dangers and it is not enough to stop me because addiction runs deeper than logic. just give me the home remedies and stop acting like addicts are suddenly going to stop just because you tell us drugs are bad for us, as if we havent been bombarded with that information, as if we dont carry shame from engaging in something harmful when we know the harm it causes. stop acting like addiction is a matter of moral and intellectual failure instead of a disease stemming from underlying problems that need to be addressed in order for anything to actually change. stop being patronizing and tell me what tea will make me less nauseous. this is fine to reblog but if anyone tries to fucking lecture me about my life choices im blocking you immediately

[invisibleoctopus]

speaking of spending all my extra money on weed every month. its part of why i feel such immense guilt at seeing donation posts because in my head the moral OCDemon "you spend this money on WEED instead of helping ppl in NEED?? SHAME SHAME SHAME SHAME SHAME YOURE A HORRIBLE PERSON SO SELFISH ONLY THINKING FOR YOURSELF" every time i so much as scroll past a donation post bc in my head its like. if you have weed money you should be able to have Donation Post Money too

[timmydraker]

Tim vapes.

To his friends, namely the ones at school and not so much in Young Justice, this ain’t anything surprising. It’s popular for his age group and given how he has various roles in life that cause anxiety and his poorly concealed PTSD from being Red Robin, it makes sense he’d turn to something for comfort.

That comfort just happens to be an addiction to the ‘cancer usb’s his brother Dick once went on a two hour rant about.

Jason once got grounded and forced to watch a PowerPoint video made by Dick and Bruce after he was caught with a cigarette while still Robin. Jason still kept up the bad habits, but he normally turned to a drink or smoke when things were really bad. It was both recreational and a treat that he only had a few times a year, or month in the case of alcohol.

Tim doesn’t take breaks unless he’s on patrol.

It started when he was thirteen and was so tired from starting work with Wayne Enterprise and Robin that he didn’t give his usual response to his friends offer of a hit.

The passion fruit guava flavour settled easily in his chest, most likely due to how he had a lot of self control with his body. He coughed a storm afterwards but quickly found himself coming back for a hit or two during school breaks.

It only took a month for him to buy his first one after some research. He bought the least damaging one for his body even if he knew that lessening such damage didn’t fully remove it.

He started with grape.

Then once that died, he bought sour apple.

Then fairyfloss.

Then strawberry mango.

Then birthday cake, which he genuinely didn’t think could be real but alas.

It took almost four years for anyone in his family to notice and by pure luck it was his actual father who would end up dying a few months later. Tim remembers how guilty he felt when he realised his father would no longer be yelling at him for his ‘fruity fucking stink’ and that such a thing gave him genuine relief. He shouldn’t want his dad to be dead, yet…

It was then Tim realised that maybe he should try slow down his usage, and challenged himself to go a whole hour before a hit, then two and then finally three before he decided that would be enough for a while.

It’s on a particularly bad patrol when he saw a kid get hurt and wasn’t in time to save her from some likely permanent damage that he forwent his rule of vaping in the suit and took several hits while against a wall in his Red Robin attire.

He was just stating to feel the calm fully settle in his bones as his last puff of sour rainbow exited his lunged when he heard a voice just a few feet away.

“How dare you disgrace the name of Robin with that filth!”

Tim jumps up immediately but no training would prepare him for how quickly Damian comes over and snatches the vape from his hand.

Damian is gone quicker than he can get himself together and he only just managed to shout and run after him with his growing panic.

Tim watches his youngest brother vanish from sight and knows he’s doomed.

When he gets back to the cave a few hours later after trying to hide away from his problems, he’s finished his second vape (star fruit grape) from pure stress.

He’s met with the entire family sans Jason giving him the most disappointed and concerned look he’s seen since he confessed he lost his spleen and didn’t tell anyone.

Damian won’t meet his eye but even then Tim can tell from years of studying his younger that even Damian feels a little guilty for outing him, but as Dick looks close to tears with how upset he is the others resolve clearly strengthens.

Tim doesn’t blame him, even if he’s mentally going over all the symptoms of nicotine withdrawal.

[thanksfortheflaglove]

.

[g0dlyunsub]

favorite addiction.

you’re addicted to cigarettes, spencer’s addicted to you. he finds a way to help you through your withdrawal.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: mentions of cigarettes and withdrawal symptoms, light makeout sesh at the end

word count :: 1.1k

author’s note :: thank you to @ellamaianderson for the original request! i also used actual quotes from a cm episode, iykyk :) + this is set in spencer's apartment

accompanying song :: antidote by orion sun

“what’s wrong?”

you turn to see your boyfriend, who’s looking at you with perturbed eyes and furrowed brows. he sits on the couch, extending his legs and resting with his hands behind his head.

“uh, nothing?” you return, lightly drumming the table with your pen. if spencer can hear through your seething lie, he doesn’t mention it.

everything feels wrong. your mind feels like it’s about to combust, and your fingers twitch as you rummage under the stack of papers at the side of your – or rather, spencer’s – desk. 

your coworker’s email was giving you an especially hard time, since he requested a last minute change to the company’s budget reports a minute before midnight. you sigh as you continue to let your fingers hastily surf through the pile, only to stop when you don’t encounter the familiar casing.

“are you looking for this?” you hear spencer clear his throat.

you swallow and shift your body to face him. he’s waving your cigarette pack almost tauntingly, shaking it left and right with a cheesy grin. you sigh as you try to piece together a mental simulation for how your pack moved from your desk to his hand; you could’ve sworn it was underneath your papers just five minutes ago. but that doesn’t matter. the tip of your tongue tingles with an urgent desire to be satiated with a puff of smoke. you need one so desperately.

you walk over to the couch and lay your hand out flat in front of spencer’s face.

“alright, give me that, spence.”

surprisingly, he lets you have it. he gently places the pack on the palm of your hand, watching with anticipating eyes to see your next move.

rolling your eyes, you turn the flap of the box, only to see it’s completely empty. you look to see the culprit staring back at you with wide eyes and an apologetic smile. it’s hard to get mad when he’s looking at you so sweetly, like he’s marveling at you.

“spencer? what did you do with… all of them?” you ask at last, surveying the room for any signs of your lost cigarettes.

silence courses through the entire room until spencer stands. your boyfriend looms over you, and with the room’s gold light swimming between the strands of his hair and his eyelashes, he looks ridiculously handsome. 

“y/n, a cigarette takes–”

“six minutes off my life. i know, spence,” you interrupt.

“it’s six minutes less that i get to spend with you,” spencer continues.

spencer and his pretty words. a blush rises over the collar of your shirt. your neck is burning by the time spencer stoops slightly to meet you at eye level.

“you haven’t had one in eighteen hours. you’re doing great. so, so great.” 

a dimple blossoms in his right cheek as he speaks, and his warm smile complements his tender voice perfectly. it's embarrassing to know that he's counting the hours since your last cigarette, but comforting to know that he's willing to take the steps to challenge you, for the sake of your own health.

you pout as you run dry of ideas, a refutation failing to surface on your lips. spencer chuckles, watching as your face contorts into a frustrated expression. 

“those were ten bucks,” you say as a pucker between your eyebrows surfaces.

“you know, in about six hours, there won’t be any nicotine left in your system, and you’ll likely experience even stronger cravings for a cigarette. you might want to drink some water and stay hydrated,” spencer ignores, instead offering a hand to take you to the kitchen.

but you cross your arms in front of your chest, a disapproving look overtaking your face.

“but what are you going to do about me?” you ask, to which spencer raises an eyebrow.

“what do you mean?” he questions, tilting his head to the side slightly. you roll your eyes.

“well? i’m sad now. i’ve got no more cigarettes. i’m hungry. shouldn’t you do something about that?” you teasingly prod at his chest, and you see how he clenches his jaw.

“what do you want me to do about it?” he inquires further, taking a step closer to you.

“i don’t know, you tell me,” you barely whisper as he closes the gap even further. your breath draws in and out rapidly, and your pulse quickens with rhythmic pounds. you’re sure you can hear the air tremble in your windpipe.

“something like… this?” he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears as he leans to whisper the words in your ear. goosebumps travel along your entire body, making you gulp. he plants a soft kiss at the base of your neck, right above your clavicle. the strands of his hair lightly caress your cheek, leaving a cozy yet shuddering feeling to spread throughout. 

“something like that,” you purr, closing your eyes shut when he takes your hand and laces his fingers with yours. his graceful fingers rub against your skin gingerly.

“keep your eyes closed,” you hear him murmur.

“for what, spence? if this is another one of your ploys– mm!”

before you can finish, spencer’s lips are pressed against yours. your mouth parts slightly, and you can taste his tongue – a blissful blend of double-shot espresso, chocolate, and salted butter. your hand moves up along the back of his body and rests in his tangled hair, light curls wrapped around your fingers like they want to latch on to your warmth.

there's no need for words. your inhales and exhales increase in pace with each passing second, and spencer’s hand snakes between the side of your chest and your hips, driving you a little bit insane.

you only realize that the warmth on your lips is gone when he transfers his soft kisses to your neck right under your jaw, a wet string of saliva slipping from your tongue to the moist area near your thyroid. 

after several heartbeats, you open your eyes to see spencer drinking in the sight of you, warm eyes twinkling and hypnotic under the lighting.

“did you know that popcorn could help with cigarette cravings? it’s actually best to avoid spicy and sugary foods when you’re trying to quit, since they tend to make cigarettes taste better. so… do you want some?” he breathes, lightly squinting as he asks.

you laugh before leaning in to kiss him once more, “so that’s why you tasted like salted butter.”

“is it working?” he replies after you pull back.

“i think so,” you say whilst grinning, and bury your face in his shoulder.

he pulls you in close before marking a tender kiss on your neck once again.

maybe you could get used to this.

[scientia-rex]

I made that post about how smoking is bad—actually, no, I’ve made two relatively popular posts about how smoking is bad for you. Raises your chances of dying from multiple factors including heart disease and stroke in addition to lung (and mouth, throat, and bladder) cancer.

I am always so baffled by the responses going “well I could die from something else!” Yes. You could. Statistically speaking, you will most likely die of heart disease, stroke, or cancer, if you live in the US. Your average life expectancy is somewhere around 78 for women, 76 for men. Many people die younger than that, for a lot of reasons. Many of my patients have illnesses that will shorten their lives. I hate to split it into “fault,” as if there’s some kind of perfect way to live a blameless life. (There isn’t.) The numbers, however, are both clear and pitiless. People who smoke are more likely to die younger than they otherwise might have.

Medicine is a numbers game. My job is not to psychically predict exactly what will punch your ticket and when. It is to improve your odds. I want you to both live as long a life as possible but also as high-quality a life as possible. I want for you to live a life you enjoy.

It’s that simple; it’s not sinister. I’m not out here going “I’ll tell them not to smoke so they can have LESS FUN before getting hit by a bus at 30!”

Because smoking isn’t actually fun. What it is, is a very quick (and faster = more addictive) reduction in physical feedback systems that heighten anxiety. Withdrawal of an unpleasant stimulus is rewarding. (Technically, it’s a negative reward; the negative doesn’t refer to a moral judgment, but the addition or subtraction of a stimulus.) Something that is very rewarding very fast will be very addictive. It’s why crack cocaine is also so addictive—it is also a very fast and very potent reward. It’s also why benzodiazepines like Xanax are so addictive to so many people; it’s a slower peak blood level but the removal of severe anxiety is profoundly rewarding.

So smoking can make you feel better when you do it. But your body will try to fix any broken signals. It doesn’t just want to be able to signal to you when you need to feel stressed: it has to be able to signal you, or your long-ago ancestors would have been eaten by predators. So it ramps up the signaling. Now you’re not smoking because you feel better than baseline; you’re smoking to get back to baseline.

That’s why quitting sucks. When you quit smoking, all of the sudden your body’s signals of stress that got dialed up to 11 to overcome the nicotine are just out there at full blast, making you feel scared and jittery and irritable. It’s why when you quit benzos (or daily alcohol) cold turkey you can get life-threatening seizures. It’s why when you stop alcohol you’re likely to have sleep disruptions that can persist for weeks to months.

That’s why things that help reduce the suckage can help. Nicotine patches, lozenges, or gum. Chantix. Wellbutrin. Slowly stepping down the nicotine level on your vape. Eating more, eating things you like. (I would 1000% rather have a patient be fat than be smoking. I know other people will be shittier to you if you gain weight. Living is worth it.) Being kind to yourself helps you quit smoking. You need to recognize that “quitting smoking you” is not your baseline you. It is you with an invisible illness that will take weeks to months to get over.

And sometimes you can’t face that hump right now. But if you want to maximize your odds of the longest and healthiest possible life, knowing that any number of terrible things can happen to you at any time, making the effort—over and over again, if you need to—is the best shot you have.

There are a couple of conditions where smoking does markedly reduce symptoms. The well-known ones are schizophrenia and Crohn’s disease. If you feel not just better, but better like this is a medication for you, like you poop blood or hear things without it, talk to your primary care provider, because there are other medicines that might be safer and/or more effective for you. The landscape around pharmaceutical research has shifted dramatically over the last 30 years. We have more options than we’ve ever had before. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the expensive, dangerous medication that half-works for you. And if what you’re self-medicating is your anxiety, nicotine is a pretty crappy medication for that, because it doesn’t fix you; it changes your baseline to an even shittier place.

You have bodily autonomy. You can make your own choices. I will never go to a patient’s house and slap the cigarette out of their hand. But if what you want is the longest and healthiest possible life, smoking makes your odds worse.

The number of people who think that I, as a doctor, would be unaware of how profoundly unfair bodily health can be amazes me. It’s like the first Father Brown story, where Father Brown is explaining to the villain that someone whose main job is to hear about all of the terrible sins people have to confess cannot remain naive. My job is watching people age, or filling out their death certificates. One or the other. I prefer watching them age, but everyone will die. Someday my doctor will be filling out my death certificate. I’ve removed one potential contributing factor from that line—maybe I’ll get diabetes, maybe I’ll get cancer, maybe I’ll have a workplace accident, but “smoking” isn’t going to be on that line anymore. That’s the best I can do. I can’t psychically predict my own death, either; just play the numbers, try to do my best, and hope.

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 2

Summary: The riders know you're addicted to the red smoke. Certain members thought they could help you during that point of your recovery, but that proves to be more difficult than they anticipated.

(This is the OFFICIAL continuation of Part 1. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. Since this chapter contains a lot of sensitive topics, I will try my hardest to be respectful about this. The next chapter will be a little more light-hearted, I promise.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Demon Mentions, Hallucinations, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Self harm, Accidental Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing

-----------

The next few days after your operation pass in a blur. Everyone has been trying to keep themselves occupied, holding on to what little air of normalcy still hung in the air. None of the riders have been able to fully process what could only be described as the biggest turn of events in their time fighting the war. It’s not the first time a member of the cult has had to undergo treatment. Victims that got converted due to planet invasion and nonconsensual exposure to the red smoke are rescued all the time. It is basic protocol for Space Riders. Sometimes a priest would be rescued. The story of how those members came to be priests varies. Some joined of their own free will, while others fought before the addiction made them lose the will to fight.

But you?

Archangels are infamous for their unwavering loyalty to the Prototype. They are the Prototype’s right-hand man, their council, and their second in command. Archangels eat, sleep, and breathe the Prototype and expect others to do the same. There are only a few known attempts to rescue archangels in history. The stories ended in one of three ways: they go back to the Prototype, (sometimes with a new band of “loyal” followers), they slaughter their rescuers, or they take their own life as a last resort.

Knowing that has made most of the Space Riders tense, Bubba included. The elephant has arguably been the tensest. Not even the sight of you resting in a cell with power mufflers on your wrists is enough to put him slightly at ease. He wasn’t a complete stranger to Aether magic (what others refer to as Divinity powers.) Granted, he only ever got to study this powerful and unique kind of sorcery through the catalogs, a few ancient ruins, and his team’s battles with you. Even then, doubt swarmed him with questions concerning how effective the cell, let alone the power mufflers will be in the long run.

Bubba sighs, pinching the bridge of his trunk as the signs of yet another headache emerge. That was one long argument with the Commander and council he would rather not revisit. Not that there are any that Bubba would like to recall. Dogday, despite all his good intentions, didn’t make it any easier for anyone. The two riders may have convinced the higher-ups, but the elephant knows that this is not the last time they will have this conversation with the Commander and council. The thought of that makes him take a swig from his coffee mug.

Problem number one may have been resolved for now, but now there’s problem number two: your red smoke addiction. With no red smoke to give you, it didn't take long for the symptoms to show up. Your feverish face contorts into a grimace yet again. Bubba glances at the vital charts. Of course, none of the numbers look any better than they did 10 minutes ago. He doesn't know why he hoped for expected anything different. Hopefully, the pain medication will do its job soon.

Bobby rushes back to your bedside with a cold, wet towel placed on your head. It's been a common occurrence with her ever since your operation. The "around the clock" care increased tenfold after the first signs of your red smoke withdrawal emerged. She even has the dark circles and bags under her eyes to prove it. Even when she's running on nothing more than fumes (and a few cups of coffee), she still runs around like she has had a good night's worth of sleep. Bubba can't help but sigh to himself.

The two medics are doing what they can to keep you comfortable and stable, but Bubba knows that the two of them will not be enough to help you right now. Hell, even Catnap's powers, despite helping you settle down and sleep, isn't a miracle cure for stabilizing your vitals in the long run. If Bubba wasn't tied up with diplomatic matters, he would take over more shifts for Bobby so that she could get some rest. Unfortunately, the others don't have the medical training so tasking them with watching over you is out of the question. Bubba insists on taking you to the HQ’s treatment center. Bobby refuses every time the idea is mentioned, insisting that the two of them are able to look after you themselves. That led to a few strong disagreements. Bubba may be miffed but can't say he blames Bobby for being concerned about the possibility of (1) another potential massacre on your end and (2) you being mistreated by those you’ve wronged. Unlike the two riders, however, the people at the center have the resources and training to help you.

----------

*MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING, PROCEED AHEAD WITH CAUTION*

You don't know how long you've been here. You can't remember. You just remember waking up to bright lights and a figure or two... maybe a few... standing over you. But then you went back into the world of darkness. Did you really wake up or was it one nonsensical dream?

You don't know.

You REALLY don't know.

It doesn't matter right now. All you know is that you're stuck in hell, and this is worse than what you grew up hearing about. Your powers stopped working, so you can’t escape. There was nowhere to run where those… things won’t find you and bring you back to your prison and torture you. Sometimes you can see the faces of your enemies before those things morphed into… something sinister. Your stomach was doing summersaults. There was a pounding in your head and chest that just won't stop. A burning tightness spread from your chest to your throat, leading you to choking and gasping at this point. This fire smoldering inside you just won’t die. All you want right now is to drop to the floor, close your eyes, and sleep. Your heavy, aching limbs beg for it, but no matter how hard you try, your head buzzes in protest.  

All you need is some red smoke. Just a whiff. Hell, just a tiny little sniff. You don't care. You just need it coursing through you right now. It'll make all the agony stop. You keep praying, BEGGING, to the Prototype to forgive you, to save you from this damnation.

Yet he never answers…

Why won't he hear you?

You know you failed him, but you didn't mean to. You would never disobey him. Not after everything he did for you. You did everything right your whole life to show your gratitude and love for him and you still ended up here-

A searing sensation from your wrist pulls you away from your thoughts. You turn it over and you see... red...

It’s so bright...

So beautiful...

And it's spreading to the white decorating your arms. Your fingers, looming above your forearm are also decorated with red. For the first time, you deliberately take in slow, deep breaths. You take in the red now seeping through the white. With shaky fingers, you slowly unwrap the soaking red barrier on your forearm. To your joy, the red spread rapidly from your bare forearm all the way down to your fingertips. Your red-stained fingers brush over your forearm, painting it with more red. At that moment, you smile, knowing your prayers had been answered. It doesn’t have that sweet aroma as usual, but it will once you allow more to spread around you. Without hesitation, you got to work on the other parts of you that were wrapped in white. Thankfully, there were plenty. You've been wrapped up in white for so long. It would look SO MUCH BETTER in red. You will do ANYTHING just to see red.

You also did have to rip out some stubborn black stringy parasites from your torso in the process. Once you managed to get every single one out, though, there was so much more red embracing you in a warm hug. It was just like all the other times. It was like the Prototype was with you again. It burned so much at first, but after some time, a cold wave of euphoria washes over your entire body. You breathe out a sigh of relief because for the first time in a long time, you can’t feel any pain. Now that there's red around you, you can finally sleep peacefully.

Much better...

Darkness begins enveloping your vision, before being dragged back by... screaming and something shattering? It's hard to tell. All you can make out are a pair of red paws being wrapped around you and lowering you to the ground. A red figure pulls you close to it, but you didn’t mind. Everything about the red figure is so warm you just want to snuggle next to it for eternity. You close your eyes, taking in that warmth. It feels so good to sleep again.

-----

The Space Riders decided to have dinner at Kissy’s Diner. Unfortunately, nothing on the table looks appealing enough to eat. They either stared blankly or picked at their food and drinks mindlessly. No words were exchanged amongst the seven of them, not even one of Kickin’s and/or Hoppy’s stupid jokes to lighten the mood. But what was there to joke about right now? What was there to even talk about?

Picky sighs, noticing one particular member still missing. She wishes she could say she was surprised, but that doesn’t mean a perfectly good meal should go to waste (even if everyone else’s meals have long since gone cold). The pig stands up, exchanges quick goodbyes with the six present members, asks Kissy for take-out boxes for the entire table, and rushes out of the diner. She makes a beeline the one place their missing member could be considering recent events.

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to your cell to deliver dinner for both you and Bobby. If you were going to stay here, you needed some nourishment to help recover. And Bobby, (bless the kind-hearted bear), has been so busy helping you through your withdrawal that she hasn’t had a lot of time to rest let alone take a break. She can’t remember the last time she saw Bobby leave your side for reasons that didn’t include retrieving medication and other things meant for your comfort. Not even Dogday was able to convince her to rest for a while. (Pretty rich coming from HIM if you ask the pig.)

Bobby only left for a few minutes for some water and more medication. Apparently, you were having a hard time breathing. Picky follows Bobby to your cell and when they got there, there you were with scratch marks and aggravated open wounds. Not only were there now bloody bandages laying sprawled on the floor, but you went as far as to rip out your stitches. The pig shudders remembering all that blood on you while you stand there muttering things like, “More red. Not enough. Need more.”

For as long as she lives, Picky doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that scream from Bobby before she ran to catch you. Not even the shattering of glass and ceramics can drown out the bear’s screams and pleas for you to stay awake. Picky remembers rushing for Bubba which ended up with her alerting the entire team. Dogday raced to the cockpit immediately to notify the Commander about the emergency. The others followed Picky down to your cell. When they reached you two, they find Bobby’s trembling hands pressing a bloody rag against your bleeding torso. Poor girl was barely able to keep the rag steady. Bubba, Picky, and Crafty rush to your unconscious figure while Catnap and Kickin gently lead Bobby out the cell. She protested but couldn’t escape the boys’ grasps. All she could do was watch Bubba bark out orders to the other girls, including Hoppy who oddly had been standing frozen in place, staring the whole time. Picky and Hoppy ran to and fro with whatever Bubba demanded while he and Crafty worked together to keep you alive long enough for Dogday to get you to the station.

After 11 minutes, the crew finally made it to the space station. Dogday leads a team of medics to you and… well the rest is history.

*END OF TRIGGERING PASSAGE*

All the riders quickly exited their spacecraft shortly after the medics took you away. None of them wanted to stay on the ship right now. After some time, Bobby said that she was just going to get some “fresh air.” But just as Picky predicted, Bobby is, instead, sitting outside your blood-stained prison cell, curled in on herself with her head buried in her knees.

“Bobby?” Picky settles down next to her, gently placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Bobby slowly raises her head. Her muzzle is wet and the cascade of tears soaking into her fur isn’t helping.

“It’s all my fault.” Bobby takes a deep, shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have left (Y/n) alone…”

Picky opens her arms and Bobby leans into the pig’s embrace without a second thought. “No, it’s not your fault. No one could have known this would happen.”

That was met with more shaking, hiccupping, and whimpering as the tears began seeping onto Picky’s sleeve. She didn’t mind at all. The pig just whispers more soothing words and assurances while rubbing circles around the other girl’s back. They stayed like that for who knows how long. (Now Picky wishes they’d invested in a clock for the cells). Eventually, Bobby ran out of tears, but she remains curled up in Picky’s arms. She hasn’t bothered moving from her spot, instead opting to stare at the metal floor. Picky can hear her occasionally let out a heavy sigh. How this girl has not fallen asleep yet despite pulling frequent all-nighters for the last few weeks is beyond the pig.

“You know… It’s not forever,” Picky began gently. “It’s just until they get better. We can always contact the facility about their progress. We can even schedule visits with them.” Picky didn’t miss the way Bobby’s frown deepened nor the way her gaze remained hardened on the cold metal floor. “Hey, they’re going to be okay.”

The only response Picky gets is a brief nod. It seems to be the only thing Bobby has the energy to do right now.

-----

Quick note - I can't believe this story got this much attention! Thank you everybody for your support. And again, sorry for the confusion yesterday. I didn't meant to post the draft. I was not paying attention to what I was pressing when I was editing. Sometimes I hate writing on mobile phones. 😆

[violent138]

To your "Dick Grayson accepted headcanons" You said Jason will smoke with him, Damian throws his cigarettes OUT, and Bruce keeps trying to quote statistics-

How do you think the rest of Batfam, The team, and Co react to Dick smoking?

-@batfambrainrotbeloved <33

Hello friend, thanks for the ask! Gonna stick to Batfam because this is long already but let me know if you still want Titans/outsiders too!

I'll preface with I think everyone makes fun of Bruce because he smokes as Matches, but not Bruce or Batdad (will take cigarettes out of people's hands).

Next up, Alfred smoked heavily when he was younger (particularly during his acting days), he just forbids it in the Manor and mildly disapproves.

Steph smokes socially with some of the Birds of Prey and sometimes Jason , so she thinks Dick’s smoking is kind of funny (because he makes it a Thing he has chronic guilt about).

Cass is anti smoking (she inherited from both dads) and gets annoyed by the smell, mocks Dick when he gets winded and can always see his withdrawal symptoms so she tries to help out.

Babs hated how much her dad smoked and deeply dislikes Dick transferring the scent on her furniture.

Tim thinks it's the least of the stupid things Dick does, has personally dabbled in smoking cigarettes and weed, and will steal smokes off Dick.

Duke grew up around too many smokers to really notice it, but he feels tempted when he's juggling forty tasks and school.

[undeadcannibal]

(Don’t know if this is considered sfw or not so slight warning?)

141 + Rudy with a gn!reader who’s an excessively heavy smoker. Constantly has some sort of cigarette or vape in their hand cause they go through really bad withdrawal - like shaking, headaches, cold sweats, insomnia that type of thing.

Summary: How Task Force 141 and Rudy would help a Reader who smokes heavily and sometimes deals with heavy withdrawal symptoms.

Genre: Headcanons, request(s) Characters featured: Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Price, and Rudy

Warnings: Mention(s) of smoking and withdrawal symptoms!

A/N:  Hopefully you enjoy this, Anon! Apologies if this one’s rough, I’m posting it while I’m fresh out of work because I’m exhausted. OTL ( Gif credit: xxx )

Rudy―

My personal headcanon is Rudy wouldn't mind one bit being with someone who is a heavy smoker. I like to think he knows plenty of family members and friends who are heavy smokers as well, so he's well adjusted to second hand smoke, the smell, and pretty much anything else most would complain about.

Personally can't stand the smell of menthol and clove cigarettes though.

While he isn't a smoker himself, he finds himself keeping a pack of whatever you'd prefer to smoke just in case you forget or run out of your own.

He'll never admit it aloud, but he enjoys watching you smoke. Something about the sight of you exhaling big clouds of smoke allures him like nothing else.

Even if he doesn't smoke, he likes to join you whenever you go out to. He simply enjoys your presence.

Also will gladly help you through withdrawal if you begin to suffer from any symptoms since he realizes quitting isn't so easy.

Soap―

My personal headcanon is he's not huge on cigarettes or cigars, but will sneak a few hits of a vape, whoops.

Hates the taste of regular tobacco based flavors, strongly prefers the fruit-based or sweet-based types since they're the most pleasant for him. And probably the easiest for him to hit.

Personally believe that this man cannot hit blinkers, his hits are small and precise because he absolutely hates taking in too much and hacking up a lung as a result of coughing. Go easy on the guy, alright?

Is the type to hate the scent smoking leaves on clothes so probably won't tag along on a smoke break with you.

Although, I also like to picture him as a fresh newbie who gets invited along for a smoke and doesn't say no, even though he doesn't care for smoking. So, he ends up going along with it, smoking a cigarette with the others. Internally wants to toss it onto the floor and snub it out with his boot but decides to power through so he's not mocked for it.

Even if he doesn't smoke, if you've a decent vape he thinks he might enjoy, will ask for a hit or two.

Also will try and help as best he could if you end up dealing with terrible withdrawal symptoms. Tries anything and everything to help you out.

Gaz―

Isn't a smoker himself but is used to it from being around Price often, so when you're constantly toking on something you've in your hands, it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

Whatever it is you prefer, it doesn't bother him. If anything, he probably considers it less harsher than some of the cigars Price has smoked around him before.

Won't ask for hits of whatever you have but will tag along with you on a smoke break. Enjoys the company and likes the downtime to catch up or joke around together.

Eventually knows what you prefer and often keeps it on hand whenever he's around you just in case you ever need it.

Doesn't really know how to help with withdrawal symptoms, but he ends up researching plenty of things that may help you. Likes to discuss what you think might be the best method before forcing anything onto you.

If you end up having to deal with the symptoms, he's right there by your side, doing his best to comfort and help you in any way that he can.

Price―

He's right there with you. Personally, he struggles with quitting because dealing with withdrawal in the worst of places has made him secretly hate dealing with it. Often keeping both his and your favorites on hand at all times.

Will also happily tag along with you for smoke breaks.

He probably won't ask to take a drag of whatever you like but will happily allow you to take a drag of his cigar, if you'd like. Don't even get me started on his secret fascination of watching you smoke.

He knows he shouldn't be such a pervert about it, but he can't help but want to grab you by your jaw and shotgun smoke into your mouth with his own every time he sees you smoke. Hell, it's even gotten to the point he thinks about it more often than not whenever he's smoking alone too.

If you ever have to deal with the symptoms of withdrawal for whatever reason, he'll also do his best to help you through it however you see fit. Although, if you can't smoke for medical reasons - or you're trying to quit - he'll remain firm and refuse to give in and allow you to smoke for your own good.

Oh, and if you vape, I'm so sorry honey, he'll give you grief over it. Is one of those that sees vapes as some sort of ridiculous device.

Ghost―

IMO, he doesn't consider himself a heavy smoker, but does keep a pack on hand for you and him to share. Sometimes when the stress gets to be too much for him, he finds himself lighting up.

Even if he doesn't want to smoke, he'll happily keep you company during one of your smoke breaks.

However, much like Price, if you ever need to stop for medical or personal reasons, he's one of the best to keep you from breaking down. Will absolutely find any hidden stashes and get rid of them when you least expect it.

Often finds he enjoys the scent of your personal favorite brand, and over time, comes to associate it with solely you.

Does his best to help you deal with any withdrawal symptoms since he understands how they can be hard to deal with. He's seen Price struggle before and has some experience with helping him. He'll try and give some small tips here and there that may help you.

Also like Price, loves to give you shit for vaping, if that ends up being your preference. While he doesn't care all that much, he'll roll his eyes if you've a ridiculous flavor or type.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

I'll take it one day at a time - M.H x Reader // pt.7

A/N: this took a while to write soz my loves TW: hard drugs especially in this one, please take care of yourself! Also very NSFW minors do not interact. I had a fun time writing it and an even better time listening to @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff (absolute cunt) tell me i'm evil❤️ Enjoy yourself my loves!!

wc: 5k

part eight

It hurts 

Everything hurts. This impossible pain that was eating you alive from the inside out. You missed him, it was like a part of you had been ripped out of you. Since the day you met you hadn't spent more than two or three days apart, and even that was by force of either his parents or yours.

You kept replaying that day in your mind. The way he had looked at you, his eyes wide and teary, begging you to let him explain. Maybe you should have stayed, made him tell you exactly what had happened. What made it all worse was that Ruby was a part of all this. She had given it to him in the first place, the thought made your stomach churn.

The past few days had been spent laying in your bed, curled up in a ball under dirty covers. He had lied to you. The lights were dim, barely illuminating the numerous piles of plates that littered the surfaces in your room. Your mother had tried multiple times to get you out of bed, but you just ignored her, not being able to find the strength. 

Hann had come over, meeting your mother in the process. She had directed him to your room, saying something about your boyfriend leaving you. Completely false, since you hadn't said anything to her. She liked to assume things, taking on whatever narrative helped her feel better.

The door creaked open, light flooding the otherwise dark room. 

His hand brushed against your arm as he sat down at the foot of your bed, his eyes filled with worry. You didn't speak at first, refusing to make eye contact. It hurt too much. 

“Darling, where is Matty?” The pet name made your heart wrench, reminding you of him. The pit in your stomach just dug itself deeper, and it felt like a thousand knives were stabbing into you always. 

You shrug your shoulders, honestly not knowing where he was. Matty had called and called, texting you hundreds of times begging you to talk to him. By the second day, you had already switched off your phone, chucking into a corner, forgotten. 

“No one knows where he is, George is having a proper meltdown.” he continues, his voice slightly shaky, the anxiety in it evident. He tells you how they had tried his house, and it turning up empty. Mattys parents were away, and nobody knew how to get ahold of them. 

“Adam.” was all you could muster, not having spoken in days. The creak of the bed is deafening as you turn around to face him, looking up. “He..” your voice cracks, tears welling up in your eyes. 

“...he did something. Heroin.” you manage to finish your sentence before breaking out into tears again, clutching his arm. “He promised he wouldnt do it again.” the sound of Mattys voice filled your mind, broken promises and lies.

“I believed him.” you force out, your eyes pleading with Hann to say something. 

“Jesus Christ, are you serious?” The question is rhetorical. He knows. 

The day is spent with Adam comforting you through crying fits and feelings of blame, even bringing you water and food. 

You ask for a spliff, that being the only thing you knew would calm your nerves. Not having done anything else since your fight with Matty, you were starting to feel small symptoms of withdrawal. Cold sweat, dizziness, you had even thrown up once or twice into the bin next to your desk.

Hann, like the angel he is, pulls out a baggie of weed, rolling you a spliff. You ask him to open the window to let the smoke out, not quite in the mood for a hotbox. He obliges, and the warm air that is let into the room feels nice. The light helps too, letting you see the absolute state your room was in. 

The haze of the weed calms you down, your crying down to only silent tears rolling down your face as Adam tries to speak to you. You don't listen, his voice sounds distorted and far away. At some point, he gets up to leave, telling you to switch on your phone. When you don't react, he searches for it, finding it underneath a pile of clothes. Turning it on, he sets it onto the nightstand, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead as the door closes behind him.

You were alone. 

With the spliff almost down to the filter, you chuck it into the rubbish, noticing Adam had cleared the vomit from it. It dwindles out, burning a small whole into the plastic of the fresh bin bag. Staring at the wall for what felt like an eternity, you hear your phone start to ring. 

You think it's Adam calling, making sure you were eating the sandwich he had made you, so you pick up, not bothering to look at the ID. The receiver picks up only silence for the first few seconds of the call, then heavy breaths fill your ears. Matty. 

Your heart jumps at the sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, dread filling you instantly. Something was wrong, you could feel it.

“I-'' he cuts himself off, a laboured groan leaving his lips. “I don't..” 

Something starts in you, and you jump to your feet. Eyes darting around the room to locate your keys, you tug your shoes on while holding the phone between your ear and shoulder. 

“Where are you?” you say, trying to remain calm. “Matty, where the fuck are you.” you repeat, your voice sounding more urgent. 

His answer is barely audible, but you understand. 

“I'm at Carolines..- please- I can't..” the line goes dead, the dial tone as loud as sirens in your head. 

You push past your mother, ignoring her requests to know where you're going. This wasn't the time, you had to get to him, now. 

You were never particularly athletic, always opting to cut P.E in favour of smoking a spliff behind the bushes with one George or Matty. Breathing heavily, you sprint down the street towards the old paper factory, dodging cars and people like it was an olympic sport.

Out of breath and sweaty, the last bolt up the flight of stairs leading to the terrace was difficult, your legs almost giving out on you multiple times. The door to the platform was already open when you finally made it to the top. 

Your heart stops when you see curls peeking out from the side of the sofa, falling limply over the material of the armrest. A soft groan echoes through the air, pained and tired. 

The sight of him will be burned into your mind until the day you die. Matty is half laying half sitting on the cushions, an old pillow holding him up, his skin deathly pale, even more so than usual. Tears run down his face, track marks littering the inside of his forearms. 

“I’m- i’m s-so sorry, I didn't-” his words are weak, still coming from a very bad high. You start to take care of him, just like you did in that bathroom all those weeks ago. The needle is still in his arm, dirty and used, he winces when you pull it out, chucking it off of the balcony. 

“We need to- you need help, Matty, I'm serious.” His eyes widen at your statement, his free hand reaching up to grab you. “P-please, don't call anyone.” he starts, visibly shaking. “I dont- i just want you.. no one else.” he’s scared. You've never seen him scared before, the fear visible on his face. 

“Just hold still, let me-” You have no experience in cleaning wounds of any kind, but you try your best, finding a pack of tissues in your bag, wiping down his arm. 

His hands are still shaking, and they feel cold to the touch. It breaks your heart to see him like this, scared and cold, not knowing what to do. 

“Please don't tell anyone.'' He forces the words out of his mouth, making eye contact with you. 

“I won't. But this is the last time.” you answer, stroking his upper arm comfortingly. He looks wrecked, dark circles under his eyes, hair obviously unwashed. He was wearing the same clothes he was when you last saw him

“Do you have anything else on you?” you ask, holding out your hand. You weren't letting him do this again. Never again. 

He nods, taking a kit out of his pocket. Inside, another needle, a spoon, and a small baggie. Taking it out of his hands, you walk over to the edge of the terrace, shaking the sandy coloured substance out onto the street, letting it fly into the wind to disappear. 

The needle was broken in two, also thrown over the edge of the terrace. Gone 

Matty let out soft groans as he moved to properly lay down, asking you to sit with him. You do, lowering yourself onto the ground next to the sofa, your hand reaching up to stroke his face. His tears still stream down his face, and you wipe them away, smiling at him. 

“I'm moving in with you.”

“I missed you.”

Both of you spoke at the same time, your voices overlapping. He raises his eyebrows at you, words forming in his mouth before dying. 

“Okay.” he nods, accepting your decision. 

“I’ve told Hann. We’re getting you clean, I don't care if you want to or not.” 

“Okay.” 

Silence 

“I love you.” the words slip out of your mouth, hitting him just as hard as they did you. He squeezes your hand, leaning down for a kiss. He doesn't say it back. The two of you sit there, staring into each other's eyes. Mattys breathing becomes more regular, and so do his pupils. 

“Don't do that ever again, please.” your voice is small, audibly shaking. 

“I won't.” a wave of deja vu washes over you

He won't. 

What are we?

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck you are! You're not going anywhere” your mothers shrill voice pierces your ears, and you shake your head. Packing your things, you walked around grabbing the remaining clothes out of your wardrobe, stuffing them into a suitcase. 

Your mother had tried to stop you, but she couldn't. Having turned 18 a while ago, you were free to go wherever you pleased. Mattys house was already filled with a bunch of your stuff, and you had been sleeping over there more often than in your own bed. What was the difference?

“If you leave now, you're not my daughter anymore.” she said quietly, almost expectantly. 

You roll your eyes.

“Never really was, was I?” that was all you needed to say. All you've been wanting to say for years. Her eyes widen, and you turn around as the hurt spreads onto her face. 

The door shuts with a loud bang, the sound echoing through the neighbourhood. 

—-------------------------------------------------------

The days dragged by as Matty became more and more restless, making it entirely your problem. No amount of weed could calm him down, jittery and shaking. The itch was there for you as well, albeit not as strong as Mattys, who was close to crying by the looks of it. 

But he had promised you, and was intending to keep said promise even if it was extremely uncomfortable, the headache that was spread throughout his head wasn't helping either.

The two of you had spent the day in each other's arms, a blanket draped over you. The TV was quiet, the lights flickering over Mattys face softly as he pulled your lips into a firm kiss. 

‘What are we?’

You push the thought out of your head, letting yourself be kissed. His hand drew small circles onto the side of your arm, ever so often stopping to lightly pinch at the skin, making you jump. You felt his smile against your lips, the feeling only comparable to some sort of divinity. It was soft moments like these that made you forget everything else. The fighting, the drugs, the others.

You had called Hann, letting him know that you and Matty needed space. Withholding most details, like the state you had found him in, you assure him of Mattys wellbeing, stating “He’s going through it, but I've got it under control. Denise doesn't know, and don't tell her when she comes back.” His mother was set to make a return sometime in the next couple months, you overheard her tell Matty on the phone.  

The kiss deepens, with Matty attempting to slip his tongue into your mouth, and you let him. Since this started happening, it had always been you that had control of the situation, not letting him even get a taste of power before pushing him down, telling him to “Be good for me, yeah? I'll give you what you want, just…” 

His hand threads itself in your hair, and you gasp at the slight tug he gives it. The look in his eye when you finally glance up makes your breath hitch. Pupils completely blown out, he looks at you with an expression that can only be described as pure lust.

He pulls away for a split second, his eyes asking you a silent question. You nod.

Immediately, his hands are occupied with pushing your shirt up, hands palming your tits, and you feel rough calluses against your skin, making you moan. It seems like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room when he pressed a searing hot kiss onto your ribs, slowly working his way to run his tongue across your peaked nipple, making your back arch back into him. 

He lets out a low, almost animalistic groan as you grind against him, your hips rolling onto his steadily growing erection. A flicker of pride flashed through you at the thought of you being the reason he was worked up after a few kisses and a look. You smile, raking a hand through his hair as he kisses down your stomach, quickly stopping him before he could go and lower. 

“Can we switch?” you ask, batting your eyelashes, a faux innocent expression. He nods vigorously, letting you climb on top of him. 

The look he gave you when you started to grind down onto him is priceless, wide eyes and parted lips staring back at you. You kiss down his neck, leaving aggressive hickeys in your wake, marking him up. He adjusts underneath you, and you reach a hand up to his chest, raking your hand over the expanse of it. The nipple piercing catches your eye, the black metal almost shimmering in the light. 

“O-oh my go- fuckk-” his moans fill the air when you tug on it, a sharp pain reverberating through his body, and you feel him twitch against your leg. Your teeth find the piercing, biting down and pulling again, drinking in the noises he makes in response. Hands find his sides, thumbing at his ribs, trying to distract from the pain coming from his chest. 

“You want me?” you ask, smugly, seeing his expression rapidly change. He looks blissed out, and you haven't even properly touched him yet. The next words to come out of your mouth make his breath hitch and his hips buck upwards in desperation. 

“Want me to suck you off? I promise I'm good.” you mock his words, grinning at him in the same manner he did. The sight of you perched on top of him and your question almost made him cum in his pants, again. 

“P-please, i promise i won't touch- just.. please” his voice cracks as he says the last word, morphing into a drawn out moan, the sound going straight to your core. 

“But- i want you to get off first.” he never ceases to surprise you, his statement making you perk up, raising an eyebrow at him. “You can, you know..” he vaguely gestures at his thigh, eyes avoiding yours. A laugh escapes you when you realise what he meant, an extremely unsexy snort leaving your lips. 

“You want me to.. Seriously? Grind on your thigh?” he cringes at the way you say it, flexing his legs under you. “Well, yeah, you're pretty and I like to.. watch you?” he sounds unsure, like you're about to laugh at him again. The compliment takes you by surprise, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You don't speak anymore, instead sitting up straight, towering over him. Mattys breathing becomes even more irregular than it already was, his chest rising and falling up and down rapidly. “Okay, i'll do it.'' Your voice is breathless and small, but his reaction is thankful, hands finding your hips comfortingly.

Your fingers toy with the hem of Mattys shirt, which was now pulled back down. He nods, giving you permission to take it off of him, softly moaning as it brushes against his nipple, still sensitive and raw from your previous attack on his chest. 

Your lack of pants in the first place helped you settle onto his thigh comfortably, the shirt you had on covering most of you. You could feel his gaze on you, watching your every move. An experimental grind onto his jean-clad thigh made a spark of pleasure lick up your spine, a soft moan leaving your lips as you make eye contact with Matty. He urges you on, hands creeping up to cup your tits again, softer this time. 

You grind down harder, feeling a dull pleasure spread throughout your body. Matty lets out a quiet groan at the sight of you using him to get off, getting even harder than he thought possible. Speeding up, you settle into a distinct rhythm, your hips ever so slightly guided by Mattys hands resting on them. 

“You look so pretty like this.”

He sounds genuine, his eyes raking over your body with a look of adoration. You smile, letting out a moan as he tensed his thigh slightly, upping the pressure against your clit. Lowering down to catch his lips in a desperate kiss, you can feel yourself get closer to the edge, Mattys tongue licking into your mouth only spurring you on. 

“Fuck- Matty.” you look down, seeing Mattys eyes still on you makes something ignite within you, the rubber band in your core tightening even more. His hands play with your nipples, thumbing at the skin, leaving light kisses on the back of your hand. His expression is sickly sweet, almost cocky. You cup his face, kissing him roughly as you feel yourself throttling towards your orgasm. 

A hand finds his cock, firmly palming him through his jeans, making him groan into your mouth. You can feel a wet patch forming on the front of his pants, soaking them with precum. A particularly pathetic moan and skilled twist of your nipple from Matty makes you fall apart on his thigh, legs shaking as you grind your way through your climax. 

Your breathing is heavy when you finally start to come down from your high, Matty jumpy and twitchy underneath you, watching you collect yourself. There's a wet patch on the front of his jeans where you had just been, perfectly matching the one he had caused all by himself. 

“Is this all f’me?” you ask, your hand stroking him through the material of his pants, watching him clench his fists at his side. You bat your eyelashes at him again, and he lets out a short string of please’s and begging. The sight in front of you is absolutely delicious, Matty panting and squirming, his curls sticking to his forehead.

“Relax for me baby, let me take care of you.” you coo, watching his reactions closely. He throws his head back, hitting the pillows as he lets out another loud groan. Your hand moves to the zipper of his jeans, slowly unbuttoning them. The tent in his boxers is obvious, his cock straining against the thin material.

Your nails graze his thigh, digging into the skin. You knew he liked a bit of pain to his pleasure, and you were going to give him just that. 

His hand finds your hair as you pull down his boxers, letting his erection spring out. Precum dribbled down the side, coating his cock in a layer of shine. Your hand wraps around him, giving him a light squeeze. The moan he lets out is heavenly, and you stroke up and down the length of him, thumbing his slit. He shudders, his hand tightening in your hair. 

“Please- do something.” you listen to him, reaching down to drag your tongue up the underside of his cock. Sputtering and moaning, he mutters out “T-thank you, fuck, thats so good.” 

You do the same again, taking him into your mouth. He feels heavy on your tongue, precum spilling out of the tip. 

“I’m not gonna last- i’m sorry I-” you cut him off with a graze of your teeth along the inside of his thigh. His thighs tense as your hand grasps the base of his cock, stroking what your mouth can't take. You bob your head, groans of pleasure leaving his lips as he bucks up into your mouth. He tries to apologise, and you tell him you’ll stop if he does that again. 

Nodding, he watches as your hand tugs at him, your bright nails a stark contrast to the leaking head of his cock. The sight is erotic, the way your red-rimmed mouth moves up and down his length, taking him deeper each time.

“I can’t- i’m going to-” he tries to pull you off of him, but you resist, instead speeding up your movements, desperately trying to bring him to the edge. Your eyes are watering and you can feel spit dripping down the side of your chin, but that didn't matter to you. You needed to feel Matty come undone in your mouth, and you were so close.

He whined, bucking up into your mouth, biting back yet another apology. 

“F-fuck-” is your only warning before he spills into yor mouth, hot ropes of cum painting the back of your throat. His hand never left your hair, gripping onto it for dear life as you worked him through his orgasm. 

Sticking out your tongue to show off what he had done, Matty screws his eyes shut at the sight, a groan leaving his parted lips. You swallow.

“That was.. So fucking good.” you giggle at the praise, crawling up to kiss him deeply. He can taste himself on your tongue, moaning softly into the kiss. You reach down to play with the piercing on his chest. The sounds he made were too heavenly to make you stop. 

The hickeys you had sucked into the skin of his neck and chest made you gawk at him, admiring your work. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” he smirks at you, cocky. You take out the camera you kept in your bag, which was conveniently sitting on the glass table adjacent to the sofa. Angling the camera so you could capture everything, the flash goes off three separate times. It blinds him the first time, making his eyes shut at the light. 

The second picture is better, with Matty looking at you instead of the camera, a provocative grin spread onto his face. He was always a sucker for attention, absolutely relishing in it. The picture perfectly caught the deep purple of the marks you had left on him, contrasting his pale skin perfectly. 

The third picture though, was your favourite. Your hand had made its way to his nipple, pulling at the piercing right before snapping the photo. His face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure, mouth slightly open with his eyes almost fully closed. He sure was a sight for sore eyes, the expression igniting a fire in you. 

Leaning down to kiss him, you chuck the camera somewhere behind you, hearing it hit cushions on the other end of the sofa. The moment was soft, tender, like a fond memory. 

One thing ruined it all. A nagging feeling at the back of your mind you just couldn't calm.

"What are we?" 

—-------------------------------------------------------

It had taken days of convincing to get Matty to go with you. Ross and Adam had invited you to dinner, and George was also going to be there. He was reluctant to go, not wanting to face any of them. After hours of pleading and a makeout session, you stood by the door and watched as he put his shoes on. 

 You both walked hand in hand down the street, taking a shortcut through an old junkyard. Hann was probably just as nervous as Matty was to see him again, and you told him as much. Matty just shrugged, eyes glued to the ground in front of him. 

The ring of the doorbell as you pressed it made him finally look up. Ross answered, eyes softening and he saw you both. He pulled you in for a hug, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Matty was twitchy and frankly, scared, to see everyone again. The way he had acted made him cringe inwardly. 

“Hey Matty.” Ross spoke as he pulled him in for one of his big man hugs. Matty hugged him back, finally smiling. It was okay, everything was going to be okay. 

The conversation had been hard at first, with Hann going on his ‘drugs are bad for you’ rant again. Matty sat and listened, and so did you, squeezing his hand under the table when Adam finally finished, getting up to put on the kettle.

George was sitting on the couch, eyeing you as you went to plop next to him. Everything seemed normal, except for Hann’s incessant rambling and checking if everything was alright, which was pretty regular now that you really thought about it. 

The night was spent laughing and watching Pulp Fiction on the telly. It felt like old times, before everything had gone to shit. You smile fondly at the memories of Matty and Ross almost killing each other over trivial games of FIFA, clawing at each other until Hann finally pulled them apart. 

You watch the others, absolutely engrossed in the movie, with soft munching coming from the direction of Ross and his bag of prawn cocktail crisps. He had an obsession with the flavour, reluctant to try anything else. George had even offered him a tenner to swap with him his cheese flavoured ones, and he flat out refused. 

The night was calm, with you leaning against Mattys chest for the majority of the movie. You felt his breathing and heartbeat in his chest, it calmed you. Everything felt alright, and you could feel your eyes droop closed. The last thing you remember was Mattys hand stroking your hip lightly as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, breathing in the scent of his cologne.   

[aimzicr]

Hunter The Parenting plot thoughts (because I love mysteries and roleplaying and I keep waking up at 2am Thinking About This Plot).

Things that seem important (in various nonspecific order, though somewhat from timeline of video):

Giles is a better fighter than his mates, actually showing some skill (compared to Simon's existence as a wet towel and Brok's brute force)

Harry's focus on Highland Legend seems a bit at odds with his muscles being 'just for lifting things', given the link in pop culture with Highlanders being warriors who fight to be the only one. Still, there's more to study beyond the Hollywood thoughts, and I'm very curious to see what Scottish myths get brought up (if any). He also has access to Storage and Security.

Followup thought: if all the characters are in the World of Darkness (specifically The Reckoning/Vigil), then perhaps each staff and student's respective areas of study reference specifically to one of the games. Fatigue with The Apocalypse/Forsaken, Elise with The Dreaming/Lost (Lost seeming more appropriate because 'I haven't found a single fairy'), and so on. Horse's prophecy referenced 'kine, kindred, garou, milklings, elohim', so that's Hunter, Vampire, Werewolf, Changeling and Demons specifically mentioned. Would Harry's 'highlander studies' be on Mages or Prometheans? Will we see Wraiths/Geists, now or in the future?

Elise does not have access to Storage and Security. Also, I will respect her pronouns at all costs.

The Doctor - Scholar of Psychotronic Studies - the has taken at least two bumps over the course of the night (visible residue on her face at Occam's collapse and just before Brok kicks the door down). You can't show any withdrawal symptoms if you're high on something else (though as Chapman mentioned, even high-level drugs 'don't even compare', but it might take the edge off for a while). Considering her academic focus, she might have been able to make herself a Very Powerful Cocaine. (Actually no 'psychotronic' refers to low-budget movies so WHAT??)

Lord Fatigue - of Lycantropy (not Lycanthropy? A typo, or something else?) - I saw someone posting about him being quickest to recognise the symptoms of someone going through a change, and I highly agree. He's also a lovely old man ('toffee pud', wreathed in golden light from the Archives, etc) so maybe he just doesn't want to see anyone suffer? Kindness often gets punished in WoD games.

Brok is sitting on a different chair. His mother's chair follows him everywhere he goes, does it?

I'm calling it, Chekov's M60s Mounted On A Bus. BUT. Not for this particular arc.

If there are keys to steal, in order to get into the Archives, they would be taken from Occam, Blacklaw, Dr Waters, or Lord Fatigue.

There are no other entryways to the Archives but there may be passages around, beneath, or above the Archives. Walls thin enough to use Vampire Magic through?

Giles knows that Spit is out of Ritalin, which serves as an explanation for Spit's symptoms and proof that the guys keep an eye out for each other.

Spit seems to be the biggest red herring. Something is very wrong with him but it isn't being Ghouled (and it isn't just something that can be managed with Ritalin). Still, when he gives his blood sample, he doesn't give two drops: he hides out of sight and only delivers a blood-smeared chalice. We don't see him giving blood, and the sample is darker than the rest. Older blood? Stored and poured?

It's Elise that pickpockets Giles of all his worldly possessions (while Spit is being consoled by Fatigue). She even takes one of the smokes for herself, having it in her mouth at the top of the stairs and then as she descends. So, then, she handed the smokes over to Olivia at some point. Maybe when Elise was 'looking for Grimal at the time'. A gift? A trade?

At some point after the 'I said FOLLOW MY LEAD' fight, Blacklaw and Brok work to get the Cold Tessellation out of the wall. Where the hell did D go (and why is it under the stairs, digging through old newpapers). How did he get out of that fight?

Grimal is in the Security Room, crying, when Occam is attacked. Could she have seen who attacked Occam, or did she miss it because of her tears? ('Noises of insecurity' in the Security room is pretty funny, I'm sorry.) HOWEVER. Grimal does NOT have access to Security, according to her chapter card... but Elise did steal Giles' keys, so perhaps Elise let Grimal into the Security room? Now the question is, was the door locked behind her? Did Elise leave other doors unlocked as well?

Spit says he knows where Giles' things are. How? A good nose for it? Or just an excuse to get out of the room (where a lot of dead animals are)? He then goes... downstairs, to the Music room. Lord Fatigue says he will go look for Spit, but goes upstairs to the Staff Break Room instead, diagonally above Occam. The minimap shows Spit stressed, Occam tense/in pain, and Fatigue with... the same facial expression. Is Giles doing something to the blood? Is Fatigue doing something to the blood? Is there some direct line of connection between the three? Is there really only one way into the Archives, or is there a way up from below, or down from above? The placement of Spit and Fatigue on the minimap feels incredibly important to figuring out who attacked Occam (even if that doesn't have anything to do with the ghoul).

Elise is in the middle of taking her ponytail out when Kitten returns from his pacing and fuming and brief stop in the kitchen. As a ponytail haver, the decision to NOT undo the hair after starting to do so is significant. But then again, maybe giving her a different animation model wasn't in the cards for the episode. (She's hot enough already idk).

There are large claw marks on a lot of walls and doors in the Chapter House…

There are 15 people in the Chapter House, but 16 cups are strewn about when Occam is found. All 16 cups are bloody. Someone else is present? Someone left an extra cup, some extra blood?

Kitten is focusing on 'who could have attacked Occam as we were leaving' but is that really the timing of the attack?

'Your papa could never take a punch like that' says the man who has been fighting Blacklaw all evening. Playfighting? They've been playfighting this whole time? Yet the man can handle a bottle being thrown at him by Marckus, so he at least has some grit.

"Look. It's the same. Indisputable." So if Blacklaw cannot tell the difference between 'a bleak British man and a middle-eastern meat-slab', either his eyesight is shitty and thus he cannot be trusted to give any trustworthy visual evidence, OR, he hasn't looked at D in actual decades because D is the Devil and must not be observed directly. Which is kinda countered by how often they face off and glare at each other, so.

Other things that might be of note and/or are things I noticed:

Amanda's blue gloves - does she have a latex allergy? Or does the Arcanum not provide boxes of disposable gloves for the staff and they have to just make do with one set each? As someone who worked back of house in hospitality, this seems... bad.

Both Blacklaw and D have yellow and black as a major colour to their outfits, but inverse to each other (jacket and tank top vs jacket and vest). IDK maybe that's something worth noting, or it shows how more alike than they like to admit.

Hardcore Kitten steadying inhale in front of the portrait of the dead knight made me think to how TTS ended... Then again, the man out here killed a vampire with a shove and an iron fence while being badly hurt so like. Man's badass enough on his own.

Git works with the Lady Regent's favourite daughter. Could Poly have slipped him something, made him a ghoul without his knowledge? Man can reverse-drink a beer but his favourite food being available at his place of work could lend itself to some Manager-induced tampering of the safety seals.

Kevin was invited to the 'funny phrenology library' but decided to stay in the basement. He might have recognised the ghoul right away. He also might have gotten D's family Blood Hunted AND targetted by the Coalition, if that were the case. For reasons of safety first, comedy second and plot third, Kevin stays at home.

Hey uh what's the Penis Explosion Room on the mini map and why is it Elite Access and also why is it there and why is there no doorway to it and also what

Harry being able to get dressed very quickly between listening in at the door and then D showing up with the keys. I know he doesn't really do Anime but I feel like that must have been a magical girl transformation somehow (/j)

Guy Chapman might be the most dangerous ghoul at the moment: 'sharpened senses, inhuman strength, even the power to bend minds' He did drink the blood of Kevin, a Vampire Wizard. I'm thinking about Marckus' night pubbing, and how Chapman heard the beginning of the vampire talk, as well as the fact that Brok's first and second knife broke dramatically. The cop did it, with his new vampire magic.

The portrait on the wall (when Elise is doing D's hair) - baby Occam is adorable, I'm sorry his mother is a Blacklaw but she seems far more hinged than Remold, is baby Brok okay, is Brok's mother the blonde woman from the interrogation room - if so who is the woman standing with Blacklaw? And the slacker behind her? A Blacklaw Family Drama photo, I'm very pleased.

'Amanda never sweats, she's lower class' I've never seen a Rich Bastard in media who thinks this, this is fascinating. Normally it's 'sweating is for the lower classes' but here we are in the reverse. Does Blacklaw think the 'lower class' are literal automatons or

Fatigue dies in the room where his younger Hunter self is immortalised in a portrait on the wall. Taller, younger, still with the same glasses, nose, and ears. Just how old is he?

Side note: 'did anyone find out if Mummies are real yet' - yes, Marckus, they did, in The Resurrection/Curse. You were right.

[st-va]

The latest Hunter: the parenting ep was so fucking cool, i think I was watching it for 2/2.5 hours with a friend cause we were analysing it so much. Forgetting the plot and all the amazing lore jam-packed into that ep, the ANIMATION? Holy shit! I didn't know that it could get better AND keep its quirkiness!

Who is the Ghoul analysis after the cut!

Okay so there are two forces at play in that house, throughout the whole episode there are hints of a werewolf - in the first room, that is the dinning room, there is a wardrobe that has scratch marks and the door underneath the first floor stairs(the one that big D came through) ALSO has them. Oh, it's also a FULL MOON.

Now, the ghoul and the warewolf could be working independently, completely unaware of eachother, but it is my theory that the warewolf is Matilda and the ghoul is Amanda.

There is a little time jump that skipped some interactions. After Elise stole the smokes and keys (staff access) from Giles, she must have given them to Grim. She, in turn, went to the Security room through the vents (she was said to be good at going through them and they said that the security room is the most ventilated room). In the map it is said that Matilda came to the kitchen from the security room and she has acquired Giles' smokes, meaning that she prob caught Grim sneaking and Grim gave her his smokes in exchange for silence.

Why was Matilda going to the Security Room? And moreover, when Kitten came to the kitchen Amanda said that they could let him in to the Security room (Matilda being against the idea). When the topic of the Hunting came around, neither of them really looked scared. Amanda was just standing there, looking a bit sad or maybe disapprovingly at Matilda, and Matilda was a bit disgruntled, but nothing more really.

Matilda also brought out the subject of "Is the Ghoul really that bad?", which is honestly sending red flags all around for me, to be honest. Sure, she might genuinely be afraid and is trying to be strong, but, honestly? She looked sad.

I honestly do not know how Matilda would have gotten access to the Archives. She couldn't have stolen Remoud's keys cause D stole them seconds before unlocking the door, sure as hell couldn't have stolen Occam's so that leaves Lord Fatigue and the doctor.

Lord Fatigue was with the boys and there was such a small window of opportunity to yoink the keys that it seems impossible, but the doctor is the other option and she hasn't gotten that much screen time, plus it would make sense to get rid of the Lord later. So I'm sticking with Lord Fatigue being the one who got mugged. Again, this part of my theory is very loose, I couldn't find any evidence.

I want to call attention to how fucking furious Matilda looked after they found Occam incapacitated.

I don't think that is the face someone being sad that her employer is knocked down a peg and won't be able to pay her on time hhh. Amanda's expression is on point, she looks terrified but I will choose to believe that she is seeing the consequences of her friend's actions, in order to help her. Remember, Amanda is the Ghoul and Matilda the Warewolf.

Matilda's expression could also be a symptom of a withdrawal. Now, I will be honest. I know the bare minimum of the lore surrounding Vampire: The Masquerade and my friend couldn't find the exact thing that happens to warewolves during a full moon in this setting, so I'm basing this on pure speculation, but she could be trying to refrain from transmutating and, without her smokes, that could be more of a mental feat.

Moving on, the most damning information that we got out of the episode was after Amanda was fried, she said Baba Yaga. Holy fuck. With how the Arcanum is, there is no way in hell they would let the "Help" know of such a powerful vampire. I really couldn't think of another way she would acquire this knowledge if she isnt connected to the Masquerade in any way.

When the gang went to the pub, Matilda looked tilted as all hell.

The Ghoul is currently incapacitated, there's no way in hell that Amanda did this. This kill was the work of the Warewolf, with how fucking violent it was. Connecting this with my previous conjecture that Lord Fatigue was the one that got his keys stolen, he is a fucking Lycanthropy professor! I think, in Matilda's eyes, he was a threat and she wanted to get rid of him because it was only a matter of time before he found out. Plus, she had to turn at some point and she would have already been furious that they have been torturing her friend.

It was a golden opportunity as well. From the beginning of the episode, we know that Spit has been experiencing Delirium, the fear that comes with seeing the supernatural and that fear is accompanied with memory loss of the actual event. Git was locked in the bathroom and so Matilda could go ham on taking her rage out on Lord Fatigue.

Whoo! This has been a long one, lastly I want to point out some small things that I appreciated.

Big D going into the Harry Potter room in order to investigate the claw marks.

Marcus and Harry being complete bros and going to lift instead of dealing with an emotion situation.

Boy

Brock not sitting down when they were all gathered in the Dining room at the beginning and later saying that his kneecaps were flattened.

D's booty shorts

Honestly, this series is amazing, I don't think I've ever watched something this high quality with this much love, thought and humanity being put behind it. The work that Alfabusa and the gang are putting into making every single frame a banger is phenomenal! I really do not understand how they keep on improving.

What did you guys think? Am I mentally deranged, or am I and my friend onto something? Please tell me what you think of my lil Game Theory and if I missed anything!