#substance use cw

[distressednoise]

WIP Wednesday

Sometimes @notasapleasure lets me ramble at her about my terrible AU idea where Syril and Cassian are rival hockey goalies who despise each other, because she is too indulgent for her own good. And while part of me does sincerely mean to write this (because doing an AU of your old fandom in your new fandom is a proud tradition), I'm also not going to be able to for months, so I'm just going to put some porny Brassian chatfic under a cut and pretend it's a WIP Wednesday post, and you're all going to humour me that I will one day finish it.

For context:

Cassian has spent years slogging away in the minor leagues, where he can't admit to being injured because he's already too small, the doctors are terrible, the drugs are worse and Syril fucking Karn is always looking to chase him out of the lineup.

And now he's arrived in the promised land, where physio Brasso is advancing toward him with some designer drugs and perfect arms, ready to make all Cassian's nagging aches go away, at least temporarily. 

And there are just so many excuses for Brasso to touch him. Cassian learns to reach for them easily: Hi Brasso shoulder's not great. Hi Brasso feeling real tight, could you -? Brasso my leg's cramping again. Brasso Brasso Brasso.

At some point he decides he should probably return the favour.

Very carefully taking Brasso's hand in his and working it over. Focused so much on getting it right and not messing up Brasso's beautiful hands that he briefly forgets about Brasso's beautiful face, but when he looks up Brasso is staring at him with the kind of possessive, hungry expression that Cassian has wanted from him all season.

One of those hands comes up, catching on a crease in Cassian's expression, smooths it out. "It's ok," he says. "You can just ask."

Cassian can't "just ask". Cassian has "just asked" for things over and over again, and his entire career has been built on being clever enough to know what to do when "just asking" gets you a flat no. But this is Brasso.

He's not brave enough to do it straight. It's too much. He splits the difference and says "Anything else I can help you with?", leery, easily joking if it needs to be, ready to give brasso a just-buddies shoulder smack and laugh it off. But Brasso's reels him I'm by a fistful of shirt and doesn't stop until Cassian's straddling his lap, newly-loose hips stretched wide by Brasso's thighs. Their faces are so close. Cassian wonders if this is going to be a kissing hook up. Then Brasso lifts one leg a little, shuffles and bumps them closer, and Cassian thinks fuck it and makes it one. He asked. He's asking. Brasso makes an approving sound and opens up, lets Cassian lick into his mouth and scrape along his jaw

The NHL isn't the easiest environment to pick up guys in and Cassian told himself he wasn't missing it, but now that it's happening again, he's greedy for it. He wants all of Brasso all at once, wants to keep kissing him and suck him and stay grinding down on the growing ridge of his dick all at the same time. His hands have found skin. He can't open his eyes. He doesn't want to keep them closed. He's stuck there, skittery with indecision, until Brasso goes for his belt, which is wrong enough for him to say "No no no, you're not meant -" 

Brasso stops, unwraps his arm from behind Cassian. Holds them up in surrender. 

"I worked hard on these," Cassian says, taking him by the wrists. "You can't go and, and -" Cassian didn’t really think he'd ever want Brasso not to touch him, but this is - . He knows what he's doing. He needs Brasso to know that he knows. He presses Brasso's hands back to the wall. "Keep them there, OK?" 

Brasso smiles in a quiet, private way, but he doesn't laugh, and when Cassian lets go he doesn't move his arms.

As soon as Cassian leans back up and finds he has to rebalance, he's aware he's not made the best decision, but when has he ever? He reaches back for Brasso's thigh, and by silent agreement they manage to get one of Brasso's feet braced against a desk so he can lift his legs and simultaneously keep Cassian's weight forward and bring them close enough together for Cassian to get their trousers open, get his hand on Brasso's cock so he can feel the weight and the heat of it, thumb over the slit where it's wet and red and let himself think yeah, he's missed this a lot.

He's acutely aware that they're in medical and that there are beds and lube and all sorts of things around that would make this easier, that brasso would let him make this easier, gladly, but anything that involves breaking the bubble they're built between them feels dangerous. If he gets down he'll never get back up. If he turns away there's a chance Brasso will realise this is a mistake. He has one hand on the back of Brasso's neck, tight, and it won't let him let go. 

He's got just enough room to get his cock out, to line them up. He's trying to think of the least off-putting way to spit in his hand this close up to someone when Brasso says, "Hey, hey," and Cassian thinks this is it, the realisation, the suggestion that they awkwardly scuttle across the room to find something to make this more dignified and accidentally turn into colleagues again in the process. But then Brasso says "give it here," nodding at Cassian's hand, and when Cassian brings it up to his mouth it turns out Brasso is on the same page as him, wants to get him wet but not enough to move. Cassian feels the hot wet scrape of Brasso's tongue on his palm and thinks yeah, this is going to be fine.

He gets stuck for a moment on his hand over Brasso's mouth, on the drag of Brasso's stubble against it, on the fact that if he wants to hook a thumb behind Brasso's teeth and tug his head down he can, Brasso will just go with him. He reaches down with one hand to start working them in earnest and moves the other from the back of Brasso's neck to the hinge of jaw, fish hooks him, keeps tugging. Brasso's face is red and smeared with spit and Cassian is making it worse and Brasso is moaning and licking at the thumb hooked is his mouth, is trying to turn more into Cassian's hand. Cassian messes up everything and Brasso is happy to be messed up and when they are done he will put his hands on Cassian so carefully, Cassian can almost feel it already.

He keeps working, finds a level of pressure that makes Brasso curse and sticks to it, spits more, buries his face in Brasso's shoulder so he doesn't have to see Brasso's reaction to that and then regrets it when Brasso makes a low, guttural noise. When Cassian looks up he's got that expression again, the good one, the one that says he's seen through to some part of Cassian no-one else has managed to and wants to sink his teeth into it.

Cassian kisses him again, sloppier than last time, lets Brasso nudge his head back and worry at his neck even though it makes them lurch sideways precariously. He tries to get back to kissing after that, but Brasso pants, "I want to see, let me see," and wedges his head against Cassian's chest so he has a full view of where Cassian is jerking them both off. Cassian can see his hands hovering off the wall, can see Brasso pressing them back because he asked. He doubles down and Brasso swears loudly, sinks his teeth into Cassian's shoulder through his shirt.

"Proud of yourself for that?" Brasso manages after a second and Cassian is, yes. He’s enjoying the way that Brasso's shaking, and close enough that he can nip at Brasso’s ear and say "very," then spit again while Brasso is looking and keep going. Brasso looks like Cassian used to feel, like he can't decide whether he wants to look at Cassian's face or his dick or keep burrowing into his shirt. He settles on his face, surges up to bite at his jaw. No-one ever looks at Cassian and Cassian never blinks at anything but Brasso's teeth are on him and Cassian closes his eyes and comes.

Brasso's hands on him are as careful as he expected, pulling him forward and tugging up his shirt so he can rock himself over the edge against the taut plane of Cassian's stomach. Cassian thinks briefly about how far it is to the car, who might be here. Who might notice if he left here covered in Brasso, whether Brasso would follow him home and add to it. Whether he'd get to drive along with Brasso's hand pressed up under the edge of his shirt, scratching at this mess they've made together.

So when Brasso vanishes for a minute and reappears with a length of medicals ubiquitous blue paper, Cassian thinks fuck it, and asks.

[13lizardsinatrenchcoat]

[centralkvetchmonolith]

HELLO I am back from Shabbat, some 20 hours after I originally intended, and wanted to share with you some posts that I wrote at like 3 in the morning while tripping on THC edibles

[apatheatric]

If I die tonight

The toxicology should show it as accidental. It was, even though I considered the risks.

If I thought you didn't need me, I die immediately.

What use do I have? Beyond the inept supporter?

You can look down on me as you recognise my desperate efforts to help, to do my inadequate best.

I learnt when I was young that I wasn't good enough. At a running club, at school, with every judgment passed down, frown lines of contempt.

So if I die tonight, it will be just another failure of mine - to moderate, to balance substance use on that precarious line.

Not the successful completion of a goal I've failed before.

[takemetotheastralagain]

I made such a funny fictionkinfession emoji ask. I hope it’s as funny when I’m not high

[lazyscience]

This is not "pro-life." This is pro-punishment.

But once the babies are here, the state provides little help.

When she got pregnant, Mayron Michelle Hollis was clinging to stability.

At 31, she was three years sober, after first getting introduced to drugs at 12. She had just had a baby three months earlier and was working to repair the damage that her addiction had caused her family.

The state of Tennessee had taken away three of her children, and she was fighting to keep her infant daughter, Zooey. Department of Children’s Services investigators had accused Mayron of endangering Zooey when she visited a vape store and left the baby in a car.

Her husband, Chris Hollis, was also in recovery.

The two worked in physically demanding jobs that paid just enough to cover rent, food and lawyers’ fees to fight the state for custody of Mayron’s children.

In the midst of the turmoil in July 2022, they learned Mayron was pregnant again. But this time, doctors warned she and her fetus might not survive.

The embryo had been implanted in scar tissue from her recent cesarean section. There was a high chance that the embryo could rupture, blowing open her uterus and killing her, or that she could bleed to death during delivery. The baby could come months early and face serious medical risks, or even die.

But the Supreme Court had just overturned Roe v. Wade, which guaranteed the right to abortion across the United States. By the time Mayron decided to end her pregnancy, Tennessee’s abortion ban — one of the nation’s strictest — had gone into effect.

The total ban made no explicit exceptions — not even to save the life of a pregnant patient. Any doctor who violated the ban could be charged with a felony.

Women with means could leave the state. But those like Mayron, with limited resources or lives entangled with the child welfare and criminal justice systems, would be the most likely to face caring for a child they weren’t prepared for.

And so, the same state that questioned Mayron’s fitness to care for her four children forced her to continue a pregnancy that risked her life to have a fifth, one that would require more intensive care than any of the others.

Tennessee already had some of the worst outcomes in the nation when measuring maternal health, infant mortality and child poverty. Lawmakers who paved the way for a new generation of post-Roe births did little to bolster the state’s meager safety net to support these babies and their families.

In December 2022, when Mayron was 26 weeks and two days pregnant, she was rushed to the hospital after she began bleeding so heavily that her husband slipped in her blood. An emergency surgery saved her life. Her daughter, Elayna, was born three months early.

Afterward, photographer Stacy Kranitz and reporter Kavitha Surana followed Mayron and her family for a year to chronicle what life truly looked like in a state whose political leaders say they are pro-life. [...]

[trek-tracks]

Episodes of TOS where the solution is to get the crew drunk or high: The Tholian Web, Wolf in the Fold

Episodes of TOS where the solution is to get the crew to stop being drunk or high: The Naked Time, This Side of Paradise

[nn-senpai]

What if instead of Nam-Gyu he was called Freak-Gyu and he was 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 and begged for the pills to be put on his tongue 👅 💊

His hands are shaky

Here's the sketch, I originally was gonna make it into a more graphically styled piece but for whatever reason I started rendering lol

[w3brot]

[seventeendeer]

this isn't at all meant to be condescending or finger-waggy because 100% we all have blind spots like this, but I'm really, really hoping that the people who never found Gaiman's approach to his own fandom concerning in any way will take this all as a learning moment.

he was an older, hyper-famous author engaging directly and frequently with an online audience of largely vulnerable young marginalized people. he presented himself as cultured and worldly, and made himself approachable as someone to go to for advice, encouragement and "wisdom." his manner of speech was extremely pathos-heavy and clearly intended to be comforting and encouraging in exactly the way his target demographic needed it to be to swallow every word. the way he spoke about stories and creativity was designed to make young creative hopefuls feel special and important, while sweeping real analytical techniques under the rug - in hindsight, likely so no one would think too critically about the disturbing amount of patriarchal abuse played for cheap shock value and voyerism in his own body of works.

Gaiman saw a target demographic that was desperate for an older creative role model to tell them they were worth something, and he exploited that pain to twist a narrative around himself where he was king and any critique leveled at him or his works were the enemy.

to be clear, he could have been innocent. he could totally have been just an out-of-touch old man saying nice things to people because he wanted to be kind and he thought he was a lot smarter than he really was. red flags are warning signs, not a surefire way to tell if someone is actually "secretly shitty."

but if you used to look up to him, PLEASE take this moment to revisit the ideas you absorbed from him. did you take his words to heart because they seemed to have objective merit? or did you take them to heart because it felt good to believe what he said? do you still hold these values? does knowing he was intentionally manipulating his online audience make you less certain? do you need more information from a different source before deciding one way or another?

again, I'm just really, really hoping people on here will take a moment to reevaluate the ideas and opinions he's injected into tumblr fandom culture, because his reach is immense and he has absolutely been manipulating popular perception of relevant topics to gain further influence and control the narrative around both his own and Pratchett's legacy. please, please take this moment to notice what he's been doing - and next time someone tries to pull the same shit, hopefully we'll be able to apply what we've learned from experience.

[local-lover-boy]

The sexual tension between me and substance abuse

[childrenofcain-if]

D saying they'll stop smoking if MC wants kids 🥹 yep, that'll do it

they have a lot of vices, but they also love MC and their potential future children enough to give those up.

out of all the ROs, they’d be the most reluctant to have kids even if they’re married.

[zen17hdee]

If you took LSD before boarding a warp train, would you experience being high for 2000+ years? I mean, it’s not like your bodily processes that would result in the effects wearing off would happen during that time, right?

[natypinkns]

ok ill post it. came out of my tempest tattoo sketching session with this doodle whoops

[jiraisupportgroup]

[strudelstein]

substance abuse will catch up with you and fast! don't destroy your body to try speeding up your demise. reach out to someone and say something! anything!! you can start fighting back just by not isolating! my line is open if you need advice from personal experience, if you feel scared or alone or need a hand even just to make the first step, that hand is here! or if you just want to talk about it, that's a good place to start too!! take care of yourself somehow, please. there will always be people here for you. there will always be resources those people will be more than happy to share with you. there is always love and hope. it's not cringe, it's not cliche, it's not weak to ask for help. it's not pointless. hold onto your life. i don't want anyone else that i can reach to suffer and die in solitary obscurity. it's ok to have habits, it's ok to practice them in safe environments with moderation, there's no fun police judging you here but if you're trapped please call out. if you're in pain and feel like you've slowly been snowballing please don't let go. you can't give up on yourself yet. someone is waiting to hear from you right now