#we love recovery from toxic relationships here!!!

[mrs-mikko-rantanen]

Nyar just rocking out to The Story Of Us

#last time im gonna use the tag bc i can use it to clean stuff off my blog which feels good #greybane insp #nyar insp #my ocs are free single and healthy #we love recovery from toxic relationships here!!!

[lixiepeach]

Fascination

Summary: It’s not love, he muses as he stares down at you. He could never bind himself to such a temporary thing as yourself. Lust, perhaps curiosity, fascination even, that’s brought him to desire you in such a way, that’s entangled you both. He allows himself a moment of tenderness as he brushes the hair stuck to your forehead, his lips pressing softly against yours. You lean into him, fingers brushing the tip of his ear as you trail your hands through his hair. 

Pairing: Thranduil x human!reader

Warnings: NSFW, explicit smut, p in v sex, fingering, sort of rough sex, unprotected sex (because of elf magic), no aftercare, interspecies relationship, reader is more of a paramour than anything, Thrandy is a bit obsessed, sort of a toxic relationship depending on how you look at it, it’s not love it’s lust, Thrandy is also a bit egotistical and elitist but what do we expect? 

A/N: Thought up this one a while ago whilst in the middle of some thots and decided to just write it since it wouldn't leave me alone. Not my first time writing for LOTR, but it's been quite a while. Might consider turning it into a series if there's enough interest...Anyway, I hope there's enough of a fandom left to enjoy it and that I'm not screaming into a void right now.

MASTERLIST

His eyes trace your form as you lay sprawled in the grass, asleep and entirely unaware. It speaks volumes of your trust, the ease with which you simply exist in his world as you nap in the warm afternoon sun. It’s amusing to him the way you lay there, one arm over your head, the other draped across your stomach, chest rising and falling slowly and evenly as your mind takes you far off into your dreams. 

His eyes trace your face, features he’s well acquainted with after hours upon hours of studying them. He connects the colored dots on your skin with his eyes, his gaze following the slope of your nose, the softness of your brow in your relaxed state. His fingers twitch at his side, longing to brush across the warmth of your skin but he stays his hand in fear he might disturb you. He’s not ready for you to be awake yet. 

He would gladly stare at you all day, his little mortal. 

It’s been a long time since he’s felt desire churning in his stomach, the twisting deep within as he gazes at another. Yet, here he finds himself feeling that warmth in his stomach as he gazes at a simple mortal woman. He had tried to brush it off as simply a fickle thing, many ages of loneliness finally beginning to wear upon him. It wasn’t as if he was without offers. Many brave elleths had approached him, brazenly offering their company in hopes of earning his affections, and even perhaps winning his heart. He had always turned them away, first in pain then in spite. He had ignored the disappointment and shame as he glanced over them, always looking through them, never quite seeing them. 

Then you arrived. 

It wasn’t often that the race of men graced his halls. He so rarely interacted with men, preferring to send envoys on his behalf the rare chance it happened. You had come not by choice, instead brought in on the brink of death after being rescued by his guards from a nest of spiders. Sick with poison from a bite, you had been in a terrible state upon your arrival, but had made a quick recovery thanks to the talent of his healers. 

He’s not sure what it was about you that piqued his interest. You were no one of any sort of importance. A simple human from one of the woodsman villages on the borders of the forest, a mere mortal woman that would have lived and died in a blink of his eye had you not by chance strayed from your path and fallen into the traps of the foul nuisance that was the spiders. Yet as you stood there, nervous before him as you thanked him, offering your life in debt for your rescue, he couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t looking through you as he so often did others, no, he was seeing you. 

Perhaps it was because you saw him. Not the crown, not his status, not the promise of what he could give or the things he had the power to do. You were staring at him. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought perhaps you could see past the carefully crafted illusion and straight into his very being. 

That had been weeks ago, and still you linger in his halls at his insistence. 

You’ve offered no complaint, brought up no desire to return to your life in your village. There has been no longing in your gaze for your home, no far off look as you thought of your little house where you dwelled alone. He had felt the strength in your hands, the calluses on your fingers that spoke of a life of hard work, of fending for yourself. His fingers often traced the marks on your skin, remnants from accidents and close calls. He’s never bared his own scars to you, and he likely never will. 

He continues to stare at you as you sleep, your form illuminated by the golden light of the sun. He wouldn’t go so far as to call you ethereal in its light. You lacked the luminance of elves, though you seemed to glow in a different way. There was something so tangible about you, the life that was almost teeming from you as you smiled, the pure joy in your laughter, the profoundness of your sympathy, the intensity of your stare. You carried the weight of your emotions so plainly, though perhaps that was what it meant to be mortal. The understanding that you had so little time, that your life would end eventually. 

He has lived ages before you, and he will live ages after you. 

He can no longer ignore the churning in his stomach, the twitching of his fingers, the desire burning hot within him. His fingers trail along the line of your jaw, ghosting down the side of your neck that’s bared to him as your head is turned just slightly to the side. The sun has warmed you, the heat pulsing beneath his fingers. He takes in the texture of your skin, soft for a mortal but not quite as smooth as an elf’s. The corner of his lips lifts upward as goosebumps form on your skin, his eyes drawn down to your chest as his fingers trace your collarbones. You shift in your sleep, his hand pausing until you settle again. 

He allows his fingers to follow the neckline of your dress, the fine silk draped across your body in a way that accentuates your curves deliciously. You’re not built like an elf, no long lines and hard edges. You’re all soft curves and rounded edges plainly evidenced by the way the silk clings to your body even as you lay completely relaxed. 

You shift once more as his fingers brush the tops of your breasts, your mind beginning to wake. He watches the way your nipples pebble as he teases the sensitive skin of your dress, pressing against the thin fabric keeping them hidden. He loves how sensitive and reactive you are to him, your lips parting in a gasp as he thumbs over one of your hard nipples. 

Your eyes are glazed with sleep still as they flutter open, squinting in the sunlight. Your movements are sluggish as you shift below him, stretching your arms over your head. You remind him a bit of a cat as you stretch, letting out a quiet groan. 

He lets his hand slide up your chest to your neck, his thumb brushing the line of your throat. “Good afternoon, little one.” 

“I fell asleep.” You murmur, awareness beginning to come back to you as you stare up at him. 

A smile tugs at his lips, the fondness that he felt for you rising above the desire for a moment. “You did. Quite quickly, I might add.” He says. You have a habit of dozing easily, needing far more sleep than an elf. “Perhaps I am to blame in part for keeping you up so late into the night.” He teases, heat blooming beneath his fingers on your skin. 

You have the gaul to look bashful under his gaze, as if you had not captured him under your spell. You make him feel powerful as he looms over you, raw energy pulsing through him like lightning at the thought of how vulnerable you are, how vulnerable he is. How easily you had captured him, how easily life had begun to flow through him again at the sight of you. His blood runs hot, fingers trembling at the thought of how easily you could end him. 

One day you will. 

He forces the thought from his mind, pressing his thumb against your lips. You press a soft kiss to his skin, your gaze meeting his. You already know what he wants, why he pulled you from your blissful sleep. Your body shifts as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You still taste of the wine served at lunch, sweet and earthy with a hint of something else, something that was just simply...you. 

His hold on your neck tightens just slightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. You gasp quietly against his lips, his head tilting to take advantage of your reaction. His tongue invades your mouth, tangling with your own. You sigh into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair. It’s bold, but he allows it, far too focused on his attempt to devour you with his lips. 

He shifts his body over yours, your knees parting for him like your body was welcoming his proximity. You are as your hands slip through his hair, silky strands sliding through your fingers. It’s his turn to gasp into your mouth as your fingertips brush the sensitive tips of his ears. The sensation shoots straight down his spine, his back arching into you. He pulls away from your kiss-plump lips, mischief shining in your eyes as you stare up at him. Your fingers flick the tips of his ears again, his eyes fluttering as a groan is pulled from his lips. 

“Naughty little thing,” He groans, leaning down to nip playfully at your bottom lip. 

Your giggle turns into a sigh as his lips abandon yours to taste your skin, his hand slipping under the skirt of your dress. He can smell your arousal, the thick, heady scent corrupting the fresh air of the gardens. He could get lost in the scent, bury his face in it until it suffocates him. He has lost himself in the scent and taste of you, many surfaces having been defiled by his need. He fights the urge to shove his face beneath your skirts and tease you with his tongue until you’re nearly unconscious. 

No, he needs something else from you today. 

His hand trails up your leg, pushing your skirts up with it. His fingers close around your thigh, sinking into the flesh. You let out a quiet sound as he digs his fingers into you, hard enough he knows you’ll bruise. He loves how easy it is to mark you, and he loves how long those marks linger on your skin. His rings bite into the sensitive flesh, but you offer no complaint. Instead your head drops back, bearing your throat to him. He bites at the skin of your throat, his tongue laving across the stinging marks his teeth leave behind. 

You’re practically boneless under him and he has yet to touch you, your hands rumbling the fabric of his shirt as you hold on to him for dear life. He often wonders what it feels like to you, if his touch electrifies you as much as your touch electrifies him. You’ve never known the touch of a mortal man, you had confessed to him, though it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. 

You had never explained why, though, you had refused the many offers of eligible men over the years. Perhaps it was for the same reasons he refused the willing elleths who propositioned him. 

Or, perhaps deep down you knew no mortal man would ever be enough. 

He draws himself from you to sit up on his knees, his hands pushing the fabric of your skirt the rest of the way up until it’s pooled around your waist. You’re bare beneath the dress, damp folds on display for him as he takes you in. You are beautiful in the way mortals are, like flowers would be to trees. You’re especially beautiful like this, laid out beneath him shameless and needy. You had been shy at first to his advances, but now you served him without question, without hesitation. 

How eager you were to serve your king. 

His hand trails from your hip to your stomach, feeling the hitch in your breath as he dips his fingers lower through rough curls before he finds exactly what he needs. Your lips part in a gasp as he brushes your pearl, the scent of your arousal strengthening as he begins to touch you. His thumb brushes over the sensitive bud, watching your face as your eyes get heavy and dark with need. He knows exactly how to play you, exactly how to make you tremble in his arms. 

He’ll take his time with you later. Right now, he needs his own release. 

You let out a quiet sound as two of his fingers sink into your heat, your body opening up to him. Much time he has spent teaching your body to open to him, to accept him, to be ready for him. As much as he enjoyed the roughness, seeing just how far he could push your little mortal body, as much as he enjoyed taking out his anger and his frustrations on your body, he never wished to hurt you. Many hours had been spent with his hand between your legs, bringing you to the edge but never quite letting you peak. 

Not until he was satisfied. 

His hand presses into your stomach, holding your hips still as he languidly pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your walls are slick with arousal, gripping him like a vice. His fingers are thick and long, reaching deep inside you, far deeper than you could ever bring your own fingers to. You had tried, you had shown him how you pleased yourself. He wondered how often you had done it in his Halls, how often he had been the one in your thoughts as you brought yourself to your release with your fingers. 

He’s forbidden it now, you touching yourself, bringing yourself pleasure. That was his job. It would be only his fingers that you knew, that would bring you to the point of release now. Now matter how dripping with need you are, you’re his. His to pleasure, his to take, his to find release with. 

Sometimes he’s not quite sure who is truly in charge. If he commands your body and your mind, or if he’s the one wrapped around your little finger. 

You buck against his hand as he curls his fingers, drawing a quiet moan from your lips. There’s no need for silence out here. You’re deep enough in the gardens the guards won’t be able to see anything, and they know by now to close their ears against what their king does in his private moments. 

“Please, please My King.” You beg, oh so sweetly. 

He stares at you, the sweat beading on your brow, your swollen lips parted as your chest heaves for breath. Your thighs are trembling, hands twisting in the grass beside you. You’re dripping onto his hand, the wet squelch of his fingers like music to his ears. 

“Tell me what you need, little one.” He says, the deep timbre of his voice edged with a needy rasp. He’s hard, nearly throbbing beneath the constraints of his pants. He’s far more patient with his own pleasure. He knows it’s coming, he knows you’ll let him take what he needs. 

“I-I need...” You stammer, eyes rolling in pleasure as he curls his fingers. A whine leaves your lips as he drags his fingers across that spongy spot inside you. “I-I need you. Please, My King.” 

He hums appreciatively at your begging, your desperation. You truly are desperate, he can feel it in the fluttering of your walls around his fingers. He’s not done with you yet, though. His lips lift up in a smirk as he watches you, your gaze locked on his. “Am I not giving myself to you? Are my fingers not enough for you?” 

“No!” You whine, thighs trying to close around him as you get closer and closer to release. “I-I need...I want to feel you!” You cry out, greedy in your desperation. “I want you inside me!” 

He basks in your begging, your neediness, your shamelessness. He was going to give it to you anyway, and you know this, but you also know he wants to hear you, to see you beneath him, begging him desperately. 

He truly wants to believe he is in control. 

He pulls his fingers from your folds, lifting them to his lips. You let out a quiet whimper as his tongue darts out, licking your juices from them. You’re musky and almost tangy on his tongue, not unlike a rich wine. He wants to savor you like a wine, but his own neediness is beginning to itch in the back of his mind. He’s beginning to feel his own desperation, his own desire to sink into your warmth and stay there for the rest of eternity. 

He releases you enough to free himself from the constraints of his pants, his hand wrapping around his thick length. You tilt your head so you can see him, eyes focused on him as he pumps his length in his hand. Your legs fall open, completely relaxed as you bare your weeping folds to him. He has the desire to praise you, but he holds his tongue. He does not wish to go to that place right now. 

Right now he needs release, the sweet release only your body can give him. 

You welcome him as he sinks into your body, arms wrapping around him as he presses himself against you. You relax yourself around him as he sinks into your warmth, the wide head of his length spearing you open. You offer no complaint if it’s uncomfortable, only clinging to his tunic as he lets himself rest over you for a moment. Your legs squeeze around his waist as if you’re trying to draw him deeper into you, as if you might fuse his body into yours. 

He allows a moment of tenderness as he kisses you, tasting your lips again. You hum into his mouth, walls squeezing around him as if telling him you’re ready, you’re waiting. 

You are waiting for him. 

He draws his hips back, slow and steady as if he was unsheathing a blade, letting you feel every inch of him as he withdraws from your walls to just the tip of his length. You let out a cry as he presses back into you, reaching as deep as he can, until your hips are flush with his. You cling to him as he sets his pace, rocking into you steadily. There will be grass stains on your dress, but that won’t matter. You’ll change before dinner, wearing something more extravagant as you dined with your king. 

Not that you’ll be wearing whatever dress you choose very long. He has every intention of taking you to his chambers tonight and picking you apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a whining, writhing mess on his bed. Then he will take you apart further until your eyes flutter and your breathing shudders and you dangle over the precipice of unconsciousness as he brings you more pleasure than you ever thought you could feel at once. 

That is for later, though. 

Right now, he needs to ease the aching desire deep within him, the beast that you reawoke within him. He keeps his pace steady, sharpening the snap of his hips into you. You’re whining and moaning against him, hands clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you on this plane of existence. His blood burns hot within him at the thought of being needed, of being desired so carnally. 

You’re growing close to your release, your thighs trembling around his hips. Your cries are loud in the gardens, lost in your pleasure as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. As much as he’s fueled by his own need for release, he wants you to fall over the edge first. He wants to see you lost in your pleasure, even if just for a moment. 

He pulls back enough to stare at your face, eyes closed in pleasure, lips parted as you moan. His hand grips the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes are dazed with pleasure, glossy and blown with lust. His fingers dig into your skin, your pulse thrumming under his thumb. Your skin is hot, slicked with sweat from the exertion. He fights the urge to taste it, to lick at the saltiness of your skin, to taste you on his tongue. 

Later, he reminds himself. 

“Let go.” He grunts, his breath fanning your face. “Let me feel you.” 

Your eyes roll back as if he has that much command of your body, your legs tightening around him as you reach your peak. Your walls flutter, tightening and releasing around him, the mechanics of nature to draw him to his own release. 

He lets himself go, burying his face in your throat as he spills into you. His body trembles with yours, length twitching as he fills you with his release. For a moment, just a fraction for a second he imagines it, his seed taking root, a half-elven child that takes after you. He wrenches the thought from his mind as if it’s a burning ember, refusing to allow such a daydream to take over his mind. 

He pushes himself up to his elbows, staring down at you. His hair curtains around you, soft locks caressing your skin. You're breathing heavily, chest still heaving beneath him. Your eyes are lidded, face nearly as relaxed as it had been when you were sleeping. Your skin is still slicked with sweat, strands of your own hair sticking to your skin. You look ruined and he has barely begun. 

You look beautiful. 

It’s not love, he muses as he stares down at you. He could never bind himself to such a temporary thing as yourself. Lust, perhaps curiosity, fascination even, that’s brought him to desire you in such a way, that’s entangled you both. He allows himself a moment of tenderness as he brushes the hair stuck to your forehead, his lips pressing softly against yours. You lean into him, fingers brushing the tip of his ear as you trail your hands through his hair. 

Fascination, that’s all it is, he tells himself as another shiver runs down his spine. 

(I know I had a taglist a long time ago but it's been so long since I've written anything for this blog I'm not even sure if there's anyone on it anymore. I'm willing to put one together though if there's interest...)

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #thranduil x reader #thranduil x human reader #elf x human #x reader #fanfic #lotr fanfic

[bitchesgetriches]

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[attractive-nuisance-esq]

so here’s the thing that’s really going to destroy me about this season, and why This Woman’s Work has already dashed me against the rocks: we’re going to watch Ed go through recovery. (Or rather his journey will be parallel to recovery, because Ed isn’t literally addicted.) David isn’t playing around; he’s just giving it straight to us. Ed’s drinking, snorting shit, indulging in toxic fantasies, pushing away everyone who cares about him. he’s descended into the worst cycle of addiction, where you hate yourself far more than anyone else around you, where you keep grasping at the same self-destructive coping mechanisms long after they’ve stopped working, where you cannot see further than surviving the next five minutes and your only goal is making it all stop. this is classic rock bottom. the entire purgatory hallucination is essentially exactly how it goes when you wake up after the worst night of your life and quite literally have to decide whether or not you want to keep living.

and when you reach rock bottom, you look around to find you’ve lost almost everyone you thought ever loved you, and it feels so fucking pointless to fight. if everyone is gone, if you’ve destroyed all your relationships because deep down you believed that’s what you deserved, why even try to get back up? what’s the use? hasn’t their leaving confirmed your lack of worth? how could anyone ever forgive you? how could you ever forgive yourself?

but that’s This Woman’s Work now, isn’t it? Stede will stand outside, because it’s on Ed now to find a way to love himself. recovery won’t stick - fuck, it won’t even start unless you decide to do it for yourself. Stede can’t fix Ed, but he can say, “I know you’ve got a little life in you left. I know you’ve got a lot of strength left.” but the relationship this song has to be referring to in this moment is the one between Ed and himself. Ed and Blackbeard and the Kraken and the child he was and the man he will be. There are things he should have said to himself but never said, done but never did. He’s never cared about himself before, and there is a straight fucking line from that self-loathing to addiction.

and you can’t survive addiction, you can’t get sober, you can’t heal for anyone else. you have to do it for yourself. but that glimmer of hope - sometimes someone else gives you the glimmer it takes to start picking up the pieces. Stede’s calling to him, telling Ed that he hasn’t lost him yet, that he loves him. that’s the glimmer of hope streaming down into the depths where he’s drowning: that Stede sees something in him worth loving, and maybe - just maybe - he’s right.

I am so fucking excited for the gentlebeard ship to sail, and I’m a total sucker for the mermaid reunion and the hand-holding and just ALL OF IT! but I hope so desperately that we get to watch Ed recover this season. I hope for it even as I know watching it will probably give me (more) flashbacks/require some therapy. that’s the relationship I really want to see mended this season. let that boy find his inner worth before he finds external love, or else the latter will never survive. also I’m pretty sure watching it all happen will Fix Me but let’s not put that pressure on @davidjenks lol

#ofmd s2 #our flag means death #ofmd #edward teach #ed teach #blackbeard #Ed the kraken #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #recovery #this woman’s work #David Jenkins shall be billed directly for my therapy #I am so excited to be fucking ruined #ofmd s2 spoilers

[actual-changeling]

Since you have been the first 'Crowley deserves to have his boundaries' person I have seen in the tags on weeks. What do you think about the talk in the fandom on how Crowley should have accepted going to Heaven 'to do good and stop the Apocalypse' and that 'he also rejected Aziraphale'? It personally gives me the creeps because the narrative makes clear that Heaven is a big white nightmare but the fandom seems to be taking the 'Aziraphale might jot be perfect' thing hard and therefore Heaven is fixable now...

Glad to know I am not alone in my little boundaries corner! I'm always here for discussions about it.

And, oh boy, do I have thoughts on that, let's see if I can get them to be somewhat coherent.

I am going to start this off with a metaphor of sorts and hopefully people will be able to follow along. I'm an older sibling and have a little sister, and we grew up in an incredibly abusive and neglectful household.

When I graduated high school, I moved out for university, which was literally the best thing to ever happen to me - I got away, I was/am free! Now I have to deal with the consequences of all that shit though.

If my sister asked me to come back so I can help her fix our mother (entirely theoretical btw she'd never lol) would it be the right thing to say yes? Should I give up my personal freedom, my life, the healing process I am right in the middle of, to go back to a household that broke me? So I can be trapped with a person that will never change again?

The answer is, of course, no. I feel bad for my sister and I am praying she will be able o move out soon, but me going back would not solve a single fucking thing. See where I'm going with this yet?

Crowley left heaven and landed on earth, which was ultimately good for him, but he has a lot to process and heal from; he's right in the middle of his own recovery.

Heaven will not change, it cannot be changed. The entire institution is working as intended, and the intention is to be abusive, manipulative, and have as much power over everyone as possible. You cannot fix that, you need to get rid of it.

Aziraphale has good intentions, but he is also still trapped in that abusive household because he never moved out, he is the sibling that stayed behind, just mentally instead of physically.

Hot take, but many people in this fandom are incapable of understanding that "Aziraphale is acting based on good intentions and is still actively being abused/traumatized" and "Aziraphale did bad and unhealthy things and his relationship with Crowley was co-dependent and toxic" are co-existing. Both are true.

Both. are. true.

He did messed up shit out of a trauma response, but he is still responsible for his actions, and at the same time he deserves a chance to heal and move on from it. Please, at this point I am begging people to understand that this is not a black and white issue.

Crowley did not reject Aziraphale, if anything, Aziraphale rejected him.

Crowley said no to returning to an abusive environment for an impossible task. Crowley said no to sacrificing his mental and physical health for something that he knows will not happen. Crowley, for the first time in his life, set a clear and final boundary and put himself and his life over Aziraphale's wishes.

That is a good thing. It is necessary.

Season 3 will not be about Aziraphale fixing heaven or preventing the second coming (if anything it'll be accidental just like in season 1). It's going to be about him finding his way out of his abusive household and into a healthy environment in which they're both free and can heal.

Apart AND together.

It's not happily ever after, it's not perfect romance, it's not "soul-mates" or anything. It is messy, it is real, it is complicated, and I am so fucking tired of seeing it reduced to "love conquers all".

#alex answers asks #alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #good omens meta

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol. 15

Hi friends!!

Welcome to week 15 of The Spreadsheet Digest! I read a lot of angst this week.... but there's plenty of really good smut and fluff to balance it out, I promise! Also 3/10 fics are from one author, but I promise their stuff is to die for.

You can find the Spreadsheet here and all of my previous rec lists here.

Recs under the funny BTS pic from Triple Frontier

Birds of Prey - a Tommy one shot by @toxicanonymity

I normally wouldn't rec a tommy fic, but!! First of all Toxic wrote it so like... duh. Second of all it's kind of a sidebar to her Raider!Joel series and I'm assuming it kind of comes into play later in that series so like you should read it. Also it's fucking delicious. Raider!Tommy is sooooo fucking hot.

Fall Apart, Again - a Joel series by @wildemaven

AHHHHH THE TWIST!!! Healthy dose of angst right up front in the first chapter with these lovely hints of more to come AND THEN!!! there's a twist. I can't tell you about the twist because that would ruin it, but like I thought I knew what it was, right? And the thing I thought was gonna happen did and I was like oh! I called it. But that was a fakeout. There's a bigger twist. Fucking.... wild man. You gotta read it. (Oh and wildemaven writes so beautifully. The descriptive language is to die for). Get it while it's hot kids.

Breakout - a Joel series by @the-ginger-hedge-witch

Boxer (now trainer) Joel!! Reader has an asshole boxer bf! I hope Joel gets to beat the shit out of Tyler tbh. I really fucking love Ren's writing style and the way she builds up the characterization. Like we learn so much about Joel's life and personality, Tyler and Reader's relationship dynamic, Reader's sort of (as yet unknown to them) kinship with Joel, Sarah and Joel's relationship, and more all in 7K words. This fic is going to be so fucking lovely. I think it's one of those "Oh my god that poor man deserves to be happy for once in his miserable little life" fics and I LOVE those.

This is the Way - a Din one shot by @psychedelic-ink

I thought this fic was gonna be silly! And I mean I guess it was. Certainly no angst. But if you think accidentally moaning This is the Way would be silly.... you think wrong. The way Mando responded??? Good god this fic is hot, y'all. I just like... does Din have a breeding kink? Is it the fact that she said it when he creampied her and like... the marriage vow thing is "we will raise warriors" ??? Sorry I'm speculating a lot here. I just... anyway yeah feral din. very hot.

The Art of Healing - a Marcus Pike series by @northernbluess

This is such a gorgeous fic. It has a lot of discussion of ED recovery, so please read warnings and take care of yourself and don't read if it will hurt you BUT!!! The way the topic is handled in the fic is so fucking beautiful. Marcus is a precious angel baby and Jo is so so so strong and wonderful. It's really lovely to follow along with her therapy and see what she paints. It's also incredible watching her bond with Marcus grow. It's a slow burn, therapist x OFC, with lots of angst but also so many of these like... really tender and sweet moments. It's so clearly a story that is coming from the heart and I adore it and can't wait to read more.

Exile - a Javi P series by @jksprincess10

Ok big warning up front -- she killed steve lmao. That's how reader ends up being Javi's partner. I really love how Javi's dickish demeanor from early season one is being played up here. Big fuckin fan. I just know this is gonna be a beautiful smutty enemies to lovers extravaganza.

Only Angel - a Javi P series by @tieronecrush

I really like professor peña. Like it makes a lot of sense that he'd do that after retiring. I love the concept of this fic so much. And the tension is being built up so fucking well. Javi pining and chastising himself. The subtle mention of reader doing something to support herself that is definitely not TAing. I would be more than happy to be Javi's extraneous circumstance. Anywayyyy I fucking love this and I'm so excited for the next chapter ahhhh.

-------------- oldies but goodies ------------

I grabbed a giant chunk off the older half of the sheet so there's a pretty good section where it's just one author lol. Oh and a lot of these are on AO3 but several of the stories were also posted on tumblr, I just read them on AO3 for whatever reason.

One Thing I'm Missing - a Joel series by @joelscruff

Sex, Drugs, and... Tacos - a Dieter one shot by @absurdthirst

Deseos Profundos - Javi P one shot by @absurdthirst

Le Trio De Fleur - a Din one shot by @absurdthirst

Chemical Feelings - a Din one shot by @absurdthirst

Menace - a Joel one shot by @atinylittlepain

I'll Never Fall in Love Again - a Dieter series by OonaJaeAdira (on AO3)

Stress Relief - a Javi P one shot by ezrasbirdie (on AO3)

Waterproof - a Dieter one shot by LeslieLyman (on AO3)

Starlight - a Din Series by LovelessDagger (on AO3)

Let the right one in - a Joel Series by LaMorenadelAtl (on AO3)

Dark but just a game - a Joel One shot by devilmademewriteit (on AO3)

Celestial Navigation - Dieter Series by @write-and-buried

Extra Whipped Cream - a Dieter Series by @pettyprocrastination

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

Happy Reading!

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[cinamun]

Well friends,

While things are happening in the background (TFA resumes shortly), we might as well dive into a chapter recap. At 21 chapters in, there is A LOT to account for. But this chapter was all about Hope (literally and figuratively).

Shall we?

And so it began.

Hope moved from the safety and comfort of her family to the foot of Mount Komorebi. She had always felt especially connected to that place and if you've read up to this point, you'll know why.

Appropriately titled "A New Journey", this chapter shows us all of the ups and downs of exploring new relationships, new surroundings and what happens to loved ones you leave behind in the process.

This chapter also introduced a new character. A popular Komorebian native, also an influencer and gym rat, Mr. Kenji Thomas:

He would be the spark that lit a match of doubt under Hope. Doubt that she would need to work her hardest to overcome while her beau, Jayce, was battling his own struggles and slowly drifting away from UBrite.

But then, one day, it happened.

Sure, it wasn't the literal second she turned 18, but it happened nonetheless. On a cold winter's night between terms at the base of Mount Komorebi, in a small village geared towards students studying abroad, in a teeny tiny apartment, Hope trusted Jayce with what is arguably the most valuable part of her and he did not disappoint.

That night would set off a chain of events that would eventually lead to their first place together, an epic proposal, wedding and honeymoon.

But not without them both first graduating from college.

Dira and DJ grew up into teenagers and became literal twins of their parents. Dira learned the hard way what it meant to be attracted to toxic muscle head men with big wheels. Sometimes you catch them getting brains in the bathroom behind your back.

DJ is learning now that size matters as his high school sweetheart refuses to go near him after a botched first-attempt at woo-hoo.

Dira seems to be getting closer to the nerdiest kid at CDHS and all of this while the most popular PR Firm in all the worlds deals with cleaning up the biggest scandal in recent memory, friends drift away and simulated life moves on for Indya and Darren Drake, the founders of all of this who now find themselves raising yet another young mind after a certain relative was profiled, yet again, by 12 and their cronies.

What began as a new journey, ended as a new journey. The start, a journey toward new beginnings and freedom. The end, a journey toward recovery and healing after the unthinkable occured just feet from Hope and Jayce's very first place.

and here we are... preparing for the aftermath after a series of very unfortunate events took place within the span of 10 minutes.

What a lot to unpack and probably the longest chapter yet. And while there is certainly more to come as the stage crew sets up for chapter 22, thank you thank you thank you, I get inspired by you and keep writing because of you, don't forget this gift for you and that's on scooby dooby doo, where are you.

-Cin

#story stuff #SPOILERS INSIDE!

[bihansthot]

I’m probably not going to be around much today lovelies, as I mentioned earlier in the week it’s the 25th anniversary of my heart transplant and ngl it’s weird. I’m in a weird place today, I’m trying really hard not to be sad or upset or think about how traumatic that night was. I don’t remember a lot about the night but I remember the phone ringing late at night maybe just after midnight and I remember going into my parents bedroom, they didn’t have to come get me, and I said “it’s time”, I just knew it as soon as I heard the phone and they confirmed it and we relatively calmly got our stuff and drove to the hospital. I had no idea what I was getting into and had I known, I would have not reacted as calmly as I did. I remember they had to draw blood before the procedure to use during the operation, I remember it taking over 25 attempts to get all the blood they needed and I was sobbing, I was in so much pain and I absolutely hated getting my blood drawn as a kid and while 14 isn’t exactly a little kid anymore it’s certainly not an adult either. I still remember the nurse who was there with us, she had a very distinct, raspy voice despite being quite young and to this day people with that type of voice bring back this very unpleasant memory. I don’t remember anything after the blood draw, they give you medication to help you forget traumatic operations and it doesn’t get much more traumatic than a heart transplant. I don’t really remember much of recovery either, I do remember how painful it was when they made me walk though. I wanted to go home and they said I had to walk to the end of the hall to go home and if I couldn’t do it they would keep me at the hospital another day. You better believe I dragged all my various IVs and monitors down that hallway in an instant. My incision was bleeding afterwards and I felt like I was going to collapse but I held that shit together like the stubborn ass I am and gave them a smile and told them it was nothing and I was ready to go. Shockingly they didn’t notice the bloody incision or my clear exhaustion and I was allowed to go home after only 7 days which at the time was a record. The weeks and months that followed were absolute agony, a heart transplant is a ridiculously painful procedure the only time I’ve ever been in more physical pain is when I threw up from my painkillers after having my tricuspid valve replaced 10 years ago. It was awful, I couldn’t even wash myself, I had to have my mother give me a bath like I was a five year old and that was humiliating but I couldn’t do anything about it, it was just too painful to move my arms to wash myself when my whole sternum had been ripped open and was now held together by twist ties and super glue. Then there was the near constant pain from the weekly biopsies to check for rejection, they basically jam a catheter into your neck and then rip little chunks of your heart out to check to make sure your body isn’t rejecting the organ. On top of all that I gained so much weight from the medications and steroids I was on and my mother was an absolute monster about it. We had a very bad very toxic relationship during this time, she ridiculed me constantly but I depended on her for so much that I couldn’t do anything about it. I was so miserable and wanted nothing more than to die. I don’t want to get to into it though but it was really hard so trying to think positively about today is really difficult but on the positive side of things I’m still here. I made it through all that hardship, all that struggle, all that physical and mental anguish. I survived. For 25 years I have survived and while everyday hasn’t been easy, I didn’t give up. I guess I deserve to celebrate that at least even if I don’t like dwelling on all the misery I’ve endured. So, happy anniversary me, you’ve done the best you could and deserve a nice celebration. I know a lot of you lovelies aren’t going to read this but if you do, thank you, I appreciate you taking the time to get to know me outside of being a horny Bi-Han fangirl. 💙

#personal #medical stuff #heart transplant #anniversary

[viv-weylin]

super important crane wives songs to me

tongues and teeth

• being a good person and feeling like you can't :(:( toxicity is comfortable and all you wanna do is stay the same cause some people don't wanna change.

shallow river

• reuniting with someone :(:(

back to the ground

• "use me up and when you're done, give me back to the ground" FUCK. WAUGH.

how to rest

• FUCK recovery, how even if you try, love is what makes us human and no matter what you do, you cannot hide it from yourself. love is what makes you you.

keep you safe

• THE MISSED OPPORTUNITIES IN LIFE, WHAT COULD'VE BEEN AND IT HURTS. SO MUCH.

never love an anchor

• sometimes I wonder if my mom felt this way. does she regret leaving me behind? does she regret never having a relationship with me?

allies or enemies

• sniff. sometimes it feels like my friendships are just on and off, do we love or hate? and for me, its like that for everyone due to splitting. it's fun.

little soldiers

• "I swear that I loved you/I swear that you loved me"

the hand that feeds

• capitalism sucks and I fucking hate being poor the song so true so me

the moon will sing...

• me when I devote myself to people because I can only see myself as a part of their identity hello???

nothing at all

• the title says it all

down the river

• when someone who's wronged you is doing better and everyone loves them but you hate them because they made you hurt... hahaha

ribs

• girl I got that catholic Christian trauma

curses

• bro everyone loves this song

turn out the lights

• my feel good song. when I need to shut off my intrusive thoughts, this is what makes me feel good. feel better.

know how

• I am not brave and I don't know how </3

the garden

• girl I got that catholic Christian trauma

volta

• GETTING USED TO NOISE IN LIFE ♡ tired of feeling like a ghost in my life no literally. yes yesss

nothing at all

• do you ever feel nothing at all?

here I am

• me when I don't even have clean drinkable water. me when my bathroom is infested in mold. me when my living space doesn't even feel like ours. and me when there's places where there's people doing so much worse because their government failed them. it hurts.

nobody

• "nobody loves me like she says she does."

drown you out

• I can't drown you out. this might be one of my favorite songs ugh. it hurts. WAUGH

empty page

• bpd song no but like being an empty page for someone to fill in. being what people need you to because that's your job?! so they love you? same.

#the crane wives #crane wives #sobs #wails #cries #wahhh #waugh

[road2nf]

As I read, thinking about how I wanted to give Margo’s parents a stern talking to, a small 3-inch wide piece of paper slipped out from between the pages. A hand written note, it read “Congratulations, Reader, you might be a Nerdfighter!

Upon my introduction to them, the Nerdfighter Community was obliterating the world of suck I was currently inhabiting! Here’s how:

I occasionally suffer from mild to moderate depressive episodes; periods of about one to two weeks filled with anxiety, and intense apathy. I basically stop enjoying life in general.

It sucks; and although I’ve been learning a lot about my triggers in the past couple months, I’ve yet to unravel the complex formula for the triggers that end these episodes.

In the past, it’s been being around friends, it’s embarking on a new project, and the beginning of a new love.

This time around after one long week, I found I was still traveling through my daily life on autopilot, because even though my passions had ran away, the need to maintain my relationships and uphold responsibilities had not.

And unfortunately being around my loved ones, which had worked in the past, miserably backfired this time around.

Essentially, I could see that faking normalcy wasn’t working, and they could start to see that my smile didn’t reach up to my eyes.

The worst of it was my failed attempt to be near my boyfriend in order to snap out of it.

It hurt immensely to feel so tremendously hollow while he held me, and it hurt more when he, understandably and respectfully, asked for space.

I saw for the first time how my disorder could ruin this relationship, my first real relationship, and it terrified me. So I stepped back from my life for a few hours, took up temporary hermit hood, put the “fake it till you make it” mentality on hold.

I went back to my dorm, picked up a copy of Paper Towns and settled in with some coca-cola and chocolate morsels and nuts.

As I read, thinking about how I wanted to give Margo’s parents a stern talking to, a small 3-inch wide piece of paper slipped out from between the pages. A hand written note, it read “Congratulations, Reader, you might be a Nerdfighter! If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I suggest you go to YouTube/Vlogbrothers and start exploring this TRULY AMAZING community (Nerdfighteria): We raise money for charities, support artist, decrease World Suck, and SO MUCH MORE! Hope to see you there. DFTBA and Best Wishes! -Missing Left Sock”

My first thought: What is world suck?

Second: Did someone go into Barnes n Noble and place these in copies of John Green’s books?! Third: Where’s my laptop?

The first thing I found was this live podcast hosted by John Green himself.

He was answering questions as they were appearing on his screen, and was remarkably funny and kind! And frankly very sassy.

On the side bar there was the insane flurry of questions racing up the page.

Honestly I don’t really remember the topic of the conversation, but I became acutely aware in a matter of minutes that this was a light hearted, accepting, inspirational, and powerful community. A force to be reckoned with.

And then I achieved the miraculous feat of laughing and erupting into tears simultaneously.

A live podcast might seem like such a menial thing, but to me it was a speck of light piercing the toxic pool I’d been drowning in. It was literally a beacon that showed me how to climb out of my current low.

They were happy tears, they were an expression of hope.

So there you have it. That’s the story of how my introduction to the Vlogbrothers and Nerdfighteria literally demolished my own personal world of suck, and I’ve been a proud Nerdfighter ever since. So thank you John and Hank Green, thank you Nerdfighteria, and thank you Missing Left Sock whoever you are.

I can’t begin to express how a small act had such a colossal impact on my world; because I’m on my way to recovery, to understanding, to control, to peace, to acceptance. I’m on my way, and will combat world suck at every step.

-AndTheEarthSighed (andtheearthsighed.tumblr)

#nerdfighters #vlogbrothers #nerdfighteria #nfstories #awesome #dftba #community #anxiety #depression #relationships #space #love #Paper Towns #missing left sock #nerdfighter notes #books #live podcast #sassy #kind #power with #together #laughing #hope #tears #peace #contribution #acceptance

[smol-lydia]

Personal post//cw for mention for ed no explicit details because we don’t do that here

So I finally got an admit date for residential: July 18th. Because I’m getting authorized through Medicaid/my county, I already know how many days they’ve approved which is an odd reassurance because in the past when I’ve had private insurance they only approve 4-5 days at a time so your head was constantly on the chopping block and it made it hard to focus on getting better

This time, I know I’ll be getting 50 days, no more, no less. I haven’t needed a HLOC since my last relapse in 2019 when my step dad passed and I’ve been working on my recovery since my admission to Renfrew in 2017 so…it’s weird to be back in the place once again.

I’ve learned that if you’ve had your Ed for more than a decade it’s considered SEED (severe and enduring) and I’ve had mine since I was 7 years old so….23 years. And yet I’m so harsh on myself for not being 1000% better blah blah

I’ve stopped using eat and yeet behaviors since 2019 but I still struggle with anorexic behaviors obviously and just….I really want to get back on track with things because I had a solid recovery for a while and I miss it. I miss food freedom and feeling ok in my skin. And secure in myself.

I’m not the toxic asshole I was before renfrew who burned bridges in my friendships and slept with men for validation despite being a lesbian or started fist fights in Denny’s or did drugs etc etc I never want to go “out” from AA or NA and I want better for myself….and for my loved ones….

I may not be in a relationship anymore, may not be getting married any more…..

But I don’t want to die from this disease. It’s not what I want to be known for.

#personal #chronic health tag #lyds talks

[hazyaltcare]

TW: POSSIBLE TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, ED, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, RELIGION, SPECIES DYSPHORIA, ABUSE AND EXOTRAUMA (ONLY MENTIONED NO DETAILS), BLAMING OURSELF FOR PAST EVENTS, AND VENT

HEY Y'ALL XD. COULD WE GET POSITIVITY TO OUR SYSTEM? WE'RE DEALING WITH A LOT OF SHIT RN AND JUST NEED SOME KIND WORDS TO HELP CHEER US UP AND YOU GUYS ALWAYS HELP A BIT :3. ANYWAYS.

WE GOT BROKEN UP WITH A FEW MONTHS AGO AND JUST CAN'T SEEM TO GET OVER IT AND ALSO WE'VE COME TO THE REALIZATION THAT THE RELATIONSHIP MAY HAVE BEEN TOXIC XD. WE RECENTLY RELAPSED WITH OUR ED AFTER NOT HAVING ISSUES FOR PROBABLY A YEAR. OUR SYSTEM IS UNSTABLE AND KEEPS MAKING US SWITCH HOSTS WHICH IS GETTING VERY TIRING AS WE NORMALLY ONLY SWITCH HOSTS EVERY FEW MONTHS. OUR DEPRESSION HAS GOTTEN A LOT WORSE LATELY AND MAKING US WANNA GIVE UP ON LIFE (WE'RE SEEING A DOCTOR ABOUT OUR DEPRESSION :3). WE'VE BEEN DEALING WITH SEVERE SPECIES DYSPHORIA OVER WINGS AND OTHER THINGS. WE'VE BEEN MISSING OUR PAST LIFE AS AN ANGEL AS IT WAS SIMPLER (WE CONSIDER OURSELVES COLLECTIVELY FALLEN ANGEL KIN NOW SINCE WE WERE THROWN OUT OF HEAVEN). BUT ALSO WE FEEL KINDA BAD FOR MISSING IT AS THE DEITY MIGHT HAVE BEEN ABUSIVE, AND WE SORTA FEEL AT BLAME FOR CERTAIN THINGS AND MAYBE THE ABUSE. AND WE'RE ALSO DEALING WITH A LOT OF CONFUSION AROUND A BUNCH OF OUR SYSTEM LATELY XD.

SORRY THIS IS VERY ALL OVER THE PLACE AND FOR MY TYPING QUIRK AND FOR THE LENGTH AND FOR THE POOR WRITING XD. TY FOR ANY POSITIVITY OR ADVICE OR ANYTHING AT ALL. WE UNDERSTAND IF YOU CAN'T ADDRESS MOST OF THESE ISSUES AS A LOT OF THEM WEREN'T KIN OR SYSTEM THINGS.

-MANGLE🏓 :3 FROM ⛏️🏳️‍🌈 (WE WOULD PREFER IF YOU REFER TO US WITH YOU& OR OTHER PLURAL TERMS) TYTY AGAIN AND SORRY FOR THE VENT.

Hello Mangle🏓 and all else from ⛏️🏳️‍🌈,

I'm very sorry to hear about the loss of your& relationship. That is hard enough to deal with on your& own even without adding on the complexities of possible toxicity in said relationship. I want you& to know that it's okay to be upset, and to take all the time you& may need to heal. You& can't rush the grieving process, and the grief over the loss of a relationship is as real as any other kind of grief.

I can understand how all of this happening would make you& think back to a former life where you& felt happier and more sure of your& place in the universe. Even if the deity who ruled you was toxic, you're& still allowed to yearn for what felt like a safe space at the time. A lot of us here who have alternate and/or past lives feel similarly about them, even if they were in unhealthy situations in these aforementioned lives.

Even under waves of traumatic exomemories, there can still be those jewels; those pockets in time and space where everything, at least for a moment, seemed okay. There's nothing wrong with treasuring those memories.

I'm also sorry to hear you& are struggling with a flare-up of your& eating disorder. Relapsing isn't a moral failing on your& part. Don't blame yourself& or your& body for your& own stress response. Maybe you& could find an online support group to help you& get through this? While my situation is different, I have found support groups to be very helpful when it comes to some of the mental illnesses I have been struggling with, and you& deserve recovery.

Never apologize for being yourself&, btw, because who you& are is a wonderful soul& who is deserving of love and kindness. Your typing quirk doesn't change that, a toxic relationship doesn't change that, and reaching out for support certainly doesn't change that either.

We all wish you& Light and healing,

Mod Haze (☀️Sol)

#system #pluran #otherkin #fallen angel kin #positivity #☀️ #mod haze #tw caps #tw toxic relationship #tw eating disorder #tw depression #tw exotrauma #tw breakup #tw religious themes #tw species dysphoria #⛏️🏳️‍🌈 anon

[darkrpfinder]

Currently looking for writing partners (18+) for 9-1-1 & Lone Star OR Chicago P.D fandoms!

I prefer writing CC X CC (I can only do CC x OC for Chicago PD) and am desperately wanting to explore some heavier themes within the fandoms.

I'm open to discuss pairings, but to name a few things that I'd love a chance to explore per fandom (listed below are characters i write AND are willing to write against, i love learning new characters theyre just ideas):

- TK (Lone Star) and his addictions & recovery / Carlos and his passive suicidal ideation (preferred Tarlos with plenty of drama but open to other pairings)

- Eddie and any of his PTSD shit from the army OR his recovery post-sniper. (Additional points if you let me scream about toxic shit between Shannon and him because that was not a healthy relationship and I'd love to explore it or its aftermath properly) - any ship welcome.

- Buck. Just Buck and his absolute naivety and inability to find a positive relationship. Give me him and Taylor with their shown and referenced infidelity and toxic dependency and manipulation. Give me him and Eddie in lawsuit era. Or explore any of his toxic traits - his suicide attempt in Buck Begins at the warehouse, his recklessness. Give me Buck drama of any flavor with ALMOST any ship (bonus points if you give me him and Lucy or let me toss Ravi against him and give me the power dynamic they had).

- Mouse (CPD) or Jay Halstead - two for one. Past addictions, their trauma after coming home from Afghanistan. Mouse's addiction. Or give me CI, still strung out Mouse. Or Jay undercover on a case.

If you're interested in plotting, please feel free to message me on here with a pairing or add & message me on discord (ameenjouee) and we can plot!

I only write on discord and prefer servers (it allows for multiple plots that way and we can plot and write without disrupting the flow of the rp!)

I prefer to only write with 18+, as I'm 27.

.

#911 lone star rp #911 lone star roleplay #chicago pd rp #chicago pd roleplay #rp search #dark roleplay #dark rp #18+ mun

[melis-writes]

Eyes like Stars [Bobby Axel x Reader Multi-chapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 13 - Overdose.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 12 [AO3] / [Tumblr] / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut, multi-chapter read.

"It’s amusing to me that you think you’re the only one in this office who's addicted to drugs, Emily.” / “You just can’t wait until Bobby dies, can’t you?!”

Bobby’s downward spiral to relapsing into a worse addiction becomes a burden for those he called his friends and his brother Hank, but never for you. You refuse to leave Bobby’s side, trying to support and coax him out of his addiction slowly knowing regardless of how long it takes, you won’t give up on him. Taking a heavier dose by the day, Bobby rides out on a consistent and dangerous high for days on end. Just when Bobby seems to stabilize, when he’s out of your sight the news of his overdose hits you in utter shock and horror. With only Chico’s help, you both rush and panic to help Bobby whose moments from losing his life and the only question on your mind is if Bobby will make it out alive with regret in your heart leaving him alone in the first place.

[WARNINGS]: Depictions and themes of heroin withdrawals & cravings / Heroin and marijuana highs / Heroin overdose / Explicit physical depictions of heroin overdose / Forced vomiting / Overdose recovery / Near death experience.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Apologies for the delay with this chapter, beloveds. 🥰 I’m still in the process of planning the remaining chapters for this fic and want to write/post up only the best! A little difficult to balance with two other oneshots at the same time but that just means more to look forward to!! ❤️ This chapter follows the events in the film with Bobby’s overdose, so pls take care when looking at the warnings since this chapter is on the explicit side. I’m also not much of a fan of the “I’ll-wait-for-you-to-change” trope and this is definitely not it as we see both Bobby and Emily are struggling through addiction with one another rather than it being entirely one sided, though we can definitely say it’s much more impactful on Bobby’s life at the moment. 🥺💔

Bobby’s release from prison marks the end of his and Helen’s relationship and you find yourself spending more time with Bobby and taking care of him after everything he’s been through. Working and living in Manhattan as a college drop-out, you distance yourself from Helen who Bobby and you take solace with one another in hopes to get out of the toxic lifestyle of drug use—promising each other to start a new life with one another and get clean. Falling in love with Bobby, you experience a mutual, passionate and loving relationship with its own highs and lows that promises to bloom into something more serious but also can threaten to collapse. As Bobby’s new girlfriend, your relationship hangs on a thread with old skeletons coming back into Bobby’s life, relapses, and a new panic on the horizon that threatens to undo it all.

[ + 1 Day ]

“Well, well, look at the little trash goblin Emily’s brought in here for me to babysit.” Marcie leans against the doorway to her apartment, loudly chewing her strawberry bubblegum.

“Hello to you too, Marcie.” You sigh softly, keeping an arm around Bobby’s shoulder as you both stand in front of her suite. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

“Would it matter?” Marcie eyes you first, then looks back down at Bobby. “I’ve babysat grown-ass men before. It’s what I do. He better not come down in ‘ere, that’s all.”

“He’s still high.” You admit, giving Bobby’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “But it’s not too bad, it’s like he took one dose.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Marcie tilts Bobby’s chin up, examining both sides of his face as if she’s expecting Bobby to bite her fingers at any moment. “I know one dose for Bobby is like five doses for the rest of us.”

Marcie takes a good look into Bobby’s bloodshot, dilated pupils, knowing all too well for herself that while Bobby’s still high, it’s gradually fading and at least won’t have him all zombie-like for the day.

“Hmm, yeah he’s high, alright.” Marcie pulls her hand back. “One moment so I can get this shit open.”

Bobby blinks lazily as you gently pull him away from the door. He stares aimlessly at Marcie unlocking her apartment door as casually as she can as if Marcie isn’t aware you have to be at work in fifteen minutes.

“Don’t go,” Bobby loosely holds your hand back, mumbling to you.

“I’m just going to work, baby.” You whisper back in his ear, brushing aside Bobby’s hair. “And I’ll be back tonight, then we can both go home, alright?”

“Mm.” Bobby wants to protest but doesn’t have the strength or energy to do so. “Home…”

“Alright. Welcome home, I guess.” Marcie pulls open the front door, gesturing for both of you to enter. “I don’t have any tricks comin’ in today so he can make himself as comfortable as he wants.”

“Thanks, Marcie.” You shoot her a warm smile, walking in with Bobby. “It’s just going to be until five. As soon as I’m out, I’ll be back to take Bobby home.”

“Anything you want me to do then?” Marcie shuts the door behind you, putting a hand on her hip. “Or is he just gonna sit here and stare at the wall for the next eight hours?”

“Please tell me you at least have something he can eat.” You don’t hold your hopes up high for Marcie’s response as you help Bobby sit on the edge of her bed.

“I eat out all the time, honey.” Marcie shakes her head. “You see a chef’s kitchen in ‘ere or somethin’? I can order him a bologna sandwich if he wants.”

“Never mind that then.” You brush her off, helping Bobby shrug off his bomber jacket. “I’ll get something delivered to him to eat.”

“What? Bobby doesn’t eat sandwiches anymore?” Marcie scoffs, walking over to her television. “It’s from the same deli we all go to.”

“He eats ‘health’ food now.” You can’t help but crack a smile at Bobby whose already lazily grinning back at you. “And that shit is no good for him, so like I said, I’ll handle it.”

“Alright, and I’ll just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid then.” Marcie turns on her television. “There. Maybe he can watch something if he’s not completely out of his mind yet.”

“He’s not.” You reply, blinking in surprise to see Bobby wrapping his arms around your lower waist and resting his head against your stomach. “He just reminds me of how I would be if I had smoked a joint.” You run your hands gently through Bobby’s hair. “He can talk and move, he’s not like…yesterday.”

“Yeah, you think that was his worst?” Marcie takes a cigarette out of her pack off her dresser. “That used to be Bobby every day.”

“It’s the worst I’ve seen him in and don’t want that ever again.” You don’t realize how sharp your tone of voice has grown.

“It’s fine, honey.” Marcie puts her cigarette in the corner of her mouth. “I don’t have any shit in here and I’m sure as hell not letting anybody shoot up in here.” She gestures to Bobby by tilting her head to the side, “I’m his glorified babysitter.”

“D-don’t go,” Bobby murmurs against you again, growing more insistent.

“Baby, baby,” ignoring Marcie’s comments, you kiss the top of Bobby’s head, cupping his cheeks softly and gazing down at him. “You know I want nothing more than to stay at home with you too than go back there, but—” you sigh quietly, “I don’t have a choice.”

Bobby’s eyes fill with a longing sadness looking up into yours as he desperately wants you to change your mind and take him home—stay with him, but you know you can’t put off work for the well-being of both of you and your finances, let alone have it become a habit.

“I love you,” you murmur to Bobby, kissing both of his cheeks. “Laying down and resting is gonna do you some good. You won’t be alone here for the day, you know? Marcie’s here. And I’ll get you something nice and filling to eat too, okay? It’ll help with your high.”

“Yeah…” Bobby breathes, giving your tummy a weak kiss.

Every inch of you insists and pulls for you to stay with Bobby, making you detest the idea of having to walk away from Bobby or even go to work in the first place.

Never has there ever been such an urge not to go to work, to just stay curled up in Bobby’s arms until you know he’s doing better—until all the drugs are out of his system.

“Cute.” Marcie comments, watching the both of you. “Bobby’s in love, love, isn’t he?”

“Don’t tease me.” You roll your eyes playfully at Marcie, slowly beginning to pull away from Bobby.

Before you can move back towards the door, Bobby grabs both of your hands and kisses them.

“Come back…soon.” Feeling Bobby’s warm kiss against your skin only amplifies the idea in the back of your mind trickling out and reminding you how your skin practically itches to take a fix before work too.

“I will, baby.” You find your breathing beginning to grow shaky. “I promise I will.”

Still able to push the cravings and desires out of your mind as you focus almost solely on Bobby’s wellbeing before your own, it’s unbeknownst to you that'll be one of the last times your body will ever allow you to have such a will to refuse how you continue to abuse it.

Bobby’s never been in this alone after all.

~

[ Way Enterprises, 9:30 AM ]

‘Appointments starting tomorrow at 11:30 to 12:45 are scheduled for… Scheduled for…’ You repeat the same sentence aimlessly over and over in your head like a mantra, unable to focus at all on your work let alone realize it.

‘I’ll mark it down as scheduled for…’ Your shaky hands can hardly grip the pen in your hand and with each passing second your eyes remain glued down to your work agenda in front of you, you swear to yourself that they begin to burn.

‘For…?’ You squeeze your eyes shut, dropping your pen onto the office floor.

You let out a shuddering deep breath, forcing your eyes open to look at the clock upon the wall, all the more disappointed to read that it still isn’t past 9:30 for the tenth time in a row.

‘God…’ You take your face into your hands, attempting to calm down your shaky, shallow breathing.

You’ve eaten a full breakfast this morning, had enough water and even managed to make yourself look semi-presentable for work and yet your insistent cravings and withdrawals continue to gnaw at your every effort.

You feel like an actual burden at work rather than being productive as you’ve gotten nothing done since you’ve clocked in.

You know you’d be utterly humiliated if any one of your coworkers noticed and all they’d have to do is ask you a question to realize you can’t answer it properly because you feel as if your skin is scratching back at you.

‘Bobby…’ You glance down at your blouse’s sleeve, inching it up to your arm to scratch at the reddened and bruising injection sites.

Refusing to acknowledge the idea or agree with it, it’s becoming to sink deep into your mind that Bobby is distracting you from everything and anything and it’s only growing worse by the day.

‘If I use in here…’ You know if you shoot up just a little bit, you may be able to pull through the workday, but there’s no telling how it’ll affect your movements, speech, or productivity and you’ve come to hate how your body tells you the solution to any kind of drowsiness is to use and use again.

‘I can’t. I can’t do that.’ You hold back tears in your eyes, clinging onto strands of your hair loosely as you lower your head to stare down at your desk.

Instead of finding something enjoyable to do or passing the time when you get home, all you’ve been doing for the past few weeks is getting high with Bobby and getting both of you off.

If it isn’t the sex, it’s most certainly the drugs and while it feels like a repetitive routine, it’s something you and Bobby have come to desperately need your fix of both numerous times every single day.

Still, if anything, you remember just how your life was before Bobby—when Chico, Marcie, and the others kept groaning on about some “panic” happening in the streets you didn’t use at all to even come close to understanding.

Everything was dull and your daily routine lacked any kind of interest with a looming depression above you after the fallout you had with your parents, your disappointing and wasted post-secondary years, let alone having any real friends to confide in, in this city.

If it comes down to living a reclused lifestyle working for your next paycheque, watching the rain pour against your bedroom window, eating the same comfort meal that reminds you of home versus being hooked on drugs, teasing you’re only chipping, having to take care of Bobby’s habit and himself the way you would a child all in the name of love and for the sake of not being alone—what would you truly choose?

What’s really changed? That you know you can never answer.

You manage to focus your vision across the office to spot Sykes talking to two of your coworkers near the lunch room.

Seemingly relaxed and in an almost obnoxiously cheerful mood as always, Sykes rests one arm propped up against the wall with the other holding a steaming cup of black coffee.

Almost as if he’s, unfortunately, read your mind, and like a mocking daily routine for him, Sykes happily turns back over his heel after he ends his brief small talk with your coworkers and walks straight to your desk.

‘Don’t talk to me. Please don’t talk to me. Don’t come near me for fuck’s sakes.’ You practically scream in your head as you reach down to the floor and fumble to grab your pen.

By the time your head peeks back up, Sykes is casually leaning against your desk and sipping his coffee as slowly as possible—his judging eyes wandering all over you.

You remain quiet as if you’re ashamed of Sykes’ presence. You click open your pen and force your hands to firmly remain upon your desk before you begin writing, but nothing has ever escaped Sykes’ eye in this office from the day he got transferred and you know it.

Sykes doesn’t say anything to you at first, only savoring his coffee quietly.

He notices regardless of the sunny weather outside seeping through the wide windows that build up a sweat for you, you still wear long-sleeved blouses and you have for some time.

Your eyes look dead inside as if you haven’t slept for weeks, usually bloodshot and you’ve started to care less about how you show up to work up to the point where even Sykes is beginning to notice you wearing the same blazer, blouse, and pencil skirt.

Your pencil skirt is just enough to cover the mottled bruises over your kneecaps—nothing due to injury, of course, but sessions of rough sloppy fucking and more specifically, sucking Bobby off until your knees felt weak.

Your hands remain jittery, your fingers are too weak for the most part to grasp things firmly, let alone use them, and you can barely sit still or focus on anything.

None of this strikes Sykes as unusual or as a surprise either, and just from the way you can feel his beady, blue eyes examining you, you think to yourself Sykes must be more than just enjoying seeing you this way.

“Coming down now, huh?” Sykes speaks to you in a low voice, ushered so others can’t overhear the conversation but in such a tone that it sounds mocking rather than pitiful. “It’s as clear as day if you were trying to hide it.”

“Stop talking to me.” You manage to say through gritted teeth, barely holding yourself together.

Sykes smirks behind his cup of coffee, taking a long sip while keeping his eyes over you. “Stressed too then.”

“You…” You swallow hard, staring down at your desk. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Does it surprise you how observant I am or have you already forgotten?” Sykes sets down his coffee cup on the corner of your desk. “It’s amusing to me that you think you’re the only one in this office who's addicted to drugs, Emily.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, slowly raising your head to gaze up at Sykes. “W-what…?”

“The cocaine residue I find on our staples, over the edge of the printers, stashed under the sinks in the bathroom—yeah. I could get every single person in this office arrested and fired if I wanted to.” He smugly smirks at you. “But hey, what do I have against it, right?”

“You do it too.” Your voice strains through your words.

“Maybe.” Sykes lets out a dramatic sigh. “Maybe not. That’s my business, and I wouldn’t ever do it in plain sight like you. It takes the edge off, I get it, but we can’t all be high out of our minds at the office—especially not me. Unlike you,” he eyes you judgingly, “I have a reputation to maintain here, not a habit.”

“Sometimes…” You grip your hands onto your work desk, narrowing your eyes at Sykes. “I don’t know if you’re here to observe me, o-or just to insult me.”

“I’m not your enemy, honey.” Sykes chuckles, placing his hand over top of yours.

“Believe me, it’s not even in my best interest to watch you lose your job and everything else. But if I can see the way you look, everyone else can.” Sykes abruptly leans down close to you as you pick up the scent of coffee on his breath, “so for the sake of saving face, clean up your act and stay sober at work or my observations will be the least of your worries when someone else calls HR.”

Anxiety instantly pulls in your gut as your eyes widen in an alarming worry. Every muscle in your body freezes from fear as Sykes notices your bottom lip quivering. “No…”

“Yes,” Sykes repeats, pressing his hand over yours harshly. “I like having you around, Emily, I really do. And besides, more than half of your paycheque supports your boyfriend, right? So I don’t need to sit here and list down scenarios of how things will quickly go downhill for the both of you if you lose your job, especially considering both of you are addicts.”

You wince out of pain as you notice Sykes has been digging his fingernails into the back of your hand, trying to pull away from him.

“Keep what I said in mind.” Sykes continues to keep a strong grip over you until he decides to pull back, nudging his coffee cup towards you. “And clean this up while you’re at it. It’ll give you some practice in walking around and acting normal in this office.”

“I…” You stare back at your boss aimlessly as if you’re still trying to process what he’s told you.

The confused yet innocent-like look over your face more than amuses Sykes who chuckles, knowing you won’t and can’t even physically argue with him.

Perhaps preferring you in a downtrodden state like this rather than clean and alert more than anything else, Sykes can’t wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face as he walks back towards his office yet again with further leverage over you growing into steady blackmail while he knows you’re helpless to your addiction.

You breathe out shakily the moment Sykes is out of view and earshot as if you’ve been holding your breath the entire time he was next to you.

On the verge of tears and barely keeping yourself together, you cover your face with your hand and force yourself to look back down at your work agenda and get something done—anything.

Any attempt at focusing fails miserably and you begin to grow frustrated with yourself every time your eyes dart back to the clock upon the wall, finding that little to no time has passed.

‘Coming down… Is this really what it’s like?’ You squeeze your eyes shut, tilting your head back and forth without even knowing as you try to believe you’re fine—you’re doing okay and you’ll get through this shift like you always have.

You neither have the energy to scold yourself nor think further on just what’s happening to your body, only able to repeat a mantra of ‘work, work, work’ over and over again in your head in hopes it’ll actually come to some fruition.

The next four hours pass painfully working as if every inch of your body is aching and the skin over your wrists feels as if a fire is crawling over it.

While you can’t focus on your work to save your life, you’ve become much more intent on figuring out what time it is above anything else.

Thankfully none of your coworkers have passed close to your desk nor have you received any calls and visitors. It’s a slow day, but you don’t have the mental energy to process thinking about that either.

For once in your life, you find yourself wishing you had something to do. Maybe not any kind of work that would involve seeing or talking to someone despite it being the majority of your job role, but if Sykes could slam down a pile of paperwork onto your desk as he normally loves to do, you’d actually feel as if you have some purpose in today's shift instead of itching for your next fix.

Another ten minutes pass by as you spend it with your head plastered onto your desk and your eyes shut tightly. It almost feels as if your body’s need for another shot seems to be gradually waning or at least you’re getting used to it.

Just as you think to yourself you could get away momentarily from all of this just by taking a nap, you jolt up in your office seat to hear the telephone ringing for the first time in five hours.

Your heart pounds in your chest from surprise and you attempt to calm down your breath rate over something so ridiculously normal as an incoming telephone call to your office.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and pick up the telephone, holding it up to your ear. “Way Enterprises, receptionist Emily Sutcliffe speaking.” Even you’ve surprised yourself today by being able to speak normally.

“Uh, hello?” You hear a gruff voice on the other end of the phone. “Emily? Emily, is that you?”

“Chico?” Your eyes widen as you realize just whose on the other end.

“Oh, thank God!” Chico sighs loudly, growing agitated. “I been calling all the numbers in your office just to reach you—look, you gotta get over here fast and now.”

“What are you talking about?” You rub your temples gingerly, “I’m working, Chico. I can’t just get up and leave my job.”

“Emily, it’s serious.” You hear loud scuffling in the background and hoarse coughing. “It’s Bobby! He took a hot shot of junk and he’s fucking overdosing and puking everything up on the floor! You have to get here now!”

“What?!” You almost drop the telephone out of your hands, feeling a wave of sickening anxiety crash over you. “Is he okay?! Call him an ambulance—I’ll be right there!”

“If we call him an ambulance for an overdose, we’re calling Hotch’s hotline! You know we can’t fuckin’ do that. Get to Marcie’s place as soon as you can, man!” Chico explains.

“I’m coming—okay, okay—” you practically throw the telephone down before getting up from your seat and knocking your chair down backward.

‘Bobby… No, no, no, this can’t be fucking happening! Marcie said…?! Marcie didn’t have anything on her, how the fuck could he have taken something?!'

The knot of emotions clenching in your gut flare up your nausea as you stumble over to the coat rack and snatch your jacket and purse off it.

Without even bothering to look back over your shoulder, you hold onto your things tightly and sprint off towards the stairs as quickly as your shaking legs can take you.

Panting and desperate to reach Marcie’s apartment as soon as possible, every step you take feels as if it’ll be the one to cause your knees to give out but it’s the fear inside of you fueling the adrenaline that has you racing out of breath across Upper West Side Manhattan.

Constantly blinking to clear the tears pooling in your eyes, you rush across the lobby of Marcie’s apartment and sprint directly for the stairs, knowing if you stop yourself now to wait for an elevator, you may just give in entirely.

Confirming your horror, the moment you get onto Marcie’s floor you can already hear Marcie’s panicked voice shrieking, Chico yelling over her, and the sound of Bobby coughing out his lungs and choking

“Marcie! Chico!” Your voice wavers as you shout, lunging yourself towards Marcie’s suite door and slamming your fists over it. “Open up! Open the door, I’m here!”

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming!” Marcie huffs, throwing open the locks on the door as you barge in. “Get him the hell out of here!”

“Bobby?!” Taking just one step inside, you see Bobby convulsing on the ground with his eyes rolled back. “BOBBY!” You shriek, throwing yourself knees down to the floor next to him.

“We gotta get him up! Get him on his feet, come on!” Chico grunts, grabbing Bobby’s right arm.

Sobbing and using all your remaining strength to attempt to haul Bobby up in your arms, your cries only grow louder as Bobby flails in Chico’s grasp and latches onto your chest, struggling to breathe. “Bobby, come on!”

“Oh my God—” From what you know and what you can see, Bobby has little to no proper control of his body—putting all of his weight on you.

“Emily! I got you! Just pull him up! He’s gotta get up!” You feel Chico’s hands helping you up as you scoop Bobby up into your arms to get up on his feet with you.

Bobby’s fingers twitch as he struggles to close his hands up in a fist or even raise his fingers up to his face, feeling as if spiders are crawling all over his skin.

Had he the opportunity, Bobby would want to tear up his own face to stop the shock going through his body.

“He’s not gonna die in my goddamn apartment, you hear me!?” Marcie raises her voice over the three of you, appearing visibly shaken.

Just glancing back at Marcie after hearing her comment is enough to deliver a nauseating blow of anxiety into your gut. “Marcie, shut up!”

Feeling nothing but sheer and true fear as if you’re actually witnessing Bobby’s death, had it not been for the adrenaline masking how visibly shaken you are physically, you’d have thrown up several times before already.

“Come on, come on—” You and Chico finally manage to pull Bobby up together, balancing him on his feet. “He’s choking, he’s not going to be able to move.”

“My God,” bewildered, Marcie covers her face with both her hands. “At least you got here on time!”

Flailing in both of your arms like a helpless ragdoll being balanced and back and forth in Chico and your arms, you both push and pull Bobby over to the wall closest to you.

“Yeah, yeah, luckily I was just around the corner!” Chico breathes heavily. “Then again the whole damn city would have heard you screaming out your window, Marcie!”

Bobby’s lungs sting and ache in agony as he continues to cough harshly back to back, still not able to get enough air into his system. His head tilts back and forth aimlessly until you and Chico press him up against a wall.

“You don’t see any paramedics in here, do ya?!” Marcie runs a shaky hand through her hair. “Just get him out of here! I don’t wanna see him like this!”

“Just fucking ignore her, Emily,” Chico keeps Bobby pinned to the wall, tilting his head back and pushing down on his shoulders. “We need to get Bobby out of this fucking state!”

Bobby’s eyes land upon yours, practically pleading “help me” while only keeping his hopeless gaze over yours in genuine fear of losing his life and struggling to stay alive.

“He’s going to vomit!” You pat around Bobby’s chest and stomach helplessly, seeming to you as if Bobby actually has something down his throat he’s choking on.

Bobby’s body quivers in you and Chico’s grasp again as he lets out a breathless wail. Chico takes a step in front of Bobby and grabs his face harshly with one hand. “There’s only one damn way he’s gonna snap outta this now!”

Bobby’s shirt rides up halfway to his chest from being pulled around and only for a split second do your eyes glance down to see fresh, reddened scratch marks over his stomach before Chico slapping Bobby across the face pulls your attention back abruptly.

“Come on!” Chico tilts Bobby’s head to the side, slapping his face again.

“Chico, what the hell are you doing?!” You keep Bobby pressed up against the wall.

“I need him to respond to this!” Chico grits his teeth, slapping Bobby three more times in rapid succession. “Alright, come on! Bobby, come on!”

You gasp out as Bobby lunges towards you, resting his head over your shoulder lazily. “He’s stopped?!”

“He’s not choking anymore.” Chico smacks Bobby’s back to make sure but quickly pulls him back away from you. “Still! Not! Responsive!” He slaps Bobby again over the face. “Come on, Emily! Help me out ‘ere! Shake him!”

“Bobby!” You cry out, cupping his face with your hands and giving him a shake. “Bobby, come on! Come on!”

Bobby’s eyes flutter shut as his breathing slows down, and it’s only then that alarm flashes in Chico’s eyes. “No, no, can he see?” He forcefully pries Bobby’s eyelids open with his fingers. “Come on, huh!? Bobby, I know you can hear me! Snap out of it!” He slams Bobby’s back up against the wall harder than before.

Still unresponsive, Bobby remains silent and crumples against the wall, but neither you nor Chico relents.

“Chico, we need to call an ambulance!” You sniffle, holding onto Bobby’s arm.

“I know what I’m doing!” Chico stares at Bobby’s face, feeling his throat beginning to tighten. “Ah, aha! He’s gonna puke, Em! He’s gotta get the shit out of his system!”

“Puke?!” Marcie gasps out in disgust. “Oh God, not in my place!”

“Oh, shut up!” Chico scowls back at her. “Your friend’s fuckin’ dying in here and you’re worried about your shit-stained carpet?! Emily!” Chico turns back to face you, opening Bobby’s mouth. “Do you see any vomit coming out?”

“No!” You shake your head. “We need to get him over the toilet! He needs a towel—”

“I’ve only got one towel!” Marcie shrieks out. “You’re not gonna use that on him, are you?!”

“Yeah, Marcie!” Chico pulls Bobby’s arm over his shoulder as you do the same to hoist him back off the wall. “You just can’t wait until Bobby dies, can’t you?!”

“He’s not dying!” You hiccup through your sobs, “not if I can fucking help it!”

“Don’t jinx it.” Chico points an accusing finger at Marcie as you both take Bobby over to the bathroom. “You care about a fucking towel before you do about the life of your friend!”

“It’s not my fault any of this happened!” Marcie frowns, “I told him ‘no drugs’ and he snuck them in here!”

“You’re really not fucking helping, Marcie.” You glare at her as you help Chico kneel Bobby down to the toilet seat. “Don’t make me regret paying your fucking rent.”

“Shut up or he is gonna die in here!” Chico slams the bathroom door shut to drown out Marcie’s voice.

Unable to focus on a single thing in front of or around him, Bobby aimlessly gazes around the bathroom you and Chico take him in.

Unaware of what’s happening to him other than the alarming state and shock his body is physically in, Bobby’s eyes appear empty and dead and he grows even more unresponsive by the minute.

“Why is he—” Your eyes widen as you notice Bobby’s muscles beginning to relax and grow limp in your arms, only striking a further shock to you.

“Bobby!” You croak out through your sobs; your stress and fear mounting with your tension as you attempt to hopelessly get Bobby’s attention back onto you. “Bobby! BOBBY!! Look at me!”

Bobby lets out a disgruntled whimper, but he neither looks you nor Chico in the eye nor keeps his balance on his own two feet.

“He’s gotta puke, Em, he’ll be alright.” Chico helps you carefully get Bobby down on his knees before the toilet. “He ain’t gonna snap outta anything if we don’t get all this junk out of his system.”

“Why isn’t he r-responding? He won’t even look at us,” you hiccup through your tears, angling Bobby’s head down towards the toilet bowl.

“He’s beyond fucked.” Chico sighs shakily, grasping Bobby’s jaw. “The faster we do this, the better. Come on, stick your fingers down his throat—he’s not gonna puke voluntarily!”

“Okay, okay,” you swallow hard, cringing as you swiftly put two of your fingers towards the back of Bobby’s throat to trigger his gag reflex.

It’s not the immediate rush of the dinner Bobby had last night or the only thing he consumed today being water that he pukes up disgusting you, but rather the idea that you may be hurting Bobby by doing this to him instead.

“Hkkkkkghhh!” Bobby gags, vomiting into the toilet and squeezing his eyes shut.

“There we go, there we go.” Chico keeps Bobby’s jaw angled down. “He’s gotta get it all out, just like that.”

“God,” your vision blurs with tears pooling in your eyes as you pull your fingers back, watching the vile liquid escape from Bobby’s lips.

Nothing Bobby does can disgust or repulse you even if he tried.

After the state he was in from living on the streets to prison, washing layers of sweat and dirt caked up on Bobby’s skin, taking care of the scabs and opened wounds over his wrists from scratching at old and fresh injection sites alike, lathering up shampoo in Bobby’s greasy hair to this—all things you wish you’d never have to do because it kills you to see Bobby suffering in any way.

The sickening feel of anxiety piling up in your gut is only amplified by your guilty conscience at this point.

Only a minute passes by until Bobby’s done puking, but it feels like a lifetime to you passing by before your eyes as the only thing you can think of clearly in your head is: ‘this is all my fault.’

‘I gave him his dose—I let him have another one. This is all my fucking fault. I did this to him!’

Anywhere else at any other time you’d want to tear yourself apart and you know you won’t go on without doing so after all is said and done here.

There’s even a massive regret inside of you that you went to work in the first place, but how could you have known Bobby would overdose or even have anything on him after how slumped he was from being so high and under Marcie’s supervision?

‘I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.’

Bobby hasn’t even had a meal today and consumed nothing but water hence how quickly his vomiting ceases.

“Alright, man. There you go.” Chico snatches the bath towel off the rack next to him, wrapping it around Bobby’s neck as you pull his head back.

You can tell just from the look in his eyes that he can now make out his environment and focus on what’s happening around him and whose around him.

“Mm…” Bobby takes in a deep breath—although a weak and shaky one—and appears as if he’s stabilizing as he leans against you.

“Thank God,” Chico mutters under his breath, sliding down against the wall and sitting on the bathroom floor.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” you murmur, sniffling as you reach your free hand over to the sink to quickly wash off your fingers.

“H-help…” Bobby breathes out, completely dependent on you for balance.

“I got you, baby. I got you.” You wrap your arms around Bobby’s shoulders, sitting on the bathroom floor across Hank with Bobby as gently as you can as.

As if Bobby’s about to break if you touch him the wrong way, all of your movements are slow and soft towards him and on him.

You keep the towel wrapped around his shoulders and pull at it, dabbing the beads of sweat built up on Bobby’s forehead. “Here, baby. You’re okay…”

“Emily? Chico?” Marcie calls out, knocking on the bathroom door before opening it up and peeking inside. “What’s goin’ on now? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Chico exhales deeply. “He just puked, he’ll stabilize.”

“God.” Marcie appears alarmed and still alert, “well he can’t stay in here, I’ve got a trick comin’.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think he shouldn’t have stayed here in the first place.” You narrow your eyes, wrongfully blaming Marcie for Bobby’s own overdose throughout your anger as you snuggle onto him. “I’m not taking him out on the streets like this, not when Hotch is out there.”

“Hmmmmm…” Bobby mutters to himself, scratching at his wrists where he injected his last dose.

“Let your trick come then.” Chico shrugs his shoulders. “What—does he need to take a piss first?”

“Baby, no.” You whisper, lacing your hand with Bobby’s to stop him from scratching. “Don’t do that, okay?”

“Are you serious right now?” Marcie huffs, crossing her arms. “And if he hears him wailing?”

“He’s not wailing, Marcie.” You scoff, gesturing to Bobby. “He’s sick.”

“Sick, my ass!” Marcie exclaims in disbelief. “I didn’t ask him to shoot up forty dollars worth in here!”

“Yeah? Well, he can’t talk, move or barely do shit, look at him.” Chico points at Bobby, growing increasingly irritated by Marcie’s lack of sympathy. “Trust me, your John isn’t gonna know a soul else is in here.”

“I’m taking care of him.” You hug onto Bobby’s shoulders tightly, letting him rest his cheek against yours. “We’ll leave after your John’s gone.”

“And he’s a regular.” Marcie rolls her eyes, looking back at the front door. “He’s coming up as we speak so keep it down in here, alright?” She pulls back the bathroom door.

“Yeah, yeah.” Chico mumbles, tilting his head back against the wall.

“Help,” Bobby whimpers out again, feeling the warmth of your skin against his as Marcie shuts the bathroom door.

“I can help you, baby.” You kiss Bobby’s cheek gently, unaware now that he knows you’re taking care of him. “It’s alright.”

"Marcie's not your friend, baby.” You can hear Bobby’s words practically repeating again and again in your head, knowing now more than ever it makes so much more sense.

“What a trip,” Bobby slurs out his first sentence since you got to Marcie’s place, burying his face into your shoulder. “What…a triiiiip… Hmmm….”

“Are you alright, baby?” Pleasantly surprised to hear Bobby being able to speak, you softly kiss his cheek.

“Mmmm...” Bobby gives out a pained groan as you rub warmth back into his hands with yours.

From the moment both of your eyes meet in a gaze, you notice Bobby isn’t looking at you the way he did yesterday when his high controlled him completely.

Instead, Bobby’s eyes are filled with nothing but disappointment for himself, wallowing in self-pity and an ashamed look as if you’ve caught him in a lie; in a way you already have.

Bobby knows he shouldn’t have even thought about getting high again but it’s as if his body went into panic mode realizing the high was wearing off and demanded that strong surge to flow through his veins again.

The sadness lingering inside Bobby now only stems from believing he’s lied and disappointed in you, but it’s the forgiving and soothing look from you that confuses him above all.

Even feeling at his absolute worst, Bobby knows at least he’s with you—at least he has you.

“Hnnnngghr...” Bobby can still barely balance on his own, wobbling around if you’re not holding him against your body.

Chico sighs quietly, pulling out his half-crushed cigarette pack from the pocket of his jeans to distract himself as you cuddle Bobby against you across from Chico.

“Never,” Bobby mumbles out, talking again. “N-never again.”

“God,” your throat tightens as you feel another rush of tears form in the corners of your eyes. “Bobby, I thought I was going to lose you tonight. You had me so scared—you had all of us worried.”

“Never, never,” Bobby lazily shakes his head, knowing this is about as much of a promise that he can offer to you at the moment.

“It’s okay,” you breathe out, forcing your tears back as you continue to wipe the sweat off of Bobby’s forehead with the towel. “It’s okay, baby. Everything’s alright now.”

Just as you’re aware this morning could have been the last time you’d see Bobby, Sykes is just as aware you’ve left work early; a thought that still hasn’t come to your mind.

“L-love you,” Bobby mutters against your chest as you stroke his hair. “Need...”

“Baby,” you sniffle, kissing the top of Bobby’s head.

“Need you.” Bobby hiccups, trying to shrug the towel off of his shoulders. “I’m... I’m gonna marry you.”

You blush, exchanging a look with Chico who chuckles and smokes quietly; much more concerned with Marcie finishing “entertaining” her client so the three of you can get out of her cramped bathroom.

“You’re gonna marry me?” You crack a smile for the first time since this morning, adjusting the towel over Bobby’s shoulders.

“At least he’s talkin’.” Chico points out quietly.

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky breath. “He almost had me dying here myself.”

You rub up and down Bobby’s arms, gladly giving him all the warmth and affection you have to offer, but it’s short-lived as it comes to both you and Chico as a surprise that Bobby suddenly bursts into tears.

Your eyes widen in shock as Bobby cries, clinging onto the fabric of your blouse as sobs rack through his body.

Trying to stay quiet for the sake of Marcie while seeing Bobby hurting and realizing the state you’re all in and come down to kills you as you hold Bobby tightly.

“Bobby, baby,” you can barely croak out as you weep quietly, feeling Bobby’s hot tears soaking into your top. “You’re okay, you’re h-here with me now.”

As you blink the last tear out of your eye—clearing your vision—you look upon Chico who only had one question regarding all of this since you and he managed to stabilize Bobby.

‘What the hell happened?’ Neither of you—let alone Marcie—know how Bobby overdosed when neither you nor Marcie had anything on you or in either of your suites.

It doesn’t add up to you nor does it make sense, but Bobby’s clearly had such a heavy dose that it’s caused his body to literally overdose, almost certainly killing him.

Looking down now at your boyfriend crying his pity out in your arms, you know you’ll have to ask him or find out one way or another how this all started no matter what state he’s in.

‘What happened to you, Bobby?’ You frown, pressing your lips up to his forehead for another kiss as all you can feel is your aching heart towards his pain. ‘What happened?’

#al pacino #al pacino x reader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes #bobby axel x reader #bobby axel x oc #bobby axel fanfic #the panic in needle park fanfic #the panic in needle park #the panic in needle park smut #bobby axel x reader smut #bobby axel #eyes like stars fanfic #the panic in needle park x reader

[c-0-yote-teeth]

Hi I just need to scream here for a bit bc I been holding it together irl and need to get this out

Tw for death of a loved one, abuse, drug addiction, mental illness- possibly more

My mom died last year. November 15th. I will never forget the phone call from the woman she was staying with.

"Your momma died last night."

What do you say to that?

"Oh."

I loved my mom, and I still do. But her dying has forced me to look back on my life and, unfortunately, revisit all the trauma I experienced at her hands. Not ALL of my trauma, mind you, but... Enough. She was supportive of me as a person and that made the abuse very difficult to process mentally. She didn't care that I was bisexual, she was too. When I came out as trans at 14, she supported me fully, going so far as to buy me a new wardrobe even though I didn't live with her at the time. When I fucked up and got pregnant at 16, she moved me back down near her and was the most amazing Mima my daughter could have ever wanted.

But she was also a manipulative abuser, and an addict. I was physically abused in place of my siblings, blamed for things going wrong in her life, accused of sleeping with her drug dealer boyfriend and doing crack, and, coming to a head at the ripe old age of 14, she tried to kill me. I was put into foster care after bouncing through a few family members houses, and I didn't speak to her for about a year. When we did speak, it was very limited and I was hesitant.

When I found out I was pregnant, she was one of the first people I called. I moved in with my grandma and Megan rekindling my relationship with what I thought was a changed version of my mother. Little did I know.

The entire time I was gone, she continued abusing my siblings, her and the guy she was seeing mutually abused each other for YEARS, she continued doing drugs and drinking, and then we all moved into a house together. She did meth. She saw people in the trees. She was only happy if she was drunk or high, but even that was 50/50.

The slightest thing would set her off, and she would go feral. One of my siblings moved in with their dad, the other stayed with my mom and my daughter while I moved to the next town over to get away from the drugs and toxicity of my hometown, start a career, and get financially stable enough to have my daughter. (Remember, I was a teenager).

The cops were called one night when the fighting between my mom and her husband got really bad, and my brother and daughter both ended up staying with me in my tiny apartment, until my brother also moved in with his dad.

After that, my mom got clean! She stopped doing drugs AND drinking, and even smoking cigarettes! She moved in with me, started an LGBTQ pride based small business, donated her proceeds to organizations like the Trevor project, got her license and car fixed... it was nice. She worked her way up to be a support counselor for LGBTQ victims of abuse of any kind, worked with organizations to set up needle drops for people with addictions to dispose of used needles and obtain clean ones and Narcan, and fentanyl test strips, all for free.

And then, one day, she just... Gave up. She struggled with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, and other mental illnesses I'm sure I had no idea about, and I think that it was just... Too much.

She relapsed. She drank, she smoked, she shot up, she snorted. She got kicked out of the recovery house she moved into, moved back in with me, fought with me and was subsequently kicked out of and banned from my house, attempted to drive to her exes house an hour and a half away drunk, crashed her car, moved back in with her ex, broke probation and got arrested more than once.

When she went to court, her options were:

A: 5 years in prison, out in as little as 3 on basis of good behaviour

Or

B: 2 years in prison, 8 on probation.

And you know what she decided to do?

She fled the state. She fucking left. She bounced around the country with money from who fucking knows where, stayed with other addicts she had met along the way and saw all the things she wanted to see. National landmarks, mountains, and even the snow for the first time.

And then, she died. She was 45 years old.

And now... It's her birthday. She would have been 46.

If you stuck around all the way to the end of my tragic story, I'm sorry. There is no happy ending. There is no justice. I just needed to get this off my chest. Her life was a rollercoaster of tragedy from beginning to end, crashing through and derailing other people's rides in the process. I'm 23 now, and I'm doing... Okay. I struggle with my own mental illnesses, as evidenced by this very blog. I don't really know how to end this, but... If you think this story is bad, you should hear about the rest of my life.

- Ransom.

#tw abuse #tw dead parent #tw drvgs #tw drinking #tw alchoholism #tw addiction #actually dissociative #did #dissociation #dissociative identity disorder #dissociative system #did system #osdd #traumagenic did #traumagenic osdd #trauma

[to-those-who-i-have-mauled]

Recovery 2.0 (Entry 1)

So this is my second day out from Ankle surgery. I've once again broken an ankle doing the sport I love.

At first I was super positive and in crisis management mode. I got to the doctor, had x-rays, waited a week for surgery, and made all arrangements I could to make as many things easier.

I've had the surgery and now have new hardware in my ankle to strengthen and heal.

I have just up for a long time.

So many emotions today. Frustration brought me to tears, and I just want to do nothing, and everything. I had a shower, but I have a heap of washing in the bathroom from a week ago when I first broke myself, and it just took a long time to navigate the bathroom because it was wet, and I nearly slipped, and everything was just hard.

My Mum also expressed she was not happy that she learned about my ankle on Facebook, yet hasn't called to check up. So in a bit of silly retaliation, I have left her on read. We have a little bit of a toxic relationship as she can be quite nasty, and a bully. So I felt like it would be easier not to tell her very much, as she doesn't tend to check on me in any case. I feel like the asshole, but still feel justified.

My housemate has been amazing today and yesterday. She cleaned and organised my room for me so I was safe and in a fresh place to recover, she's done a load of washing for me and helped fold and put away clothes. She made me tuna and rice and veggies for dinner last night and lunch. She made me a cuppa this morning. I feel thankful, bad, and guilty all in one. Just so much, but also I don't wanna complain cause then in my mind that = ungratefulness.

I have so many who are around and happy to help, and listen. But I feel bad. Like this is all my fault again, and that I should deal with this on my own as much as I can. But I know, I damned well know if my friends or family felt like this. I would pound it into them that they deserve help, and advice, and kindness. That it was an accident. That they will get through this. You're allowed to feel emotions. Good, bad and everything in between.

Luckily in my crisis management mode, I have lists of exercises to help my recovery, i have a plan of action, and emergencies and support in place if I run into financial crisis (as I am essentially losing 2 weeks of work). I can do all of this again. Get back to where I was physically, and get back to my sport. Hang out with my friends, walk to the bathroom unbothered, and even drive to get a coffee.

Here's to this day.

#ankle surgery recovery #Surgery recovery #ankle surgery #broken fib #roller derby injuries #xray #fibula fracture