#tw: narcotics anonymous

[jessthebaker]

With Sticks and String: Part 2

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Many thanks to @saradika-graphics for her wonderful dividers. @bitchwitch1981 for helping me get started, @missredherring @march-flowerr @hypnotisedfireflies @ameerawrites for their invaluable help unmixing my metaphors. Huge shoutout to @goodwithcheese for her fic Staystitch, the fic that lodged itself in my brain and started this all. Go read it, it's amazing.

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?”

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader. Reader has no distinguishing characteristics, other than being actively sober and an avid yarn crafter. It's you, love.

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter note: it’s coming into autumn now in my part of the world, my favourite time of year for cosy evenings on the couch with my love, wrapped in warm woolly goodness to keep the chill off of us. Please enjoy Dieter and his love, being crafty and cosy and woolly together.

It’s a cool evening and the home you share with Dieter is chilly. You’ve only just lit the fireplace for the night, and it hasn’t had time to fully warm the room yet. Dieter sets the vintage record player to start playing while you get the hot chocolates ready. Soon the soft croons of Billie Holiday’s voice fill the room as you carefully carry your mugs over to the couch and divide them between his end table and yours. Extra marshmallows for Dieter’s, like always, and extra cocoa powder for yours.

Dieter is already settled on his end of the couch, digging around in his basket of wips for something to work on tonight. You let a deep sigh escape your lungs as you sink into your end of the couch. It’s been a long week and you’re ready to relax and lose yourself in the quiet of your evening with Dieter.

Dieter emerges triumphantly from his cavernous project basket with something in hand – a beanie, you guess, from the look of it. His hair is more disheveled than usual and his oversized cardigan (your favourite) is askew as a result of him hanging practically upside down in the basket to find what he was looking for. You giggle at his rumpled appearance. “Come on,” he juts his chin up at you, “what have you got tonight? Whatcha gonna work on?”

You think for a moment. You have a few items in progress stuffed into your basket: a crocheted blanket, a few pairs of fingerless mitts that you knit on here and there for the local winter donation drive. A cabled beanie, a ribbed scarf. “I don’t know. My brain is tired tonight. Maybe the blanket? It’s nice and mindless.”

“That could work. You only have a few more rows of that stripe before the next one starts, right?”

“Yeah, I’m nearly to the end of the blue so I might just finish that off and then put it away again for a little bit.”

You pull out the blanket that’s been slowly growing over the last year and a half and sit with your back to the arm of the couch. You scooch to get the blanket situated over your lap and legs until you’re comfortable with it. Dieter stretches out so his feet are touching your crossed legs, and you’re both covered by the blanket. You feel his toes stretching and flexing as he idly fidgets them against your knees.

The room quietens as you and Dieter settle into your projects. The sound of his needles clacking and the log on the fire popping are the only sounds for a time, apart from the quiet music and the occasional hiss of liquid and a swallow as one of you slurps your drink.

The quiet is broken every now and then with a sound effect. Periodically you hear a puzzled grunt from Dee, then an “ah” of realisation as he figures out the issue.

A thought idly rolls around in your mind, and you give it voice. “Your five years is coming up this year. Did you have anything special you want to do for it?”

Dieter is coming up to 5 years sober this year. Over that time, you have worked through your addiction recovery together, both through the support system of Narcotics Anonymous and your respective sponsors. Your connection has grown from platonic friendship to a true relationship. Dieter is a romantic at heart. You adore the way he has thrown himself into building your life together, the same way he throws himself into every other project: wholeheartedly and with nothing held back. For your part, you were smitten that first day when he finally gathered the courage to ask you about your crocheting.

You’ve developed a tradition of gifting each other something handmade for your respective milestones every year. His five years is a big deal for him, as you well know.

Dieter hums as he ponders the question, his hands pausing briefly as he considers. “Can you knit me a sweater? You haven’t done that yet.”

This is the first time you’ve ever hesitated to answer, and he clocks you straight away.

“What is it? What did I say?”

“No, it – it’s nothing, really, I just -” You try to laugh it off. But he knows you better than that. He pushes, gently.

You take a breath. This isn’t a conversation you had really expected to have tonight, but of course you should have. Sweaters feel like the natural progression of his crafting journey, of course he would be interested in that next.

“Dee, this is going to sound crazy-”

“Sweetheart, have you met me? Just spit it out, I won’t laugh.”

“Have you ever heard of the sweater curse?”

A brief silence. His eyes flicker with interest, and he leans forward across the couch, elbows resting on his thighs as he takes your hands in his. “Okay, now that you’ve said it, you HAVE to tell me more. What is the sweater curse?”

You huff a breath, blow a lock of your hair out of your face, shuffle your knees a little. “Okay, it sounds stupid. But. There’s a superstition for knitters and crocheters that says if you make a sweater for the person you’re dating, the relationship is doomed to break up. Sometimes before you even finish making the sweater. I know we’ve been together for a while, Dee, I don’t- I can’t- I don’t want-”

He surprises you by swooping you up into an embrace, stopping your words with his mouth on yours. You melt into his broad body and let him kiss your fear into submission.

When he lets you down to breathe, he twinkles his eyes at you and grins so widely his dimple pops.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m not going anywhere, honey.” His coffee-smooth baritone is a soothing rumble in your ears.

His expression turns serious then. “Look, I know we’ve talked about it a little bit, neither of us want to be married or anything, and we’re both fine with that. I want to be with you for my entire life anyway. I want us to be for a lifetime, not just this moment. So. How do we get around this curse? Can we break it? Is there an anti-curse we can do? Anti-hex thing? Double-block-fuck-the-sweater jinx?”

You give a shaky laugh and settle yourself in closer to him. You lean into his shoulder and he obliges by putting an arm around you and pulling you in tight. (You might also use his lapel to surreptitiously wipe a couple of tears away, but he doesn't need to know that.)

“Um, okay, okay. I mean, um, yes. I want that too. I love you too. I want to be with you for my lifetime too. I haven’t thought much but I’m sure there’s witchy stuff online about breaking curses. Why don’t we look it up somewhere?”

Dee carefully sets his knitting aside and pulls his laptop out from its spot under his end table. After a minute to let it wake up, he types “how to break the sweater curse” into the search bar. You lean in to look at the screen with him. You peruse the titles and URLs of the search results together, skipping over the ones that just show images of sweaters and magic wands, until you see one that looks suitable. “Hey, click on that one.”

HOW TO BREAK A MAGIC CURSE

Breaking a curse requires the intention and focus of the curse-breaker. Sometimes a ritual is also required. There are multiple ways to lift a curse, but it depends on the nature of the curse and the person who cast it. Whether you’re dealing with a long-term hex or a recently cast spell, the following rituals can help cleanse away the unwanted energy and restore your peace of mind.

Dieter reads down the Buzzfeed-like-list. “Blah blah blah...mirror reversal...cleansing bath...protective crystal grid…ooh,” He bookmarks the whole page so he can come back to this later. He likes his crystals.

“Oh, here we go, knot magic! That looks relevant. Here, read it -”

You read together:

Knot magic is a form of folk magic that uses the symbolic binding and unbinding of knots to control energy. This method involves tying and then untying knots to release the curse and its hold on you.+

“Knots sound like yarn, this could work, maybe that’s it?”

You shrug, you know as much as he does in this area. “Let’s keep looking – keep this tab open and see what else came up in the search.”

You find an unlikely help in the comments of an old Reddit thread:

Knot magic is about setting an intention and then using a knot to 'seal it' or put it out in the world. …But knot magic doesn't have to be knots. It could be something as simple as a braid. ….Also, knot magic can be knitting and crocheting. I have knitted a divination mat for myself. While I was knitting it, I thought about the new forms of divination I wanted to try and how I wanted them to impact my practice.^

Dee sits back and gestures at the laptop screen with a gesture of well, see?

“Well, there you go, we can do that. It’s all about the intention. I intend to stay with you. I intend to stay in love with you. This curse isn’t gonna be the thing that pulls us apart.”

“I feel the same way, Dee...I only want to be with you. I don’t want anyone else.” You have an idea. “Hey, Dee, why don’t we both do it? Why don’t we knit each other a sweater and seal our intentions into them?”

His face lights up and you could swear his dimple has never been deeper, with the way he’s smiling at you. “Amazing! Let’s do it. Right now.”

And so you do. You and Dieter spend the rest of the evening looking up sweater patterns online to figure out what each of you likes, as well as what the other will enjoy knitting. You both agree that cables are a must, based on the information you’ve learned online. After some rummaging, you find your old copy of Barbara Walker’s Treasury of Knitting Patterns in Dieter’s side of the bookshelf – he all but stole it last year when he was on a lace kick – and look up her cable patterns for ideas.

Dieter thinks that the braid cables will work best because the Reddit commenter wrote that they put a braid in their hair to set a protection spell.

You like the idea of multiple braids interwoven because they remind you of actual knots. Always intertwining and crossing together, never separated or broken.

The next day you hit your local indie yarn store to find yarn that feels right. Because these are going to be special sweaters, none of the every-day workhorse yarn you normally use will do.

Dieter’s yarn finds him in the form of a gorgeous deep emerald green wool, and you spot a mohair-silk laceweight yarn that complements the green perfectly. He is enthralled at the fuzzy, goat-y nature of the mohair and he insists on getting an extra hank or three, “just in case”.

Your yarn calls to you from a basket of limited edition super soft wool in your favourite colour. You also insist on getting an extra hank or two...“just in case”.

With your purchases in hand, you start back for home. Well...first there’s a quick detour to the grocery store for a chocolate run...but THEN you head back home.

Dieter has never worked with yarn this nice before, so you teach him how to wash the hanks and let it dry in front of the fireplace, before winding it into usable balls. That evening, he happily sits at your feet with a dry hank of yarn around his outstretched hands while you wind it into a tidy ball. He can’t resist wiggling his fingers and grabbing at you. He flashes a cheeky grin as you yelp and reflexively kick at his belly before scrambling your legs back out of his reach. Now that he’s gotten that out of his system, this slow-and-steady method of yarn winding together becomes your favourite evening activity for the next week.

At last the night comes when the last hank is wound. You and Dieter find yourselves sitting amongst a dozen balls of yarn all spread out along your coffee table and couch. It’s time to knit. You look around yourselves, and look back at each other. There’s an odd tension in the air, a thrum of anticipation that you didn’t expect.

Dieter speaks first. “You ready?”

You take a breath and release it slowly. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

He gathers his yarn to his basket on his side of the couch while you gather yours to your own side. You both shift and wiggle until you’re comfortably settled into your “yarning poses”, as Dieter calls it. You both pick up your needles. Consult your patterns. Give each other a decisive nod. And start casting on your sweaters.

The room is quiet now as you both lose yourselves in your knitting. You work to keep your mind focused on your intention, as the website said. It’s surprisingly not that hard; your brain soothes into the rhythm of knit, purl, Dee, knit, purl, Dee… as you work across the rows.

Dieter sits across from you, with his eyes down on his work. Every so often, he looks up to gaze at you thoughtfully. You feel his eyes on you and glance up, and he winks and looks back down again.

Autumn deepens into winter as you knit your sweaters side by side. You pass your evenings together on the couch in comfortable silence, sometimes with music, sometimes with just the crackling of the fireplace. Every so often you each hold up your progress for the other’s inspection, and you admire your work. Dieter makes you take periodic breaks for hot chocolate, and you make him take breaks for hand stretches.

After a couple of months of knitting together, your sweater for Dieter is making good progress. You think you might have it finished for him to wear by the time his 5 year date comes up. Dieter, on the other hand, is not as fast a knitter as you are. His sweater for you probably won’t be ready until next autumn, and that’s fine with you.

The sweater itself isn’t the goal. The goal is to work through the process together and purposefully knit your commitments into the sweaters. You’re confident now that your relationship with Dieter can stand the test of time after going on this whole curse-breaking journey with him.

Over the last five years, the sticks and string of your lives have knitted your relationship into an elegant, enduring fabric. You know that no matter what mistakes you and Dieter make, it won’t be the end of the world. You can pick up those dropped stitches together and knit them back into your fabric. The string that binds you together is strong enough to withstand being frogged, re-wound, and re-knit. You’re looking forward to creating with Dieter together for the rest of your lives.

+https://witcheslore.com/bookofshadows/rituals-spell-casting/how-to-break-a-magic-curse/

^https://www.reddit.com/r/witchcraft/comments/soum44/can_anyone_explain_witch_ladders/ this is a real thread, sincere thanks to user u/poetic_faery for their informative comments. And to @bitchwitch1981 for her help in getting started.

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added, or removed. no pressure.)

@almostfoxglove @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork @grogusmum

@jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @copperhalfcent @peaches1958 @ghotifishreads

@toomanytookas @covetyou

[cicho-krw4wie]

Smacznego misiaki 🧸

[melncholicpoetry]

nose bleeds and heart aches

you shine, glistening like a diamond

the smell of diesel in the air,

taste of aerosol drips down my throat

my gums numbed it spreads throughout my face

our dance is ritual, sacrificial

romanticized in every sense.

I was superman when we touched.

it was undeniable, you were the one

you would rescue me

white lines offering protection

bliss and joy in times of despair

confidence in times of fear

in time you showed your true self

and the horrors of myself

controlling and invasive

it’s in chaos we thrive

begging for one more night

promising to make it all right.

you lied

and so did I

you got the best of me, you did

[spoonie-on-wheels86]

[rockstarlwt28]

TW: Drug Addiction Recovery / Narcotics Anonymous.

Becoming dependent on prescription medication was not the road Louis thought he would find himself on. The road to recovery is bumpy, long and winding and recovering narcotic user, Harry is there to guide him, offering himself up as a sponsor. 

--

*It’s part-written. I’m posting this summary and image to gauge whether it’s something people would wish to read. 

[whitechopstick]

Today has been a real rollercoaster in my life. Just found out that someone I've been close to has been battling addiction for the past year – a revelation that hit me like a ton of bricks. It's a tough pill to swallow when someone you care about has been keeping such a significant part of their life hidden.

So here I am, suddenly thrust into the role of caretaker, tasked with helping them get sober. No room for negotiation or opting out – just a sudden responsibility that I never saw coming. It's like being handed the manual for a job I never applied for.

The whole process is like navigating uncharted waters. Dealing with withdrawal, mood swings, and the ups and downs of recovery feels like I've become a pseudo-parent overnight. There's no handbook for this, just a constant learning curve and a lot of patience.

Days blend together in a mix of hope and frustration. Seeing the physical toll of withdrawal and enduring the emotional rollercoaster tests my patience and resolve daily. I'm essentially playing the role of both partner and caretaker – a dynamic I never thought I'd find myself in.

As the days go by, I'm forced to confront a range of emotions. Anger and disappointment lurk in the background, but I've got to shove them aside to be the support they need. It's a tricky balancing act, maintaining strength and empathy even when faced with the brunt of their mood swings.

Yet, amid the struggle, there are these small victories that keep me going. Witnessing the gradual transformation and the reemergence of the person I knew is both reassuring and heartbreaking. It's a messy, complex journey that's testing my limits, but I'm determined to see them through it.

This unexpected turn of events has taught me a lot about resilience, patience, and the intricacies of unconditional love. The scars from the past year might linger, but there's a shared triumph in overcoming this adversity that has the potential to redefine our relationship and open the door to a brighter, sober future.

[adhdmommanl]

Grief in addiction is relentless.

It hits you when you least expect it. When you’re driving out the road, a smile on your face, the sun is shining… it’s been a great day… but a song comes on and a wave of emotions hit you. Immediately you want to drown them. I don’t want to feel the pain, I don’t want to cry anymore. My whole body and soul is exhausted and drained of all energy. I just want peace. How is this my life? Crying alone in the bathroom? Having no will to do anything. No drive to wrap Christmas gifts. No Christmas spirit to fill the house with excitement and I feel like a failure as a parent because I can’t bring that Christmas magic to my house this year. My grief is too heavy. My addiction is relentless and I am completely powerless. I do not know where to turn I just know it can’t be a substance.

[lookforthelig-ht]

i went into recovery six months before turning 22, i thought my life was over, i still considered myself a child and now i'm almost four years clean and sober. i still say that was the best decision i have ever taken.

being in recovery is a gift and often i forget it. i forget the days that i just wanted to end things but i wasn't strong enough to do it. so i just used substances in hopes that they would do it for me. hoping i would OD. hoping that the suffering would end.

we do recover, we do get clean, we do get our life back and it is so fucking good.

[jessthebaker]

With Sticks and String

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?” Trust me. You’ll see.

Dieter Bravo x reader

word count: 1.7k-ish

A church basement. A large circle of uncomfortable metal folding chairs. A table at the side with hot water urns, a stack of paper cups, a basket of tea bags and instant coffee sachets. A disused pulpit at one end of the circle for someone to stand and speak.

Dieter stands in the doorway and feels the familiar deja vu. He’s been going in circles for more than a year now, the endless loop of losing control, using, rehab, enforced sobriety, falling into using again. His agent is fed up with his bullshit and finally gave him the “I may be your employee but I’m the only friend you have left, go to rehab and make it work this time or we’re done” speech.

That was two months ago, and he’s done his mandated time at the rehab facility. Now he has to find a NA meeting to attend. He’s been to every NA meeting group in the city over the last few years and never lasted long at any of them. This group is the final one left on the list of available options that gelled with his location and schedule. Not like his schedule was that full anyway.

He notices you at his first meeting and as cliché as it was, there is something different about you. You seem to have the same dark sense of humour as him, the same cheekiness in danger of being stamped out in the name of sobriety. The same marks of near-silent desperation that you can hide from everyone but other addicts. However, the strand of fuzzy yarn running up your legs to connect the pile of fabric on your lap to your bag on the floor is new to him.

After that first meeting, he keeps stealing glances at you from across the circle of chairs. He notices you always have a project in your lap during meetings, your needles clicking softly as a backdrop to the sound of other attendees telling their stories. Sometimes it’s your crochet hook flashing in the light, as your wrist twirls it effortlessly through the air. He’s more fascinated with watching you work than paying attention to the speakers. Your motions are graceful and practiced; you deftly create something out of a jumble of fuzzy string without even looking. It’s like magic to him.

After a few meetings he works up the nerve to say hello to you afterwards. Swap names over weak shitty coffee in flimsy paper cups. A few more meetings, and he sits next to you. A few more weeks, and he asks you about your project. You smirk (got another one, you think to yourself) and show him what you’re working on.

You ask him, “Do you want to have a go?”

“Uh, yeah, if you trust me not to ruin it.”

You scoff lightly. “Don’t worry about ruining anything, it’s crochet. Whatever you fuck up, I can pull back and fix. Just...play around with it.”

You show him the basic stitches, the way to maneuver the hook and where to place it, how to pull up a loop and draw it through. He’s surprised to find he likes it. He works through your row and you show him how to make a turning chain, encourage him to work back through the next row. A soft cough behind you both makes you jump. It’s the meeting leader giving you the wind-up. It’s past time to turn off the lights and lock up. Dieter is surprised to find half an hour has passed in your company.

As you start packing up your project again, you can tell he wants to say something. His eyes are a little wild, his teeth biting at his lip nervously.

“Do you think you could teach me more next week? I think I need something like this. Something to keep - keep the hands busy, you know?”

His hands are always restless, you have noticed this. He’s always fidgeting during meetings, pulling at his coat hems, fiddling with at his pant pockets or the buttons on his lapel, twiddling his earring. Right now as you both stand together, his hands are twitching at his side, making flicking motions as if ashing an invisible cigarette.

“Of course. Come early next week and I’ll show you more.” You beam indulgently at Dieter, and to him it’s as if a shaft of sunlight has put a spotlight on your face.

His face relaxes instantly and a shy half-grin emerges. You get the feeling he has a nice smile when he lets it really show. You secretly wonder if he might have a dimple. You agree on half an hour before the regular meeting time and say your goodnights.

The next week, as promised, you bring a ball of yarn and an extra crochet hook and teach him more of the basics. You get him started with a simple dishcloth project that will fit on his lap during the meeting. You don’t say anything, but you do see that he’s more relaxed with this in hand – he’s not actively working on it during the meeting itself, but he is idly stroking the yarn, turning the partial square around in his hands, rolling and folding and twisting it up. You catch his eye and glance at the wadded up square of crochet stitches in his hands. He looks down too, sees what he’s done subconciously, and gives you a sheepish grin. You wink and grin back.

After that first crochet lesson, your friendship with Dieter grows. You look forward to the weekly meetings in a different way, now. He does too. Beyond the obvious connection of being fellow addicts in recovery, he can talk to you and you don’t stare at him like he’s a nutjob. You enjoy passing down the crafts that have helped you to stay sober these past thirteen years.

And there is the attraction. That doesn't hurt.

You can’t help but stare sometimes when he’s not looking. Does he not realise how handsome he is? Maybe he does. But he doesn’t draw attention to himself that way. Over time he lets slip little details, offhand comments, that give you the impression he used to fuck around but he doesn’t anymore. It makes sense, you think. His celebrity and fame lent itself to partying and access to people as well as drugs. If he’s working this hard to stay sober from substance abuse, maybe he’s also staying away from the rest of it. You try not to let your crush get in the way of your friendship. You know he’s not supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery, anyway.

For all that, you really, really enjoy watching him work. His broad frame hunches over the project on his lap. Even the longest knitting needles always look tiny in his big hands. To say nothing of a short crochet hook, it’s practically fully hidden in his paws. His brow furrows in concentration and his tongue pokes out subconsciously when he’s trying to maneuver the hook the right way.

For Dieter’s part, he can’t help but stare when you don’t notice. Do you not know how beautiful you are? Maybe you do. But you don’t draw attention to yourself that way. Over time you let slip comments about your past that give him the impression you used to party, but you don’t anymore. It makes sense, he thinks. If you’ve worked hard to stay sober for this long, maybe you’re also staying away from relationships. He tries not to let his crush get in the way of your friendship. He knows he isn’t supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery anyway.

For all that, he really, really enjoys watching you work. Whatever you’re knitting or crocheting, you make it look effortless. During meetings you sit with your feet crossed neatly underneath you, project in your lap, hands moving deftly through the yarn. Sometimes you don’t even look down, you just move without having to see what your needle or hook is doing. It’s like the tool is an extension of your hands and they work independently of your conscious brain. He wants to know what that feels like.

He’s an eager student. You teach him to crochet first. He wants to be able to “make ALL the things, I don’t want to limit myself!” So you teach him what you know. You teach him to make increases, decreases. Amigurumi toys, granny squares, knitted stockinette. Ribbing, lace, cables, socks, shawls, hats.

He learns to notice mistakes and fix them himself. He teaches himself to alter a pattern to suit his own tastes. He teaches himself to do colourwork through YouTube tutorials, after you admit it’s something you aren't interested in yourself. He figures out what he likes and doesn’t like in his crafting.

Just as Dieter’s path along sobriety has entwined with yours, your lives become more and more entwined over time.

For his six month pin you knit him a slouchy beanie.

For your 14 year pin he crochets you a little stuffed heart, which he presents to you with a shy smile.

For his 1 year pin, you crochet a little stuffed raccoon (his favourite animal) holding the stuffed heart he gave you last year. You’ve embroidered a little word “yes” on the heart.

For your 15 year pin he knits you a simple lace shawl.

For his two year pin, you knit him a handsome scarf and a matching pair of fingerless mittens. (Not too long in the cuff, his tattoos like to be free to breathe.)

For your 16 year pin, he knits you an intricately cabled scarf that he designed himself.

The next year you crochet an afghan together, using your combined stash scraps to make wildly colourful granny squares and crochet them together. Dieter drapes it proudly over the couch in the house you’ve bought together.

When he met you, Dieter was desperate for a hobby to keep his hands busy, to distract himself from the cravings and needing to chase his next high. Thanks to you, he found a different path to the high. Now he chases the euphoria of sinking into a trance as his hands move unconsciously in rhythm with the yarn. The way his brain hums peacefully as he reaches a meditative zen state. He craves the feeling of creating something and watching it grow in his hands.

He loves you, and he loves that you’ve been with him to celebrate every finished project, and every milestone date. Together.

With you, he thinks he can actually do this sobriety thing.

Part 2 is here

Tagging some peeps who were interested in this as a wip!

@toomanytookas @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork

@grogusmum @jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @dieterbravobrainrotclub

@ghotifishreads @covetyou

[111hernamewasgloria111]

The color red

red was once the color of your rosy cheeks

red was once the color of your face after running around with me

red was once the color of your bike and almost everything you liked

red is now the color of your weak weary eyes

red is now the color of blood drawn fights

red is now the color of police lights outside

red is now the colour dripping from the life

red turned your eyes as you ruined your life

[psych0killergal]

going to relapse today i don’t care enough anymore. it’s too hard im done with everything. i’ll probably hide it from my girlfriend but it’s fine. i don’t want to be here it’s so fucking hard but this is easier.

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

hii !! as i am a sucker for hurt/comfort could you maybe please write smth where emily prentiss x f!reader are already in a relationship and rewrite the episode with tobias hankel to be with the reader the one who gets kidnapped instead of spencer? thank you !

It’s not your fault

Summary: Rewrite of the Tobias Hankel storyline but reader gets kidnapped instead of Reid, Emily and reader are already in a relationship.

TW: kidnapping, torture, drug addiction, involuntary use of drugs, depression, hurt/comfort

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

A/N: I've never rewritten an epsiode before so tell me how I did!! Hope you like it anon 🫶🏻

Emily pov:

JJ's here, y/n's..... where's y/n? Oh god please. "JJ look at me." Morgan cut off her panicky rambling. "Look at me. Where's y/l/n?"

"We split up. She said she was going to go in the back."

I hear someone yell that the house was clear.

"So where the hell is she?"

My heart dropped into the my stomach. 

I frantically start searching the property for some sign of her as I walk towards the corn field, it looks like someone was dragged through it jeez. Wait, it looks like someone was dragged through it.

"I think y/l/n followed him into the corn field! It looks like somebody got dragged."

Instantly the team is by my side, desperately searching for y/n/n. My girlfriend, the reason I wake up in the morning. Gone. My chest starts to tighten and tears prick my eyes, I swallow down the lump in my throat and keep looking. I can't break down right now, I need to find her.

—

Reader pov:

My eyes are blurring and my head is pounding. I try to move but my hands and feet are bound to a chair, painfully tight. My thoughts are all over the place, where am I? What happened out there? Did JJ get taken too? Just as I'm about to try get out of the binds a person slams open the door.

He's carrying fish. It stinks.

"They're burning fish hearts and liver to keep the devil away." I stare at him without saying anything, I don't want to.

"They believe you can see inside men's mind."

I hold back the urge to roll my eyes.

"It's not true. I study human behaviour."

"You know what this is? It's god's will." He says totally ignoring my response already set in his ways. "Time to confess, y/n y/l/n."

"I have nothing to confess."

He slapped me. Once, twice, three times.

"CONFESS!"

Tears slip from my eyes, I don't say a word. He pulls out a knife and starts to slice my skin. A crimson river flows out of my paling skin, pain coursing through my body. I still don't crack. His fist makes contact with my face.

I just want this to end. I finally give into the exhaustion slipping into a dreamless sleep.

—

Emily's pov:

"I'm talking tomorrow morning to some guy who knew Hankel from narcotics anonymous. You should come with me. Why don't you come with me, get out of the house?" I say to JJ as I enter the bathroom.

"Yeah." she says back, clearly shaken up and deflated from the recent events.

"Okay. Great." I walk out of the bathroom and into my room.

There it is again, that funny feeling, like I'm being sat on. Or like there's a weight in my chest. Climbing into my bed I can feel it constricting my breath. Tears are pouring out of my eyes at this point, my legs are tucked into my chest and my breaths are short and fast. A wave of pain comes over me as I think about what's happening to y/n. She's hurting and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm failing her.

—

Reader pov:

"What's your name?" I ask the same man who walked in before. He's got multiple personalities that I need to differentiate between, I need to play this right.

"Tobias."

"Tobias? Who was here before?"

"It was probably my father. I'm sorry if he hurt you."

I see him reach into his pocket and pull out a bottle and a syringe. Oh god, please no. Don't do it Tobias please.

"What are you doing? Don't. Please don't."

"It helps. Don't tell my father. He doesn't know they're here."

"Please I don't want it. I don't want it please."

I can feel the warmth pulsing through my body. My system being thrown into a high almost immediately. I hate every second of it. I start to slip in and out of consciousness. I need Emily. I need the warmth of her skin, the softness and comfort of her voice. I need her kisses on my skin. I fight to keep my eyes awake but fail.

—

Emily pov:

"So what was Tobias' drug of choice?"

"Dilaudid."

The man keeps talking about how Tobias' dad used to beat him and burnt a cross onto his forehead. That's one hell of a stressor.

My head is spinning as we get back to the local PD. The evidence was all adding up, we had a name, address, background, information about his personalities. Why can't we find her? We even have live footage of her door goodness sake! I try to control my anger and begin licking furiously at my fingers, biting my nails. I need to find her.

"She's in a cemetery."

We call Garcia and get her to find a cemetery near by and there's one right by the barn. I don't think I've run to an SUV faster to be honest, I need her, need to hold her. To know she's okay.

—

Reader pov:

Im digging my own grave. This is not the way I wanted to go out.

"I ought to bury you alive in there, give you time to think about what you done." He stares daggers into my back as I dig.

"Dig faster!" He yelled at me, I can't dig any faster.

"I'm not strong enough." I say, dejected. I can't do this anymore.

"Y/L/N!" I hear someone yell in the distance.

"Over there!" Another voice calls out, I'm too delirious to register who.

"You killed him." Tobias said to me.

"Tobias" I say, suddenly feeling remorse for him, I don't know what's happening.

I see his body fall limp and realise somebody had shot him, it was over.

“Are you okay?” I hear Hotch say.

“Yeah, uhm can I have a minute alone?” I slowly walk up to Tobias’ body and stealthily reach into his pocket and take the dilaudid. I’m not proud of it, but it’s the only way I can cope right now.

As I’m walking away, Emily is straight by my side, just like always. She’s the only person who knows me, like really knows me. She’s everything to me.

“How are you holding up?” Her gentle voice breaks through the mist of confusion that had descended over me.

“I’m okay. Or, I will be.”

“Yeah, you will. I promise.”

—

Time skip to around a month after

Emily pov:

I’m walking through the doors of the apartment me and y/n share and I hear- well, nothing. Which is strange because normally she’s watching tv, doing something in the kitchen or making some kind of racket.

She might’ve gone out.

I try to reassure myself but have a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach. She’s not been the same after what happened with Hankel. It’s like someone flipped a switch while she was there, like something happened and now she’ll never be the same again.

I’m sure she’s fine.

I try to distract myself and go to take a shower. I walk into our bedroom and see the bathroom door is ajar, I go to look inside and see who’s in there - I assume it’s y/n/n. The sight before me is an awful one. She’s sitting on the floor, needle in hand, taking dilaudid.

“Oh my sweet girl.”

The look of guilt on her face as she realises I’m there break my heart into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop, I really did. I didn’t want it I promise, I’m so sorry em.” Her eyes never met mine.

“Honey, it’s not your fault. Let’s stop this okay?”

She reluctantly nods and hands me the drugs. I tip the rest down the toilet and flush it. I put the needle on the side, planning to dispose of it later.

I offer her my hands and help her off the floor. As I bring her into my embrace, she’s noticeably thinner. The more I found out the more my mind races. What do I do? What do I do?

—

Y/n pov:

Oh god, oh god. I didn’t want her to find out. I’m trying to get a handle on it, she’s gunna be so mad at me.

I can feel my hands shaking and tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. Her hands clutch mine and helps me to my feet and pulls me into her. That’s when I finally break down.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. You didn’t do this. We’re going to get you help yeah sweetheart?”

I nod into her neck, where my head lays. My frail body feeling exhausted after this sudden intervention in my daily dose, the withdrawal settling in.

“Em..”

“I know, I know. And I’m going to be with you through it, okay?”

“Thank you. I love you so much emmy.”

“I love you too y/n/n.”

It’s going to be a long road, but, being with her is going to make it so much easier. I’m so grateful for having her in my life.

A/N if you ever struggle with addiction, please never hesitate to reach out and please seek help, you are never alone. You don’t have to suffer in silence.

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

// tw mentions of murder, gang violence and drugs

Not a dream but I read a really weird RPF crossover fanfic a little while ago that had Kurt Cobain, Peter Murphy from Bauhaus, Ian Curtis and Billie Joe Armstrong in a mafia drug cartel gang hybrid (like they ruled over LA, killed people, sold drugs and shit). Kurt ans Peter were there once and that scene was when the druglord/don (who irl is a rockstar from the late 60s) said they were now in charge of the narcotics division in the 1st chapter which was the same chapter that had Ian betrayed the gang by refusing to kill someone and was now on the run from them. Throughout the whole story, Ian anonymously gives warnings to the MC (who irl is a alt pop singer from the late 2000s) that she shouldn't trust her new boyfriend (the same don from before) because he's secretly a druglord, that Ian knows all about the druglord's plans, that he's a murderer etc. and MC's just like "but I love him and there's nothing that could make me change my mind 🥺". Billie is a former member of the gang who was dropped for being late on meetings and he finds Ian and helps him help the MC but then he does a full 180 in the final chs where Billie reveals he didn't actually leave the gang and he was still working for druglord in secret and was reporting Ian's actions to him which leads to a gang war. To keep it short, Ian is one of the only characters that survived, Billie's fate was ambiguous.

Obviously the whole fic isn't centered around the gang stuff and it's only one of the many main plots going around but still it's one of the important ones. They also weren't tye only 90s artists in the fic (Courtney love and Axl rose where there too, just not in a gang) nor was it mostly just 90s artists but still. It was pretty fucking weeird and was written like the author was passionate and serious about it rather than a full on crack fic. It was also not in english but in some european(??) language so it'd be difficult to track down but goddamn I want to read it again for some reason

I... I don't even know where to begin with this

[euphorial-docx]

little tiny excerpt from chapter 3 of aoe:

(tw! he goes to an na meeting.)

This NA group was at a center that specialized in those kinds of things. It wasn’t a church, but they still talked about god. One of the first things they told him when he showed up was, “It doesn’t have to be a religious figure to you when we talk about God.” The way Regulus saw it, if god was a religious figure to the person speaking, then wouldn’t it be a religious figure to whoever was hearing it? Intentions, or something; they aren’t separate from the message. If the intention was god, then it was god. But that was only how he saw it.

They also claimed, “If you’re nervous, you’re in the right place,” thinking his quiet meant he was nervous, but he was annoyed rather than nervous, and the place he was looking for was a narcotics anonymous meeting and the sign taped on the door said Narcotics Anonymous Meeting.

[frankcastlescumslut]

vulnerable moment teehee

tw/ mention of substance abuse, addiction

I was addicted to opioids for the majority of my middle and high school years and I am 8 years sober this month so slay!

but. I have so many family members that struggle w addiction and currently struggling and in rehab and it is so triggering to me but I don’t even consciously understand it or understand why.

I’ve been wanting to find a support group but I’ve heard liffy things about Narcotics Anonymous and I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to go to AA.

I’m just so lonely?? I guess?? in terms of my recovery. Obviously everyone is impacted by addiction, but I feel like an outsider within my family because they don’t understand it the way that I do. They were affected by addiction, but they aren’t addicts.

I don’t even know where to start or who to talk to, but I’m trying.

[leticiaxoliveira]

It’d been awhile since she’s been to one of these meetings. And admittedly, she hated going to them. Emeraude much preferred having a one-on-one session with a therapist when it came to talking about her drug addiction and sobriety. Or, well, lack of a sobriety now. It hadn’t been her choice to break it. It hadn’t been her choice to intentionally take something and ruin six years of progress that she struggled with. Yet now, she could feel judgmental eyes from patients to doctors that walked by, noticing her leaning against the wall outside the hospital’s chapel where the NA meeting was at. A sign clear as day pointing it all and making it known. If it wasn’t for the girls and if it wasn’t for Rachel, she would’ve been more than ready to do this with a therapist instead of these meetings. Which, she was still considering. Yet until then, this was all she has. She just couldn’t move her feet to walk inside, despite the meeting having already started. With her arms crossed over her chest and her staring at the sign, trying so desperately to find the will to walk in there, her attention was caught at the sound of someone heading her way. The brunette glanced up---and her face fell at the sight of Yasemin. Oh, no... Please not now. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she tried to say yet her voice faltered. It was exactly what it looked like.

CLOSED STARTER: at the hospital || @yasdogan​