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imfinereallyy · 1 year

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“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

Steve sighs, and he looks at Eddie in his doorway. So much has changed in five years. But Eddie seems the same. Just his hair is a bit longer, he’s got more tattoos, and he’s got scruff on his face that Steve knows when they saw each other last in 87’ would have driven him nuts.

Steve has always liked the idea of Eddie with a beard. It doesn’t matter now, though. “I think you should leave.”

“Steve, I—I just need a chance to explain.” Eddie moves side to side on his feet.

“Explain?” Steve scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “You had the chance to explain five years ago before you left. You had the chance to explain the weeks after with no phone calls to me to any of the kids. You had the chance to explain the year after when you talked to everyone but me, and I thought you just needed time. You had the chance a year ago before you cut everyone else off again.”

Eddie hangs his head in shame. “Stevie, please. I know I don’t deserve it. But I just want to talk.”

Steve’s resistance wavers slightly. He moves out of the doorway to let Eddie in. Eddie rushes inside, knowing Steve will change his mind at any moment. Steve shuts the door behind them. “I’m only letting you in because if Robin finds you in our doorway, she will kick your ass. And as much as you hurt me, I don’t actually want to see you in physical pain.”

Eddie smiles a bit, “Still the dynamic duo? You and Robbie? What’s stopping her from beating me up inside?”

“Our cat Sylvia might see. And she’s trying to shield her from as much violence as possible. Says one Sylvia has seen enough.”

“Oh please tell me she is out by now, because that is a giant gay flashing sign.” Eddie chuckles.

Steve can’t help but laugh a little, “Yes, she is. It would be hard if she weren’t, considering she’s dating Nancy. And Nancy is a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them. She shows her off any chance she gets.”

“Wow, Robs bagged Wheeler? Never saw that coming.” Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Must have been a blow to the ego for ya, Stevie. Your ex and your best friend.” He mock clutches his heart.

Steve lets out a big laugh this time, “Nah. I encouraged it. They’re my favorite people; they deserve to be happy.”

Eddie softens, “Yea, being a favorite person of Steve Harrington is a very special thing.”

Steve feels ice water in his veins, “What are you doing here Eddie?”

Eddie sighs, “What do you want to hear? Why I needed to come, or why I wanted to? Cause the truth is I needed to come to apologize to you. Give you the explanation you deserve. What I wanted, though, what I wanted is to tell you that I love—“

“Don’t.” Steve chokes.

“Right apologies first.”

“First? First?! Eddie. I don’t know what you could say to me right now that would make anything make sense. We had something good. It took us so long to get to that point. And it was great because we learned about each other and knew each other inside out. Our friendship blossomed into something more, and we were just getting started, and you left. I had thought I was done with love before I met you. But then you came along and made me feel seen and cared for, and then you got weird and distant so quickly, and you fucking left. And then I knew for sure I was done with love. Don’t think it was meant for me. Sure, that’s not on you, but you don’t get to—you don’t get to open old wounds because you feel the sudden desire to come around again.” Steve swallows tears.

Eddie’s face goes through hundreds of emotions. Anger. Shock. Grief. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. They stew in Steve’s words instead. Then finally, Eddie settles on. “I’m an addict.”

Steve, who has thought about a million ways this could go, has never thought of this. “What?” All the tension releases from his body. He just stares hopelessly at Eddie.

“I’m an addict. I'm sober now, I just reached a year, but yeah. I'm an addict. Never thought I would be. But after everything with Vecna and the painkillers they put me on…it got hard. Denied it for a while. Said to myself a little of everything here and there to forget wouldn’t hurt anyone. But then we were becoming something alongside, me spiraling deeper into addiction. And I—fuck this was easier to practice at the meetings.” Eddie runs his hands through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I would have hurt you. More than me leaving did. And I couldn’t live with that. I could live with you hating me. It was selfish of me. I wasn’t ready to give up the drugs so I gave up you, and it’s not fair. Not fair that I did that to you, to anyone of you really, but especially you Steve. You just deserved someone who could love you all the time, love you fully. And I thought I did but I think I was using you a little to make myself feel better. That’s not to say I didn’t love you. I did, still do, always will. But we both deserved a better version than what we had.”

Steve feels tears on his cheeks, he isn’t sure what to say. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Steve chokes on a sob, “Dammit Eddie. It was my birthday.”

Something breaks inside them, and suddenly they are in each other's arms, weeping together. There is this fragile broken thing between them, a love that never went away. It is horrible and beautiful and needs so much work to be wonderful once more.

But it was nice to break together again.

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough. I’ll make sure every day for the rest of my life that I make it up to you. In any way I can.”

“I don’t know how we can get back Eds. Don’t know if we should.”

“I’ll take you any way you’ll have me. Friend. Lover. A person you only call when you need a ride to the airport. Just let me try; it’s all I ask. I promised I wouldn’t go back to you until I knew I had put the work into myself first. You don’t owe me anything. I would understand if you kicked me out right now. But I need you to know that Steve, I love you anyway you’ll have me. And I have never stopped thinking about you.”

Steve lifted his head from Eddie’s chest. “I’d like to try to get to know you again. This you. See where it goes. But Eds, no matter what, no matter the version of you, I will always care. And I will always be your friend.”

Eddie kisses Steve’s forehead, “Thank you.”

It’s there where Steve and Eddie hug on the wooden apartment floor; they hear the door unlock. “Oh no, she’s home early.”

Eddie doesn’t get to respond because, suddenly, Robin is in the doorway. “Hey, dingus! I brought home an extra latte—“

She freezes at the sight of Eddie before rebooting with a dark look, “Steve, is your nail bat still under your bed?”

——

Wanted to try the whole break up thing, I have a lot of different break up/makeup ideas in my head. maybe pt. 2???? Kinda feels good to stop here. But if you think so I have more ideas for this.

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harryxmarvel · 17 days

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Shatter my soul

Summary : Harry has been suffering from an addiction and y/n decides to take time for herself or based on this ask

Pairing: rockstarboyfried!Harry x reader!y/n

Warnings: Angst

A/n: this piece turned so much better than I hoped for.

My masterlist

When they decided to take time for themselves harry and y/n were in a rough spot with not only their 11 years long relationship but their entire life.

After being falsely accused and getting fired from her dream job, gave up any and all hope y/n had as she came home to her love only to find him passed out in the middle of the living room.

His cocaine addiction was getting out of hand so much that he almost died of overdose saved by y/n who decided to come home early for some reason.He swore to never touch that stuff again but there he was high off his mind as he mumbles incoherently lying on the floor a week later.

The next day after getting him sober y/n decided it was best for them to take a break to figure out themselves and their life as she can't stand by him hurting himself like that. Harry had his issues, stress eating him alive at every wake hour ,he decides it was better if he wasn't in his own mind. The cocaine he could easily get his hands on was just a massive perk for him.

It had been a month and half. Y/n got a job at a restaurant and works as a bartender at night. She moved back to her old appartment after their break up and had been doing well on her own. She missed harry a lot even though their good days were well past months she still loved him, still wanted to help him and show him that she was there for him no matter what. She just wished he was doing better too. After their first week of breakup harry had called her high as he mumbled how much he missed her and promised to be better she just hopes he kept his promise.

It was a month later when y/n was at her favourite arcade bar with her friends. The place was a little loud with drunk men drinking beers and shouting at the screens.

They were seated in a booth after a good round of beers and fun. She was mindlessly talking with her friend klara when the bartender calls her name.

Y/n walks to the bar and the bartender points to the payphone at the corner of the room.

They still got payphones

Y/n thinks to herself as she brings the phone to her ears. The first thing she hears is a sob which sends her into alert. "Hello?" She questions and the person on the other line replies "Baby, it's me.." he sobs out making y/n quiet as he continues "I'm getting sober. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do but I'd do anything for you baby. Just want you back, want to love on you like you deserve" he says breathing hard as y/n finds her words.

"I'm so happy to hear that H. That's what I wanted for you." Y/n says a smile breaking on her face as she tries to calm him down but he doesn't he keeps crying which makes y/n a little scared because it would've been really hard for him to be doing this alone.

Y/n should've struck by him, isn't that what their relationship should have meant. She feels incredibly guilty for walking away when things got worse but she did it wishing for the best and maybe it kinda did work out in the end and now all she wanted was to be with him and show him how much she appreciates him doing this for her.

"I'm gonna be there okay? I'm so proud of you baby" y/n says ready to hang up the phone but harry breaths out before she could "No, no i....you can't....I want you to but" y/n cuts him off in worry "what's going on H?"

"I wrote you a letter"he says and the other end is quiet as he continues.

"I wrote it so I could get everything out. I think?" He sounded so unsure his voice raspier than usual. " It should be in your apartment" he adds and y/n says she would read it and come by his place before hanging up the phone.

She bids goodbye to her friends after explaining them about the situation and then waving her off with a concerned look on their face as y/n walks back to her apartment. She goes through all her mail and finds the one harry had sent. Her name and address on the envelope.

She opens it and it had two sheets folded inside it. She didn't know what to expect as she reads through it.

My love,

Today has been particularly hard without you by my side. My manager has been pressing me for the next album but how could I think about anything but you. It had been 8 weeks since I last heard your voice and I never knew how much it filled my life untill I couldn't hear it anymore and I think maybe that's what made me want to give up the drugs even if it feels like I'm drowning. I'd do it for you.

I still remember the tears in your eyes when you told me about you ex and how mad it made me. I wanted to bury him alive for hurting you like that. I never wanted to infect any kind of pain in you. I swore I never would when I saw the lack of trust in your eyes.

It killed me to see the smile on your face slowly fading away because of me. I wanted to hold you close and tell you I'd be back. We'll get all of the good times we had together back because that was what you deserved. But I couldn't save myself not for me but for you because you are everything i have left. The only person who stood by me through it all and maybe that's what made me realise I was nothing without when you left.

I was always honest with you even when I was out of my mind i tried to explain what I was feeling. I know you blamed yourself that you couldn't help me but this was my own battle and you were the warrior in the front ready to kill anyone even though you didn't have to. You were always there for me and I'm really sorry if I wasn't baby. Because

You deserve better than that.

You deserve someone who would be there for you.

You deserve someone who would stay true to their promises.

You deserve someone who would stay good for you.

You deserve better than me.

You deserve every happiness in this world.

She is at the end of the page her soul shattered with each word when a knock on the door pulls her out. She has a few tears falling down her cheeks. She wips them off before opening the door to find her close friend klara.

"Hey , what ar-" y/n is cut off as klara bursts "I need to tell you something"

"Oh okay, come on in" y/n opens the door wider to let her in but klara shakes her head as she continues "No, I just need to tell you this....i" she's breathless and y/n patiently waits for her to continue.

"I slept with harry" she says after a few deafening seconds which stretches to minutes after the words are out.

"It was stupid and I was drunk and it just happened. We were both out of our minds and we didn't know what was happening. I'm really sorry y/n. I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm sorry"

Y/n is still as she listens to her ramble. All of y/n's friends hated harry something about him not treating her right while he was the total opposite. She never knew why that was but to hear her bestfriend had slept with her boyfriend of years cut deep into her poor heart and the stabs just kept coming.

"It happened a few months ago and I couldn't stop myself from going back. I didn't mean for it to happen y/n you have to believe me" klara begs her eyes welled up with tears.

Y/n couldn't stop herself from thinking how much of a fool she was for thinking all those nail marks on his shoulder, love bites on his jaw and chest were from her when she knew it wasn't. The woman's perfumes he used to smell like made her realise it wasn't just Klara. And one thought kept haunting her mind as she stands on her doorway.

Had she really been that delusional ?

A/n: I think I just broke my own heart 😭. Who wants a part 2?

Read part 2 here

Check out my masterlist if you are interested

Support me by checking out my small business

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ageingfangirl2 · 7 months

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A Little Goes A Long Way! Buggy (OPLA)

SMUT! A week has passed since a drunken encounter between you and your captain occurred and he's all you have on your mind, little do you know your captain feels the same way. Buggy x Reader (Female)

Part 2

Y/N

It had been a week since you'd gotten drunk with the crew after a successful raid that came with a lot of treasure. It had been a week since you drunkenly told your captain that you wanted him to fuck you and that you craved him, and the captain followed through fucking you beneath the deck. It had been a week since he left dark hickeys on your inner thighs, chest and neck that had only started to fade recently. It had been a week since your last interaction, and you weren't sure if he regretted that night because his orders came from other crew members.

There was one thing you were sure of and that was that you couldn't get him off your mind. He was like a drug and you were addicted. Maybe you'd been at sea too long and needed a release. You would fool around when you docked in a port with random guys, but the captain made those guys seem like boys and sex wouldn't be the same unless it was with him.

You weren't the only female crew member, but you'd been around the longest. Of course, Buggy had screwed them, and they had stories to tell that only piqued your interest. Alvida was the only one who didn't have an interest in him that way. The other crew were more feminine than you, but you could draw an eye or two, choosing to make men come to you and not the other way around. But here you were debating going to Buggy and begging for round two.

'y/n can you do me a favour?' Alvida asks, popping her head around the kitchen door.

You stop chopping vegetables and face her smiling, the two of you got along really well since she joined, 'Anything for you Alvida.'

She winks at you, 'I was asked to gather intel on our next target from a guy in town. Can you deliver it to the captain please, I'm going back into town.'

she slaps some documents down on a barrel and you roll your eyes, 'Of course, go get laid.'

She blows you a kiss, 'See you tomorrow beautiful, don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

You laugh at her antics as she vanishes. You finish chopping the vegetables before picking up the documents. It looked like you had an excuse to see Buggy, you just weren't sure what was going to happen.

BUGGY

Running a ship was hard work. Yes, we had a success last week but now we need to move on to the next target. Alvida should have something for me, though I wasn't quite sure where the damn woman was. Working also got my mind off y/n of all people. They'd been on the crew for a couple of years, mainly helping in the kitchen and showing impressive knife skills in shows. They put up with my rants, and flirting and took punishments like a champ. I never once pursued them, unlike other female crew members out of respect. So imagine my surprise when a week ago when they were drunk they came up to me and said they wanted to fuck and had been thinking about me for a while.

I'm a man and gave into my carnal desires, taking y/n in the shadows, pounding into them as they begged for more. I left marks all over their body, and they were beautiful in the light of day when they weren't covered. But for a week now I'd been ignoring them, assuming that once sober they had regrets.

'Captain can I come in?' y/n calls out, knocking on the door.

Well, this would be interesting. I take a deep breath, 'come in.'

y/n walks in smiling, they are always a happy person, and this makes it hard to read them, 'Alvida's a little busy and asked me to deliver this intel.'

y/n puts the folder on the desk but doesn't immediately leave. I sit back in my chair and smirk, 'something else on your mind?'

y/n closes their eyes and takes a deep breath before pointing an accusing finger my way, 'I'm all over the place and it's your fault.'

My smirk reaches my ears and I chuckle, 'Mmm, it's not all on me, you know y/n,' I say teasingly, 'I was minding my own business having a couple of drinks when you came onto me. Been thinking about me all week have you?'

y/n opens their eyes and a blush gives them away. I detach a hand and use it to pull them towards me, forcing them onto my lap which they straddle without any further prompting.

I unbutton their shorts and slip my fingers inside, shocked to find them not wearing any underwear, 'dirty girl.'

y/n bites their lip, 'I need to do laundry, this wasn't planned.'

I nod along, mischief in my eyes, 'You didn't lock the door. Do you want someone to walk in on us?'

This wasn't my first rodeo, I knew exactly where to touch, rub, pinch and how much pressure to apply to the clit to get certain responses. y/n was putty in my hands whimpering and trying to keep control, but this was my fight to win.

I lick my lips, 'answer me. Do you want to get caught with your captain? Do you want the crew to think you're another whore for my dick?'

y/n's whimpers were enough to get me hard, but they still kept eye contact which was hot, '...maybe...right now...I want you inside me...'

I don't give any warning before I move away from the clit and thrust two fingers inside their tight warm cunt, 'BUGGY!' they squeal loudly, and squirm on my lap.

'Tell me what you want,' I whisper, voice low, and y/n shudders beneath me.

'...faster...please...' they beg and a moan slips out.

I add a third finger and quicken the pace. Beads of sweat form on y/n's forehead as they come undone around me. y/n bucks their hips and grinds against me, 'FUCK!' I exclaim as y/n starts fucking themselves on my fingers matching my pace.

if anyone walked past my quarters right now all they'd hear were y/n's moans, 'You really are a dirty girl. So desperate and needy, I should have fucked you sooner,' I laugh.

With one more forceful thrust from me y/n cums on my fingers still inside them. They breathe heavily coming down from their high, the blissful look in their eyes turning me on even more, '...fuck...Buggy...'

I remove my slick fingers and bring them to my lips, licking them clean, 'so sweet. I didn't have to do much, you fucked yourself and it was hot.'

y/n's face turns a darker shade of red before they bury it in my chest in embarrassment at their slutty actions. I can't contain my laughter as I hold them against me and kiss the top of their head, 'next time I'm going to watch you finger fuck yourself y/n. You're captain's dirty girl now.

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viaoverthemoon · 11 months

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Can I request you a fic for Vendetta Leon!. Where leon is married and has a wife but having drinking problems because he lost his unit and after the Glenn Arias incident it still doesn't improve. So she convinces that he doesn't have to be alone and she will be there for him and will help him get through this. Just a lot of fluff and a little bit of angst. (You can ignore this request if you want)

Ask, and thy shall receive!

Vendetta!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your husband Leon has been struggling, and you remind him that you'll always be there for him no matter what. <3

Thank you for waiting! I hope this is satisfactory! <3

Tw: Mentions of alcohol abuse, addiction healing, angst but it's not bad, fluff

Enjoy! <3

'Til Death Do Us Part

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

Your body suddenly notices the coldness by your side where your warm husband should be laying. You reach out, hoping to drag him back to you, only to find the area empty.

You're awake now, sitting up slowly as you wipe away the sleep in your eyes. Trying not to let the panic take over at the possibility that Leon may have gotten called to work, you decide to look around first.

Tugging on your robe, you get out of your shared bed and walk to the bathroom where light pours from the cracks of the door.

Only, when you slowly open the door, your heart instantly sinks and you let out a slow exhale.

"Oh, Leon..." Leon's drunken gaze turns to you, mouth upturning into a wide smile as he accidentally knocks over one of the numerous empty alcohol bottles that surround him as he sits on the floor.

You try not to show your slight disappointment as you walk to him, his hands reaching for you. "Sweetheart! I didn't know you'd be awake this early. I would've made you breakfast or sang you a song, or something."

He clearly isn't making sense.

He trails off with his slurred blabbering when he sees your face, the look of concern and pure disappointment causing him to sober up a bit.

"Oh... Honey I'm- I'm so fucking sorry." He rubs his hands along your shins and calves. "I know... I said I was doing better but-... Oh (Y/n) I'm not. I'm really not. But I'll-! I'll get better soon I promise! I just needed a sip or two- I swear-" He continues to babble incoherent promises and begs for you to forgive him, the look in his eyes one of fear and hesitation. Your heart cries for him.

You crouch in front of your husband and gently hold his face, watching as he relaxes into your touch. "Lee... of course I forgive you. You're going through a lot, and I completely understand that. Am I a little upset?... Yes. I am. But I'm not going to leave you. I'm with you, my love. No matter what."

"I know, sweetheart. I know. I'm sorry I just-" He pauses, letting out a shaky exhale as tears fill his eyes. "I'm just going through a lot right now-..."

His tears begin to free fall and you take his head into your arms, sitting next to him and holding him as he cries his heart out to you.

"Oh Lee. It's hard, I know." You hold him for however long he needs you to, ignoring the rise of the sun and the chirp of the birds. Only when he pulls away do you let yourself be brought back to reality.

You brush your fingers through his hair as he looks at you, sniffling with dried tears on his face.

"I'll always be here for you. And if you mess up, that's fine. We'll start again as many times as we need to." You raise your hand to his chest, right over his heart. And he does the same to you. "I'm not giving up. And neither are you. We're in this together, Lee." You caress his face with your other hand.

"Til death do us part."

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Omgg hiii. Y'all I've been working all week. This is the first break I've gotten.

Let me know what you think!

Hope you enjoyed! <3

Requests are open!

#leon x reader #resident evil #viaoverthemoon #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #re4 leon #re4 #angst #vendetta!leon kennedy #vendetta leon #re vendetta #resident evil vendetta #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

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psychoticallytrans · 10 months

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A great harm reduction method for drug use could be to have a teen drug ed program like we have teen sex ed programs. DARE is basically the same thing as abstinence-based sex ed, and works about as well. But a drug education program that was comprehensive and evidence-based could be incredibly helpful. If it has to be restricted to legal drugs such as alcohol, nicotine, and opioids, it can be framed as "Here are some drugs you may encounter in your adult life."

I think that "Some drugs are okay actually" and "It's okay to be an addict" are true statements, but I think it would be a very hard sell to try to get permission to teach that to teenagers, so I'll limit my ideas to what I think would be feasible to get permission for.

Some topics a theoretical evidence-based drug ed program could cover:

-Average starting dose of commonly used drugs, as well as the dose of a regular user. This helps to limit overdoses.

-Honest discussion of drug interactions and what really cannot safely be taken together, so that experimentation is limited to mixes that at least won't kill them.

-For opioids in particular, since a LOT of people are prescribed them after surgery, there should be a chart of what a good taper looks like and information about why you need to taper off of them. Even if they don't ever take them recreationally, it's important knowledge for your adult life.

-Education about how some people (Those with ADHD and/or chronic pain in particular) need to use prescription drugs regularly and how dependence differs from addiction.

-Addiction MUST be framed as morally neutral, with good explanations given of how addictions form and what you can do if you don't want one, as well as resources being freely and nonjudgmentally given for anyone who wants to break an addiction.

-Discussion of what overdose for various drugs look like, as well as a brief training on how to use Naloxone.

-Teaching them to always tell paramedics the truth when drugs are involved in a medical emergency. This includes non-overdose emergencies! If someone has an unrelated medical emergency while taking a drug, the medics need to know so they don't, say, give someone who just took an opioid more opioids because they have a broken leg.

-That it's important to keep track of EXACTLY how much you take if possible.

-The importance of having at least one trusted sober person around in case there's an emergency and you need someone who's not completely zooted, ex. a building fire.

If comprehensive and evidence-based sex ed can lead to teens having later and safer sex, I see absolutely no reason that comprehensive and evidence-based drug education couldn't have a similar effect.

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artsyunderstudy · 22 days

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An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Thanks for tagging me @cutestkilla @ivelovedhimthroughworse @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @valeffelees @emeryhall @monbons @thewholelemon @whatevertheweather @aristocratic-otter @bookish-bogwitch @orange-peony @shrekgogurt @wellbelesbian @theearlgreymage @ic3-que3n - I definitely shouldn't be procrastinating writing because I'm overdue but I'm a sucker for a good Q&A.

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

I technically have a handful of WIPs I haven't given up on posting but I'm not actively working on. Après la Pluie, le Beau Temps is the one I'm actively working on. I'm in the planning stages with All the Lonely People which is a fic I'm planning to cowrite with @cutestkilla my beloved. Then I have Sober, Water Grey, Close Your Eyes, and A Mild Case of Madness (yes I haven't given up on AMCOM I was actually thinking I'd try and finish it up after I'm done posting Après)

I don't actually work on more than one fic at a time but I also had like a flood of ideas once I was done writing Someone Wicked and that's why the pile of WIPs. Also I was trying to do discovery writing and realized that I hate it.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Why is this so hard???

Okay. Um.

Roommates who (pretend to) hate each other + alcohol induced vulnerability = publicly getting off with each other on a stranger's couch in the middle of a rager, probably to the dulcet sounds of goosebumps by travis scott.

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

Amazingly my current WIP doesn't really require much bracing. But I am still intending very much to complete Sober (working title) which I talked a lot about last year. That would come with warnings for grief, alcohol and sexual assault. Which makes it sound so much worse than it is, but then again I always think that my writing isnt actually that sad but then i have people telling me i ripped their heart out of their chest and chewed on it so im not a good judge of that. i will say it definitely has more jokes than my usual fare.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

I am very decisive when it comes to titles, so I genuinely cant think of anything. I guess Sober, because I'm not sure that's the right title for the fic because it's not about addiction. It's about drunken hookups (and like, definitely some alcohol as a coping mechanism but like, mostly just uni students partying and going too hard as they are wont to do) so I was thinking of making it longer like "Kiss Me When You're Sober" but I dunno. It's not even close to done so I don't have to decide yet.

5. ⚠️Which WIP you're most likely to finish or update next?

Après la Pluie, le Beau Temps is the fic I'm actively working on and I'm going to post this guy next come hell or high water. It's just taking me a while, I'm a bit burnt out. But things they will come.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

All my documents are the fic titles so nothing really fun there.

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

“If you’re going to do this, do you actually trust him? After everything he’s done to you. Everything you’ve done to each other.” I sigh. “I don’t know.” All the things I’ve always believed I hated about him feel different now, filtered through a new lens. His relentlessness, his sharp edges, his poise. The way he moves across the pitch, and plays his violin, sweet-toned and sorrowful. The singe of his magick. “I just … see him,” I say quietly. “And I know I want him. The way I’m supposed to.”

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

I don't know, I don't think I've scrapped any ideas for this WIP yet? Actually, I think earlier on in the planning I had wanted to have Niall and Dev being absolutely gross with their PDA through the whole thing, but I ended up writing a completely different side-story for them that's genuinely a ton better. Basically, they were a gag, and now they have an actual arc.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Gonna mirror Dre here, we have been planning a fic to cowrite but we both have other fanfic obligations to fulfill first, so it's a little bit on the backburner until we are both freed up. Again, to parrot her, it's a canonverse AU based on a movie we both adore, older (late 30's) strangers to lovers, a ghost story but in a cathartic way, not a scary way, developing relationship. We have a shared trello and I can't help but daydream about it. I am so very very eager to start working on it in earnest.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

One, actively. Two if you count the fic with Dre which we occasionally can't help but get into long discussions about.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I am currently writing a genre I've never written before which has just been a little daunting. As well as this first chapter has zero simon or baz, probably, and THAT is hard too. But it has to be that way. For the setup. It just means I'm having to learn how to write a lot of side characters in a way I haven't done before, like Niamh and Niall (since i have a bit of experience with agatha and dev)

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

Everyone deserves so many many kudos.

Tags! @hushed-chorus @run-for-chamo-miles @j-nipper-95 @noblecorgi @facewithoutheart and @stitchyqueer <3

#tag game #artsyfic

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slutdge · 14 days

Text

partial-sobriety update under the cut

i was trying to go completely alcohol free for the day but the withdrawals are really awful, i cant stop shaking, my heart is racing, i havent slept at all, and im scared of having another withdrawal seizure. i took 1000 mg of gabapentin to try and help and it didnt even make a dent. ive 3 beers left in the fridge so i think im just gonna slowly drink those throughout the day just so it will lower the risk of seizure and maybe make me able to take a nap, but nothing more than that, im hoping tomorrow i can really go alcohol free for a whole day. if youve missed any of my previous addiction journal posts, I'm not striving for full 100% sobriety cause i know im not capable of that right now and its gonna result in a really nasty relapse, but im trying to not get blackout drunk every single night anymore like i usually do so i dont wake up experiencing heavy withdrawal symptoms and immediately need to go back to the bottle to feel better. im trying to drink like.... an amount a normal person would drink, or probably actually a little above that cause again i just dont think im there yet and i need to ease myself into this. i really dont think im gonna be able to go fully sober until i get out of this abusive living situation so im just trying to practice harm reduction in the meantime. im working to leave but its hard and itll be a couple years probably at least. it fucking sucks and i hate it lmao. i just wanna feel alive for the first time in my life and not like a walking corpse all the time. i know there will still be challenges after i get out but it will be a lot easier to face them if i dont yknow. have a boot on my neck 24/7.

#today sucks ass #addiction #journal

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letitiaslabyrinth · 8 months

Text

ADDICTION

warnings: not a lot, mostly just alcohol addiction that ends in sobriety.

pairing: Shuri x You

word count: 662

a/n: havent written for my girl Shuri in a while. I've got a lot of relatives who drink but haven't gotten sober yet so if I wrote the sobriety wrong in any way, let me know please

not proof read.

Shuri drank a lot. Most of the time it was out of stress, which you understood seeing as how she's Queen, The Black Panther, and practically the main scientist in Wakanda. She had tasks and duties and projects to do every moment of every day and when she finally got time to herself, she'd stay home with you and drink.

You didn't mind, to be honest. She wasn't a "bad" drunk. She was quiet most times and when she wasn't quiet, she'd rant on and on about how much she loves you. She'd tell you how beautiful you look, no matter if you look decent or not. She loves you in your every being.

There were times when you would get upset about her drinking while she was drinking and she would always talk you down. Not in a bad way, Shuri doesn't like yelling to resolve an argument or a disagreement. It doesn't solve anything to raise your voice, it only makes you and the situation more hostile. Shuri would wait for you to stop talking and then politely ask if you could lower your tone. She doesn't do it to guilt trip or make you feel guilty or anything, she just can't stand yelling. And if you do actually lower your tone and calm yourself down, the two of you talk reasonably for hours. You tell her what happened, why you're mad, and how the situation escalated to the point where you had to raise your voice.

Even if you can't calm down, you tell her that you need a minute and you go to your room. Even when she's not sober, Shuri knows to give you your space when you ask for it. No matter how long it takes for you to unwind, you always end up going to Shuri and having the same conversation about why you're mad and so on.

Shuri, on the other hand, is calm when she's drunk. She doesn't get emotional when she's under the influence since she's drinking to forget her thoughts.

You've asked Shuri to drink a little bit less since you don't want her to get alcohol poisoning or something worse, and she slowly does. She goes from having a few drinks every time she has time off to distracting herself with whatever she can to take her mind off drinking. It was a little hard at first, not picking up the liquor bottle whenever Shuri saw it out and that's when she realized she had an issue. An addiction.

It took some years but with you by her side, she stopped drinking completely. It didn't matter to Shuri that she was calm when she drank, it was the fact that she couldn't go a single minute without having a drink. It was the fact that she had started bringing flasks with liquor in them while she was in the lab.

Slowly, Shuri started to break her relationship with alcohol. She drank a lot of water or juice anytime she felt like she needed a drink and it worked for a while until it didn't. Then she tried exercising more, but that was beginning to get unhealthy. She tried eating to distract her, but that became unhealthy too. It wasn't until she started talking to you and journaling that she found a healthy way to cope with not drinking. Talking to you about any and everything that was on her find kept her busy, and when you weren't around when she was by herself, she wrote down her thoughts instead.

It's been two years since Shuri's last drink. You've never been so proud of her in your life. You're glad that she came to you when she did when she told you that she had an addiction and needed help beating it.

"I love you, Shuri," You say, kissing her on the forehead.

She leans into your touch, smiling. "I love you, too, baby. Thank you for being there for me."

#shuri #shuri udaku #shuri x y/n #shuri x reader #shuri fic #princess shuri #letitia wright shuri #letitia wright #black wlw #lesbian #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #letitiaslabyrinth

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bullet-prooflove · 4 months

Note

Heyyy girlie👏🏾❤️I know I sent a couple asks but I need a dose of all my crushes to help my week for by smooth. I need this ask for Remy Scott from FBI:Most Wanted.

My prompt is:#39-I’ve escaped many vices life drugs and alcohol

I know you will bring this to life perfectly✍🏾👏🏾

You used to be an addict; Remy picks up on it early on. When he invites you out for a drink, you’re coy about it. You suggest a teashop around the corner instead and that’s when he clicks that being around booze, it’s hard for you.

“How long have you been sober?” He asks as the two of you sit across from each other.

“Three years.” You tell him as you decant the tea from your teapot into your cup. The scent of Earl Grey floods his nostrils and he finds himself smiling because you, you aren’t anything that he expected. “Booze… and coke.”

“The whole party.” He summarises taking a sip of his coffee. “You get hooked undercover?”

“You do a bump or two to fit in with the cool kids and before you know it, you wake up in a cheap motel with a hangover and a man whose name could have been Gator.” You tell him, your thumb chasing up the side of your cup. “It was Jubal that caught it, he got me into his programme, found me a sponsor.”

There’s more to the story, Remy can tell but you’re not ready to disclose it and that’s ok. There’s shit in his life that he’s not proud of either and he understands it takes time to build trust.

Baby steps, he thinks as he walks you home. When your hand accidently brushes his, he finds himself capturing it, his fingers interlacing with yours. You’re an attractive woman but it’s been a long time since you’ve been courted he can tell.

When he takes you to bed that night there’s a wildness in you. He intends to be gentle, soft, but you bring out the devil in him. You nip his lower lip and he realises you like to play and that suits him because he likes to play too. He spends the night ruining you, making you come with his mouth over and over again until you’re needy and overstimulated. When you look at him with those bright eyes, your skin flushed with the ecstasy it’s just the prettiest fucking thing he’s seen in his life.

“You want this baby?” He whispers against your lips, his cock rubbing over your wetness. You moan against his mouth and he smiles as he looks into your eyes, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Please Remy.” You murmur, your fingers threading through his hair. “I need you to fuck me.”

His mouth covers yours as he enters you, stifling that sweet little noise you make as you take him all the way to the hilt. You’re so fucking tight, every single part of you hugs his dick and he knows he’s found heaven right here between your legs.

He fucks you slowly, long drawn out thrusts that rake over that deviant spot inside of you. Your nails dig into his back, raking across the skin and it’s his turn to lose it because the way that pain intermingles with the pleasure, it wrecks him.

When you come you take him with you, your cunt gripping his cock so hard he sees fucking stars.

The sound you make…

He wants to spend all his nights hearing it.

You lay tangled up together in the aftermath, his lips trailing over the curve of your throat as the sunrise begins to filter in through the blinds.

“Was that you’re first time?” He asks you, his palm cupping your cheek. “Since you’ve been sober?”

“It was.” You murmur, closing your eyes and savouring his touch. “Did it show?”

“No.” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours. “I’m just glad I could make you feel good.”

“Oh Remy.” You say softly, because you don’t have the words to explain just how much being with him tonight means to you. “You did a lot more than that.”

Love Remy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@whateversomethingbruh @skyesthebomb @kmc1989

#remy scott #remy scott x reader #remy scott x you #fbi #fbi most wanted #fbi cbs

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suckerforcate · 1 year

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Could you please write a Larissa weems x reader angst/song fic inspired by brand new city by mitski?

R is a famous artist who leaves out of the blue and shows up at Nevermore as the new art teacher? Larissa is a fan of their work and is confused why they chose nevermore and learns they were a former student. R has struggled with their mental health and being in the public eye led to drug use but managed to stay clean for their longest period just before/whilst teaching. This comes crashing down when they are having a panic attack before one on one meeting with Larissa because they are head over heels and think that she couldn't possibly like someone like them back and they think that they are going to get fired because they have no confidence in their teaching so they find their old emergency stash in a jacket pocket and take it before the meeting? This leads to a very concerned Larissa as R are acting weird so she questions them about what's wrong and they spill everything about being into them and about their issues since they are very out of it? Larissa basically just takes care of them til they sober up and holds R as they cry about having ruined everything thinking they 100% have no chance now but in fact Larissa loves them and just wants them to be the healthiest version of themself and is sad they didn't come talk to them about their issues sooner?

What'd you take?

Pairing: Larissa Weems x Reader

Word Count: 1953

Warning: mental health problems, drug addiction, relapse, panic attack

A/n: I really hope you like it, I tried to put some of the lyrics into the story. I hope I did alright! <3

Ever since you had been a little child, you had wanted to be a singer. You imagined it would free you from the poor life you had had. Your family never had a lot of money, and you wanted to be able to give them something back. But, turns out famous life isn't that great.

It had been great at the beginning, it felt like a haze. A haze of success and people all around, loving you and your music. But with time you got worse, the pressure that came with standing in the public eye, the massive hate that you received from some people. It overwhelmed you completely, you felt you weren't strong enough. But you had always loved what you were doing, so for quite some time you tried to find ways to withstand the pressure.

Slowly you fell into a serious drug addiction, and while you knew the shit you had brought yourself into, it's hard to stop if you're addicted. In the end your sister had been the one, who pulled you out of the whole you had fallen into. She helped you with quitting the pills and sobered you up.

You didn't plan on going back into show business, the fear of relapse was too great. So you took a little break and searched for a job. It was hard, wherever you applied, people recognised you and made a fuss. You just wanted to have some peace and get away from all the chaos. Your mother actually had the idea, that convinced you.

And that's how you found yourself in the office of Larissa Weems, headmistress of Nevermore Academy.

"Can I just ask, how did you become aware of Nevermore Academy? It's quite unusual for such famous people to apply at a school like ours." You had seen the question roam through her mind since the second you entered her office. As a singer you hadn't used your real name, so the postal apply hadn’t shown Principle Weems who you were. But your face certain had.

"Well, I have been a student her myself, over ten years ago. And I needed some distance from the whole show business. A school in the middle of the woods seems like the perfect match, doesn't it?" To your absolute delight, you got the job. And the day you moved in, was also the day that you had been sober for 200 days. Standing in your own little room in the Academy, proud was the word that came to your mind. You were so proud of you, you hadn't rotten in a whole of despair and addiction, no. You had built up a new life, a healthy life.

That new life was going great. Your students seemed to love you, even though they were a little taken aback the first time they entered the classroom, seeing you as their teacher. But it didn't take them long to recover from the initial shock. You realised you should have probably been a teacher all your life. Yes you loved singing, but this. This healed your heart, it was a passion you had never known to have.

The school and your work there brought you utmost peace and joy and with time you even felt yourself fall in love. While that as itself was wonderful and the most beautiful feeling, it brought a few problems with it. The first and most obvious one being, that you had fallen in love with Larissa. Your boss. Great, right?

At the beginning you hadn't even realised that you were in love with her. You had never been in love, so how do you differ between being in love with someone and just being happy to see them because they're your friend? No idea.

But with time it became obvious even to you. Ian, your favourite colleague had told you a long time before you had known it yourself.

"My god, (Y/n). Don't be so oblivious, you have the biggest crush on that woman." You stared at him in shock.

"What, no! I have not." Ian just grinned, he knew you would realise it yourself sooner or later. In your case it was later. It took you unbelievable long.

But one day you eventually did. You were in the library with Ian and Larissa came over to talk to you. It wasn't anything important, just some things about class. Right before she turned to leave, she looked you up and down and smirked.

"I really like the dress! It makes your pretty eyes pop out." And with that she left, not seeing you blush like crazy. You stared after her, and suddenly you turned to look at Ian.

"Oh god, I'm in love with her." Embarrassed you hid your face in your hands while Ian started laughing so much her had actual tears roll down his cheek. Everyone in the library looked at you, thankfully they hadn't heard your confession though. They just thought Ian was going crazy.

Well that was that.

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

The thing with you in general was, that you were very unsure of yourself and extremely insecure in everything you did. You never felt like you were doing good or like you were enough. And that became quite the problem.

It had been a normal day, classes went quite well, and you had already finished some of your work as Larissa approached you. Face not kind and patient as usual, it looked rather displeased and cold.

"(Y/n), would you come to my office in an hour. We need to talk." You gulped and just nodded, immediately leaving for your room. The look on her face made you panic. All of your insecurities overthrowing your rational thinking.

What if she wants to fire me? I knew I was doing a shit job at teaching. I'm not made for this.

Now even the tiniest chance of her liking me is lost. She probably hates me, how could I have ever thought to have a chance with her. Why on earth would she like me?

You felt your mind getting filled with more and more fears and negative thoughts. Slowly but surely a panic attack was arising. You had been so proud of you new, healthy life, and you were more scared than ever to have that taken away from you.

Your breathing got unsteady, and your chest felt tight. It felt like your body was falling in pieces. Legs giving up underneath you, slowly sliding down the door. You held your trembling hand against your chest in hopes of being calmed by your heart beat, just to find your heart racing. It felt like your blood was passing you by. Still breathing ragged, you clung to the jacket that was hung over the chair next to you, and felt a little packet in it. You immediately knew what it was, and you very well knew how stupid this was. But rationality wasn't your biggest strength right now.

So you took the pills, probably the last ones you still had. It had been your emergency pack, even though for a while now you hadn't thought to ever need them again. Still leaning at your door, your breathing slowly flattened no you didn't feel like chocking anymore. The trembling of the hands decreased, and you could stand up again.

Calmed down now, you left your room and went to Larissa's office. You weren't even scared anymore, who cares if you'll get fired?

"Could I have some water?" Larissa found your behaviour to be extremely strange. Your pupils were extremely dilated, you complained about the heat on her office the whole time. It wasn't hot in her office, not at all.

"(Y/n), that's the third glass of water. You have been here for ten minutes."

"Well, apparently I'm quite thirsty. My, It's hot on here Larissa." That was it, this behaviour was absolutely unlike you.

"Darling, are you feeling alright. I'm a little worried about you?" You just looked at her, not really grasping what was happening.

"I just took a little. Really just a bit." That alarmed Larissa, and she immediately rounded her desk, sitting down next to you.

"What'd you take? Honey, look at me." You felt her take your hands and gently stroke over your pulse point. In hindsight, you weren't exactly sure what made you spill. Her gentleness, the worry in her eyes or your absolute despair.

"I'm so sorry. I've taken the pills. I know I shouldn't have, I- I- If you'll fire me, I can understand that but-" Larissa didn't look angry at all, no, she actually cupped your cheek and brushed the tears away.

"Shhh, Darling. Calm down, what pills?" You had a hard time breathing again, but managed to get some words out.

"My emergency pack. I- I ended my career because I had a drug addiction, but I was clean. I didn't- when I came her ... I hadn't for over half a year."

"It's alright, shh. Let it out, my beautiful dove." She pulled you into her chest and let you cry, hearing her heart beat made you calm down, until your breathing was normal again.

"Ok, love. You know I don't want to push, but I'm also your employer and I need to know what happened. Why did you take the pills?" You washed the tears away, even though that was useless as the next were already on their way. Ashamed you looked to the floor.

"I had a panic attack after you told me we needed to talk. I thought the ground was pulling me down. You looked so- so cold and angry. I thought I did something wrong, that you'd fire me, and I was so scared to lose the life I had so neatly built up again. I love this school and my work here, and I love you, and I was scared that you'd hate me and I- wait, no- what did I just say? No- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Larissa just pulled you into a warm hug.

"(Y/n), calm down. Firstly, I didn't want to fire you. I'm so sorry that I made you think that. I just had an annoying situation with a student right before that and was a little on edge. I just wanted to talk about a club, you might like to do. Secondly, I don't hate you. I'm not mad about the pill thing, I just wished you would have come to me earlier. Telling me about your problems and fears. I want you to know that I'm always there for you. Because thirdly, I love you." Your eyes widened. All of your fears and thoughts had been absolutely unfounded. You had just assumed things, and you had misjudged her completely. You started to uncontrollably sob at that.

"Hush, love. Please don't cry. All is well." She gently rubbed your back and held you through it all.

"And please, don't think that you have failed your journey on sobriety. You relapsed, yes. But that's not the end of the world. We'll get you sobered up, and I'll stay with you though it all. And if you have any pills left we'll throw them out. I want you to talk to me in the future, if you ever feel like you'll relapse. Failure is a part of success." You nodded your head against her chest. Thankful for whatever fate, that this woman had become a part of your life.

And she held her promise. She helped you throw away the last pills, she was there for you when it got hard. She truly saved you. She and this school, where the best thing that and ever happened to you

#gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader #wlw #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x you #larissa x reader #wednesday #principle weems #wednesday netflix #wednsday addams

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necroromantics · 2 months

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Regarding being "cancelled"

Im not gonna address this further unless anyone needs clarification or something cuz its just drama with random ass kids who I'm not interested in interacting with

Some people dug up a fuck ton of old screenshots of shit I said in my server a year ago. Not gonna deny saying any of that, cuz I did say it, and I've said worse, and if you've talked to me at all I am always very open about this stuff.

In the screenshots I made jokes about disabled people and said I don't care if someone is a Nazi, because at the time my server had like no rules, everything was free reign (which is now changed). This is because I did not care if someone was disabled or a Nazi. It kinda comes hand in hand with ASPD, not caring unless it directly effects you. This does not mean I condone or support the things I joked about*

If you don't know what ASPD is, it's antisocial personality disorder, its characterized by "disregard for peoples rights and feelings". The reason I was even diagnosed in the first place was because I fit the criteria of crossing moral boundaries, disregarding peoples feelings, and not fitting into social norms. I was VERY bad with that in the past, especially a year ago when I was 18 years old, very deep in drug addiction, and didn't have the support system I have now.

If you want to judge me based on my past mistakes and actions, I can't control you. I don't expect anyone to like me, but I do care to get my side out too. I post here because I have fun, not because I care what people think. And if you judge me from shit I said as a drug addicted horribly mentally ill 18 yr old, then that isn't my problem.

Love the label, hate the symptoms yeah?

I don't like apologizing for things I'm not actually sorry for so this isn't an apology. I know I've said a lot of jarring and rude and fucked up things in the past, but if you know me at all then you know it never came from a place of hatred. To me, as someone with ASPD, its about proving that things like societal rules and norms aren't going to be another thing that controls you, so you just ignore them completely. This is what makes it a disorder. Cuz it's irrational and dysfunctional and causes problems like this

Also they vaguely mentioned me abusing someone who's borderline which is ??? because all the relationships with borderlines Ive been in had been very unhealthy on both sides. My mom has BPD so I know how to help those with BPD and Ive always tried my best to cater to BPDers symptoms and issues, even in the relationships where their condition got too much for me.

But yeah, I made mistakes in the past, and I'm not that person anymore, or at least I try hard not to be. I've been sober for almost a year, I have amazing friends and a good support system, I'm on medication for my bipolar disorder. Judge me from the past, but anyone who talks to me now knows that I work very hard to get over those mindsets and habits. To me, thats all that matters.

Edit: Not blaming my disorder, its just easier to explain. I'm taking full blame for what I said in the past, and I acknowledge that it was morally wrong. I said what I said. These people have been absolutely hellbent on being on my ass for months now when all I want to do is just chill out, get better, and live life. Theyre gonna keep complaining about everything I do, and I don't care to make any more edits, just wanted to clarify that Im not making excuses. Also I don't support Nazi's, I just made jokes about it. Anyone who knows me knows Im very against that shit

(I dont mean to sound callous or whatever, I just woke up to this and wanted to quickly clear shit up before it all blows out of proportion)

#tombtalk

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jaylienpotter · 6 months

Text

Thinking about Remus Lupin with an alcohol addiction

He started drinking when he was a preteen, having access to alcohol at home. His father had a whiskey collection, wouldn't realise Remus drank unless a whole bottle was missing. So when Rem got bored in the summer, without permission to sleepover at his friends' houses, he took a sip.

He was taught to keep things to himself, to take up no space. He ought to be invisible to make sure no one finds out he's a werewolf. So even as a teenager, with four best friends who all knew what happened once a month, and furthermore became animagi to make the wolf company, he bottled up his problems. Acted fine. Blamed it on the moon when his neutral mask failed. To cope with the feelings he didn't dare say, he drank.

His friends did say he drank a lot at parties, but since he seemed unaffected, they just believed he was heavyweight and didn't pay it too much thought. In truth, he was just used to alcohol.

He didn't want to admit to himself that it was a problem. No one was getting hurt. He wasn't erratic nor violent. And he controlled the amount he drank. But he couldn't help feeling guilty about the bottles he had hidden.

It took a week of forced sobriety after the Marauders found the stash for him to realise he did have an addiction. They couldn't get him to stop drinking altogether, but he did slow down and started opening up instead of drowning his thoughts with booze.

In the summer of fifth year, after Sirius pranked Snape, which resulted in the Slytherin nearly being killed or turned into a werewolf by Moony, the addiction hit hard. Lupin drank every day to cope with the betrayal. He got properly fucked out and his body created a dependance. Sixth year was not a good one. Thankfully there were no exams because he barely paid attention in classes. He started skipping some. Got behind on lessons. Avoided his friends. Hid away with the map to drink hidden away and in peace.

Sirius one day grabbed him and sobbed, pleaded for Remus to scream, hex, curse him or beat him up if needed, anything but self destructing. And under the influence, Moony did just that. The guilt came afterwards, even though Sirius had taken it all without fighting back. Lupin allowed himself to forgive Sirius. He missed him. And he was clearly regretful.

Slowly, the Marauders got back together. They worked hard for Rem to recover. And recovery passed by becoming sober.

It was a bitch. It was a real bitch, abstinence. He had fevers, threw up many times despite not eating for days, highly dehydrated, and his mind was loud with shouts for the sweet release he was so acquainted with. Some days he felt were as bad or maybe even worse than a full moon. He wasn't ripping his skin apart, but instead ripping his soul. However, as always, as a good Gryffindor, he pulled through.

It took many months but after he got clean, he didn't touch booze. Not even at parties - which his friends tried making alcohol free for his sake. He got very close to Padfoot in that whole healing process, finding the most comfort in talking to him about his problems rather than with Prongs and Wormtail. They even started dating in the seventh year.

Moony's life was good, he was in control, surrounded by loved ones, with Sirius by his side no matter what. He didn't need alcohol.

Lupin relapsed on the 1st November 1981.

#tw alchohol mention #tw addiction #tw: addiction #tw alchoholism #tw alcohol #tw: alcoholism #tw: alcohol mention #tw: alcholism #tw: alcohol #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #marauders fandom #harry potter marauders #dead gay wizards #remus lupin hc #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin #remus john lupin

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georgiapeach30513 · 1 year

Text

Closer to Heaven and Closer to You, Part 8

Summary: Ransom finally makes it to a rodeo

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, unprotected sex, PIV sex, breeding kink, voyeurism, exhibition kink, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.1K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

The second you walk into Harlan’s study your eyes glance around the tightly packed room before walking over to him. He doesn’t hesitate to hold out his arm to you, giving you a knowing smile as you put on the blood pressure cuff, “He’s not here. You can quit looking around.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean,” you answer quickly, but he nods his head. Giving you the time to read his blood pressure, before taking your seat opposite him, tossing you a bag of Go stones. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why do you keep glancing in the mirror behind me? Watching the door when I have already told you he is not here.”

“Who?”

“My grandson, Ransom. He’s out of town doing research for me. He’ll be back by the weekend,” he smiles as he stares at you, and simultaneously lays down his first stone. “I think I’m going to beat you this time.”

“No, you won’t. Your moves have become predictable. Much like your incessant need to steer our conversations towards Ransom.”

“He’s a good man. I know that you have noticed how he is vastly different from the rest of my family. He wasn’t always like that. Near death experiences will do that to a man. Ahh!” His voice bellows. He had actually taken you off guard, and blocks you. “I’ve distracted you.”

“What do you mean near death experience?”

“You did it again,” you roll your eyes, looking up at him. He was completely cornering you in the game and the conversation. “Has Ransom’s past struck you that hard? I thought you didn’t care.”

“He’s important to you, and that’s why I care.”

“Hmm, guess that’s why the two of you have started smiling at one another more. Also why he had one of his little pouts when I made him leave for the week.”

“Stop,” finally, you’re able to catch him in his own game, blocking his own moves. “I am the help, and he is…”

“Not an employer. The help, bah. You are a nurse. A capable nurse that is administering my medicine, and you keep me occupied when no one else does. Is this job boring to you?”

“How can it be boring when you demand I play Go whenever your partner in crime is not here,” looking up at him, you give him a cocky grin, holding out a hand for one of his pieces. “Why is this conversation about Ransom?”

“Why were you looking in the mirror waiting for him to come up here? If you two are nothing but friends, I think that’s fair considering you’re quite compatible. But you’re more interested in why he almost died?” Giving him a head nod, you try and not be as curious as you are. “The rich have their demons just as much as the next. He was stupid and thought he was invincible. Cocaine, alcohol, and driving do not mix. But he’s alive to talk about it. Got sober, and came to work for me. Started doing more for the company than my son, but also helped me research when I couldn’t. I’ve stifled his own creativity. Don’t think I haven’t noticed him writing himself. He takes after me more than my own children.”

“He’s one of your favorite people, isn’t he?”

“What’s not to love about him? He’s handsome, smart, passionate about his career and legacy, he’s a lot more compassionate and kind than the rest of his family. Although they like to remind him of his major screw up. So tell me about your past, Bunny?”

“I had a thing for cowboys in tight jeans,” you hated to think about the time that you wasted on Frank. You had been warned about how he and the other riders were, but those tight jeans and blue eyes had you hooked. “And cowboys are addicted to the roar of a crowd, the adrenaline rush, a gold belt buckle, and I’m pretty sure they get off on the pain.”

“So you were the nurse on the rodeo circuit, and you fell for a bull rider until you ran away to Boston?”

“That’s the abridged version, yes. I always have this habit of trying to find a man that needs fixing. This cowboy loved the rodeo more than me. There was no compromise. From either of us. I wanted to take away his dream, and he wanted to take away mine.”

“Two people that love each other, but not enough to sacrifice what they loved the most,” Harlan sighs, looking at the board and how there were no moves for him to make without you winning, “I don’t like playing with you.”

“Do not pretend to have a seizure to erase the board. Just admit that I won.”

“I’m feeling a bit faint. Do you mind checking my temperature?” He was unbelievable. If you didn’t respect Harlan as much as you did, you might be offended by the fact that he never wanted to admit defeat. He would much rather change the subject to something else.

“So where is Ransom off to?”

“Oklahoma. And he hates it. Your tales of the west have inspired me.”

“Except I’m from Montana.”

“I was hoping to visit there. Maybe have you as my tour guide. Ransom can come as well, if you’d like.”

“You better stop before your blood pressure rises. Quit trying to play another game when you can’t admit that I won Go.”

“What game do you suppose I’m playing?” He stands up, extending a hand down to you, “Come on, let’s go walking around the grounds. Sometimes I just like to remember the place where my grandchildren would play. My wife didn’t rear our children here. Ransom was quite fond of this house,” there he went again, changing the subject to Ransom. He was good at doing that, and you didn’t really mind at all. It was sweet hearing about a child Ransom.

“Strong handshake,” your dad nods, giving you a wink before he drops Ransom’s hand. “So your mother tells me you’re not going to be staying here?”

“No, I said, if you still had the rule about boyfriends sleeping in my room, that we would respect that, and we would stay somewhere else.”

“Ransom, huh?” Your father could be terrifying without even trying. A tall man, with a deep voice, and his well fed stomach. He still could hold his own with most ranchers, and his collection of shot guns was locked up in a cabinet and displayed as soon as you walked into the living room, but Ransom never showed any fear towards him like Frank did. Ransom had nothing to fear.

“Yes, sir. It’s a bit of a nod to my grandfather’s mystery novels.”

“My wife is quite fond of your grandfather’s books. Has the entire collection, and some first editions. You know, I like this one, sweetheart. Your sisters aren’t children anymore and don’t live here, and the two of you live together in Boston,” his eyes roll so far in the back of his head, all you could see were the whites of his eyes. “Is he what is keeping you there?”

“That and my job is there. I love it there. And where Harlan is it’s just as far out from the city as I would be here. You would love it.”

“Not likely. Fine. I suppose he can sleep in your room. I’ll have your mother send up a cot,” you shake your head, but giggle all the same. “Okay, no funny business though.”

“Dad!”

“No funny business until you’re married. The cow and milk deal, you know?”

“Dad, stop it,” Ransom still showed no fear, and even starts laughing along with your father. His rotund belly jiggling as he laughs with Ransom. “You two are going to be a nightmare, I know it.”

“Your boyfriend mentioned something about wanting to go to the rodeo. You sure that’s a good idea?” He looks at you, his eyes narrowing. It could only mean one thing, and that was the fact that Frank Adler was still riding bulls.

“Yeah, it’s a great idea. Bunny talks very vaguely about her time on the circuit. I just want to experience it. Rodeo seems to be a big part of life around here.”

“And to some it really is their only life, huh?” You don't’ even answer, just hold onto Ransom’s arm even tighter. “I suppose sometimes you have to move backwards to move forwards though. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The rodeo is no joke, and you definitely need to get better clothes, and by that, I mean not so fancy clothes. Buns, get this man some boots. Now you two go play, just don’t play too hard. You know…I’m going back out. Dinner is promptly at six. Your sisters will be here, so don’t be late,” spinning on his heels, he heads towards the door, leaving Ransom to turn towards you.

His brows furrow as he tries to ask you what that conversation was all about, “I dated a bull rider, okay?”

“Oh, you had you a little cowboy,” he smiles, walking over to the couch where he settles back, propping his leg onto the coffee table, and a big smile spreads out on his face, “How come you never talked about this man?”

“I did just not in so many words.”

“How serious were you?”

“We lived in a camper, had a dog, and then had a house on his family land, and…we were engaged.”

“Oh,” there was disappointment in his voice. He had never asked anyone to marry him, and had only talked about marriage with you. So he said. “What happened?”

“We both wanted different things. I wanted to get married, have kids, and have him work on a ranch. He wanted the rodeo. He was manipulative with our relationship and the timeline that I wanted for it. There were honestly a lot of things wrong with our relationship, and had I trusted my gut, and not ignored his many red flags, we wouldn’t have made it to that point.”

“What are my red flags? And don’t lie and say that I don’t have any. Everyone has red flags.”

“No, everyone has flaws. Flaws aren’t always a red flag,” you walk over to the couch before sitting down beside him. Leaning over on his shoulder as you pet on his arm. “And your flaw is caring too much about what people think about you.”

“I just want people to know I mean well.”

“I know you mean well. And you have definitely impressed me on so many different occasions. Ran, there’s not been any red flags that I’ve had to ignore. We all have a past, and I know you let yours haunt you sometimes, but I love who you are right now. And without your past would you be the man that I love?”

“Your flaw is being right too often,” he leans over, letting his head rest on your own. Lacing has fingers in yours. “We don’t have to go to the rodeo.”

“You want to go. And Frank means nothing to me anymore. I can’t say what he or his friend will do, but Bucky will be there, and you’ll finally get to meet him.”

“Yes, I’ve been needing to talk to Bucky. One on one without you.”

“Don’t steal him from me,” you loved that Ransom and Bucky got along. He respected Bucky, and had been so immersed in asking questions about life in Montana with him. It was like doing research on a new book. Location, Montana. You knew he had to be up to something, but you honestly didn’t care. If and when you were meant to know, he would tell you. Until then, you liked his whispers to Bucky on the phone. “Maybe he can take you shopping for some boots.”

“Leave my shoes alone.”

“It’s awfully muddy at a rodeo.”

“And I am Ransom Drysdale. I don’t have to change who I am to fit in somewhere.”

“Ran, hold his head up,” you tell him, trying not to panic, but your body was buzzing with fear. You had never spent so much time on one person in your life. Harlan had become one of your best friends, and here he was with a plummeting blood pressure and loss of consciousness. “What did the operator say?”

“That they had an ambulance en route to the estate. What do we do?” He looked like a puppy dog staring up at you. He was almost immobilized and looking for you for some guidance. “Bunny,” he says softly when your eyes go blank. “You’ve got this, what do we do?”

You check his pulse quickly, and it was faint. Ransom needs you, and so does Harlan. “Let’s get him to the ground floor so the paramedics don’t have to climb up these narrow stairs. He seems more stable now. That’s a good thing,” with an agreeing nod, Ransom follows your lead as the two of you lift him up. He was definitely carrying a heavier load as you work together to get them easier access.

“Why are you two fussing over me?”

“Go back to sleep, old man,” Ransom tries to make light of the subject. “Unless you think you can walk.”

“No, he definitely can’t walk.”

“I definitely can walk. Just put my feet on the ground. I’m fine,” his words get softer with each sentence before his eyes close again.

“Bunny?” That pouting and worried look was getting to you. Harlan was a client, and Ransom was his grandson, you couldn’t have feelings for either one of them. “Buns, is he going to be okay?”

“Yes. He’s got to.”

Ransom stares blankly at Harlan’s monitor, and then moves over to his IVs before leaning back on the couch. Giving it a pat, “Come on. No one else cares enough to even show up, but you don’t have to stand over him.”

“He doesn’t need all this. He was dehydrated. He didn’t fall, so why do they have him on such a high dose of pain meds.”

“Bunny, let them do their job, and you sit down and stop fretting. Harlan is a stubborn old man, and he said himself that he wasn’t ready to die just yet. They probably just want him to sleep,” his hand taps on the couch again, before you go over and sit down. Eyes still scanning over Harlan, and as far away from Ransom as you could possibly get. You didn’t need feelings for anyone. You had a job to do.

“Why has none of his kids come to check on him?”

“He’s stable,” Ransom sighs, leaning back. Neither of you had slept since being there, and he showed clear signs of exhaustion, and you were feeling the exhaustion. “They only care if he’s dying. It means they get the money. Well, they think they’re getting the money.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to understand that way of thinking. Harlan is more than the money he’s made. Your family is crazy. No offense.”

“I only will take offense if you think I’m like them,” turning to look at you, the two of your gazes linger for too long when you shake your head no. “Good.”

“I think you take after Harlan. Stubborn, self assured, but not arrogant, well dressed, smart, and knows what he wants.”

“So, what do you think that I want?” Your body starts reacting without your consent, and you find yourself leaning closer to Ransom. Unable to look away from him any longer. Noticing the slight freckling he has over his cheeks, and the moles that adorn his skin.

“I think you want to make a difference and be remembered.”

“Close. I want to be a good man like Harlan. Leave my mark on the word. Have a family, but learn from his mistakes with his kids. I don’t want to shower them with money and give them everything they want. I want them to have everything that they need, and work for what they want. I want to be able to give them attention, and guide them to be good, kind people in the world. Have my own book out there and be published under Blood Like Wine, but have it be different from Harlan’s brand of writing. I want Harlan to be my dad, and I want to go back these past few minutes and not dump all of that on you.”

“I think it makes you more endearing. You don’t always have to be so mysterious, and know all the answers. And I think at this point Harlan is your dad. He’s been more of a father to you than your own has been. We don’t always get to choose our family, but you’ve got a good one with Harlan.”

“What about you? Have you always wanted to uproot your life to Boston? What is here that isn’t in Texas,” you nudge at his shoulder, managing to get closer to him yet again. “What?”

“I’m not from Texas. I’m from Montana. We have big mountains. I think I became a fan of Boston because of my weird obsession with the Salem witch trials. Some of my favorite movies take place in Boston, and it’s just nice to get away from the place you had always lived.”

“But you want to go back?” That same pouting look appears on Ransom’s face, and you’re unsure what to make of it. Completely missing how his hand had slid over on the couch and was mere inches from your thigh.

“Eventually. I want to put down roots there. Would want to raise a family there. There’s all this space for kids to go outside and be kids. It seems silly, but I have always wanted to be a mom. Wanted to see these sweet little faces running around on a ranch. Helping their dad, who is most definitely not into the rodeo. But simplicity. But I still want to take them all over the states. Let them see all fifty of them, and move on to visiting other countries. Hope that they have that wanderlust, and need for adventure. Just not live in a camper.”

“They make pretty big campers.”

“I don’t want to live in one. Travel in one is fine,” leaning back a bit more, your eyes look up at the ceiling, and Ransom follows suit. His head right beside yours. “I swear there’s more stars in Montana. The air is just so clear. You can breathe better there.”

“Sounds like a good place for the old man to live out his days.”

“He’s not that old,” you giggle, your head leaning over, and hovering over his shoulder. Sleep was starting to take you both the more comfortable you got. “But it is a great place for inspiration. The mountains look painted, and so fake. It’s incredible the places that are in this world.”

“I’d like to go there one day. Only if you were my tour guide.”

“I could that,” you whisper, laying your head completely on his shoulder as sleep starts to overtake your body. Eyes completely close when his own head leans over on yours, and he whispers something incoherent as Harlan’s eyes peek open. Giving the two of you a smile.

“I knew it,” he whispers, staring at the two of you. “The best love stories happen when you’re not looking.”

Frank stretches out his body as he steps out of the camper. Squinting into the sun before tapping his leg for Clyde to follow him. Boots and hats on and ready for another day at his favorite place. Clyde had become a mascot at the circuit. Such a well behaved and mannered dog, and would sit on the sidelines waiting for him to be finished with his ride.

Frank was now equipped with a biggest belt buckle, and the world championship title, but still he felt like he was missing something in his life. The appeal of the crowd wasn’t as great as he remembered it, but he was in his prime. Achieved the greatest honor, and he didn’t know where to go from there.

“And there he is. The best bull rider in the world. How does it feel?”

“Like I slept in a camper alone.”

“You had me, and ole Clyde. Not sure where Bucky was.”

“He was securing his job, or whatever. Last season. Bucky is going to officially retire, which makes me wonder what it is he is going to do with his life. Going to be a farmhand for some rich man who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.”

“Yep,” Bucky leans over, petting Clyde. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Why are you jealous?” Frank rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Uh huh. You don’t seem jealous at all. I get to work on a beautiful ranch, and basically am the boss. Even got my own house. Bought and paid for. Got to pick out the livestock, and I’m the one in control, but it’s not my money.”

“You’re working for the owner of that ridiculous house, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. So tell me, Frank, you have accomplished your wildest dreams, what is there left to do?”

“For him to quit pining over a woman that left him. To officially move on and smell the roses. If she wanted to come back she would. She’s long gone, Franklin. Tell him, Buck, let our champion know that Bunny is forever out of his life.”

“Shut the fuck up. Watch the dog,” Frank storms off, leaving Steve to turn towards Bucky.

“Was it something I said?”

“You are right about one thing, Bunny is out of his life, but that doesn’t mean she’s never coming back.”

“What do you know?”

“She’s going to be here today. Reluctantly.”

“No shit? Is she alone?” Bucky shakes his head no, adjusting his hat. “She’s bringing some loser here, isn’t she? She wants to rub it in Frank’s face that she’s no longer alone, and has someone that isn’t in the rodeo.”

“You know, not everything is about Frank, right? Bunny moved, and got over him. Her being here has nothing to do with him. Nothing.”

Ransom thrusts deep into your core, and you turn around to look at him with a dopey smile. You loved him when he was extra needy. Couldn’t even wait until after the rodeo before he just had to have you. Feral in his need to feel you throbbing around him. He always got extra deep when he was like this.

“Ran,” you try not to scream, you weren’t far from the crowd, and your fingers dig into the tree. Trying to brace yourself. “Ran, I want you to fuck a baby in me. I want you inside of me. Feeling you grow in my belly,” you whine. He looks up from where the two of you connect, and at your blissed out face. Picking up his speed, and gripping your hips even tighter.

“Good. I’m going to keep fucking you until it sticks. You want me swelling in your belly?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” It was a bit too loud, but you were right at the precipice of complete euphoria. You didn’t even want this to end even if you knew that you should. You could hear more and more cars pulling up in the distance, but you couldn’t stop now. “Ran, I need you. You’re so fucking deep. So deep. Ran! Ransom!”

Frank smirks as he zips up his pants. He hated using the portable bathrooms. Being out here to relieve himself wasn’t any different than any of the other riders, but he had caught some couple that couldn’t wait to get a room. At least someone was getting lucky, he thinks to himself. And whoever the girl was sounded like a needy little slut.

“My god, you’re coming on my cock. Squeezing me so tight. You want my cum in there? Walk out to this rodeo and you’re filled with my seed?”

“Yes! Yes! Show me who I belong to!” Damn, she was something else.

You arch your back, letting Ransom get even deeper, and his fingers start making tight circles on your clit. He wanted you to come again before he filled you up. “Such a fucking needy bitch in heat, huh? Your pussy is so swollen, and ready for me to breed you!”

“Yes! Yes! Ransom…Ran, I’m…I’m…”

“Ugh! Bunny!” Wait a minute. “Buns, I’m coming. I’m…coming. Oh!” His spunk paints the inside of your womb, and you moan at the feeling of him still so deep inside of you. Hated that he had to leave you so soon. And he pulls your panties, and pants up your legs, tapping at your covered mound. “How does that feel?”

“Mmm,” you turn around to look up at him, pulling his fingers up to your mouth to suck them clean. “We could just go home?”

“No. We came to a rodeo, so we’re going to watch it,” Frank doesn’t even get a glimpse of you, but he knows that voice. Turning back the way he came, he stomps off. If you wanted to be a desperate little whore, you could be. But he was going to show you exactly what you gave up. “You know I’ll keep fucking you, until it sticks, right?”

“You act like I really care,” you hate to see him cover that pretty little cock up. You’d have some quiet, and less rampant fun later. It was kind of hot riding him in your childhood bedroom as the two of you whisper out your soft whimpers, trying not to wake anyone else in the house. “Come on, let’s get our seats.”

“What is your problem?” Steve asks, looking at Frank who was pacing on the side of the ring. It was getting close to starting time, and between Clyde who was staring and barking over towards the crowd, and now Frank was the one that was acting anxious, Steve had enough. “Frank?”

“Nothing. Clyde! Bud, you got to quit,” he looks up at Frank whining, and looks back over to the crowd, and now Frank knows why. There you were climbing the bleachers with that fucking pretty boy from the co-op. So it was Boston that you had gone to. Finally made it to your dream city, and you bring back a city slicker.

“His clothes look like they cost more than my truck.”

“Who?” Frank points over to the crowd, and towards the two of you. You were ridiculous. Sitting way too close to this man, and a hand rubs over his thigh. The two of you giving each other kisses and smiling at each other. “Oh, shit! Oh! Bunny is with that douche bag? Oh this is the greatest thing ever. I mean. Sorry, but she goes from you to that? That man doesn’t even look like he has a hair on his body. Minus what’s on top of his head. Every hair in place. Bet his body is as smooth as a baby's. What was Bunny’s grooming technique?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if he or she has more body hair. I mean seriously. This is hilarious. I mean, I knew she was going to be here, but the fact that she is with him. Oh shit!” Frank, turns and glares at Steve as he puts on his gloves. “That man was getting road head from Bunny. She is a bit of a slut for her man, huh? I mean, you would know. How is her head game?”

“Steve! Shut! Up!”

“Oh, come on. Bunny is a one dick kinda gal. You, well…when things got tough, you liked a bit of that fire pussy, didn’t you? Hey, did the carpet match the drapes? Or was it one of those hard pounding fucking, where you have her face down into the mattress gasping for breath, and you don’t care about anything but your own pleasure. That’s what it was, huh? You didn’t even know her name. Of course that’s what it was.”

“Why are you still talking?” Frank taps on his leg, but Clyde was completely ignoring him. Whining as he looks over at you. “Even my dog won’t shut up about her.”

“Well, she was pretty much the best thing that had ever happened to you, and him,” Frank hated it here. This was supposed to be his safe space, but it was anything but pleasant right now. This was misery. “Bunny got her a Boston man. A man with a lot of money. Oop! Is she coming back to Montana and living in that giant house? Oh. My. God! This is great. Bucky’s new employer knows nothing about a ranch, and judging by the way that pretty boy looks, neither does he. Bunny’s new man is Bucky’s employer. Ahh, this is great. She’s got her a rich rich man. I mean, we don’t know, but…I’m going with the fact that he bought that mansion for Bunny. Bucky is working for him. That barn is bigger than your house, pal. Ahh…Bunny. You should have married that woman.”

“If you recall, I tried. Clyde…go,” yipping at the command, the dog runs over to the bleachers where you were. It looked as if he was smiling as he sprints over to you. “My dog loves her more than me.”

“Her dog. You bought him for her. You know, to soften her up, and make her stay with you longer. Frank, you can make excuses all you want, you were married to the rodeo, and not ready for a divorce to be with her. Man, just let her go already. She’s moved on. And got her a real nice sugar daddy.”

“Yeah, and lets him fuck her outside the rodeo where anyone could see or hear them.”

“She let you fuck her in a camper, while me and Bucky were asleep a few feet away. Come on, Frankie, her leaving is your fault,” Frank swears he hears you squeal as Clyde jumps up on the bleachers beside you. Smiling as you pet along his fur, and even that pretty boy gets a pet or two in. “Go on, you’re up, buddy.”

Frank had everything in the world he wanted, so why was he still miserable? He jumps onto the back of the bull, roping his hand onto it when you look his way. Flicking your head over to Ransom as he puts his hand up in the air, “Okay, boys. Okay!”

That complete fear still sat in your chest as you watch his body flail around. Holding on tight to Ransom’s thigh, while the other hand nervously pets over Clyde’s fur. Jumping up when he’s thrown off the bull, and stomped on a few times before the clowns ever get to his side. “Oh, my god!”

“Bunny?” Ransom calls as you stand, grabbing onto his hand, and you walk off the bleachers. “What’s going on?”

“He’s hurt,” you could hear his groans, and you weren’t sure if it was from the fact that he wouldn’t be getting points since he had only rode for four seconds, or if he was in complete pain. “Frank!” You hold tighter to Ransom, pulling him closer to you, and you follow Clyde as he leads you to Frank’s side. You shouldn’t have come. You knew that Frank was going to be here. But you also didn’t want Ransom to feel like there were any more feelings left for Frank. There wasn’t, you just didn’t want him hurt.

“Bunny!” Frank groans as he’s lifted on a gurney to be checked out.

“Bunny?” This was the former fiancé. Ransom should have known that there was a possibility that he would eventually run into him. Especially at the rodeo.

“I’m okay, Buns. Just a bit banged up,” this was also the asshole from the co-op. The one who had his false nice demeanor, but Ransom had caught this man looking down at him. “Oh,” Frank says, annoyed looking at Ransom. You brought him over to see Frank. “You want to check me out for old time’s sake?”

“No, I don’t. I just wanted to make sure you were alive. Looks like some bruising,” the bruising was more than just on the surface. He was glowering at Ransom like he was second best to Frank. The pure look of disdain that he had for your boyfriend was infuriating. He could only wish to be half the man that Ransom was. That bruising went straight to his ego. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

“Bunny, don’t go.”

“No, we’re going to go on home. Clyde, stay with your daddy, buddy,” he looks between you and Frank, whining. The poor puppy was so confused. Frank needed him, but he wanted to spend more time with you. “Clyde, daddy needs you,” he wasn’t happy as he trots over to Frank’s side.

“The rodeo’s not over. Buns, stay,” you didn’t care. You wanted Ransom away from Frank. He was just toxic in your life. “Bunny, Bucky hasn’t rode.”

“Buns, baby,” Frank hated this man. Hated the way that he talked to you, or the way he was constantly touching you, and using the nickname that he gave you. He hated him being in Frank’s element, and with his girl. He was the reason that Frank was distracted. He was the reason that Frank was bucked off, and now here he was trying to be the perfect boyfriend. His thumb runs over your hand, caressing a small band on your ring finger, but he didn’t have a matching one. Were you already married? Frank just hated him.

“We should stay and watch Bucky. I promised him I would stay until his ride,” promised him? Ransom talked to Bucky. Maybe Steve was right and the giant ugly mansion was in fact yours and this man’s. Bucky was talking to the enemy. Bucky knew where you had been all along. Everything made sense now. Bucky ignored any conversation that was about you, and wouldn’t add to it. It was because he knew exactly where you were, and that you were fucking some new man. Probably after the first meeting, just to piss Frank off.

“Fine. Fine, we’ll stay. We leave after Bucky’s ride.”

“You have a cute dog,” Ransom tells Frank, and he hates his fake niceness. Frank hated Ransom, and Ransom just wanted to keep some form of peace. “Come on, baby, we’ll go back to our seats.”

Frank watches you sit down, still too close to that man, and still too needy for him. “I hate him,” he says to anyone that will listen.

“Oh, come on, he seemed nice. At least she found her a good man.”

“No. I’m going to play nice, and she’s going to realize that I have everything that she needs.”

“Yeah. Except, you don’t have the money that man has.”

“I’ve got money.”

“You have rodeo money. That man is old money. Probably generations of richness.”

“Did you see her ring?” Steve shakes his head no. He was too busy trying to figure out if there was going to be drama to notice anything about you. “She better not be married. And if she is, she didn’t even get a diamond, and he doesn’t wear a band.”

“You’re reading way too much into a ring she had on her finger. It’s probably just a ring. Go on, get bandaged up. It’s almost my turn. And Bucky is directly after me. Looks like today might be my day. I’m going to get laid by three women. Have one riding my dick, one riding my face, and the other sucking my balls. Ow,” Steve laughs, after Frank hits him. “I’m only kidding. The third is riding my abs.”

“Pussy is all you’re worried about, huh?”

“I ride bulls to get pussy, so yeah. I told you not to try and fall in love. Nobody listens to Steven though. Now look at you, glaring at some man that’s never done anything to you, while you’re dreaming about the way that Bunny would ride you. Other women can do that, Frank. If you loved her you would have made the sacrifice to quit. She found someone willing to make the sacrifice, bud. Get over it.”

He wouldn’t. He was going to get you back. Now that he knows where to find you. He was going to look more into this sold house. Get to the bottom of what was going on there. But he would win you back. That man didn’t even look like he would fight for you. But Frank would. And Frank was determined to win.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @patzammit @lavender-annd-lilac @sunshine-midnight-rain

#closer to heaven and closer to you #ransom drysdale #soft!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x fem!reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale smut #frank adler #bull rider!frank adler #cowboy!frank adler

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goodbyemaryjane · 7 months

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One Year Sober

I wish I could go back to my past self and say: there are moments of joy in your future that are so enormous you don't even have the space in your mind to imagine them yet.

You are going through some of the hardest times in your life so far, I know. You are so full of hurt and boredom and loneliness, it feels like there's no space for anything else. It feels like the best you can do is get high and try not to look at it, try to feel good for a few hours. You don't want to form clear memories of the same boring, exhausting day repeating again and again. Other people get to drink and get high and feel good, so why do you have to just sit here on a Saturday night and stare at your loneliness without relief? Read something, draw something, cycle through the same inadequate distractions?

Sometimes you are okay, even good, but sometimes you are a well of sadness with no bottom. You are starved for closeness but you cannot reach for it, you're too ashamed of how much you need. You feel like an alien watching groups of friends laugh and walk to lunch together, as if it's easy for them. Sure, you can entertain other people, but they don't know you, they only see the light you reflect. You're tired of writing in your journal, of meditating, of painting it out, of trying to compress the longing into a shape that's easier to carry. You're tired of trying so hard to be happy. You deserve some relief, a break from being the way you are so relentlessly.

When you're high, you can finally ignore all of that. And the absence of pain almost feels like love.

But the more you avoid it, the more it scares you. So you get high again, close your eyes again, and the moments when your stash is out and you catch a glimpse of what you've been ignoring are so overwhelming, you'll tell yourself, I can't stop. If I'm sober I'll suffocate in this. Your addiction will grow until you truly believe you are not strong enough to be alone in your mind again.

But you will get sober.

You'll work hard and make things you're proud of, you'll be there for a friend that needs you, you'll walk down the street and smell the rain on the pavement and know there's more inside you than pain. You will learn that most people are lonely like you, that reaching for closeness is the first thing every newborn learns to do, and the more you practice the easier it gets. You'll tell people you need them and they won't leave you. You'll learn that there is nothing inside you that makes you unworthy of love, and you might have to relearn this twice a week for the rest of your life, and that's okay. You'll have a lot of days that are just alright, some days you just live through, and some days you'll keep in your pocket and rub for good luck until they're as smooth as tumbled gemstones and as familiar as Goodnight Moon. You'll decide not to take your secrets to the grave after all, and it will be terrifying, but you'll learn the slow warm comfort of having absolutely nothing left to hide. You'll fall deeper in love with someone, and in his arms, loneliness will just be a word. You'll have experiences that make you feel like you've unlocked a new level of happiness you've never felt before. You'll make art that makes people feel understood; a stranger will thank you at the gallery opening, tears in his eyes. A stranger at the bus stop will confess his relapse to you and you'll tell him that you know it's hard, that you believe he can get sober again, and he'll thank you for understanding. You'll clean out your drawers and start keeping your promises. You'll be strong enough to lean on.

You'll think to yourself, "Thank God I was sober for that," and mean it. You'll think, "I am proud of myself for doing what's right, even when it's hard," and mean it. You'll think, "I want to remember every second of this," and you'll mean it with all your heart.

The pain doesn't go away entirely, but the space inside you will grow. Your life will expand to fit the love that's coming.

#goodbye mary jane #weed addiction #addiction recovery #drug addikt #clean and sober #recovering addict #loneliness #recovery

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m0tel6mxzzy · 1 year

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rue bennett, ginny miller, and lack of nuanced perception in how mental illness in black women works

i think the tragedy of euphoria (if i had to list just one) is partially the fandom’s lack of understanding of rue, leslie, and gia…cultural attitudes in the black community have a lot to do w why leslie acts the way she does. and then race is never mentioned bc sam levinson doesn’t comprehend the nuances of race and mental health in the black community.

he can comprehend addiction, but nothing like the fact rue being a black woman will have her heavily stigmatized by the black community as well as the predominantly white one she lives in as her “proving black stereotypes.”

that just hits a lot harder knowing in the beginning of s1, she has zero hope and so it feels very hollow when lexi encourages her sobriety, and again in s2 from jules when she’s going thru withdrawals. she is tired of being the scapegoat by everyone around her, even if they have valid reasons for wanting her to get clean and she is making decisions that harm others. and she feels during the s2 interaction with cassie that she is being pitied, simply cannot take it anymore, and retaliates bc she is just so tired of everyone around her being believed to be innocent and pure when they are not, and her being expected to be even in the throes of addiction and it being perceived as “not her.”

bc in a sense, rue is not her addiction. however, she’s lived with it so long that she is used to it, practically revels in the deviant label her entire schools mocks her with, and thus feels like she cannot leave. jules conflicts with this, because she cares for rue as a friend and romantically but is not going to associate with her if she continues. but even when she is sober, people like nate are shit talking her efforts to stay clean when they simply have no idea what she’s gone through, yet jules is proud of her despite rue finding it hard to stay clean. cassie only does the same as nate because she needs a defense for having gotten with him but not taking accountability for how that hurt maddy, even if she was right rue’s friendship with lexi was incredibly toxic and transactional. the issue here is everyone has valid points abt rue except for nate, but no one is seeing the nuances of her situation. it’s either “she’s good because she’s clean” or “she’s bad because she’s not” and jules seemed to be the only one blurring that line because she’s dealt with addiction in her family before.

leslie kind of reminds me of my mom in that she did help me thru mental issues, but it was a very “deviant” thing to do bc of how in most of black american society, racism is seen as something you need to be “stronger” than and thus stronger than any other obstacle. so realistically, some black ppl in rue’s extended family might actually ridicule her or attribute her addiction to personal flaws or solely her father’s death. rue is an atheist, but also her mother was this religious church girl in her youth and rue is seen in church settings during rehab. there’s a possibility leslie didn’t even tell others abt rue’s hospitalizations or if she did and word got around, she had to fabricate some sort of lie so rue would not be judged for her addiction.

and ppl perceive leslie as “overreacting” as they do gia and that’s very suspicious to me. idk like, as compared to ginny and georgia ginny has severe depression and georgia is like, praised for a lot of the manipulative shit she says to ginny when that’s a huge contribution to her mental issues not being resolved for as long as they were in the first place. i personally think a lot of the g&g fandom missed the point of the show—georgia is not perfect. loving your kids does not mean they don’t get to feel traumatized when you admit to murdering their step father. generational trauma is a thing and you cannot love someone into not acknowledging or feeling their extent of their own.

ginny and georgia somewhat makes that distinction in the therapy sessions by explaining bc georgia is white there is a lot of experiences she cant understand ginny has, so she cant just invalidate them. however the fandom is so corny and anti black that they will compare ginny’s trauma to georgia’s to undermine her. and then praise georgia for doing what she should’ve done as a parent which is support ginny and complain how ginny should be “more grateful to have her.” and say the same abt her father. that truly just paints an insidious lack of compassion for black women dealing w/ mental health issues. bc abby and marcus, dealing with their own, have quite never been given such animosity for having mental issues, they’ve actually been given much more sympathy.

#y’all. this took me 45 minutes to write #euphoria hbo #ginny and georgia #rue bennett #ginny miller #mazzy makes a giant ramble

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theculturedmarxist · 4 months

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These days I mostly avoid being around art spaces and the dwindling population of people that frequent them. This is for the same reason you might duck an old friend who’s been transformed by time and circumstance into a thing that you scarcely recognize. Sometimes it’s better to remember them as they were.

I broke my rule the other night to attend the closing of a theater I built long ago, and it was every bit as sad and disappointing as I would have expected. Hardly anyone came to send her off, and the ones that did could muster nothing better than a couple of beers and off to bed. The whole thing was over by 11.

“Who are you voting for,” a pudgy, bearded, graying Xer, asked me before I left. He was wearing a kind of middle-aged bohemian get-up, right down to the hipster hat, that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a commercial for a new Type II diabetes drug. I’m down to talk my doctor about . . .

“I’m writing in Dave Chappelle,” I said.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the part of his brain that knew how to process a dissenting opinion. Not finding one he sputtered, “But you’re not for Trump.”

“No.”

Then a skinny, wan, pale guy with sunken eyes, and long, greasy black hair, sober as a judge, like someone who’d acquired all the physical attributes of heroin addiction, without ever having had any of the fun, said, “Then you have to vote for Biden, or Trump wins.”

“So what,” I said.

And that was when they both shit themselves and I had to do the whole red-pill/blue-pill thing. By the time that was over, everyone else had gone and I followed suit. Leaving the building for the last time, I thought of livelier days when the whole place, the whole block, the whole city, was full of life and crazy energy.

How did this happen? How did we get here?

This is an article I’ve started, abandoned, and started again a few times over the years. That’s partly because I still had some hope when I began that I might one day be able to return to my craft as a theater director without revealing my opinions. But that was before Due Dissidence had a YouTube show. Now I very visibly express ideas 3-4 times a week that would get me professionally and socially cancelled in about 5 minutes as soon as anyone from that crowd took the time to check out the channel, which of course they would.

Another thing that’s kept this one at the bottom of the digital drawer is lingering affection for a lot of people who are still making the music, lighting the lights, and all that. I have dear friends in the arts and this is going to hurt some of their feelings. Except for the ones who regularly DM to thank me for saying what they can’t without risking career suicide. Those will be greatly cheered by this piece, in the way of a bullied child watching their tormentor take a hard fist to the nose, so I guess in the end that part’s a wash. Here goes.

In the 8 years since the election of doom that transformed me from the kind of guy who wanted to have a beer with Rachael Maddow, to the kind of guy who would protest her book reading, I’ve had lots of debates with lots of people. Enough to notice a distinct pattern

Conservatives will generally keep it on the issues; they may not agree with you, but as a rule they aren’t going to go right to ad hominem attacks on your character. Liberals can go either way: they may debate the issues with you, but they’re just as likely to attack you personally as a closet Republican, a Russian plant, or if you happen to be a white man, that’s kind of their go-to. But the absolute worst people you can find yourself engaging with are members of the arts community. I know this because I’ve been a member of it since at the tender age of 19, I bullshitted my way into a directing gig at the still extant 13th Street Repertory Theater.

The artists I worked with then as a kid from Queens dazzled by the bohemian world I had infiltrated wouldn’t recognize the artists of today, and I suspect they wouldn’t like them all that much. Heirs to a 60’s counter-culture ethos of distrust for authority and institutions, and to an older tradition of the artist-intellectual, they generally thought of all politicians as dishonest psychopaths, and spent more time discussing Kafka than the evils of Soviet Russia, which occupied the same position of public enemy #1 that its successor state does today. And lest the wokeratti immediately jump to its aforementioned go-to, the scene was far more substantively diverse than what you might find at a theater or a gallery today. They were gay and straight, old and young, black and white and brown, and in a major departure from the current moment, both penniless and well to do. There were artists living rent free in the loft above the theater, others renting $250 apartments in pre-hipster Williamsburg who had to walk across the bridge to get to rehearsals for lack of train fare, and still others living comfortably on the Upper West Side. If there was a failing it was in a tendency towards pretentiousness: when a middle-aged woman pronounced confidently at a post-rehearsal dinner that the principal crisis of the modern age was the “post-Nietzschean vacuum,” I almost laughed in her face. No one had that problem in my native Flushing, and I suspected that was true most places. But the problem wasn’t racism, sexism, or homophobia-expressing those sorts of views would have been just about the only thing that could have gotten you ejected in an atmosphere where pretty much anything went, and it was that way in the arts community for as long as I was a part of it.

Generally, I like to heavily source everything I write, ‘cause when you’re offering controversial opinions, you had better cross all your t’s and such. But because the arts are such a distinct subculture and the kinds of institutions that have the means to conduct a wide survey on questions like: what class background do artists usually come from, or, when did artists start to favor censorship, never would, I must of necessity rely on my personal observations and speculations. Which makes this, by definition, a personal essay, so take it as you will.

I’m starting from the premise that something has gone very wrong when you have an American arts community that tends to be politically conservative in the sense of being to the right of general sentiment in the Western world on class and economics; that mindlessly supports politicians like Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton who’s records are at odds with even the identitarian issues that they claim to care about, and that sees de-platforming and cancelling figures like Joe Rogan as a legitimate tactic, never considering the idea that once you let that genie out of the bottle, no one will be more vulnerable to having it turned against them than artists. I’ve given a lot of thought to how a bohemian scene of intellectuals and misfits turned into something resembling a PTA meeting in Scarsdale. This is what I came up with:

I will concede this to the painfully woke white people that dominate the arts even as they lately denounce their own position: rich white people are the crux of the problem, with the emphasis being on “rich” rather than “white,” as some would have it. The low to no pay circumstances of most creatives are beside the point, even though many of them will point to this as evidence of their moral authority to speak on matters of poverty and marginalization. If “artist” isn’t a Professional Managerial Class job, what is it? It sure ain’t factory work. The pretense of artists to social disenfranchisement calls to mind John Goodman’s line in Barton Fink, where his serial killing salesman tells John Turturro’s slumming writer, “You’re just a tourist with a typewriter, Barton. I live here.”

Most of these folks are just playing dress up for a while before they pack it in for Grad School and take up residence in the same sedate suburban enclaves from whence they came. Just as in every other sphere of American society, the arts are, and always have been, dominated by these kinds of middle and upper-middle class, mostly white people, whose sensibilities reflect that reality. The higher up the food chain you go, the more evident that becomes. The same exact advantages of money and connections that favor people in every other industry, favor those who attempt a career in the arts. Perhaps even more so because the standards are so nebulous. If you’re a doctor, or an attorney, you either do your job well, or you don’t. If you’re an artist, the quality of your work is subjective which leaves a lot of room for just hooking up the people you relate to, which in the arts is going to mean a lot of rich white people, hooking up other rich white people. The net effect of that is, if a lot of bad ideas are coming out of the suburbs, that’s going to be reflected in the work.

When the PMC’s were more rooted in the New Deal, with its focus on class and economics, as was the case when I first entered the scene, so were the arts. Now that they’ve turned to neoliberalism in their economics, and the post-modern turn has unmoored their social activism from observable reality, we have an arts community that has nothing to say about the current moment that strays an inch from what you might hear on MSNBC. This is why, as just one example, in a moment of social strife and economic dislocation, the Artistic Director of Connecticut’s Long Wharf Theater recently seized on the idea of a Black Trans Women at the Center festival as the best use of his platform and resources. The company lost their home of 55 years shortly thereafter.

Whereas in the 30’s a good many artists responded to the Depression by adopting a Marxist-Leninist posture and playwrights like Clifford Odets, (the writer being satirized by the Cohens in Barton Fink), and later Arthur Miller and Rod Serling, began writing plays for the first time that placed working class people “at the center,” this generation of artists greets the moment with only contempt for the struggles of working people, seeing them as reactionary Trumpers who sadly lack the education and sophistication to realize that the economy is great, incremental change is the best we can hope for, and getting all bent out of shape about books full of graphic cocksucking in your child’s middle-school library is totally uncool. Rather than to represent the struggles of average people, these artists offer them nothing but derision and when they do bother to acknowledge them, it is only to portray them as wrong-think culture war enemies.

Adding to the problem, poor people who manage to get to college usually don’t decide to major in something that’s going to almost guarantee that they end up poor. Being an artist is a luxury most people from economically disadvantaged environments just don’t think they can afford. You’re a lot more likely to choose it if you have a trust fund to fall back on. So, essentially you end up with a scene dominated by trust fund babies, no matter what identity group they align with. Their politics proceed from there. All these artists going on about white privilege is partly a case of, to use a phrase with which any theater aficionado will be familiar, “Methinks thou dost protest too much.” And as with Diversity Equity and Inclusion efforts in other sectors, this results in pretenses at promoting “representation” amounting to nothing more than trying to find more black and brown people from similar backgrounds to the whites that are already there, and who consequently share the same attitudes. Barracks and Michelles are always welcome, but the Hueys and Assatas make these folks deeply uncomfortable. The theater party I walked into last week, was no more racially diverse than the scene I knew in the 80’s (perhaps a bit less), but it was palpably less wide-ranging in class perspectives.

Another reason the censorious Victorian lady in high dudgeon pose that has become the liberal class default setting over the past 10 years or so, has had so much appeal to this group in particular, probably has to do with the psychological afflictions common to artists, combined with the insecurities inherent in the profession. This is something else I’d love to see a study on: common psychological illnesses in artists, but lacking such a study, I can only tell you what I’ve observed. Most people don’t choose a career in the arts because they’re very secure, contented and happy sorts. The level of personal psychological torment that’s driven them to such an irrational career choice varies, but deep neurosis, emotional neediness, and pervasive self-doubt are kind of a base line. I do not except myself from this analysis: my head is the kind of snake pit that Indiana Jones has nightmares about. Proceeding from there, you’ll find a fair amount of narcissism, borderline personality disorder, manic-depression, and just plain old depression-depression. These qualities are not at all ameliorated by constant rejection and criticism, which is kind of the nature of the beast. In some ways the people who are attracted to the arts are the least capable of enduring its vicissitudes without severe psychological damage. So, you have a bunch of deeply insecure, neurotic people, trying to make their way in a profession where the rules are vague and the agreed upon standards of successful work are non-existent, and then you hand them a secular religion that gives them not only rules and standards, but a weapon with which to bludgeon their critics as -ists, phobes, and reactionary heathens. That’s like throwing crackers at a starving man. Naturally they jumped on it en masse, without ever thinking through the consequences. Critical Social Justice gave artists something they haven’t had since Duchamp signed a urinal and called it a sculpture: certainty. And this group is far too ignorant of the past to know why their forbears rejected the kind of formalism that these standards impose, and what the price paid in quality, creativity and individual expression will be in the long run. Insofar as they embrace Duchamp’s lesson, it is only in using the precedent set by his famous prank to avoid being interrogated on the basis of quality, talent and craftsmanship.

Which brings us to my final observation.

I’m going to let you in on a secret, although if you’ve ever been dragged to a “new interpretation” of Hamlet on the Lower East Side, back when we still did that sort of thing, you probably already know: talent is rare. That’s why we call it talent. If it was common, we’d call it something else. I’ll give you a breakdown from something I have a fair amount of expertise in-auditioning actors. If you audition 100 actors, it’s going to go something like this: about 10% will be so God-awful you have to wonder where they got the encouragement; around 60% will be passable in the way of people who have had a lot of training; 20% will be very good; 8% will be excellent; a final 2% will be exceptional-in other words, talented. So, based on my admittedly subjective observations, only about 30% of the people who call themselves “artists” have any business pursuing it. And only 2% of those are really gifted. So, the scene is, and always has been, mostly populated by hangers-on who are only one 30th Birthday away from packing it in and getting a Masters in Social Work. The appeal of a set of standards that remove the basis of evaluating work from its quality to its adherence to a set of clearly defined political beliefs is obvious. If you can’t out-talent people, you can at least out-woke them.

None of this is to say that representation in the arts isn’t a problem or wasn’t a problem until these meddling kids started performing their virtue for likes and clicks. It’s always been a problem, particularly at the level of management and project leadership, in the arts as in every other sector of society. I would posit that DEI efforts are a solution in search of a problem, only in that part of the reason for that lack of representation, has always been a lack of artists of color walking in the door, which in turn has to do with the economic realities I’ve mentioned. There aren’t a lot of poor white people walking in the door either; I’ve owned 5 theaters in NYC across three decades, and I never met another theater owner or director, who grew up on welfare. In my experience, that lack of representation never had to do with virulent racism in the arts community. It always had to do with class realities and broader issues of structural racism society-wide that stop POC from ever making it to the door to be considered. If you were paying any kind of attention, that lack of diversity was always an embarrassment, but you can’t work with people who simply aren’t there because of societal problems that reach far beyond the arts. If we really want to do something about this, we need to go out into impoverished and marginalized communities, provide training and encouragement to young people in particular, then offer them jobs in our theaters and galleries, instead of only looking for POC from similar backgrounds to the people who are already there in order to assuage their white guilt. Until we see arts institutions doing that, we will know DEI efforts in the arts for what they are: one more example of rich white people protecting the privileges of their class, even if they have to outwardly denounce them in order to do it.

In the end, the arts scene as it exists today and the institutions that support it may have simply become too sclerotic, out of touch, and irrelevant for saving. The future is with activist-artists grown naturally from their communities, using new technologies and platforms to draw attention to concerns and realities that no gatekeeping clique of PMC’s will ever understand or think to explore. As our self-appointed creators of culture have abandoned us, it may be time that we abandon them in turn, leaving their venues to close as they should, leaving their 501c’s to go bankrupt, as they are doing, and taking the space their collapse opens up to create something new of our own.

#class war #class politics #art #professional managerial class #diversity

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