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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

Fake Fiancée

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer is left waiting at a bar when he gets in some trouble, and meets a woman who offers to help him out in more ways than one.

Category: SMUT (18+)

Warnings: Language, virgin!Spencer, car sex/exhibitionism, handjob, brief mention of edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, degradation kink, minor voyeurism kink, dirty talk (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Word Count: 7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, there!! Most of you have been extremely excited about this one since I shared the idea for it a few weeks ago, and so I’m glad to finally get to release it for you!! There’s a playlist here for you to check out if you’d like some ~vibes~ and over on @mercy-midnight I shared a few visual inspirations last night, so check them out if you want! Thank you for all your enthusiasm over this fic, I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🥰

***

I've always loved the rain.

And it was definitely going to rain soon. How soon, I wasn't entirely sure, but as I made my way into the bar, taking one final breath of fresh air before it would inevitably be taken over by alcohol, greasy food, and way too much cologne, I could smell it. Cool and fresh, waiting to serve as some type of fresh start, to wash away all the hard shit and give me a clean slate.

The gaudy ring on my finger was one of those hard things I wished I could wash away. At least, it had been for a long time. Patrick never asked for it back after he left, and I'd had every intention of pawning it off, but I started noticing—after a few nights out where I'd tried to get hammered and nailed—that it scared everybody off.

I guess no one wanted to fuck a married woman—and a drunk married woman at that. Even if she technically wasn't even married anymore. Which I found all particularly odd considering my experience with men in the past has proved to provide me with extremely low standards.

It'd turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though. Sure, it might have taken me longer to completely get over Patrick and the mess he left me, but rather than losing myself in the lonely company of strangers, I forced myself to reflect and move on, to take each day in stride and take time for myself. Could I have just taken the ring off and gotten laid? Absolutely. But being on my own like that was the wakeup call I didn't know I'd needed.

And now, almost a year later, the ring sat tucked away in my jewelry box until I wanted it— usually when I knew I was going to the bar with every intention of getting hammered and not nailed. There were the occasional persistent players, but they were few and far in between, and if all else failed I resorted to smiling sweetly at them and lying, saying my "husband" was a cop. That shut them up pretty quickly, and by that point I was ready to leave anyway.

Like I said, blessing in disguise.

After a long day at work being called in on a Saturday, a few drinks at Waterson's sounded like a perfect way to end the night. I'd gone home, showered, ate dinner, and got dressed before taking a walk down the block and crossing the near-packed parking lot. The air was quite muggy despite it only being around forty degrees, which was the first indicator of rain. The second was the smell, of course, which I'd always been fond of, and the cobbled pavement had some type of haze around it that served as the final confirmation of my theory.

Honestly, I was hoping to get caught in the rain on my way home. I couldn't tell you why, exactly, just that the idea of walking home in the rain gave me the most excitement I'd felt in a long time. Life was great at the moment, of course, but between work and my less than ideal commute there on the train every day, I think I was due for a little excitement.

That excitement, naturally, started once I opened the door to the bar, taking a step inside and quickly being smacked in the face with the smell of fried everything. A small smile crossed my lips as I went in further, jumbled conversations, glasses clinking, and music humming softly behind the sharp snaps of pool balls being shot forward with the cue completing the picture.

I walked up to the bar to find Carla standing behind it, and I smiled at her. "I didn't know you were working Saturday," I called to her as I approached.

The brunette looked over at me and beamed, her teeth as perfect as ever. "Y/N, I didn't know you came in on Saturdays! How've you been?"

I took a seat at one of the barstools, nodding as I set my wallet and my phone down. "Alright... Work's a bitch, of course, but when is it not?"

"Yeah, I hear that. There's only so much relentless flirting I can take." We shared a good laugh at that before she nodded. "What can I get you?"

"A beer?"

"You got it."

I turned around then, surveying tonight's crowd. Waterson's was decently sized— definitely not as big or popular as the other bars in the city, but it got enough traction on the weekends, and even on Tuesdays when they had open mics. As my eyes wandered, they passed over all kinds of people. Women in tight clothes and men all over them, large groups of friends over by the pool tables who were betting and yelling with large smiles on their faces, old men by themselves in some of the tucked away corners... Anyone you could think of, name it and they were there.

One scene in particular caught my eye, though, and I thought about leaving it alone, but my gut twisted when I noticed how obviously uncomfortable the person was and how there was no one around who seemed to care enough to say or do anything.

Sitting alone at a rather large table was a guy who... no offense to him or anything, but he didn't look like he belonged here, not alone anyway. With a formal button-down short sleeve, meek stature, and a pair of glasses sitting atop his nose, he was an easy target for the two men that were towering over him as he sat, eyes averting them while they conversed. It could have been nothing, but occasionally the man in the glasses would flinch or look around nervously like he was waiting to be rescued.

Not that I wanted to rescue anyone or anything tonight. But he reminded me of someone being stood up, and from experience I knew how embarrassing that was, especially in a space crowded with other people who could obviously see what was happening to you. I hated Patrick for standing me up time and time again, and it wasn't until this waitress once intervened and offered some advice that I started to understand just how fucked up it was. That didn't make it hurt any less, of course, when he inevitably said he was moving across the country and dropped divorce papers on my desk at work, but still... The talk gave me some clarity.

Whether or not this man was actually being stood up or not, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable, and I figured he could use some help.

And I had just the plan.

I watched the scene until Carla came back with my beer, at which point I turned to her with a smile and got money from my wallet.

"Hey, could I get another?"

***

"No, you specifically told me 8pm..."

"I'm pretty sure I told you 9..."

I sighed, glancing around briefly at everyone and everything around me before speaking again, almost yelling into the speaker over all the noise. "Maybe you meant 9, but you told me 8, so I'm here. Alone!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Kid, alright? But we're not gonna be there until 9, so... keep yourself busy until then? Let loose, have a couple drinks..."

I could hear the smirk in Derek's voice just as easily as I could picture it in my head as I sighed out a, "Fine," and hung up. The whole situation significantly raised my blood pressure, not to mention my anxiety— It wasn't hard to see that I stood out here. Bars were most definitely not my scene, and the only reason I'd agreed to go in the first place was so that I could try something new. Expand my horizons, as Penelope had told me right before I caved and agreed to accompany her and Derek on their little outing. I'd even drove my car here, a move I rarely made, as a start.

But now I was sitting alone at a booth, a glass of water in front of me and this twisting sensation in my gut that usually came to me when I didn't know what was going to happen.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed, staring down the glass of water as my cellphone tumbled around between my hands. All I had to do was wait here for an hour and remind myself over and over that eventually I'd be with people that I knew, people that I felt comfortable around. Only an hour.

One hour...

One hour, one hour, one hour... It was a chant in my head that went through different pitches and speeds until it was interrupted by a loud, "Hey, you!"

It could have been for anyone, but it was right next to me, and I knew when I wasn't wanted somewhere.

Sure enough, I turned my head to see a rather large man, a football player-type if I had to guess, wearing a grey tee shirt that hugged every muscle. There was a beer in his hands, and someone next to him, another man slightly shorter but still definitely athletic, held what looked to be a glass of hard liquor. By the looks on their faces, it was obvious that they were looking for a fight.

And it was also obvious that I was the easiest target in the whole bar.

One glance at the clock across the room and above their heads told me that I still had 54 minutes until my friends showed up, and that meat I'd either have to give these men whatever they wanted, tell them I was just about to leave, or attempt to pull the "I'm a Federal Agent" card, which I knew would probably get more laughs from them than a simple, "Sorry," and an exit.

I was about to run through every outcome of tonight's events in my head when the bigger guy spoke again, making me jump.

"Hey, m' talking to you!" He was drunk, most likely toeing the line between sobriety and a fist fight if I wasn't careful.

"I—Is there something you need?" I asked, hoping that if I could get this over with quickly, they'd leave me alone and maybe I could get out of here...

He mocked my voice in a way I'd heard more than once while growing up, and though I knew it was childish of him, saying more about him than me, the action got to me more than I cared to admit. Call it intuition, but when a nearly-drunk guy two times your size starts picking on you like a kid and you know he's just looking for a fight, the odds aren't very good when you're someone on the smaller side like me— Federal Agent or not. And he wasn't an unsub. He wasn't someone I could pick apart and just hand over to my team once I pushed back his defenses. If I picked this man apart, he'd likely throw a punch at my face.

Of course, I could get him arrested for assaulting a Federal Agent, but... Obviously I didn't want to get punched in the face.

As soon as his mumbled mockery of my words ended, he punctuated them with his own. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' I need you to find a new place to sulk. Go to the library or somethin'."

His friend laughed beside him like he'd just said the best comeback anyone's ever heard, and that alone almost made me laugh. Though, I knew that might have gotten me into more trouble.

Speaking of, I probably should have just got up to leave. That would have been the perfect time to say, "Okay," get up, and drive home. Sure, Penelope and Derek would have probably given me crap about chickening out, but I'd have avoided getting beat around or ridiculed further by these morons, so it was overall a win, right?

But my stupid mouth didn't agree with what my brain was thinking. "Oh, well, um... I'm waiting up for some friends, they should be here soon—"

"You have friends?" the other guy retorted before I could finish, and he looked proud of himself for it.

"Look, I don't care who you're waitin' on, pal, Right now you're alone, so I want y—"

I didn't see it coming. I couldn't have seen it from a mile away, never dreamed of anything like this happening in a million years. It was certainly not one of the possible outcomes to the night that I'd had in mind. And actually, even if I'd had any time to prepare for it, seeing the woman walk up to us with two beers in her hand and the biggest smile on her face, I still wouldn't have believed what was happening.

She blocked me from the men's line of sight, sitting herself promptly on my lap as she set the drinks down. "Hey, babe, I'm back with our drinks," she chirped, leaning forward and stopping just under my ear, whispering. "If you play along, I can get them to leave you alone..."

She didn't even give me any time to process, quickly pulling back, but not before kissing me firmly on the cheek, leaving my face in a warm flush as she turned back around to survey the men, who I'd quite frankly forgotten about once she pressed her soft lips to my skin and set her hands on my chest.

What the fu—

"Who're you talking with?"

Her voice was so... low and smooth, and it sent a flood of warmth throughout my whole body. If I could have bottled up her voice to drink, I would have. But instead, I settled for the beer she'd brought, grabbing it and chugging down four big gulps even though I hated it.

"You're with this... loser?" the bigger of the two men said, and truthfully it was the first time all night I'd well and truly felt inadequate in front of them. Sure, I knew I'd stood out, that physically I was weaker than them, but I also knew that deep down they were just drunks looking for a fight. I was better than that, regardless of whether or not they'd almost bullied me into leaving the bar.

I didn't have a problem with who I was, but when it came to women, I was pretty much a total wreck. I'd only ever kissed someone once, and much like back then, this woman was absolutely stunning and completely out of my league.

The man was right to be suspicious.

"Excuse me?" my savior retorted, standing up off my lap and removing herself from me completely. I exhaled, trying hard not to look like I was just as shocked as they were as she tore them a new one. "This loser happens to be my fiancée. And I'd watch what insults you're throwing around— You're the ones going around some bar picking on someone you don't know like you're middle schoolers. Now grow the fuck up and back off before I take your drinks and shove them so far up your asses you'll still be able to taste them."

Truthfully I was surprised when they didn't back down. The bigger guy scoffed, his eyes raking the woman up and down with a wicked glint in them. "Y'know, maybe if you ditched him and got fucked by a real man, you wouldn't be such a bitch."

And once again, I was stunned by her ability to quip back quicker than lightening. "Maybe if you weren't such a childish prick, you'd actually get fucked in the first place. Now back. The fuck. Off..."

While I should have been more grateful that her words got them to scoff and turn away, a small, absolutely random part of me wanted to hear her yell at them some more. The longer she did it, the warmer my body got, and the second I started to put together why that was, I chugged more of the beer that was currently resting in my shaky hand.

It was even worse when she turned around to face me again, her radiance and beauty intimidating me in an entirely different way than those men. She wore a simple black dress that complimented her figure extremely well, minimal makeup and jewelry, and her hair was pinned back, showing off her neck and collarbone.

If she hadn't just helped me out, with the way she was looking at me I probably would have wondered if she was... trying to pick me up.

The thought made me all warm again.

"Y—You didn't have to do—"

She stepped forward and sat on my lap again, and I swallowed hard, the beer almost slipping from my hand entirely. "Don't worry about it. You looked uncomfortable, and those boys were absolute meatheads. But they are still here, so we should probably keep up the act, huh?"

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Either way, I set the beer on the table, though my hand still kept it firmly in my grip as I looked down at the ring on her finger. "I—I wouldn't want to get you in trouble... with your husband..."

"Oh! Uh, funny story," she laughed, leaning in and running her hands over my shoulders, most likely to keep up the façade. "I'm not actually married. Or engaged. I um... I wear this to deter people from trying to take me home."

I actually laughed a little, though my stomach still flipped at her touch and her proximity. "And that... actually works?"

She laughed with me, bringing her hands up to cradle my face as she tilted her head and looked me over. Her pretty, pillow-y soft lips quirked into a smile before her eyes flitted up to mine. She looked like she was entranced, like she was in a dream, and honestly I felt the same way. Because there was no way in actual Hell this was a real thing that was happening to me, right?

"Not always," she answered in a whisper, her face inching closer to mine. She smelled a little like beer, but mostly some type of fruit, probably pear. I didn't eat pears, but maybe I should start...

A gentle tug at the roots of my hair pulled me out of my thoughts, a soft sigh escaping me at the sensation. The woman laughed, brushing her nose against mine for a moment before pulling away and grabbing her beer. "So, since we're engaged, I feel like I should know a little about you. At the very least, your name?"

"O—oh," I laughed nervously, swallowing as she sipped her beer. And I tried not to let it get to me, but the way her lips wrapped gently around the bottle had my mind going a mile a minute, laser focusing on one image in particular of those perfect lips wrapped around something else. I wondered if she could hear the longing in my voice when I whispered my name. "Spencer."

With the beer still in her hand, she lowered it and rested it on my knee as she smiled. "Mmm, and what's my last name going to be?"

The thought of actually marrying this woman infiltrated my thoughts as I answered, louder this time, "Reid."

See hummed again, using the hand that was currently massaging the back of my scalp to gently tug at my hair again. "Y/N Reid... I like the sound of that."

I do, too, is what I thought, and I almost said it, but she started talking again.

"So, Spencer, what do you do?"

I would have gone into my entire spiel, but she was so pretty, and so close, I didn't want to scare her off. So, I simply stated, "I work for the FBI..."

Her eyebrows raised, and I felt her hand slide down my neck and settle on my shoulder. "Really?"

"Y—Yeah, I'm a profiler. We aid law enforcement in catching serial killers."

"So, Agent Reid, huh? That's hot..."

I should have just left it alone, because it was common knowledge that if a woman has any reason to call you hot, you just let it happen, right?

Well, like I said, when it came to women I was a complete wreck.

"A—Actually it's Doctor... I, um... I have 3 PhDs."

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them, but the hunger in her eyes deepened and her free hand roamed my shoulder and the front of my chest as she scooted even closer, her mouth coming up right under my jaw. "Mmm, even hotter..."

This time I didn't hold back, my voice audibly whimpering as I sighed out a simple, "Oh..."

Y/N pressed a featherlight kiss to my neck before dragging her lips to my ear again. And I'd been so hyperaware of her proximity to my face that I hadn't even noticed she'd set her beer down and took that hand to rest firmly at my hip, her palm pressing into my lower stomach. I only felt it when that hand moved over, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the buckle of my belt.

"Tell me something, Doctor," she whispered just under my earlobe. I was nothing short of putty in her hands as my brain tried to focus on what she was saying over the more prominent desire to focus on the way she pressed her whole body into mine. She was everywhere, taking up every ounce of air that found its way into my lungs, and I'd never breathed in anything sweeter. "Are you saving yourself for marriage?"

I found the question odd at first, but remembering the circumstances of our fake situation, my body suddenly flared to life at her implications. "N—No..."

Her hips shifted against my lap, and I swear I could have fainted on the spot as she hummed in my ear, "Good."

***

I certainly didn't expect for the night to end the way it did.

I mean, I knew I was going to be wet when I got home, but damn. We hadn't even made it out of the bar before my panties were soaked through at the thought of fucking my fake fiancée. Who worked for the FBI and called himself Doctor...

Not to mention he was fucking dreamy as hell with those honey doe-eyes and pouty lips... And his hands? I had taken one look at the one tightly holding his beer bottle for dear life and instantly went white-hot with desire, visions of them disappearing inside of me swimming in my head.

And then he had to fucking whimper when I called him hot.

Yeah, I definitely didn't expect the night to go how it did, but I wasn't mad about it in the slightest.

After explaining to him that I'd walked, and that my house was only a few blocks away, we decided to just hop in his car. Though, by the time we got there, I think we were both so eager to "get to know each other a little better," as I'd said before we actually left, that we didn't even make it out of the parking space.

Spencer fumbled around with his keys for so long, and he kept dropping them, so I just said fuck it and kissed him when he came up the third time. The sound of his keys hitting the ground for a fourth time excited me almost as much as his the way his hands trembled as they rested on my forearms.

"Pull the seat back?" I mumbled against his mouth, sliding my hands down the sides of his face and over his shoulders.

He let out a strained, "Uh huh," and fumbled around with that too, his urgency and nerves all rolled into one adorable spectacle that had the pit of my stomach in desirable knots. The seat sprung backwards, and I laughed lowly as I climbed over the center console and right into his lap, my dress riding up incredibly high.

The way Spencer looked up at me then, his eyes just as pouty as his lips as they practically sparkled with adoration and need, gave me this feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time— something that filled my bloodstream with fire and made me feel... wanted.

And that's not to say I hadn't slept with people since my divorce, but every time it happened there was hardly any connection besides the obvious need to get off. Here, with Spencer, it was different. And realistically I knew it was most likely the fact that a beautiful woman came to his rescue and pretended to be engaged to him just to get some morons off his back, but... In his eyes I saw this vulnerability that I'd never gotten with another partner. He was open and willing to take advantage of our situation to the fullest extent, sure, but within that was a pure longing to be close to someone after going so long without that connection.

I knew that look so well because it was exactly how I felt. We wanted to have sex with each other, that much was obvious, but less so was the fact that we could feel each others' loneliness. It was a shared bond that ran deeper than sexual desire, and in his eyes in that moment, I knew he could see it in me.

"D—Do you know... what it's like to feel alone, even... when you know you really aren't?" he asked as though he was reading my mind. His voice was soft, so curious and hinted with a little sadness that it made me want to hold him tight and rock him to sleep more than anything.

Still, I nodded. "Mhm... After my husband left I haven't... really been the same. I act like it's okay, and I... I really am better now that he's gone, but I just... I've spent most of my life with him, and now it's like I don't know what's out there beyond... loneliness."

It wasn't the most sexy conversation in the world, but Spencer reached out, his hands less shaky, and ghosted them over my bare arms. He looked up at me with those pretty eyes and let out a relieved breath before he spoke. "I kinda know what you mean... Not to that extent, but... I get it."

Seeing that he was more comfortable with me, I leaned in closer, bringing my fingers to brush the underside of his jaw. "And that's why you make the perfect fiancée."

I felt the laugh leave his lips before I kissed him, soft and steady, and reassured that I was in this for as long as he wanted me to be. Obviously we weren't actually engaged, but the connection that came with a real engagement felt pretty damn close to what we had going on.

And he conveyed that in the way he kissed me back, stronger than he'd been before and most certainly more skilled than he'd let on. His tongue expertly caressed mine with just the right amount of pressure and precision, and it made it easy for me to fall into him. Over time we grew more hungry, but for the most part our dance of mouth and tongue was so slow and intense, it felt like we really had known each other forever.

Eventually though, I did feel him grow harder underneath me, and the feeling kickstarted this more primal urge that caused me to groan into his mouth and rock my hips forward. Spencer's hands rested firmly at my lower back the whole time, though when I moved, I could feel him tense a little, like now that it was actually starting to happen, he was suddenly nervous again. So I brought my hands around my back to grab his wrists, gently sliding them down over my ass as I pressed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip.

"Mmm, your hands are so big," I purred as I kissed my way over his jaw. "They feel so good all over me..." He relaxed a bit at my reassurance, but I wanted to give him more. So I helped him slide his hands underneath my dress, feeling him shiver under me when I assisted him in squeezing them into my skin. "You can touch me however you like," I whispered into his ear. "I'm all yours, Doctor..."

He squeezed my ass then, of his own accord, and I hummed happily before kissing my way back to his mouth, running my hands through his hair.. "Just like that, baby, whatever you want..." He swallowed my words with his tongue, taking a deep breath and inhaling me like I was his only source of air. Respectfully, I gave it all to him, happy to be of service as long as he wanted me— and in that moment, I hoped it would be forever.

Maybe that was cheesy. But he was an excellent kisser... And I was sure there'd be something equally as excellent waiting for me once I got the clearance to get my hands down to his belt.

Thankfully, that clearance came pretty soon. I would have waited as long as he wanted to, but with the way his hips jolted upwards and the needy whine that erupted from his throat at the contact it provided, I knew now was the time.

So I smiled over his lips and then kissed his jaw again, one of my hands staying threaded in his hair while the other snaked down his chest and lower, undoing each button on his shirt as I went down... "Forgive me if I'm feeding into the stereotype by asking you this, Spencer," I said, leaving small bites on his neck in between words. "But have you ever done this before?"

His hands continued kneading my ass as he let out a shaky breath. "N—No. But I've um... I've p—practiced..."

"Hmm, how so?" I wondered, sucking a big hickey into his neck. Meanwhile my hand traced along the waistband of his pants, not quite dipping underneath but teasing the skin just above the material.

"U—Um, well... I regularly t—try to edge... myself, just... I—I want to last longer, and... And I thought it would help..."

God, the images of this man lounging in bed, training himself to last longer in the event that he had sex with someone? I groaned into his neck, taking the initiative to move my hand lower and gently palm him through his pants. "Fuck, that's so hot..."

"Re—really?"

"Mhmm... You really wanna make a girl feel good, huh?"

"Of course..."

"So eager to please?" I cooed, starting to undo his belt. He gripped my ass tighter like he was holding on for dear life, like he'd some how fall out of the car if he didn't hold on to me tight enough. The way his fingers dug into my skin brought me almost the same amount of joy as the sound he made when I finally snuck my hand down the front of his pants and pulled his dick out, gently stroking it and getting a feel for him. "Obedient?"

"Y—Yes, Y/N, please, oh God..." he jumbled out, his hips bucking into my hand. I sighed into his neck, kissing him again as my hand slowly jerked him off.

"Is this how slow you go?" I asked, making sure to memorize how every ridge of him caressed my hand. "Hmm, you wanna draw it out? Feel every ounce of pleasure as you possibly can before you come?"

He didn't answer so much as he let out a loud, whiny breath that sounded very much like a broken, "A-hh."

"I'm clean... On birth control, too... So what do you say we trade this hand in for something a little more... wet..."

Spencer grabbed my underwear then, pulling at the fabric and bucking his hips again. Taking it as a good sign, I adjusted myself so that I could slide them to the side and hover above him. Meanwhile I pecked at his lips and he did the same, meeting me with urgency and anticipation.

And when the head of his dick finally came in contact with my pussy, he threw his head back and exhaled, exposing his neck and the front of his chest, which was lightly glossed over with sweat already. The only source of light in the car came from the neon bar lights and one single streetlight outside, which gave us this dark, aesthetic lighting that only made what we were doing even hotter.

I sank slowly onto him, letting out the longest sigh of my life until he bottomed out in me. "You doin' alright, Doctor?" I asked, pulling his shirt open some more to get a better view of his skin.

He sat his head up a bit and looked at me, breathlessness in his eyes. "F—Fantastic. You f—eel so good..."

I ground my hips in slow circles, nodding down at him with a wicked grin. "Feeling's mutual, babe... You stretch me out so good... It's like we're a perfect match."

The moment I started lifting myself only to sit back down, Spencer shut his eyes, his hands roaming my ass and my thighs as I rode him. It looked like he was concentrating on lasting, and I was going to tell him not to worry about it, but then he opened his eyes and started to speak.

"Will, um... Will you be m—mean to me? Please?"

I halted my movements for a moment, taking in what he just said, but then it came to me immediately. And my discovery turned me on way more than I would have liked to admit.

So I grinned and circled my hips again, leaning forward to practically crawl up the front of his body. My hands tangled in his hair as I studied his face, which was ridden with worry and maybe regret at what he'd just confessed. But I kept circling my hips all the same, clenching myself around him as I spoke against his lips.

"Ohhh, did hearing me insult those guys in the bar turn you on?" I drawled, gently pecking his lips.

"Uh huh," he breathed in response.

I smiled, rocking my hips a little faster and feeling him start to relax again— The worries he had about his desires faded into nothing as I gave into them, feeding them with an open palm and embracing them with great pleasure. "I bet you just couldn't wait for me to take you outside and fuck you after that, huh? For me to treat you like a needy little slut..."

With every word and every quick rock of my hips, Spencer started to pick up his breathing. He leaned back completely and let me take care of him, gave me every green light, every go-ahead... I never got to be like this in bed before, and the fact that it came so naturally sparked this confidence within me that was hard to quell once it got going.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked him, picking up my pace and bouncing steadily back on his dick. "You were so desperate to get fucked, too, you couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before you gave into me... And now everyone in the bar could see us out here..."

He groaned out at that, his hands digging into the flesh of my thigh, which already burned from straddling him like this, but considering everything, a little burn never hurt anyone.

"Ohh, you like that too, huh? The thought of everyone seeing us?"

"Y—Yes... Y/N, yes... o—oh, fu..."

I took his face into my hands then, grabbing him by the chin and making him look at me. "And what about your friends, huh? What would they think if they showed up and saw their precious Doctor Reid getting fucked like the dirty little slut he is, huh?"

Even though his face was in my hands, he still managed to lean his head back with a loud groan. His hands were now sliding over to my waist, where my dress was bunched up. His nimble fingers slipped just under the fabric and explored the planes of my stomach as I continued riding him, and the feeling of it all coupled with the looks on his face and his reaction—verbal or otherwise—to my words grew the fire simmering in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn't sure how mean to him I could be anymore now, though, considering we were both so close to finishing, and the closer I got the more it became harder to focus on stringing together the perfect words.

Still, I tried the best I could, because it was his first time, and it's what he deserved.

I leaned in and kissed his neck and collarbone, simultaneously riding and grinding for extra stimulation. "You're doing so well, Doctor... Taking this pussy like a good little whore..."

Okay, so it wasn't entirely mean, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

Though, it seemed to have done the trick, because Spencer drove his hips up to meet mine, panting and whining out my name as his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me with the most desperate look. I almost fell apart right there.

"That's it, baby, take it," I cooed, leaning over and kissing him. One of his hands came out from under my dress to rub tight circles into my clit with an expert thumb, and it started to break me down immediately. "Ohhh, I'm almost there, honey, just like that... Show me what a good little slut you are, baby, c'mon... Just like... that... Ohhh..."

I kissed him hard as I shook and clenched around him, holding still as he drilled his hips upwards into me. His thumb kept up at my clit until I was whimpering into his mouth, and then he just held it there, a few grunts of his own rumbling in his chest before he stilled and filled me with his warmth. I kissed him through it, gently swallowing all his whines and sighs as he gradually came down from his high.

Immediately after we both settled, with his dick still sheathed inside of me and my hands rubbing gently over the planes of his chest as we slowly and softly made out, the unmistakable sound of raindrops hitting glass covered us on all sides.

I pulled away from Spencer with a small smile, resting my head on his shoulder and looking off to the side, out the window at the sea of cars slowly getting covered up by a multitude of rain droplets. "I hope that was okay," I whispered against his skin, willing myself closer by draping an arm over his shoulder and using my hand to twirl some of his hair around my finger.

"That was more than okay," he responded contently. His chin rested on the top of my head and I snuggled closer into him. "Thank you, Y/N... For... For everything."

"It was my pleasure, Doctor."

We sat in comfortable near-silence for a while then, letting the rain tapping gently over the car be the steady sound that grounded us and washed away everything we had until there was a clean slate.

That was the one bad thing I found about the rain. I loved it, yes, for all its cleansing properties, and as I came into the bar tonight, I looked forward to them— to clearing my head with alcohol and a walk home in the rain.

But as I laid there, breathing in every ounce of Spencer Reid, I watched the rain roll down the windows and actually dreaded the moment it would stop.

"I wish it would rain forever," I sighed wistfully, playing with one of the buttons on Spencer's shirt.

He drew patterns into my leg all the same. "How come?"

"Because... I have to walk home. And the longer it rains, the longer I can stay here with you..."

He chuckled. "That's a nice sentiment, but you know I can drive you home, right?"

"Yeah, but... I really don't want this moment to end."

He was silent then, and for a while I thought maybe he was just going to leave it be. But then his soft voice broke through the rain and cut into me like a piece of glass. "You know you're gonna be okay, right?"

I broke away and looked up at him. "How do you mean?"

He sighed, thinking before continuing. "I mean... I'm guessing it's been rough since your husband left, and... being here with me has given you some companionship and comfort, but... Even after we part ways, you're going to be alright... It's still going to feel lonely, sure, but if there's anything I know for sure after tonight, it's that you're going to get through it just fine."

My heart swelled, though it still broke all the same. "How do you know?"

Spencer smiled, bringing a hand up to gently brush the side of my face. "Because you're my fiancée and I know you better than anyone."

As I laughed at the joke, he looked back at me with sparkles in his eyes. And then minutes later, I was haphazardly cleaning myself up in his passenger seat with a wet-nap that I'd kept tucked away in my wallet while he fumbled around for his keys.

Even as I stood on my porch that night, under the rain as I watched him drive away with the lingering buzz of our final goodbye kiss on my lips, I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

And I wondered if he would ever notice or do anything about the sparkly diamond ring I left behind, sitting beside him in my place— a reminder of our time together, the comfort he provided me with, and the clean slate that always inevitably came with the rain.

***

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@elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @g0lden-cth @emilyprentisslittlewhore @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @takeyourleap-of-faith

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

Text

Bitch Fight, Ch.16 (Multi; Adorney) - Lita

Welcome to the world of Femme Fatale Wrestling. The future is female, and we're here to prove it.

A/N: In this instalment, Courtney resorts to desperate measures to recapture her world championship, Manila makes her return to Femme Fatale, and everyone is sad. Enjoy, loves! <3<3

____

CHAPTER 16: YOU'RE AN IDIOT

Courtney is mad at herself for even entertaining the idea of listening to Bill’s crap, but that hadn’t stopped her. She toys anxiously with the end of her hair - neatly curled, down to her waist. She hasn’t felt this uncomfortable with going full femme in a long time. Maybe that’s because this isn’t about wrestling - it’s selling herself out to impress a fucking man, something she’d sworn to herself years ago she was finished doing. Whatever - too late to turn back now. She shifts uneasily from one foot to the other, waiting in the wings for a good moment to intervene.

Bianca and Adore are in the ring - the non-title match a prequel to Adore’s defense at next week’s show - and so far it seems to be a lot of nothing. The crowd seems hot for Adore, which is unfortunate given that Bianca is kicking her ass; she’s had her tied up in a brutal-looking fujiwara armbar for the last few seconds. She can tell that Bea isn’t staking a lot on this match - typically a high-flier, Bianca only really bothers with mat work these days if it’s a bout of little consequence. Most of her filler matches consist mostly of rest-holds and striking; only pulling out the big guns when there’s something worth fighting for on the line. Court can’t say it’s a bad strategy - work smarter, not harder.

She hasn’t said a word to Adore in nearly two weeks. She hadn’t bothered turning up to the last show - knowing she wasn’t guaranteed a place on the card and unable to face the disappointment. She’d barely switched her phone on for days now; the number of unread texts and missed calls keeps getting higher and higher, and the guilt overpowers her every time she looks. She misses her - she didn’t realize just how desperately she would miss her.

Bianca had shown up at her door on Tuesday, all but demanded a blood alcohol test, and then sat with her and tried her level best to help. Courtney wouldn’t let her. If she’d done one thing right in her entire time knowing Bianca, it was establishing that it was impossible to make her talk when she didn’t want to. She’d left after about an hour; having to content herself with the knowledge that Courtney was still alive, unable to get anything more out of her.

She feels rotten about what she’s going to do - to both of them. She couldn’t decide if telling them ahead of time would be better or worse. By the time she’d settled on better, they were already in the ring.

She doesn’t want to be here. She’s spent the last couple of weeks completely removing herself from everyone - working out in the middle of the night to guarantee the gym to herself, sleeping until four in the afternoon, barely eating or showering. She’d struggled to do anything besides sitting in silence and staring at the wall; if she had enough motivation to function, then she could just as easily drive to a bar, or the liquor store, and she couldn’t let that happen. It had been a constant fucking battle - what was the point in sticking to sobriety, keeping her job? She wasn’t getting work anyway, so why bother?

It was difficult. She wants to fucking choke Bill. She doesn’t know if he realises how badly he’s fucked her over - or if he does, and he’s doing it deliberately. Either way, she’s spent the last fortnight suffering.

She wasn’t sure if this is what he meant by doing something to make an impression, but after a week of chewing it over, this was the best thing she could come up with. If this didn’t force him to give a shit, she has no idea what will. She’s decided to forgo heels for practicality’s sake, wearing white Doc Martens and a pink sequinned cowl-neck dress - under ordinary circumstances, this was peak Courtney Act. Right now, it just felt yucky - Courtney Jenek really doesn’t want to fucking be here, and being dressed up like this is making her uncomfortable. Why did you leave your hair down, you stupid cunt? Do you really think that’s going to make a difference?

Screw it - if she spends any more time thinking about what she’s planning to do, she’s going to psych herself out. Courtney stuffs the wireless mic into her dress, picking up a metal folding chair. The steel feels cold and brutal in her hand.

The reaction she elicits from the crowd as she bolts to the ring sends a burst of unpleasant electricity down her spine - a series of audible gasps, peppered with ‘holy shit’s and ‘oh my god’s. Bianca is standing over Adore, holding her in a headlock. She doesn’t see her coming. Courtney cracks her over the back with the chair - the shot echoes through the arena. Bianca drops to her knees. Courtney can hear the air being knocked out of her lungs.

Bianca hunches over on the ground, pressing a hand into the small of her back and groaning. Courtney had put more metal behind that chair shot than she had really meant to. Bill is looking at her like he wants to fucking kill her. She can’t think about either of those things right now. She’ll apologize to Bea later - taking her out was a necessary evil, since she’d have never gotten anywhere near Adore if she was still in the game - and until she has to get through the inevitable confrontation with him backstage, Bill doesn’t exist.

With Bianca out of the way, Courtney lunges at Adore with the chair - knocking her to the ground and straddling her, pinning her down. She aims a number of - exceptionally worked - elbow strikes at her; Adore flailing and shrieking underneath her, trying to fight her off with her hands instinctively held over her face.

“Courtney, what the fuck?”

Courtney doesn’t say anything. She can’t. She punches the mat, hoping that it looks like she’d hit Adore. This really isn’t her finest work; it feels so obvious that she’s acting from pure desperation. She’s not actually hurting her - it’s fine. She can make this fine.

Courtney stands up - yanking Adore’s arm straight, and closing the chair over it. Adore’s body tenses up. Court grits her teeth. Adore is paralysed with fear - her eyes wide and unblinking; a quiet, wavering whine emitting from her.

She hadn’t anticipated exactly how much the sheer terror in Adore’s eyes would get to her. The guilt is sudden and overpowering. Is this really fucking worth it?

Courtney raises her foot over the seat of the chair. Adore whimpers, turning her face away and squeezing her eyes shut.

Bill’s rough hands grab her under the armpits before she can follow through on pillmanizing Adore, really sinking his fingers into her flesh. It hurts as he drags her away. Adore gets up to her knees, extricating herself from the chair and wrapping her arms around her body tightly. She has her back pressed up against the turnbuckles - defensive. Afraid.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bill hisses in her ear.

Courtney shoulders her way out from his grasp. Fuck, she hates this.

“Making people give a shit,” she snarls through gritted teeth as she fishes the microphone out of her dress.

She turns it on - not able to get a word in edgeways through the irate crowd. Someone has started an ‘asshole’ chant. She can’t deny that she deserves it.

“I- hey! Shut the fuck up!” She turns to the audience. That doesn’t have the desired effect at all; the booing is so loud she can feel the vibrations beneath her feet. She fixes her face into a scowl, facing Adore with all the malice she can summon. Adore stares back at her with confused, wet eyes - she looks like a wounded animal. You did this - this is your fucking fault. “Did you honestly think that you could just wander in here, take that title from me, and get away with it, Adore? Think again, sweetheart. I’ve worked too hard, for too long, for some fucking loser like you to ruin this for me.”

She pauses for a breath, her voice trembling. Bianca is on her feet now - staring a hole through her, one arm around Adore. Real emotion has trumped suspending disbelief; Courtney has never seen Bea break character in the ring like this before. Adore is shaking like a leaf. Courtney gulps.

“This business is all about paying your dues - you don’t get to show up and disrespect me like that. You don’t get to disrespect the prestige that I’ve poured eighteen months of my blood, sweat, and tears into putting on that title. You’re a fucking nobody, Adore - you’re embarrassing yourself. Face it, there’s not a single person here tonight who gives a shit about you, or that fucking fossil,” she gestures to Bianca. “None of them knew who the hell you were until a month ago, and pretty soon, they’re all gonna forget.”

“What the fuck do you want, Courtney?” Bianca scowls. She sounds equal parts furious and disappointed, and Courtney can't decide which is worse. She’s wrestled a microphone from Kelly - the ring announcer, who’s standing in the corner with a look on her face somewhere between confusion and terror. Courtney has tears in her eyes, her hands shaking.

“What do I want? I want my fucking title back,” Courtney says. “I will do whatever I have to do to take back what’s rightfully mine. I will break whatever bones I have to - I will end whoever’s career I have to. I will make you regret ever showing your face in Femme Fatale, Adore. I want you - both of you - in a triple threat match next week, for my world championship.”

******

Courtney hasn’t shown face in the locker room yet. Bianca is well past the point of giving a shit. She grits her teeth; Dela behind her, securing a bag of ice to the small of her back with plastic wrap. The welt from the chair shot is already starting to bruise.

“I’m going to kill her.”

“Don’t do that,” Dela says with a nervous laugh.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Bianca scowls, pulling her shirt down over the ice pack and tentatively sitting down.

“I’d have to fill out a shit ton of paperwork, and I don’t have the time or energy,” Dela sighs, slumping down next to her and crossing her legs. “At least wait until we’re out of the venue, that way it’s not my problem.”

“I don’t do weapons - she knows that I don’t fucking do weapons,” Bianca says pointedly. “You’re gonna let her get away with this?”

Dela doesn’t respond. She’s seemed uncomfortable ever since shit went down - meeting Bianca at the curtain and frog-marching her back to the locker room before Courtney got within range of her.

Bianca understands Court, to some degree or another. But she’d given her more than enough leniency in time gone by, and this was crossing a fucking line. None of them liked Bill; none of them agreed with his decisions - and none of them had done what she did in retaliation to the shitty hand they’d been dealt. If he’d backed her into a corner or put the stupid fucking idea in her head, which Bianca figured was more likely than not, she would at least have liked some warning first. It reeked of bad etiquette and desperation. There were other ways.

Bianca hadn’t seen her in this kind of state in a long time, but when the odds didn’t seem to be in her favor, Courtney’s first response was mutually-assured destruction. She receded into herself - not talking to anyone, doing stupid shit without thinking. In the past, ‘stupid shit’ tended to be binge-drinking, and Bianca at the very least knew that she wasn’t doing that. But hurting people has always been a component too. Usually it’s more indirect than this. She wishes she’d just talk to people, before nuking everything around her. The pull towards her - the recognition that something is wrong, and the desperate desire to help her - is only just beaten out by how absolutely fucking furious Bianca is.

Bianca shoots an uneasy glance towards Adore. She’s sitting in the corner of the room, gripping the title belt with both hands, her head bowed. She’s barely said a word since they got out of the ring. Seeing her this subdued isn’t right. That was another thing she was gonna have to have stern fucking words with Courtney about. Bianca was seasoned enough to take it - she was able to roll with the punches. Adore wasn’t. The fear in her eyes was something Bianca wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forgive.

Manila walks across the room, sitting down next to Bianca. Her return had gone over far better than anybody had expected - seeing an old favorite had drawn a decent crowd, and while her match against Valentina hadn’t been anything to write home about, the audience had seemed happy enough with the outcome as Manila took the victory with relative ease.

She’d still been walking around all night with a face like a slapped ass. Which, from what Bianca could remember, was fairly par for course with her. She’d always preferred Raja out of that partnership - she was more easygoing, and her presence tended to mellow Manila out. She wonders how Raja is doing these days; last Bianca checked, mid-divorce and still barely recovered from that fucking concussion. Poor bitch.

“Long time no see,” Bianca says, nudging Manila gently with an elbow. She’d barely spoken to anyone all night either - going through the requisite small talk when she arrived at the venue, and then barely engaging with anyone beyond that, disconnected and strained. She’d gotten changed in the bathroom.

“Hey,” she says, her face flat, before she goes on the offensive. “Dela, I’ve got questions.”

Dela looks up from her phone, her face twitching.

“Look, tonight was a little weird, I’m really sorry-“

“No shit - when exactly did Courtney go insane?” Manila raises her eyebrows. Dela’s expression shifts into a discomposed grimace.

Bianca could tell that Dela was uneasy with the notion that Manila’s first night back would have her thinking that they were still payrolling another hair-trigger lunatic. It was bad enough that the numbers in the locker room were dwindling, or that they were struggling to pull enough matches together to fill out the show - or that Bill was wandering around the place with all of his usual obnoxious, big-dick bravado. He’d still been a referee when Manila was last around, and he’d had next-to nothing to do with any of the talent on an individual basis, keeping to himself and barely speaking to any of the girls - to anyone who hadn’t been there to watch it happen, it was totally fucking nonsensical to see him in the position he was in now. Dela had seemed both nervous and incredibly embarrassed all night.

“Long story,” Bianca rolls her eyes.

“Was that a shoot? Because it definitely looked like one.”

“In the name of saving face, I’m gonna say it was a work, but I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna believe me,” Bianca leans back, sucking her teeth.

“You’re right,” Manila says bluntly.

“I know this is embarrassing - please trust me, it’s a one-off issue,” Dela says, flustered.

“Sure,” Manila rolls her eyes, folding her arms into herself. She looks uncomfortable as fuck. “Just like it was a one-off issue the last time - and then she shot on two other people before you guys eventually fucking fired her.”

Magnolia. Again. Bianca resists the urge to roll her eyes. Especially being that she was one of the two people that Magnolia had gone off-script on - she’d tried and failed to wrench Bianca’s shoulder out of its socket, and then bitten her hard enough to draw blood. Bianca had decided that the match wasn’t worth it and had walked away, getting herself counted out. Courtney was number two - she’d taken the beating and then the title. Bianca couldn’t deny that it had been a horrific situation at the time. But that was two years ago now.

But then again, Manila had been gone for two years. That entire spectacular mess had been her final, and evidently lasting, memory of the promotion. And she’d had two years to let that anger and resentment fester unresolved. Raja had got hurt, and the person responsible - alongside the person she believed allowed it to happen, in Jinkx - could never be forgiven. Bianca remembered being surprised when she learned that not only were the two of them a couple, but both were - allegedly - straight, and married to two different men. Well, Manila did a better job of keeping up the facade; Bianca had never eaten her pussy, same couldn’t be said of her tag partner.

Bianca had always known Manila to be a little closed-off and distant, especially when Raja wasn’t around, but this was a different level of it. She’d seemed gassed in the ring; like she was just going through the motions, barely there.

Bianca glances at her ring attire. She’s wearing a high-necked catsuit that really doesn’t suit her, black with a few yellow accents - the inversion of her old colour scheme. The only skin she’s showing is her arms. That’s weird too; Bea had made Manila and Raja’s gear for as long as they’d been in Femme Fatale, and she’s never known her to wrestle in anything besides shorts and bras.

“By the way, I want a word with whoever the fuck is designing your ring attire these days - you still have my number, I wouldn’t have let you go anywhere in that,” she says with a half-laugh. The tension between the three of them is uncomfortable, and apparently her brain-to-mouth filter had decided to take a momentary vacation. Manila looks furious.

“Fuck off - you try having two kids and then wrestling in a fucking crop top. I don’t want the entire world gawking at my stretch-marks, if that’s okay with you,” Manila snaps, receding into herself with her arms folded around her midsection. Bianca pulls a face, glancing at Dela for support. She looks equally uncomfortable. Fuck.

“Shit - I’m sorry, Jesus…” Bianca says, unsure of how exactly to carry herself. “Is everything okay with you?”

“I’m fine,” Manila says, her words clipped. “I just…I’ve had a crappy day.”

“Crappy how?” Dela tilts her head.

Manila huffs an impatient sigh, clearly not particularly willing to give over the specifics. Once a long enough pause is left that the tension becomes unbearable, she eventually breaks.

“The only reason we were in Tampa in the first place is because Mateo and I had WWE tryouts. He got the call in the car on the way here; they want him in the performance center ASAP. My ass got rejected.”

“Shit - I mean, join the club,” Bianca gestures between herself and Dela. “What happened? Did they tell you why they weren’t interested?”

“Too old,” Manila scowls. “And apparently I’m ‘difficult to market’.”

Bianca purses her lips. She could see straight through that - it was politically-correct shitspeak for ‘over thirty and not white’, despite Mateo also being both of those things. It was a specific flavor of crap that tended to be reserved for women. Bianca had done that whole dance before, she could more than sympathize. They’d told her more or less exactly the same thing. Even in spite of the whole ‘women’s evolution’ thing, WWE still prioritized hiring bikini models over real wrestlers. After her last rejection when she was thirty-four, she’d more or less spent three days in a pit of wine-fuelled misery - showing up to work a show was the last thing on her mind.

“At least one of you got the deal - think about the money.”

“You make a good point,” Manila nods. Dela is sitting picking at her fingernails, not looking at either of them. “I just- I’m being honest, I’m trying not to freak out right now. Since the PC is here, we’re gonna have to move again. I need somewhere to work. I’d asked for a booking because I thought I was gonna come back if I didn’t get an offer, but I’m not sure this is really the place for me any more.”

“What do you mean?” Dela frowns. “The crowd loved you - we all miss you. Jinkx told you when you left, you’re always gonna be welcome here-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Dela - don’t play dumb,” Manila’s voice turns cold. “I’ve got the girls to worry about. I can’t be taking my life in my fucking hands every time I step into your ring. If you’re still letting people go off-script, that’s not safe and I’m not comfortable with it.”

“We didn’t let her- this isn’t like Magnolia.

Manila bristles at the mention of her name. “Court is having a rough time right now, I don’t know exactly what the situation is, but…“ Dela tries to formulate a response on the fly, her face uncomfortable and tense. Manila shakes her head.

“You should know - you’re supposed to be in charge here. Where the fuck is Jinkx?”

“Don’t,” Bianca shuts that down in a fucking hurry. “This isn’t her fault - and it’s not Dela’s either.”

“Well, whoever’s fault it is, deal with it,” Manila folds her arms. “I’m sorry, but I’d thought that after what happened, something would have changed. I’m gonna go - thanks for offering to take me back and everything, but you guys need to fix this shit if you want me on board.”

Manila stands up again, walking to the other side of the room to pack her things. Dela wrings her hands, looking at the floor.

Bianca watches Adore leave the room - her face not betraying much emotion and her pack of cigarettes in her hand. She wants to follow her - wants to do something. But Adore had been reluctant to accept any support, and Bianca wasn’t great at offering it anyway. The door swings shut behind her.

Courtney still hasn’t appeared in the locker room. Bianca thinks that’s probably something she should be concerned about.

******

“I am so sorry.”

“Courtney, I- I-“ Adore can’t get her words out right. “What the fuck? I mean- I don’t understand, I didn’t-“

“I should have told you. I didn’t mean to scare you - I would never do anything to actually hurt you, I promise.” Adore’s panic triggers much of the same in Courtney. She reaches out for Adore, and feels a little sick when she flinches away from her.

They’re in the hall - Courtney has been too scared to go back to the locker room, and she’s not sure where the fuck exactly Adore is going, but she’s cornered her while she can. The gravity of the stupid stunt she just pulled is weighing heavy on her; she’d thought that maybe this would have fixed some of this for her, but if anything it’s made it all worse.

“What did I do?” Adore has her back pressed flat against the wall, clinging onto the title belt with both hands. Courtney feels like an absolute fucking monster, in the worst possible way.

“What?”

“You haven’t talked to me in forever - everything was fine, and now I…I…” Adore’s eyes are glassy. “You really scared me, Court. I thought you were gonna…”

“Bill put me in a really shitty position, I have…” Courtney pauses, her voice wavering. This is tearing her apart. “I…he wouldn’t put me on the card. He said that nobody cares - that I had to do something to make the audience give a shit, or he was- look, I need this. I need wrestling, more than you have any idea. He told me I had to- I’m sorry I never told you - I’m sorry for ignoring you, I’ve been really struggling, and I…” Courtney’s voice gets caught in her throat. “I got so scared - I’ve dealt with too much shit for it to end like this. All I gave a fuck about was making an impression on him, I didn’t wanna know what would happen if I didn’t.”

“That doesn’t- I care about you, Court. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong - I thought you hated me, and that fucking hurt.” Adore chews at her lip. “You can’t just throw that shit at me - if you’re gonna try and break my fucking arm, at least warn me first.”

“But I didn’t- I wasn’t going to-“

“I didn’t fucking know that!” Adore raises her voice, and Courtney winces. “Think about how that looked for me. I spent three years getting the shit beat out of me for real - what you did felt real, and it was fucking scary. You can’t do that shit to me. If you’re having a bad time, talk to me. I wanted to be there for you - I tried calling you like, every day.”

Courtney glances at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t- you freaked me the fuck out. I need a minute - just leave me alone,” Adore says, her voice hushed and shaky.

She walks off down the hall, the title belt dangling from one hand by the strap, dragging along the floor. Courtney feels like she’s going to cry. She’s been here before, and she hates it - her first move when she’s backed into a corner always seems to be burning her bridges.

Bill steps through the curtain, looking daggers at Courtney. She shrinks into herself, taking a couple of steps back from him instinctively. Fuck- no- she can’t do this. She doesn’t want to do this. Why did she ever think this would be a good idea?

“Get your ass to my locker room - now.”

#rpdr fanfiction #adorney #adore delano #courtney act #bianca del rio #bendelacreme #manila luzon #s6 #wrestling au #glow au #lesbian au #angst #bitch fight #femme fatale wrestling au #tw physical violence #lita

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lillian-nator · 4 years ago

Note

You want more shit? I can go all day (except for school and sleep, hm) but one day techno realises just how much trouble Tommy is getting into by hanging out with Dream and challenges him to a fight, that's how the dream and Techno duel comes about, techno wins and Dream is just like "Well, what did you want me to do?" and Techno goes "stop influencing boys younger than you or ill break your kneecaps next" - 💙

Oh shit - oh shit - oh shit

Man, Blue, you are really the mvp.

I feel as though we can understand eachother - I also need to sleep and have school in the morning lol.

Anyways, I would love to continue throwing ideas back and forth with you :)

Here it is [the scene]:

[So, for this scenario to happen, I imagine that Techno has to not know of the “Tommy being high off his ass” incident at first.

So, I picture for either Techno to sleep through Tommy’s lecture - or the more likely case (and the one I am going to write here) Tommy didn’t leave his room for the entire day after he got caught.]

When Tommy still hadn’t come out of his room at noon, Wilbur and Phil thought that Tommy was simply trying to evade punishment, but when they went to go check on him, he was still asleep. Like not even pretending to be asleep, like he was clearly out of it - and Wilbur, and Phil weren’t monsters, they would let him sleep as long as he needed.

They assumed that he would need a lot after only getting to bed at 4am, high as fuck, as well.

Tommy ended up sleeping until 6pm that Saturday (the weed incident happened on a Friday night). He only got up to puke in the bathroom and lay back down in his bed.

Techno, who had been gone for most of the day, came back and assumed Tommy was coming down with something. He went into his room, closed the door and din’t come out. Look - he loved his brother, he really did, but midterms were coming up, and he didn’t want to get sick. Besides, Wilbur being the sap he was, would totally be taking care of Tommy all day, if he was sick. He loved Wilbur really, but he could never had what him and Tommy had, Wilbur being the closest with the youngest, was over-protective at times, and a tad bit jealous of Dream, but he was a great brother really, and he was totally Tommy’s favorite, no doubt about that. He means, the two were stuck to the hip when Tommy was younger, and even now, sometimes it was like they were the same person.

So, Wilbur had been in fact taking care of Tommy. Sure, he was pissed out of his mind that his fucking 15-year-old brother came back home high as a kite, but he still cared about Tommy. Probably too much for either of their goods.

As soon as Wilbur heard Tommy get out of bed, he had been prepared to go upstairs, but when he heard Tommy vomit - he stopped. He wasn’t sure if he should help the boy or not. He knows that Tommy must have a killer headache, and probably stomachache from smoking weed on an empty stomach. So, he wasn’t sure whether or not he should let Tommy live the consequences of his actions - or if he should help ease his little brother’s pain.

Look, we’ve already discussed that Wilbur cared about Tommy too much for their own goods. SO, of course Wilbur fucking helped him.

When Wilbur got up to Tommy’s room, man was he not expecting to see Tommy in as much of a mess he was. He was still in his clothes from the night before, SapNap’s jacket hanging loosely around his arms, the multitude of blankets pulled up to his chin. There was sweat dripping down his forehead, and he looked green.

Taking a better look at him, Wilbur knew that it wasn’t the weed that made Tommy throw up - the kid had actually gotten sick from being outside without a jacket.

Wilbur was ready to throw hands with a member of the Dteam.

Anyways, the fact that Tommy was sick delayed the conversation a few days, and when it did happen - that Tuesday at 2 P.M, right after Tommy got home from school - Techno was still at the School studying for midterms.

Techno still didn’t know what was going on - but he noticed the subtle differences.

Tommy had to keep his door open when he had friends over, even with Purpled and Tubbo, practically two members of their family. Wilbur locked Tommy’s window, and when it was hot outside, Tommy had to ask Wilbur to open it. The air was tense. Techno felt like he was always walking on eggshells, and he felt as though he could physically see Tommy walk on eggshells. Tommy had started sitting with Wilbur and his friends at lunch. Tubbo obviously stayed with Tommy - really, Techno could see how glad the small boy was to spend time with his brother - but Purpled switched between Dream’s table, and Wilbur’s table almost everyday.

Tommy having to keep his door open only lasted a week and a half; Tommy was too loud, and the only kids coming over were Purpled and Tubbo (Phil completed trusted them). The window stayed shut though, and Tommy was not allowed to sit with Dream for the foreseeable future.

It was 3 weeks into Tommy’s new-found punishment when Techno had to ask Phil what was going on.

Techno sighed, “Phil, seriously, what has been up with Tommy lately. Did I miss something?”

Oh.” He had a look of confusion on his face. “Did Wilbur not tell you?”

“Did Wilbur not tell me what?” Techno scoffed, Phil could have not been more vague.

“Well, Wilbur caught Tommy come home high a couple weeks ago.” Phil threaded his hand through his short hair, he wasn't sure how Techno was gonna react.

Techno didn’t know how to react. His brother? Tommy? High? “Wait - but he was grounded a couple weeks ago?”

“I caught him sneaking back in. If Wilbur hadn’t woken up, I would’ve never known that he was high. He was good at hiding it.”

“Uh...” If Techno knew one thing, it’s that you aren’t good at hiding the fact that you are tripping balls the first time you get high. “Do you think that he had done it before?”

“I’m not sure. He said that he hadn’t. Wilbur believed him, but Wilbur would beleive anything that boy tells him. I have to trust him on it though.”

Techno mumbled, “That fucker.” And walked out.

Techno wasn’t thrilled bu the fact that his 15-year-old brother had been smoking weed.

Of course he wasn’t, it was his baby brother. Tommy was never supposed to do any of that crap. But, if Techno knew Wilbur and Phil well enough, he knew that he was getting enough punishment as it is. So he laid off him, even if Techno knew that Tommy had smoked at least one other time, he assumed he wouldn’t do it again - that part was right, however what Techno did not anticipate was to catch Tommy sneaking out again, or rather in.

It was late at night, the night before Techno’s last midterm. He wasn’t always the best at Physics. So he just decided to go over a few more equations.

Sure, it was almost 4 am, but Techno never slept anyways.

So, his head is in his hands just looking down at his Physics test book when he hears the clicks of the door being unlocked, and the kitchen being directly across the the house from the door - Techno had a crystal clear view of his brother attempting to sneak back in, from where he was at the counter.

“Hey.” Tommy stops in his tracks.

Tommy walks over to Techno, sits directly across from him at the counter, putting his keys on the table. Tommy sighs loudly.

“I will tell you anything. Please just don’t tell Wilbur and Phil.”

Techno, who actually really just wanted to know what was up with his brother, decided that he would take the deal. “Sure. You have to answer my questions though.”

Tommy let out an audible sigh. “Okay, deal. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the obvious.” He clapped his hands together. “Are you high?”

“No.” straightforward. Techno continued, “Are you drunk - did you drink?” “No.” Techno squinted his eyes, “Are you lying?”

“Do you need a fucking sobriety test? I’m not under the fucking influence.” Tommy gritted his teeth.

“Hey.” He was used to Tommy’s attitude, so he’s not sure why the hostility caught him off guard. “I’m doing you a fucking favor - I don’t need the attitude.” He smacked the blonde on the back of the head. In the process, he took a beanie off of Tommy’s head. Upon closer inspection, Techno realized that the beanie was not Wilbur’s. It was Quackity’s.

Techno started again, “Who were you out with?”

“The gang.” Tommy deadpanned.

“Who the fuck is the gang?” He was starting to get really pissed off at Tommy’s vague answers.

“I don’t know!” Tommy stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Last night it was Quackity, Karl, Tubbo, and -”

Techno sighed, “Dream.”

“Don’t cut me off. I’m giving you the fucking answers.”

“Don’t forget you’re the one in trouble here.” Techno closed his Physics book. This was gonna be a long night. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Dream asked if I wanted to meet them at the bridge, and I did. So, I went.”

“Even though you knew that you are not allowed?” Techno asked skeptically.

“That’s kind of the fucking point of sneaking out.” Tommy turned to go into his room. Techno grabbed hold of his wrist.

“Just tell me one thing, before you storm up into your room.” Tummy hummed in agreement. “How many times have you smoked weed?”

Tommy groaned; “Really? You’re still on this?”

“Just answer the damn question Tommy.” Techno growled back.

Tommy sighed, exasperated, throwing his hands in the air - also successfully freeing himself from Techno's grip. “I don’t know! 3 or 4 times - I mean it when I say, I won’t do it again.”

“I beleive you.” And he really did, although his little brother may have been sneaking around behind his back, he knew him. And Techno knew that Tommy sounded sincere. “But, you also lied about never doing it before. You also smoked weed. Here we are.”

“Whatever.” Tommy mumbled, pushing past Technoblade and stormed up to his room. What he didn’t realize is that he left his phone on the table.

Tommy’s phone buzzed - loud enough for Techno to hear it through his thoughts.

Techno shyly picked it up - look, he really didn’t want to invade Tommy’s privacy. He knew that no matter what Tommy did, he had a right to privacy away from his brothers, but, Techno couldn’t help but be curious to which of the assholes of the month was texting his brother.

It’s a text from Dream.

Dream: You dropped your student I.D. You wanna pick it up tmr night? Karl and SapNap found an abandoned mall a town over. They wanna check it out. You in - Purpled and Punz already said they were game?

Techno was about to beat the shit out of that green fucking bastard.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, nobody knew why Techno was waling down the hall with such determination.

But nobody stood in his fucking way.

As soon as he got to Dream’s locker, he saw the bastard. Standing there talking to SapNap like nothing happened last night.

Techno slammed Dream’s locker door shut, earning a wince from the tall blonde.

“What the hell dude?” Dream snarled, annoyed, and fucking too tired to deal with anyone’s shit.

“’What the hell dude?’“ Techno mocked. “Why the fuck are you helping my little brother sneak out?”

“Because he asked me too! It’s not my fault he wanted to hang out, and I’m not taking the blame for something he did.” Dream was tired of getting involved with Tommy’s brothers. He loved the kid really, but his brothers were a lot to handle.

“Tubbo, too! We both know he’s grounded.” Techno mused, hands raised to the ceiling.

Dream, swore he was never gonna get a break from this guy. "Tubbo asked too! I'm not gonna take responsibilities for their actions!"

"Then stop fucking inviting them." Techno growled.

"Look. If they want to sneak out - I'm not, not, gonna tell them when we are hanging out."

"Just stop fucking inviting them - then none of this would ever be your problem. You got it? Stop fucking around with my brothers." Techno stepped closer, pointing a finger in Dream's chest.

Dream looked at the pink-haired boy with a knowing look. He said 'brothers' - okay. So, Techno was talking about all 3 of the teens.

He dropped his head, he really didn't want to get into a fight right now, "Look, I'm sorry okay? I can promise you I won't give any of them alcohol. I can promise I won't let Tommy take a hit of Quack's joint. But, I can't promise I won't stop hanging out with them."

Techno laughed, "You don't understand do you? The point is that you let him do it in the first place."

"Do you really want to do this, right now?" At this point students had gathered around the pair. "You want to fucking fight?"

"If that will make you shut up and leave my fucking life; yeah."

Dream threw the first punch.

There isn't much to say about the fight. Techno won - but barely. Both came out with bloody noses, split knuckles, bruised ribs, bleeding lips, and tired arms.

Techno broke Dream's nose.

It was a good fight.

Most of the student body watched, 'oohing' everytime a punch was thrown. At some point, Tommy had seen the fight go down, and Karl had to hold the blonde back, from breaking up the fight himself.

"Alright," Dream admitted on the floor, tired beyond relief. "What do you want?"

Techno seethed, "I want you to stay the fuck away from my brothers." and walked away.

------------------------------------

Later, after school, when Tommy walked in on Calvin helping Techno clean himself up in the bathroom, Tommy brushed past Techno, bumping into his shoulder.

"Hey -" Techno grunted in pain.

"Good fucking luck explaining this to Phil. I'm going to Tubbo's. I won't see you later." Tommy growled, and continued walking.

#tommyinnit #wilbursoot #philza #technoblade #dream #dreamwastaken #quackity #karl jacobs #tubbo #purpled #punz #georgenotfound #sapnap #2270 words for you #hahah #k #Of Younger Brothers and Longer Nights #ybln au

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ladyonfire28 · 5 years ago

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Noémie Merlant: "I remember very well the pride I felt on the red carpet."

One year ago, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, by Céline Sciamma, won the Best Screenplay Award at the Cannes Film Festival. The actress, who gives the lines to Adèle Haenel, looks back on the events that accompanied her contribution in this sensual, feminist film, made of glances, painting and flames. To be seen this Tuesday, May 19 on Canal+

Noémie Merlant remembers precisely July 14, 2018. That day, she went to her third audition for Portrait of a Lady on Fire, the new film of Céline Sciamma, in the presence of the director. At the end of her audition, the director said, "it's for you.” “My mind was so confused that I couldn't understand what she was telling me," said Noémie Merlant laughing. “I felt both a tremendous pressure and a tremendous desire because I measured the importance of the film and the role.”

The actress, who’s now 31 years old, seen in Curiosa, Heaven Will Wait and Paper Flags was thus chosen to be Marianne in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and to play, with Adèle Haenel, two of the most beautiful film heroines of 2019, and certainly the most beautiful couple of women. Marianne, the painter in the carmine red dress who must secretly capture from memory the features of Heloise, who was promised to an arranged marriage.

In the staging of this incandescent lesbian love in the middle of the 18th century, the two actresses have irradiated the Cannes Film Festival. Contacted by phone while she was confined in her apartment in the 15th arrondissement of Paris ("in the street where I was born!") Noémie Merlant looks back on the few months that separated her from the ascent of the staircase, and the fever that gripped the Croisette after the film viewing.

"When I discovered the film, I couldn't talk. I felt dizzy from what I'd seen."

From the filming, which took place between Quiberon and la Chapelle-Gauthier, in Seine-et-Marne, Noémie Merlant keeps the memory of a special moment, suspended in time, "very cocooning. The atmosphere was very much like the one in the movie. We lived in a benevolent cocoon created by Celine Sciamma, a mixture of strong friendships that were beginning to emerge, of creation and artistic exchanges. I quickly felt a very strong sense of cohesion in the team." After seven weeks of shooting and several others of editing, Noémie Merlant discovers the result of their efforts. "I knew what we had done was going to make a great film, but when I found out, I couldn't speak, I felt dizzy from what I'd seen, what I'd participated in. A very strong sensation, which I could express later by walking down the street with Celine for a long time afterwards.”

In April, the team learns about the selection of Portrait of a Lady on Fire in competition at the Festival of Cannes, the first time for the director, who is a regular on the Croisette, after Water Lilies at Un certain regard (2007), Girlhood at La Quinzaine des Directeurs (2014) and My life as a Courgette, an animated film by Claude Barras that she co-wrote, also selected for La Quinzaine in 2016.

Looking back, Noémie Merlant realizes how "lucky" she was to be surrounded by people who knew the ins and outs of the world's biggest film festival, where all eyes would be on them. "Adèle is used to it, she was my guide. She keeps a certain distance from the event and its "big masquerade" side. If Cannes is also a place to have fun, we kept in mind why we were there. We knew what was at stake and the importance of this selection, and the fact that we were very close to each other made it easier for me to meet the Festival.”

"There was a burning feeling abroad about the film, a great expectation from the audience"

On May 19, 2019, the film crew, a magnificent band of women dressed in black or navy blue, walks the steps on the exhilarating female chorus that can be heard in one scene, composed by Celine Sciamma's lifelong friend, Para One, with Arthur Simonini. A moment of great intensity for Noémie Merlant. "I remember very well the pride I felt on the red carpet. The pride of having contributed to a film that speaks so well of love and sorority.”

At the end of the screening, the film was greeted by nearly ten minutes of applause, notably in front of Marina Foïs and Claire Denis. Noémie Merlant, her eyes filled with tears, embraces Adèle and savors this moment that will become unforgettable. "When the whole Grand Théâtre Lumière stands up and applauds, it's impressive, and I might only experience it once in my life," she whispers. Then comes the time of the party given for the film, and several hours of meetings with the press from all over the world. "Intense days. I'd never done interviews before, with a lot of small formats that tire you out before the longer meetings." The film was awarded the Screenplay Prize, a small disappointment for the director. "Céline made us come back to Cannes so we could live things together until the end. Of course, we would have liked to get more, especially in terms of directing. That's what struck me the most when I discovered the film. Its sobriety and elegance. But the trophy for the screenplay remains, of course, a very nice prize."

Portrait of a Lady on Fire was released in France four months after its screening in Cannes, and achieved an average score in theaters: it drew a little over 310,000 spectators, but was a real hit internationally, with more than 1.3 million admissions in 36 countries.

“There was something burning around the film abroad, a great expectation from the audience, seized by this love story. This film carries a different voice, and allows it to be heard. Before working with Celine Sciamma, I had never heard of "male gaze" and "female gaze". Portrait of a Lady on Fire allows these important discussions, without any violence, only as an invitation to an another point of view." The film has particularly ignited the lesbian community, which has finally been able to identify with an other imaginary, different from what is usually represented on screen.

On Adèle Haenel's speech to Mediapart in November or the last evening of the César awards, Noémie Merlant prefers not to express herself, even if she stills says that she "admires her courage", and thinks back on this evening as "a movement, a renewal, a reconstruction". Of which the actress is certainly a part.

#can't lie translator websites helped me a lot again #i tried to check and correct all the fuck up translations but i probably missed some of them #portrait of a lady on fire #portrait de la jeune fille en feu #noémie merlant #céline sciamma #noemie merlant #adele haenel #adèle haenel #cannes 2019 #sometimes i translate things #poalof interviews

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chao-lu · 3 years ago

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damb I really do be proud of myself these last three months

Academically, I’m doing surprisingly well. At the beginning of the semester I was really slacking I feel, but after sorta with dealing an emotional breakdown, it sorta got easier. I stopped smoking (again), and forced myself to just sit in the library every day after class for two hours and just study. It’s a simple habit that really should be a no-brainer, but y’know me, I just don’t think sometimes. Obviously as it would follow, my grades shot right back up. I even got an 102% on my midterm in US History, and even crazier than that, I really enjoy this class. I am really tempted to take the follow-up course just out of interest, even if it doesn’t add towards my masters degree. I can basically say the same of my other classes. I’m loving being a student again and just being in my twenties and shit.

Physically or at work, I’m doing equally as well honestly. I’m in really fucking good shape and can’t really explain that too well. I finally regained my body confidence after a solid year or so of developing a crippling self-esteem issue. That’s fun. I finally started taking photos of myself again even, which sounds stupid, but I really fucking hated being on camera this last year, but I’m happier now.

Mentally though I’m just so fucking exhausted. Besides all the general “oh im sad, depression time”, trying to balance everything out is tough. I work form 12AM-8:30AM, then I have an hour of traffic to my apartment, shower, drive for another 40 minutes to campus, etc. I’m just so damn tired. I’m doing it! I have work and school down, but I also yearn for my friends. It’s a set routine actually. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are my basketball and hangout days. Friday nights are my personal drinking nights, which I do look forward to dammit. I worked on my sobriety, I have a set routine. I don’t drink until the weekends, which is usually only Friday. I drink, play Mario Kart or some shit and knockout on the phone. As much as I yearn for a relationship right now, I just can’t fathom how I could do it. Truthfully it does weigh on me a lot, probably more than it should.

This is all basically me rambling on six shots of espresso, a red bull, and a 20-minute nap. I sound more enthusiastic through text than I do in person. It’s in my eyes, and in my voice, I’m tired. It isn’t all the work, or school, it’s the rollercoaster I’ve basically been on since late 2018. This is finally the time I can focus on myself, but all those years are finally catching up.

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curiousview-blog · 4 years ago

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In spite of, not because of: the myth of the ‘high functioning alcoholic’

For 18 weeks now, I have been sharing my writing: ‘How to stop drinking: A guide for normal people’. It’s a series in which I am sharing my reflections on living, and staying sober, in a fun, honest, down-to-earth way to show that an alcohol-free life is possible. Previous chapters can be found below on www.samwarren.net

For a long time I wore my ‘high functioning alcoholic’ badge with pride. It’s a term used in psychology and addiction sciences to refer to heavy drinkers who – as the name suggests – by and large, have functioning lives, and may even be over-achievers. I’d fall into that category for sure. My friends and I romped through our 20s and 30s being very successful, while lurching from drunken adventure to drunken dramas. During my most chaotic drinking years, I raised two teenage boys, achieved a PhD, a string of academic publications, teaching awards and research grants, which culminated in securing a tenured Professorship within five years of graduating from my doctoral studies. Finally, aged 40, I moved to a different part of the country for the first time in my life. No-one could ever accuse me of fitting the pattern of ‘the typical alcoholic’ down-and-out – crashing cars, losing jobs, shoplifting, being homeless and all the other wildly inaccurate assumptions we make about alcoholism.

The new Dr. Warren throwing her hat at graduation (2006)

Lots of my academic friends were/are heavy drinking high achievers, and if you’re reading this as someone who’s questioning their drinking choices, I have no doubt that you’ve also stacked up successes in your life while spending half your life (or more) drunk – career, family, even sports? And this is what stops us from stopping because nothing has got so bad that it gives us a sobering slap in the face. Never mind that all these achievements are marked by extreme pressure, chaos, remedial work, lies and the need to push through debilitating hangovers with violently shaking hands, and heads down toilets… We’re the high functioning gang, right? Hell, we NEED this mess to do our best!

I once got ‘accidentally’ paralytic the night before flying to Dublin to do a research interview. On the audio recording you hear me excuse myself to go to the bathroom to be sick. Later, the taxi had to pull over so I could dry retch into the gutter. High functioning? High functioning shame, more like. Another time, on the night before the first day of term, we had a lock-in at our local pub. It was a Tuesday night. I went out at 10:30pm ‘for one’ with the pool team to share their post-match sandwiches and don’t remember getting home. Somehow I managed to pour myself onto the train after 4 hours sleep max, still drunk, and take my opening class. I was more worried about the fact that I had hairy legs and was wearing a summer dress than I was about the fact that I was about to teach a class whilst intoxicated. I have SO MANY stories of conference benders, two hours sleep and throwing up minutes before I presented important work… crawling into work almost on my hands and knees to teach, or pulling all nighters to make up lost drunk time in the days and weeks before to meet my deadlines. It was addictively exciting. I told myself I loved it.

Art of Management Conference (2004) The night culminated in a tequila bar at 6am. I missed the whole of the next day’s sessions as I was so violently ill. I probably earned kudos for it.

I’m not telling you this to show off my stripes. I’m not recounting these tales as part of the glorification of getting pissed in our society. I’m telling them to myself (as well as you) because I need to remember how unbelievably shit it was. I’m telling them to counter the rosy memories I also carry with me, that in a funny old way I miss those days. It’s what I used to believe made me interesting. Wild and funny. As you’ll read in various ways in these posts, I am a person who enjoys intensity – the rush you get when you pull something off against the odds is incredibly seductive for me. Rather than standing as a clear lesson not to ever do that IDIOTIC thing again, instead my adrenalin pumps and I think FUCK YEAH!!, high five-ing myself and anyone in reaching distance. All I ever remember from that experience is ‘Ha! I can do this, no sweat… Now quick, get the beers in, my hangover is thundering in’…

I still have the same patterns in my life now I’m sober. I’m an accomplished procrastinator and replicating the same kind of frenzied deadline pushing. So its slowly dawned on me that maybe my achievements were in spite of the drink, not because of it. I need the excitement and pressure of having too much to do in a short space of time, and a big lesson from my sobriety has been to see that drink was just a tool of these behavioural traits and not the root cause. If you are the kind of person who puts everything off until it’s almost too late, taking on so much that its humanly impossible to get through your to-do list, or someone who works in erratic bursts of energy interspersed with long naps and faffing time, then you’ll still be this person when you’re not drinking too.

It’s been a while since I wrote these words and my reflex is to feel more than a little sad that over three years later this kind of procrastinating pattern is still happening in my life. Not least because I boldly wrote a post on this blog a few years ago declaring my procrastination habits were gone for good!! But maybe it’s just something about me I need to accept. I am a ‘just in time’ person, and actually I do some fucking brilliant work against the odds. And it was not alcohol that drove the great work, but me. Elizabeth Gilbert talks at length about how much she detests the ‘tortured artist’ stereotype in her book Big Magic – that somehow we have to be anguished, or behave like an utter c*nt to those around us in order for our creativity to fly. I think the idea of the high-functioning alcoholic is very similar and it’s yet another myth that ensures we continue to drink. I did great work, even though I continually put the most debilitating blocks in my own path to see how badly I could trip myself up. And what that taught me was to hurdle and swerve extremely well, I won gold in that race and it’s still paying dividends. This post is a day late because I left it to the last minute to edit. What beautiful synergy.

#alcoholism #alcohol culture #women and alcohol #academia and alcohol #heavy drinking #stop drinking #control drinking #quit alcohol #stop alcohol #addiction #high functioning alcoholic #control alcohol #women's writing #big magic #recovery

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marvelficrec · 5 years ago

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sorry if this is too specific, but could you recommend any fics where tony begins a journey to sobriety or is just beginning. preferably ones where tony hits rock bottom beforehand, or even ones where he slips up midway through. also, would prefer if they were stevetony, thanks

SteveTony + Alcoholism

Feel Whole Again - 7k

Steve turns to leave. It’s easier to talk, somehow, when he’s not looking at him. “If you need anything,” he says, “I’m just a few floors down.”

“Might regret that, Cap,” Tony says to his retreating back. “I’ve been told I’m needy.”

Steve doesn’t know who the hell said that to Tony. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t.

“It’s an honor,” he says, a little helpless, out of his depth and out of his time. “It’s an honor to be trusted with something like that, Tony.”

Token - 5k

Tony wants a drink. So he calls his sponsor.

Two Stars, One Constellation - 25k

He’s hungover, or maybe even still a little drunk, and he has no idea where the hell he is - it’s just a typical Tuesday morning for Tony Stark. Until he opens his eyes and finds himself face-to-face with Captain America, that is.

Detours in Getting to Yes - 26k

Tony is trying hard to stay sober by throwing himself into his work and leading the Avengers. At the same time, Steve moves to Brooklyn Heights in an attempt to find himself after Sharon’s death.Which means it’s a great time for the two of them to get in an argument about Stark International’s new Brooklyn facility and for Steve to realize he’s in love with Iron Man.

almeno tu nell'universo - 114k

Tony drives off.

Well, he wants to.

But he can’t.

Because.

Steve Rogers is in front of his car.

Steve fucking Rogers. Is in front of Tony’s fucking car.

All-Time Low - 12k

Tony's lost his company to Obadiah Stane. He's lost it all: his money, his friends, his Avengers team... and his sobriety. Drunk, homeless, Tony is living on the streets, and when he runs out of liquor money, he sells the only thing he has left: his body. And one day, he has the exact wrong customer.

Take a Sharp Right at the Bottom of the Bottle - 2k

“I’m off the team, right? Just say it. Please.”

ask box is closed

#alcoholism #mental illness #asks #stevetony #Steve Rogers #tony stark #stony #ansgt

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nervydamned · 5 years ago

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i don’t usually cry anymore. the medication and the crushing numbness that comes with 31 years of hard living and dead ends has created in me a cold grey stone, typically invulnerable to all but tragic movies and commercials that were obviously designed with surgical precision to ensure that at least a small portion of viewers will immediately log onto the website and purchase, like, boat insurance while crying so hard they can’t do the capcha on the first try. i used to be a dramatic cryer, responding to almost any intense emotion with deep and gusty sobs. then 2016 happened. i lost my father. my spiral into alcoholism intensified my incredible appetite for self destruction. the shame that ensued formed that grey stone like a grit of sand forms in an oyster-- slowly, slowly-- until the day i told my sister that i wasn’t sure i would ever laugh again.

so i sought treatment. fresh from admitting to my husband that i had 1) secretly relapsed and 2) repeatedly been unfaithful with some of the worst people, i put my phone number into a “need rehab?” webform. i received a call about three minutes later. scared out of my mind, i would have agreed to do basically anything to clear the dark menacing cloud of divorce. they said they had a pool! i wanted to go swimming! i wanted to be instantly forgiven for my transgressions, and rehab seemed the best way to me to demonstrate that by god, i was SERIOUS about this recovery thing! he said the only rehab i qualified for was in south bend, indiana. they would buy the ticket. could i leave tomorrow? i guess i could.

i showed up to a building that looked like a 90s middle school with a smoking porch. terrified out of my mind and drunk on the four pints of heineken i’d slammed at chili’s with a sympathetic bartender at 7am across from my boarding gate, and disoriented from the klonopin that i took almost subconsciously at any sign of emotional turmoil, i was a rag doll with button eyes. i entered, stripped, spread, and coughed. i vomited in the toilet while a girl with perfect cat-eye liner did her best to discreetly look away. i was there-- it was happening-- but WHAT was happening? all i knew was that rehab was like a shiny gold star on my behavior chart. if i did it, nobody could say i hadn’t.

rehab is the best place in the world for a vulnerable drunk. i mean it! you’ve never had more shoulders to cry on. i remember hysterically sobbing until my heaving shoulders locked up and the only sound i could make was tiny clicks from my frozen throat. i’ve never had my shoulders patted so authentically. it never occurred to me at the time that this display of raw, scream-it-to-the-heavens emotion was such a part of their daily lives as intake detox counselors that they probably could have done it in their sleep. but somehow they remained authentic.

the funniest part about the rehab was that it turned out to be run and staffed by die-hard scientologists! i guess we can get into that later.

rehab also brought out my “daddy please be proud of me” personality in full force. i joined the “peer counsel” which was essentially just in charge of taking nightly attendance and clapping for sobriety milestones. i befriended everybody, impressing them with my uniquely pretentious affectation of sarcastic intellectualism that only fools people less smart than i am. i was the queen of rehab! life was good! everyone there had forgiven me. the next step was me forgiving myself. the final step was my husband forgiving me. at the time, i still thought that was a completely realistic goal. all i can say to that, ineloquently enough, is: HAHAHAHAHAHA.

my husband came to visit me, once, on the sunday after easter. having practiced healthy communication and effective use of boundaries six hours a day for the last three weeks, i promised him that we could talk about anything he wanted in the two hours he spent with me on the grounds. he got there and shrugged his shoulders over and over again. determined to make his long drive worth the time, i enthusiastically dragged him around to meet all of my rehab friends, proudly introducing him as my husband to anyone who would listen. that day, i believed we had a chance. that night, i found out he spent half the drive home texting my phone, which was locked in a drawer in the rehab office, accusing me of ignoring him in favor of my friends and strongly implying that i was sleeping with at least one of them. this delusion continued for months after and may still fester in his brain. i just wanted him to meet the people who were helping shape my recovery. he could never see the point of that. he didn’t understand that to me, connection is such a fundamental part of who i am that i HAD to make friends there. all he saw was the potential for pain.

i nakedly vied for the approval of everyone around me to the point that my rehab friends petitioned for me to win “patient of the week” at my graduation. when i realized what they had done i was simultaneously flattered to my core and mortified. how obvious it must have been that i set this artificial award ceremony in motion?

my husband was late. he missed the whole thing. in the car ride home, i chain smoked cigarettes and listened to his music. i talked about finding my rehab friend jacob on facebook so that we could attend meetings together since he was the only one who lived close by, and he accused me of having an extramarital relationship with him. his evidence was that “i brought him up all the time!” jacob came out as gay six months after we graduated from the program. we never got a chance to be friends.

my whole family was waiting at my sister’s house to welcome me home; they were babysitting my son while my husband drove to pick me up. they were so proud! again, i felt raw and abashed. just more confirmation that everyone knew--everyone knew--everyone knew everything. my husband had made my infidelity no secret with his family, and of course i had told my mother and my sister.

being the family fuckup is like being naked under a microscope. like living your life in the invasive, creepy bodyscanner at the airport. well-wishes come with a tinge of pity; there is a frantic and all-too-apparent urge to avoid any conversation that might bring up my past transgressions. i’m used to it because i’ve been a drug addict since 2008. but coming back from rehab was the worst. there’s nothing like seeing what the future could be like-- bright, beautiful, beatific. the feeling of stepping out of a confessional booth and feeling the light on your face, reflected through the stained-glass window of the Virgin Mary and her son. but the comedown happens when you realize that the forgiveness you’ve given yourself stops with you. the crushing realization that your husband is either incapable of or unwilling to extend you the trust and forgiveness and freedom from shame that you’ve finally decided to give yourself makes you question everything.

i just don’t understand why he can’t admit that he doesn’t love me anymore. i’m glad i went to rehab. but now i know it wasn’t for him. i could give him anything in the world and i’d still be the adultress, the sly sociopath, the woman that enjoys torturing him with emotion and conflict. our relationship can’t ever work again and he won’t admit it because he’s scared to be alone. honestly, i’m starting to feel sorry for him. i know i could find some normie guy, one with an unkempt beard who makes that face-- you know that face! the nintendo switch face!-- in his twitter avi. he can quote every line from the office and he loves bar trivia, but makes sure to go to the bar and grab me a sparkling water before the beers arrive. he’s a bit boring, maybe not as smart as i am (or pretend to be), but he’s authentic, and he laughs at my jokes, and he always wants to know how my day went. he makes sure to find something thoughtful for christmas, and he sometimes goes out and gets my car detailed on the weekend because he knows how messy i am and how frantic it makes me when i have to face those messes. he has a group of friends who all like the same things he does and they hang out after work most tuesdays, but not when we have something to do at home.

but i know who i am and i know i am not fundamentally healed and i know i’d get bored and break his heart. and my husband would still be alone.

who even knows anymore? the status quo definitely has something going for it. i don’t have to apply for WIC or share a one bedroom apartment with my son or drive for Grubhub on the weekend to make sure i can afford peanut butter because that shit is expensive. we can sit, and sit, and then drift off to sleep and wake up in the same place that we were the day before. maybe i’m adapting to my husband’s sense that it’s better to just endure and stay quiet. i know that pattern because it’s how my family handled every bit of turmoil since i was a child. it’s never worked, but i guess it might someday!

this is my first blog post in 15 years. hopefully it won’t be my last.

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lakegrimstonerpg · 5 years ago

Photo

LORELAI JENNINGS is now one step closer to freedom.There is no doubt that the new Lake Grimstone will offer LORELAI the necessary tools they need to learn to master their power of CONFESSION INDUCEMENT and help them transition to the real world.

Welcome to Lake Grimstone, JADE! Thank you so much for being patient communicative with us! We really enjoyed reading about your OC and we can’t wait for you to bring her to the dash! Now that you’ve been accepted, take a look at OUR MEMBER CHECKLIST. Please send in the account within 24 hours!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME / PRONOUNS:

Jade - She/Her

AGE / TIMEZONE:

26 - GMT

ACTIVITY LEVEL:

I work monday-friday 7-3/10-5 in a very demanding job (intelligence/law enforcement) but also play netball mondays, tuesdays and thursdays so really depends on the work week - weekends are typically fine, friday evenings are my main computer night. I’d say my activity level can be between 5 & 7. I will inform you guys if I’ve had a particularly straining week and need a mini hiatus (can’t explain my job role properly but it can be mentally draining)

IN CHARACTER:

DESIRED CHARACTER: Lorelai Jennings (Lori)

FC: Nathalia Kellie

AGE: 29 years old

POWER: Confession Inducement

QUOTE: If you can be anything in this world, be honest.

BIO: Trigger Warnings: Suicidal tendencies, Drug & Alcohol Abuse

Lorelai was born and raised in New York City, to parents who were completely different in their personalities: a surgeon and a Broadway wannabe. At the age of seven, there was little that could stop Lori from discovering the truth behind the disappearance of her chocolate from the cupboard. It was this that drove Lorelai to discover her natural ability to encourage a confession from suspected people. Her brother, Jakob was the main target of her confession inducement, since it was usually he that stole her toys and chocolate bars. However, when she was twelve and her brother disappeared, nothing she could do could bring him back. Her parents, Joshua and Roberta, were distraught by this traumatic experience, and it tore them apart. It was at this moment when Lorelai became determined to protect people - whether it be her family or random strangers. She would watch out their apartment window, watching paramedics, police officers and firefighters zoom along the streets below, hoping one day to join them and help alongside.

Six months after Jakob’s disappearance, the Jennings family split - Lori remaining with her father, while her mother began to spiral into drug abuse. It wasn’t until her mothers first suicide attempt that Lori, at fifteen years old, switched households and lived with her mother, hoping to get her onto the straight and narrow. By sixteen, Lori’s ability had manifested and adapted, finally understanding that she was the one enticing people to confess their secrets, and she was able to make sure she knew when her mother was about to spiral again. She would coax the confession that she had the urges to use, and instantly jump into action and make sure her mother stayed on the straight road to sobriety. She also used her ability to help around the city, and she quickly formed friendships with other mind manipulators - though she seemed unable to entice them to confess any of their secrets. Maybe their mind was blocking hers.

At eighteen, being a carer/watcher for her mother wasn’t her intended plan. She always wanted to find her brother, understand his disappearance and who/what took him. So when the opportunity came up for her to join the police academy, she didn’t falter in accepting. Even within the police she found ways of getting people to spill the beans when they had done something worth convicting them of. Her ability to get a confession from suspects meant her caseload was forever at the minimum and she ranked to Detective within 5 years - one of the quickest known. Five years later, a stranger arrived at her apartment door, showing her what she truly was, and gave her an amazing choice. Join a community of people just like her, help people who were in need and potentially- with the help of the other people there- find her brother. It was with this, she joined the Guard, taking her police work with her and using all the skills learnt to protect the people of Lake Grimstone.

PERSONALITY:

Lorelai is the definition of energy. From the moment you meet her, she has an infectious personality that can brighten up any room. Her laughter is enticing, and she is always trying to make someone laugh. Though her jokes can be pretty ‘dad’, she doesn’t fail to cheer someone up. Many people thought that her brother’s disappearance would dampen her mood, but when she speaks about him she remembers all the positives he brought to her life - and the positivity that one day she will find him, or find out what happened to him.

POSITIVES: Energetic, bubbly, active.

NEGATIVES: Overly determined, relentless when tasked with something, overbearing.

#grimstoneaccepted #accepted

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hurtcomfortetc · 6 years ago

Note

I was thinking the apocalypse timeline, if that's okay! :) and omg thank you for sending me your fic, I'm so amped to read it!

Original Prompt - vaguely--

“since you’re looking for TUA prompts” how about Klaus with pneumonia? the others keep joking about how he needs to quite smoking and shit (and telling him to stop whining when he says he’s not good to go with them on some kind of wild adventure”

Okay, so this was a fun one to write! Hope this was in the realm of what you were looking for! :)

MONDAY(28 days sober)

Klauscan hear the distant sound of glass shattering and what might be abookshelf falling down. The sound surprises him, and he sits up soabruptly that he gives himself a head rush, and a splash of watersluices over onto the tile floor. He sits there, listening for yellsof anguish or gunfire. All he hears for the next minute is the faintcongestion in his breath.

“Vanya-it's okay – look we don't have to stop for today-”

Adoor slams.

Klausrelaxes.

Heslides his head back under water and goes back to wondering if thisis the normal congestion he's had on and off since his cocaine phasein 2012, or if he's just getting sick.

Thenhe starts craving cocaine again.

Hedebates, for the hundredth time maybe, if Sober Klaus still smokesweed.

“Klaus,you better not have fallen asleep in there!”

TUESDAY(29 days sober)

Klauscreaks open his eyes to a blinding light and a grating voice comingfrom the other side of his door. His eyes manage to come to a focuson his clock. 1:30. Klaus is faintly pleased. It's much easier tostay sober when you're unconscious for most of the day. And he's soclose to actually deserving that thirty day chip.

Thebanging doesn't stop.

“Klaus!It's your turn with Five and Vanya today – please get your ass downhere so he'll get off my ass?” Diego calls, and continues bangingon the door.

Fiveis relentless, Klaus muses. He proceeds to remain unmoving on hisbed.

“Yougonna keep moping in here forever?” Ben asks from somewhere in thecorning of the room.

Klauslets out a loud groan that he draws out for almost twenty seconds.Ben covers his ears after ten, but Klaus has to stop and let out ashort cough before he can make it to a grand finale. Gross.

“Seriously?”Ben asks. Klaus peels himself off his bed and does a quick smell testof his underarms.

“Shhhh-I need to focus on finding a clean shirt so I can go make sure Vanyadoesn't end up murdering my second least favorite brother,” Klaussays. His voice comes out rough. Ben, for his part, looks appeased.

WEDNESDAY(30 days sober)

It'sbeen a good day. He completed an entire arm wrestling match with atangible Ben (turns out that that in death Ben must have somehowdeveloped killer bicep muscles, but no one needs to know how thatparticular match ended) and, invigorated by his sobriety milestone,Klaus dragged himself out of bed before noon and made eggs foreveryone (they burned remarkably quickly, but Allison did eat a pieceof toast he buttered so overall a win).

Butnow it's almost dinner time, and all he can do is lay bonelessly onthe couch and listen to his siblings bicker over one of Luther's“mandatory debriefs.”

“Theday of the apocalypse is over, can't we all stop treating Vanya likea ticking time bomb?” Allison demands.

“Yousaw what she almost did to Diego a couple of days ago, we can't stopworking on this,” Luther fires back.

“Guys,I'm right here, can you just stop,” Vanya adds. There's an awkwardsilence.

“Istill don't know if the math is right, everyone. Look, the best guessis to keep trying at -”

Therest of the conversation is lost to Klaus, who feels something inhimself snap. He hastily lights a cigarette. His siblings cyclicalnonsense arguments give him a craving for nicotine that simply willnot be ignored. He takes a long drag and then feels something catchnauseatingly in the back of his throat. He sits up and coughs untilsomething slimy seems to dislodge.

Hegoes to try another inhale when he sees that everyone is looking athim. He thumps his chest for dramatic effect.

“Smokingkills, kids,” he announces, and waves a finger at his siblings,accosting. Diego rolls his eyes.

“Keepthat up and you're gonna get an iron lung before you're forty,”Diego says.

“Andwhat a thrill that would be,” Klaus retorts. The bickering carrieson after that, and he spends the rest of it tuning out his siblingsand attempting valiantly not to cough.

Hedrags his way out of the room during a longer pause. In the doorway,Allison grabs his arm and slaps something into his palm. It lookslike a bandaid, and Klaus' brain cannot produce what it is.

“Nicotinepatch. I thought you were cleaning up. It might help,” Allisonsays.

“I'llhave to change my shirt. This beige will clash hideously,” Klausreplies.

“Iordered Chinese for tonight– come down later?” Allison asks himas he continues out.

Hethrows a grateful wave behind him.

Hespends the rest of the night alternately chain smoking and hackinguntil his chest is sore.

THURSDAY(31 days sober)

Today,Klaus starts to wonder distantly if there is something wrong with hisimmune system. This cold just doesn't want to go away.

It'sa nice distraction, he supposes.

FRIDAY(32 days sober)

Klaushas just completed almost entirely turning over his room in order tofind the one sketch pad that he'd stashed away years ago. He used toget high and doodle bats and shit during his goth phase. “Get ahobby” was something they tell you a lot in rehab.

Ithelps that, honestly, Klaus has no energy to do anything but scribbleabsently today. The mere act of searching through his closet justleft him with a racing heart and feeling out of breath. It isactually nice, in a way. The lethargy makes it very easy to settleinto a blanket puddle on the floor with and feel content to scratchout nonsense pictures with a pencil.

Benisn't anywhere to be seen for some reason, and Klaus actually feelslonely.

Ashadow appears looming over him. He looks up to see Five leaning inhis doorway.

“Getup. We're going on a field trip,” Five announces.

“Pass,”Klaus groans.

“Notasking. What, you'd rather laze around here all day?”

Klausdraws his blanket closer around him by way of answer.

Fivegrits his teeth and looks away. His foot is honest-to-god tapping.

“Getup. We need your help. We're gonna let Vanya loose today, and we needall hands on deck,” Five finally explains. Klaus sits up and giveshim an incredulous look.

“DidVanya okay this?” He asks. Five looks at Klaus like he's a cat thathe's trying to coax out of a bush.

“Ofcourse.” Klaus wonders why he bothered asking, his answer trulydoesn't inspire confidence.

“Andhow do you expect me to be of any use?” Klaus asks. On any otherday, he would bask in any remote bit of confidence in his ability,but today the concept of standing up for more than a minute is makinghim dizzy.

“Iseem to recall that you can summon Ben's ghost from the dead, amongothers. Dead people are great collateral if something goes sideways,”Five says.

“Um,great idea, but here's the thing – I can't -ahem- get it up all thetime. Apparently it's more common among mediums than you might think– one in ten!” Klaus says, praying that Five will drop it. Fivelooks at him like he's contemplating murder.

“Look,do you want me to get Luther to come persuade you?” Five threatens.

Klausraises his hands in surrender.

“Uncle,uncle! Christ, let's just get this over with,” he sighs. On the wayout, he grabs his most obnoxious faux fur jacket, partially as a lamegesture of rebellion and partially because he's utterly freezing.

“That'sthe spirit,” Five mutters, and leads the way.

----------

Fiveglanced into the rearview mirror of the car. With Luther crammed intothe passenger seat the atmosphere already feels oppressive enough,but a glimpse into the backseat reveals Vanya nervously perched inthe middle seat, Diego sitting cross-armed and surly on the right,and Klaus completely passed out on the left. The car is packed andradiating nervous energy.

Five eases the car down the bumpy dirt path, the final sign that theyare clear away from civilization. That creep Leonard really had theright idea about a remote cabin in the woods. Plenty of isolation andtrees to practice on. So lacking in human contact is this particularcabin that the unkept foliage lining the path creeps towards theroad, untamed and leaning. The cabin itself is barely a thread awayfrom losing any structural integrity. The windows have maybe threeunbroken panes of glass between them. It's perfect.

Fivebrakes violently, and winces when Klaus' forehead makes a audiblewhack on the window as he smacks himself out of his nap. Not the mostgraceful awakening, but effective. He wants everyone alert.

“Alrighteverybody. Follow me,” he says. He steps out of the car and towardsthe back of the cabin, where he has prepared a paper target on a treeabout fifty feet from the small clearing. It's visible, but wellsurrounded by other trees.

“Diego,wanna demo?” Five asks. Diego furrows his brow, but never turns upan opportunity to throw something sharp. He takes one look at themark and pegs the center ring with a hasty flick of his wrist.

“Doyou expect me to do that? That's not exactly in my wheelhouse, Five,”says Vanya, squinting at the target and looking like she'd rather beanywhere than here.

Fivetakes a handful of loose bullets out of his pocket, and places themon a tree stump.

“Woah,”interjects Luther, “we're not expecting Vanya to have to shootpeople-”

“Ofcourse not,” Five grits out. He expected this, but it doesn't makeit any less tiresome. “This is just an exercise in precision andcontrol.” Vanya looks at him, wary, but she picks up one of thelittle silver ovals and turns it around in her fingertips.

---

Ittakes the better part of an hour before Vanya manages to drill a holedirectly into the target. It's a bit left of center, but by thatpoint, Diego and Luther have finally relaxed an inch of tension outof their shoulders. Vanya is a quick study, and actually pulls asmile when the little tap of the bullet making contact sounds throughthe forest.

Klaus,for his part, has been lounging like the Queen of Sheba on a softpile of pine needles. His eyes seem out of focus, but he claps whenVanya succeeds.

“Whooooo,you show that tree who's boss,” he calls. Vanya smiles again. Fivewonders if Klaus might have been more of a liability than anything,considering how spacey he seems for all his apparent sobriety, but ifanything it makes Vanya more relaxed when he yells out some stupidline of encouragement than if it had just been Tweedledee andTweedledum trading constipated looks and flinching every time a twigsnapped.

Fiveis contemplating dragging one more round out of Vanya when Klaus sitsup suddenly at attention.

“Woah,Vanya that's kind of creepy,” Klaus says, looking at something inthe distance. Five walks over to Klaus as he stands up, clearlyalarmed. There are goosebumps running down his arms.

“Whatare you talking about, Klaus?” Five asks, quietly. He doesn't wanta scene.

“Theway she's moving the branches of the trees like that. They're gettingall twisty. I mean it's tasteful but definitely a touch odd, wouldn'tyou say?” Five doesn't know why he looks over to see what Klaus istalking about, but he does. There isn't so much as a light breezerustling the branches.

Suddenly,Five realizes what must be going on and he's furious.

“Jesus,Klaus what are you playing at? Whatever you're tripping on is notworth risking this entire training session,” Five spits. Diegoperks up at that.

“Ithought you were going sober, man,” he says, looking at themsearchingly. Klaus, pale and sweating, does not look like thatbenchmark for clean living.

Klausdoesn't seem to notice, and continues looking at the forest, eyesfollowing something unseen.

“Unbelievable,”Five turns away, taking ten paces and breathing through his nose.

“Klaus,it's okay – I'm not doing anything,” Vanya says. She walkshesitantly towards Klaus, eyes wide and sympathetic.

“Leaveit, Vanya,” Luther cautions. Vanya reaches out a hand on Klaus'sforearm, to try to get his attention. Klaus clears his throatthickly, and coughs a bit into his fist.

“Don'tworry, Vanya- I like it, very pretty,” he says. Vanya's eyes widen.

“Guys,his skin's on fire,” she says. “Klaus, are you okay?” Shereaches a hand up his cheek, which is also burning. He doesn'tanswer, just shivers convulsively.

“Couldit be an overdose?” Luther strides over to them. Diego stiffens.

“Doesn'tseem like it to me,” Diego says. “Doesn't present the way itusually does with whatever garbage he's on.” Five's mind feelsblank.

“I'llstart the car. We have to get him out of here,” he says.

“Ithink he's just sick,” Vanya says. “He's been sounding reallyrough all week, hasn't he?”

“Shit,”says Diego. He moves to pull gently at Klaus' arm to lead him to thecar. Five takes the lead and starts for the front of the cabin.

“Wow,you can make the ground all spinny. That's a cool trick,” Klaustells Vanya. At that, Diego loops one of Klaus's arms around hisshoulder, and they start to haltingly follow after Five.

“Let'sgo, Klaus,” he says. As they make a shaky path towards the car,Five throws the passenger door open for them to slide in. They do,and it's now imminently obvious just how out of it Klaus is. Hemanages to maneuver into the passenger seat shakily, and immediatelyburies his head in his hands.

Fivewastes no time turning on the ignition and sloppily reversing thecar. He narrowly avoids bottoming out in a muddy patch. The car digsout and he slams on the acceleration as quickly as the dirt path willallow.

“Doesanyone have any water or anything?” Luther asks, and Five isdecently impressed that it's actually not a bad idea. There isrustling from the backseat as they all turn over the car searchingfor any provisions that will last them the entire ride back towardscivilization.

“Here,”Vanya finds a water bottle strewn somewhere beneath the seatcushions.

“That'sfor you,” Diego passes it to Klaus, who removes one eye from behindhis hand to look at it like it's a bomb. “I swear to god, Klaus,just take it,” Diego warns. Klaus extends a shaking hand andaccepts it. He takes a tentative sip, and then grimaces. That setshim off, coughing deeply. For each second he continues seeminglyhacking up a lung, Five's foot presses deeper into the acceleration.When he finally stops, Five meets eyes with Diego in the rearviewmirror. Diego looks panicked, and that's not a look Five is used toseeing.

“Jesus,Klaus, where's that stupid ass coat of yours?” Diego asks. “You'reshaking like a leaf.”

“Igrabbed it,” says Vanya.

“Wait-maybe we should try to keep him cool? Right?” Luther interjects.

“Idon't know- do I look like I went to fucking medical school?” Diegoasks, shooting a murderous look at Luther.

“Damn,how long has he been like this sick?” Luther asks no one inparticular.

“Ugh,right here,” Klaus says, breathlessly. “You should ask Ben, he'dknow.”

Diegothrows up his hands.

“Helpful!”

Suddenly,the car lights up a bright blue and Ben appears crammed betweenLuther and Five, crouched awkwardly on the dashboard.

Five,thrown for a loop, swerves the wheel and almost careens off the road.

“Woah-Five, get it together!” Luther calls. Ben grabs the wheel and pullsthem back on into their lane just in time to avoid hitting a tree.

“Nice,thanks,” Five breaths.

“Ben,”Luther said, dumbstruck.

“Toanswer your question, he's been out of it for a couple of days. Ithink that's why he couldn't see me anymore,” Ben says. Lutherseems unable to process the information, his mouth still gaping open.Ben rolls his eyes.

“I'mjust saying, please can you find some kind of medical professional?Like, ASAP?”

“Nooooo,”Klaus murmers through his hands.

“Klaus,”say Five, Luther and Diego almost simultaneously, all in some variouscombination of desperate frustration and warning.

Vanyareaches over and put a hand on his knee.

“Ithink what they mean is that it's not a debate. You're going to see adoctor.”

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desertdaddypsp · 6 years ago

Text

What Community Means to Me

"You won't understand the unabashed power of a community until you're a part of one."

- Unknown

I'm an only child. I grew up without brothers and sisters and, therefore, matured in an adult world. When my parents had parties, I wasn't expected to hide in my bedroom. I was encouraged to join in and talk with all of my parents' friends. For that reason, I don't think I ever truly learned to be a kid. I functioned as a mini-adult in an adult world.

Teasing was part and parcel of my friends' lives who had siblings. They could fight like hell, calling each other terrible names and pointing out every raw part of their personalities...and then be the best of friends in the next heartbeat. I couldn't do that.

In the street, playing stickball, they would make fun of the way each other batted or threw a ball. They would cuss and call names of anyone who made a bad play. To them, it was normal. That kind of behavior was simply a part of growing up. But, not for me.

When they would make fun of me (just like the made fun of everyone!), it devastated me and I usually ran home. It was easier to just be alone.

Community? I didn't really grow up in one. No siblings. No church or social organizations. A short stint on a softball team until I couldn't stand the criticism any longer. I just had no real experience with what a community was or what it could do for a person.

That's changed.

I have become involved in two communities over the last few years. In September of 2017, I became the Administrative Assistant to the pastor of an LGBTQ church in Palm Springs, California. I had no desire to join the church nor did I want to attend services. Oh, I go to church on occasion. Pride Sunday. Christmas Eve. Easter. I mainly went because I loved the music. The idea of being a part of a community, however, never really sunk in. I was an employee and that was it.

Then, in February of 2018 I started using crystal meth. It was very slow at first but by the end of that first year, I was high from Thursday after work until the wee hours of Sunday morning. Just enough time (I thought!) to sober up before work on Tuesday afternoon.

One Thursday night in March of 2019, I really tied one on with a friend. After it was over, I looked at him and said, "I can't do this anymore. This is gonna kill me!" The next morning I called a guy that I knew was a sponsor in AA (and Crystal Meth Anonymous) and told him that I needed help. By 8:30 that morning, I was sitting in my first meeting.

My experience with community had begun.

After two years of working for an LGBTQ church and 107 days of sobriety, the importance of being a part of a community began to develop in me. I truly felt that in order for me to be successful in the 12-Steps and sobriety, I had to cling to that community. After all, who else was going to understand just how powerfully insidious Tina can be? Who else would understand the intense sexual high and resulting behavior? Who else but another addict could possibly understand the agony of the "crash" after using for days on end.

No one...that's who.

And the worst part was knowing that "normies" who had never experienced meth or any addiction, for that matter, had no interest in my problem. So, out of necessity and in order to survive, I learned to cling to my sobering-up community.

I learned to reach out when I was tempted to use. I called my sponsor or friends in the program. I went to daily meetings and held hands with other addicts as we recited the Serenity Prayer. I started my first service commitment as the greeter at the 7 am meeting every Sunday. I reached out to newcomers and handed out my business card to those in need of support just like others had done for me in my newly burgeoning sobriety.

At times, I felt negativity toward the group, those damned meetings, and for people who didn't treat me the way I wanted to be treated. I got through it., though. I resolved to keep my ass in the chair and work out my problems because I wasn't there for them. I was there for ME!

Or so I thought.

I had 107 days of being sober. I never made it to 108. I used. One Sunday night I just didn't care. I knew that I could have reached out to my sponsor or to my friends. I knew that they could and would talk me down. I didn't want that. I wanted to use...and I did. Heavily.

The next day, I was an emotional and physical mess. A friend of mine picked me up and took me to the 7 am meeting. When asked if there was anyone in the room who wanted to take a chip for 24 hours (or more accurately, if there was anyone who had less than 30 days of sobriety), I kept my mouth shut. I was too ashamed to admit to a room of my fellows that I had gone out.

The next day, I reached out to my sponsor who help me through it. He lovingly kicked my ass. Larry doesn't put up with any of my bullshit! He asked me if I took a 24-hour chip at yesterday's 7 am meeting. I told him that I hadn't and he wanted to know why.

"I was too ashamed!" I told him.

"Tomorrow, you take that chip," he said. "You need to let the group know what happened...that you relapsed...so that they can support you and love you through it!" That was the beginning of my understanding of what my 12-Step community was all about.

The next day, I tearfully told the group that I had used. I let them know how ashamed I was and how strung out I was feeling. I couldn't think. I had trouble talking and my body was wracked with twitching and the grinding of my teeth like never before.

In that anguish, and because I had the courage to fess up to what I had done, I felt a rush of support and acceptance. As my sponsor pointed out, "Some people never have relapse as a part of their sobriety. Now, you do."

The people in the rooms surrounded me with love. After all, most of them had relapsed many times before I had and they knew exactly what I was going through. They reached out to me, hugging me and assuring me that if I worked the program, things would get better because they would be there for me!

Community.

After about 11 days of sobriety, a friend came up from San Diego to spend the weekend. He's a normie...never had any problems with drugs or alcohol. He knows everything and he loves me anyway. He attended my 8:30 am meeting with me as my support person. Afterwards, we attended the church for which I work.

I had missed a week of work because I was "sick". The love and concern that I found as I walked through those doors amazed me! But, it wasn't just the attention that I was getting because of their sympathy for my illness, it was something more...something much more important. And, I began to realize it as the service started.

These people loved me. Even though I didn't attend church often, I had contact with most of them during the week. Emails and phone calls and the occasional personal visit to the office. These people knew me and (for some reason that my co-dependent self has trouble accepting!), they loved me. But what began to sink in was that inspite of myself, I loved them, too!

I knew people in the congregation who had recently lost loved ones. I knew several who had spouses that were gravely ill. And, it bothered me when I saw that a woman that I knew well (but didn't see often), had a sling on her arm. When I asked what happened she told me that she had had rotator cuff surgery. It bothered me that I hadn't been told by anyone that she had the surgery. I would have sent her a get-well card.

I see names all the time in my job because I deal with records. Many times, I know names but not faces. That morning, I met 5 people, face-to-face for the first time. It was so wonderful to be able to put a face to that name I had only seen in my records.

Over and over again, I was reminded how they loved me and had missed me during my absence. They expressed their concern for me and I was overwhelmed. I had tears rolling down my cheeks during most of the service.

What caused the tears? Yes, the outpouring of love and concern was heady, but that wasn't the reason for my tears. My tears were a recognition that I mattered to them and, more importantly, they mattered to me! For the first time, I realized that (whether I knew it or not!) I was a part of their community.

12-Steps. Crystal meth addicts. Alcoholics. And, churchgoers. This is my community. They love me, but more importantly is...I LOVE THEM.

My life is changing.

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1800pizzagirl · 6 years ago

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Vanderpump Rules, Season 7, Recap #19

Has anyone thought about James “Puppy Pawrty” flyer circulating in last week’s episode of Vanderpump Rules? Why was there a little dogs behind them? Why did they both look like the movie poster from Step Brothers? Who is James looking at? How are Raquel’s teeth so white? Honestly, I feel like this is the only thing worth thinking about because this week’s episode of Vanderpump Rules was a drag.

The episode starts where our royal highness, Giggy, graces us with his presence over a medley of couscous and rose at SUR. Lisa asks Katie if she can host her ladie’s night every Tuesday, but Katie is not a club promoter and thinks it’s too much work. This is how they’re going to work James back into “See You Next Tuesday”.

I’d like to think that Tom serenades Ariana with a “dick flute” on a daily basis as she sits quietly being cooled by their 15-year-old AC unit. Unfortunately, I think it was just to show off his mad “dick flute” skills to DJ Jamie Kennedy for his next single. During this visit, James gets upset, he storms off but he’s not done, he comes back in only to start crying, like the lonely, insecure boy that he is.

At this point, Stassi wasn’t done writing her book but she clipped in her hair extensions and slurped approximately a gallon’s worth of a latte so that she could get the shot for her book. Beau and Katie take the time to talk about Stassi’s “dark passenger” as she most likely spent 30 minutes peeing out that gallon’s worth of latte.

Jax and Brittany have gone to therapy twice this season. It doesn’t seem like they go outside of filming days and it’s weird and uncomfortable to see how much control Jax has over Brittany. He talks over her, at her, and pretends that it’s news to him that she would still have trust issues. He even said that cheating on her made her a better person. WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE DOES THAT??? Oh, right, Jax Taylor.

After a teary dinner, new BFF’s Ariana and Kristen, go over to some club to watch Lala perform her new songs. Randall is not at Lala’s performance, but he provided the coin the pay for her wool suit and Tito’s vodka.

James and Raquel’s “puppy pawrty” was as weird as that flyer. A major takeaway from this event was that Raquel’s mom thought Peter was attractive, which is about damn time that someone appreciates him.

Before Lala admitted that she had a drinking problem outside of SUR, she made sure to let us know that she is still having the runs from Mexico. I hope that sobriety brings her the peace that she needs to be happy and that her BM’s are solid.

For some reason, Tom Schwartz thought it would be a funny idea to get $50,000 to show that he is serious to Lisa after his first check bounced. I thought that it was pretty hilarious that he was trying to pee while having the case full of cash handcuffed to his wrist. I also thought that it was pretty funny to see Ken bust out laughing when he opened the suitcase. Ken only does two things, sleeps and yells at Kyle. I think this is the most active and happy that I have ever seen him in the last 10 years that I’ve bee watching Lisa Vanderpump.

In an effort to get rid of her “dark passenger”, Katie and Stassi visit an oracle to perform a demon-ridding ritual. While Stassi did not like to have Kristen sageing her at the “lizard brain” party, she let the oracle do this to her, because she really means to get rid of this demon. You can see how years of trauma and bad behavior has shaped Stassi’s “dark passenger” and I hope that as trivial as it seems to have an oracle push out a demon, that it helps her tame her anger.

Anyway, I think this episode was pretty boring so I apologize if it’s brief and sloppier than usual. I just didn’t have it in me today. Until next week, XOXO my five faithful readers.

#vanderpump rules #vanderpump rules season 7 #pop culture #reality tv #recap

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ithinkthereforiamfandom · 6 years ago

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The 29th of January

(@kitten-kin Thank you for Your help, I hope this lives up to it. 2K)

It was the 29th of January and a Tuesday, John Hated Tuesdays. There was a camaraderie to Miserable Mondays, Wednesday was the midpoint, the point of no return on route to the weekend, Thursday had the weekend within sight and none of Friday’s get-me-out-of-here anxiety, who didn’t like Fridays! Tuesday’s only saving grace was that it wasn’t Monday. John’s mind rambled horribly since he'd got back so he took it for regular walks letting the monotony of his new step, step-thump, step, step-thump cadence calm his mind. Two more days... Thursday, he’d always liked a Thursday and he could start an early weekend as a dead man.

Day 29, he would be getting a pointless 30day chip tomorrow at his NA meeting which he would have to attend or Mycroft would cut him off again and Mummy would be notified. He had confirmed his attendance with his brother, so much for anonymous, and was headed to Bart’s where Molly had some tests he was permitted to assist with. The set up would be long and tedious but he would swing past the morgue before he hit the lab and run his posthumous hematoma experiment first.

John was almost out of the park, he’d done two laps today hoping it would help but now he just wanted to be home. “John" He heard a voice say his name but it was a common enough name. “John Watson” Definitely calling him now so he halted and turned to see a man approaching. Civilian, out of shape, familiar. “Mike, Mike Stamford" Yes, Mike from “We were at Bart's together" Mike from Bart's, he should be happy to see Mike from Bart’s but he just couldn’t be. The conversation drizzled onto coffee and he zoned out for a while remembering when he had a future in medicine, when he had a future but then Mike brought him back from his growled responses with “You’re the second person to say that to me today”... Was there someone else in London like him?

Sherlock was on fire, definitely having an up day as he ran the last of slides under the microscope and definitely green pigment, Molly would bring him coffee shortly and he had just cracked that cold case though the morgue results would be needed to confirm. He grabbed a pipette as the door opened because people were less inclined to question his presence when he was busy but it was just Mike who strolled in with some dull friend of his from the good old days. Mike might have a phone though so he can text Lestrade and avoid going all the way to the Yard.

John had an unobtrusive look around as someone was busy in the lab while Mike gave him a tour. It all looked so different now and he would have had to catch up on so many new things, field medicine was archaic but there was comfort in its simplicity. This was the other him apparently and John didn’t look twice until the man spoke and asked Mike for his phone. The voice was deep and cultured but long lines in a tailored suit impressed him as he handed over his phone. Mike really thought this man would share a flat with him.

Sherlock was caught off guard when the man, John, offered his mobile. Sherlock observed this new person and information flooded his mind as he took the phone. Stance, Tan, Grooming, Stick but standing. He gave the device in his hands a quick once over. Clearly the invalided war hero disagreed with his addict brother, but this might work well as John would motivate his sobriety and a doctor could be handy though the flatness in his eyes... He would need to keep John alive if he was going to help Sherlock with the work. Just had to confirm his deductions first, then get moved in! Mrs Hudson couldn’t complain about a doctor And an army veteran as his flatmate! John was perfect.

He was a nightmare, what was Mike thinking... John had been floored by Sherlock’s deductions and stood stumped as Sherlock whirled out the lab in a flurry of information, riding crops, and finally an address... did he just wink?! Shifting his weight John followed Mike out again and headed home; to his dull bedsit, his breakfast apple for dinner, his laptop, and his gun. He looked around the boring beige walls and realised he was smiling, Sherlock was not dull. A bit not good as his mum would say but definitely not dull. John decided he would grab this coincidental lifeline, Baker street, tomorrow. If it all went horribly he could always change his mind.

The damn chip weighed a ton in his pocket, John didn’t know he was in NA and he had no idea how he would react. The taxi pulled up just in time and Mrs Hudson was there to greet them, the woman was a saint and John seemed pleased with everything except, A Mess, yes by military standards the place was a mess and if he wanted a military man to cohabitate he would have to adjust. John settled into the wingback with his back to the entrances... He was either already very comfortable here or his self-preservation and combat instincts were history. A case came up so John would have time to get himself settled. Then again the limp, John didn't run anymore so maybe that’s what he needed, for his body to override his mind and that would be one less thing plaguing him.

Trouble, John could do trouble. He thought that the bullet had taken that away and while it might not be the army or a foreign country trouble at home was the same so he raced through dark side streets after an insane man to catch a murderer. After his very polite rebuff and his walking stick in storage the days blurred at Sherlock’s side until it was almost all over, Again. John had witnessed men die, as their medic and their captain he had held it as his duty to stay with his men if they were dying but his gun was in his hand before he knew it. He would not loose another man, not tonight and not Sherlock who had saved him; cured him, given him purpose, and his life back! He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and squeezed on the exhale.

Sherlock sat on the tail of the ambulance and ignored his shaking hands, the bullet must have passed within inches from him but Lestrade still wanted answers. He explained who the shooter was and scanned the darkness for suspects until his eyes found John standing at ease between two cars and everything lit up in his mind. He could see John, the military crack shot who had put a bullet passed his shoulder and into a man’s heart without a twitch... or Sherlock himself would be injured or dead. John, who he had to protect now so he brushed Lestrade off and breezed past his brother before they made their escape, his extraordinary John.

*12 months later*

The damn bloodhound was only good at finding the trouble John growled to himself as he stitched, he'd managed to catch most of the trouble himself but Sherlock still had a concussion and now John was a Veterinarian as he stitched up a thin slice in the dog's side. He still remembers the day Sherlock brought him home. “Calcutta. Wait, you liked The Perishers so you’re naming your tracker after a dog with no sense of smell.” They had both laughing and the dog seemed to join in but now the dog just whined slightly as John stitched up shaved skin. “Poor beast, we'll have you back to himself soon, almost done boy" The dog was enormously loyal to Sherlock and John was grateful but he had eight stitches himself and didn’t want to consider what may have happened had he not been there.

*6 months later*

Sherlock came come from a week in Belarus where an idiot had killed his girlfriend and would shortly be hanged, never to pass on his unfortunate genetics. He found two sleeping veterans in his lounge as John lay on the couch and a gorgeous German Shepard lay on the floor beside him. He set about making tea loudly enough to wake John, as he filled the kettle he remembered the discussion of a few months ago. “I can take care of myself and what if he bullies Calcutta?!” Sherlock hadn’t liked the idea of some aggressive beast harrying his faithful hound. “He will not bully Calcutta, they are all team players and Pax was attached to my unit for a while. You need protection Sherlock, someone there when I can’t be" Captain Watson had been very firm about it and Pax, silly name for war dog, was clearly settled in. Calcutta watched him from the lounge but Pax now stood in the door way actively observing the way John did all the time too. “I see I have another Veteran in the house now” Sherlock quipped to John as Pax's tail brushed his legs, his escort saw him safely to the couch then curled at John’s feet while John yawned and scrubbed his face. “I’ve trained him to your scent my LovelyLove if I’m not around he’ll stick to you like glue.

*On the next 29th of January”

“I thought Pax was retired” Sherlock was brushing distinctive guard hairs off his beloved Belstaff for the thousandth time. “Pax has retired Sherlock, into your employ just like me" John kissed his sulking sweetie. “My employees never listen to me!” Sherlock had taken to carrying a clothes brush in his coat and had been frustrated but very impressed when John had barked a command and Pax had bolted Sherlock’s side and taken their assailant to the ground in seconds. John had explained that Pax knew Sherlock was to be protected but the orders came from John. When the doorbell rang Sherlock started up from absentmindly scratching Pax's scarred ears. “That'll be Brom" John smirked, he would never buy Sherlock’s claim that his “badger hound" could investigate small spaces for them. “Dushunds are very cute Love!” John called after rapid footsteps. “Anton Chekhov would agree with you" Sherlock quipped back “But Brom will work just as hard and Pax or Callie" The dushund snoozed in Sherlock’s arms and John had to smile at the smitten look on Sherlock’s face, working or not Brom was clearly home to stay.

*6 months later*

John and Sherlock sat in the lounge with their small pack, Mrs Hudson had come up for tea and her enormous black poodle had stayed with the mob all piled together before the fire. “Sherlock” John sounded stunned and Sherlock's eyes snapped to his. “The Queen has a pregnant Corgi and we’ve been offered a pup from the litter” Sherlock rose to study the message. “John, can we? A Pembroke Welsh Corgi is much more interesting than a Knighthood!” John looked into sparking eyes. “I didn’t think we could refuse and I would never refuse you Love. We'll send our acceptance and our thanks, the litter is due in a few months, quite an honour I’m sure"

*The next 29th of January *

The corgi was an adorable creature which they had almost lost to Mrs Hudson on first sight. The little one slept on Calcutta most evenings and Royal gifts come with health plans so they need never worry about medical expenses for the pup, Rose, so named for her reddish patches was quickly a feature on everyone’s laps and when they took the pack for a walk though the park in the evenings she rode in Sherlock’s pocket until she couldn’t fit anymore. They made a sight, John felt, the mix match of dogs only emphasised the mismatch of himself and Sherlock but his family was perfect, all four legs and fur.

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god-damn-demetria · 7 years ago

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Demi Lovato’s Overdose

Okay, first of all I wanna say that I don’t know what happened last Tuesday. We all don’t know what happened exactly, and all I’m going to say in this post is MY OPINION and is all PURE SPECULATION. I could be right, I could be completely wrong. All I know is that all the hate and the media, that's probably mostly false, are annoying and it fucks me up that it even goes this far.

So, let’s get into it all. What are the “facts” we have so far?

1. Last Tuesday, June 24th, Demi was found unconscious in her house in LA. As far as we know, Demi was found at around noon and she was alone. Apparently, she was out celebrating her dancer Dani Vitale’s birthday (I’ll get to her and the other dancers later) the night before (which we do have this video off as the only evidence) and then headed home and had a party at her house as well.

2. At first, TMZ reported that Demi overdosed on heroin, which was later reported to be false. What substance was found in her blood is unclear at this moment. Apparently, paramedics gave her narcan when they arrived and took her to the hospital. At this point, all we know is that she’s still there and dealing with her withdrawal.

3. Later that day, after hours of worrying and being scared it was reported from her rep that she’s awake, stable and responsive.

4. It’s been reported that the last few months or weeks (we don’t know the real timeline here) Demi has been struggling with her addiction again and relapsed on various occasions.

Here is what I think about this all:

When this tour started, she seemed to be in a fantastic place. She was happy, bubbly, celebrated her sixth year of sobriety and nothing pointed towards a possible downward spiral, at least not at the time. The only thing that, looking back on it now, probably should’ve concerned some people is her sudden break with CAST Center and everyone involved (especially Mike, because he’s literally been with her every day during the American leg of the TMYLM Tour), her manager Phil and two of her absolute best friends, Marissa Callahan and Nick Jonas. But even then everyone, myself included, thought that there must’ve been a reason for it and it wasn’t really our place to judge because we didn’t know what happened. It was just weird that she suddenly cut off four people at once. Even her tweets seemed to tell us a story that no one really got. It was shady and messy. But hey, I just thought that whatever happened between her and those people probably hurt, and we all know that she is impulsive and stubborn. It wouldn’t be the first stubborn, shady tweet she’d send out. I was a little worried at that point because I knew how much these four people meant to her and I just thought ��Oh my god, what if she got hurt really bad?” But again…it wasn’t really our place to judge, was it?

Another thing that probably should’ve concerned a few people was the fact that she went to Coachella. I mean, yes…she was good with going to parties and staying sober and clean, but Coachella is a whole other level. That’s not the right place for a recovering addict. But I tried to stay positive and told myself “Hey, she’s strong. She just celebrated her six years of sobriety. She can handle it.”…that was until she released “Sober” and I immediately thought that it must’ve been the whole Coachella thing that fucked everything up, combined with a few wrong people surrounding her. But we all know Demi, and we know how good she is at putting on a smile and not letting people know what’s happening in her life. I saw her live in concert in June, and she was just the Demi we all love and adore. Nothing seemed off. Even though, according to some posts and reports, she must’ve already been back to using drugs and drinking.

In “Sober” she sounds vulnerable, ashamed and embarrassed about relapsing, and in her lyrics, she promised to get help. I was positive about it. I never judged her for her relapse, and I never will. It’s part of recovery. She’s human like everyone else, and humans make mistakes. Sometimes, they can’t help but to make them when there’s that little guy called “addiction” sitting in the corner of their brains. In recovery, he’s constantly whispering to you that you need a drink/drug and that it’ll make you feel better and it won’t hurt anybody. Nobody will notice. Usually, he’s not loud enough, but then there comes a point in your life when everything else around you is quiet and all of a sudden he sees his chance and starts shouting all these things at you as loud as he can. And in order to make him stop, you give in. You do what he tells you to do so he finally shuts up.

Let’s move on, though…After “Sober” I hoped she’d be okay. I never saw the overdose coming. I would’ve never thought we’d get to this point where we almost lost her forever. Knowing that breaks my heart just as much as it breaks yours. But all if this doesn’t take away her six years of staying sober, clean and healthy. That’s a fucking accomplishment and nobody can take that away from her!

So…let me get into all the bullshit that’s been going around on Twitter. Let me start with Mike Bayer:

Mike was her life coach for how many years? Ever since she left Timberline Knolls, as far as I know. He was always an incredible person, never said a bad word about her and in Simply Complicated, he told us about what happened with Demi when she first lost control. And he also told us another thing: “The most important thing to Demi is losing people. It’s losing people that care about her and that love her.” Doesn’t that sound like that’s exactly what happened this time around? You gotta keep in mind that this overdose is a whole other level. Her first struggles weren’t as server as this one. So, what if all Mike (and Phil, Marissa and Nick) wanted to do is help her, but she blocked him? What if she didn’t think her problems were as bad as they apparently are and didn’t accept his help? What if she pushed him away because she was annoyed with his constant attempts to help? So Mike did what he had to do and stepped back. I have to admit, I wasn’t fair to him during that time. I was kind of mad at him, especially after that article came out saying she was fired from CAST because she relapsed and that contract she apparently signed or whatever that was…Looking back at all of this now, it was probably all to help her.

Let’s move on…Next on the list is Phil McIntyre:

He was Demi’s manager her whole career. He was the one who saw that Demi was special and had a God given talent, he stood by her side through her first breakdown and still continued to see her potential. I’m not gonna comment on his ability as a manager, because I literally don’t know shit about management, and neither do you, but I still see posts on Twitter constantly bashing him and calling him a bad manager. Do you all forget that he literally helped the Jonas Brothers becoming one of the most successful bands in the late 2000s? And you know what? Let him be a bad manager, I don’t give a fuck…but at least he is a really great human being who cares about his clients more than he cares about money and fame and success. Imagine if Demi would’ve had a different manager, one that pushes his clients so hard to make the most amount of money. One that doesn’t care much about his clients' well-being…one who pushes them so hard that all they can do to cope with the pressure is drink or do drugs…would you really want Demi to be managed by someone like that? At the vulnerable state that she’s constantly in? I don’t think so. Phil apparently staged an intervention, which might’ve been the breaking point in his and Demi’s relationship. So she “fired” him and Lauren Einbinder took over.

Next please…oh yes, Marissa Callahan:

Where do I start with Marissa? Her and Demi have been the absolute best friends for years. They shared some of the same struggles when it comes to mental health issues and Marissa has always been by her side. To me, the two of them were always friendship goals. I personally don’t think Marissa was ever a bad influence to Demi. When Demi started drinking, they were both young and stupid, so we can’t really blame her for anything. There are many teenagers who introduce their friends to alcohol. That doesn’t necessarily mean that these friends will end up becoming addicts. But with Demi, it was a little different. The underlying, undiagnosed mental health issue was part of the reason she developed this addiction, and neither her parents, nor her best friend Marissa could've possible seen the outcome of an early alcohol consume. So, please stop blaming Demi’s addiction on her. If it wasn’t her who introduced her to alcohol, Demi would've eventually gotten in contact with it another way. That’s what happens with teenagers. Okay, so…their friendship was one of the strongest I’ve ever seen. Just earlier this year, they were on vacation together for…how long was that…14 days? It was a long vacation and they seemed to have such a good time. And suddenly, about two or three months later, Demi unfollows her, posts shady tweets and when asked about her best friends, she just names Sirah and Matthew. Usually, Marissa would’ve been on top of that list as well. So, the fact that Marissa probably stepped away as well shows how server Demi’s drug use must’ve been. Just like Mike, Phil and Nick, Marissa wasn't enabling it. And who wants to watch their best friend destroy themselves? No one. Since all attempts to help Demi obviously didn’t work, Marissa stepped away, probably for her own mental health as well.

Now my favorite…Nick Jonas:

You know why he’s my favorite? That dude knows what he’s doing…and it worked the first time. Just at the end of 2017, Demi and Nick were at such an incredible place in their friendship. They were recording each other’s performances on each other’s phones, flew home in the same private jet…just a few weeks before that, Demi basically admitted to having some sorts of feelings for him in two of her songs. In an interview, she said that the person she wrote these songs about loved them and told her he wrote songs about her as well. I’m not saying this because I ship them a lot, but they were slowly heading towards something much stronger than friendship. I personally think that if all of this wouldn’t have happened, instead of getting the report of Demi overdosing, we would’ve gotten some kind of romance update on them. So how come that a friendship as strong and powerful as theirs suddenly ends with her unfollowing him on all social media? Listen to this interview at 7.15min. Nick basically explains it all. He stepped away to save himself from a possible heartbreak that he would’ve suffered if he would’ve kept watching her going down that spiral. And it’s not like he didn’t try. He also once said that the first time she was struggling, he tried to talk to her, but she cut him off. Just like she did again now. I hate to see people tweeting that he’s the reason she relapsed, or that he’s a bad guy in all of this. Just like Marissa, he probably just didn’t wanna witness his best friend ruining herself. I’ve been there, too. I’ve had friends struggling with mental health issues, and in order to keep my sanity, I had to step back at a certain point. So don’t judge him!

Now that I touched on Mike, Phil, Marissa and Nick, let’s get to the messy part…the one where everyone blames her dancers and even members of her family:

I wanna start with Dianna. People are really sending her hate and blame her, when all she was probably doing the past week was being worried as fuck about her daughter? Like…do you even realize how fucked up that this? This woman almost lost her child. She was almost at a point where, instead of planning which treatment center is best for her, she had to plan a funeral. Give her a fucking break! I’m not saying that everything was right in their family, but I think people tend to forget that Dianna herself struggles with mental health issues. So maybe she didn’t even see the depth of the problem. Maybe she couldn’t quite understand how server the whole situation was. And guess what, guys? Maybe she even tried to do something…but Demi is a 25-year-old, grown ass woman. And an addict. And stubborn as fuck. Do you really think she would’ve listened to her mother? Besides that, she’s manipulative. What if she told her mom that everything is okay? She can be super convincing, so what if Dianna believed her? It’s incredibly rude to assume Dianna had something to do with all of this. She is a mother. And from what I’ve seen the past few years that I’ve been following this family, she’s a great one. She loves her daughters.

And now…the part you’ve all probably been waiting for: Demi’s dancer

I honestly don’t even know where to start. Do I start at the American leg of the TMYLM tour? Or do I jump right into the European leg? Do I compare this tour with others that didn’t have dancers? I should probably do all of that. So…I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: The Future Now Tour was and always will be the best tour Demi has ever put together. Why? Well, not only did she travel through America with her best friend, but she was also surrounded by people who really, really cared about her. She had an incredible team, her best friend and she was the happiest I’ve ever seen her. She was free. Whenever they had a day off, they’d so some fun things…things that didn’t necessarily trigger her. And did you guys notice something? There were no dancers. In my opinion, she never needed dancers. Demi’s talent doesn’t need some extra special effects. She could play a two hours show with just her piano and a guitar, and people would still be fascinated by her.

But…I liked the dancers. There were fun, and from what I’ve seen on Instagram, they all had an incredible time. Everyone seemed so genuinely nice and funny and Demi seemed to love them as well. But what did they do when they had a day off? They were partying. And sometimes, Demi joined them. Like I said earlier in this post, there was a time where Demi could easily be part of a party and not care at all. She would drink her red bull and that’s it, but this year was different. She relapsed, and was surrounded by people who consumed alcohol. I’m not saying they caused it, or that they are to blame for it, but Demi was no longer at a place where she could be around that. Could they have done something about it? Maybe, but maybe they didn’t even realize what was going on before it was too late. That being said, let’s focus a little on two of the dancers that have been on top of the “let’s blame people for Demi’s overdose” list the past few days. And these people are Jackie and Dani. Now, Jackie fucked up. I’m sure all of you have seen the video of her doing coke on her Instagram. That’s pretty messy and I definitely don’t agree with what she did. And I seriously hope that she didn’t do it around Demi. While that could’ve been a triggering point for her, it still doesn’t mean that we can blame Jackie for Demi’s overdose.

Now Dani…I’m really conflicted at this point. I love Dani. I’ve met her. I’ve talked to her and what she said to us, how she treated us and what she then offered us was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced or expected from someone. She was one of the nicest, kindest and most humble people I have ever met in my life. She was so patient with us and really, really genuine. She’s always been getting hate, for ridiculous shit like being responsible for Jojo to leave the tour. People even said that she kicked her off and took her place…like bitch, they were literally both on that tour in America. Nobody took anyone’s place here. So I was already like “Damn, she doesn’t deserve that. She’s so fucking nice.”. So when I saw that everyone was now attacking her for causing Demi’s overdose, I was like “Okay, hold the fuck on…” Here’s what we know: Demi was at Dani’s birthday party. That alone is nothing to be extremely worried about. Like…Demi going to her friend’s birthday party? How fucking normal from her. Damn, Demi. And we all didn’t know how server her drug use was at this point. And guess what? Maybe Dani didn’t know either? Just like Demi’s family might not haven know just how bad it really was? We don’t know what happened at the party. We didn’t see any videos or pictures of her drinking with Dani. What if she didn’t do any of that while Dani was around?

Okay, let’s continue…Even though it was Dani’s birthday party, and Demi reportedly continued partying at her house with some people, that doesn’t mean Dani was there as well because for all we know, the party at Demi’s house had nothing to do with her birthday anymore. So…let’s say she was no longer there…how can you blame her for the overdose? How can you blame anyone who was there for the overdose? The only plausible explanation about when Demi overdose is the next morning, a little while before she was found. At that point, I’m 100% sure nobody else was at the house anymore. Didn’t someone say Demi was alone when it happened? Okay, it was probably one of these oh so reliable sources, but it makes the most sense to me. Like…yes, there were probably people enabling the drug use, but I can’t imagine anyone really letting someone overdose and possibly die. So nobody left her alone. Nobody just “watched” her overdose. She was alone, I don’t think it was her intention to overdose and she was lucky someone found her in time. If she would’ve overdosed that night…and then someone found her around noon…as hard as it is to hear, but then she wouldn’t be with us anymore. So stop blaming Dani. And stop reading too much into her statement.

I could say a lot more things…about the guys she’s been seen with (you know…when everyone thought she was out with G-Eazy?) for example. Or Dilmer, which I’m not gonna get into because those of you who follow me know how I feel about them as a couple. But this is already long enough. Like I said, I don’t blame anyone.

I’m gonna say this once and for all: THE ONLY ONE TO BLAME FOR DEMI’S OVERDOSE IS HER FUCKING ADDICTION! None of the people she’s been surrounding herself with forced her to do anything. She did that all on her own, because her addiction got stronger. Remember that little guy I told you about earlier? Yeah, he was yelling like a motherfucker!

#demi lovato #nick jonas #phil mcintyre #mike bayer #dani vitale

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