#accidental overdose tw

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1346

Anon asked:

Any ideas for an athlete whumpee? Specifically a sprinter who constantly pushes herself harder than she should, much to the frustration of her sister and partner.

Love your prompts btw! <3

Thank you for the kind words! I have a few ideas for you:

TW: Mentions of substance abuse:

Your stubborn sprinter probably ignores signs of injury/strain. Maybe a huge competition is coming up and they cannot afford to rest. The relentless training could lead to a serious setback if they’re not careful.

Because of this over training, the whumpee becomes agitated, and this affects their relationships. Maybe they’re more on edge because of the pain they’re in, or they’re just so focussed on the goal, they they lose sight on what’s important.

Do the supporting characters hold an intervention-of-sorts? At which the whumpee storms out after a heated argument claiming “Fine, I’ll do it on my own!”

Does the whumpee abuse things like supplements and steroids? This could affect their body in more ways than one.

Going back to the relationship theme: the constant pressure to perform strains the relationships as the sister and partner struggle to communicate their concerns and the whumpee begins to resent their interference.

However, sooner or later the sprinter has a huge competition while dealing with an injury/the consequences of overtraining. They’re torn between the desire to prove themselves and the need to prioritize their health. After vowing to stop interfering, the partner/sister sit back to watch the train wreck.

The real question is, do they collapse before, during or after the event? For added angst, they could have a moment before the event that they nearly do, but have to push on for the sake of their ego.

When the collapse inevitably happens, the sprinter reflects on their choices and realizes the toll the overtraining has taken on their body, leading to a moment of regret and self-awareness.

After the whumpee has pushed them away, how willing are the caretakers to help them get back on their feet?

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday

(Per the poll) Eldritch Dad versus Jak versus Cultists

(Featuring characters from The Disowned Game 😅)

For context: the antagonists are trying to unlock an ancient seal to conjure the patron of dark eco, to basically turn the whole population into dark eco warlocks.

Their sage insists that they must spill the blood of a prism channeler to "appease the gods."

"You don't know what you're doing!" Phoenix shouted, straining against Skyheed's soldiers. He managed to get a good kick in, but there were too many to take in one fight. "Skyheed, stop!"

Keira lunged for the ceremonial dagger, a snarl on her lips.

"You so much as scratch him, and the gods will be the least of your worries!"

The blade slammed into the altar as Keira cracked the priest's arm against the stones. He cried out in pain, releasing the knife.

"The madness of the Light will not save the hero!" he gasped, struggling in vain against an enraged sage-in-training.

Jak strained his fingers towards the knife, just out of reach of the triple shackles. So close. He was so close! But he was going to need help.

"Keira! You have to cut me!"

"Are you nuts?!"

"No no, I recognize that glyph! It's gonna be fine!"

The glyph was familiar. Studying with Sister Merci at the temple, Keira had come across many pictograms older than the writing she and Jak and Daxter had employed as children. She could read one or two, but most still mystified her. This one's meaning escaped her memory, but she was certain she had seen it before. Which meant that unfortunately, Jak probably knew what he was talking about.

Reluctantly, Keira pressed the tip of the blade to Jak’s finger. Two small drops of blood slid down into the channels carved into the stone as Phoenix cried out in horror.

"Keira, no! What have you done?!"

Darkness took them.

Out of the blackness, the sounds of scuttling filled the room. Hundreds, thousands of tiny legs across metal and stone. Spiders began to creep down the walls, congregating on the twelve iron cuffs. Thousands of tiny, hairy, bodies pushed between metal and flesh, heedless of the crush until Jak could slide his wrists and one of his ankles out.

"Phoenix! Get everybody out!" he warned, "We don't have a lot of time before-"

"Who is misusing my gift?"

a voice like dry leaves, like the creak of timbers, like bells, filled the chamber.

The darkness drew close, twisting and writhing around itself to form the shape of a woman so tall her masses of curls brushed the ceiling. She took in the prostrated forms of the cultists below her with glowing eyes and curled her lip.

"And what, pray tell, is this?"

The question seemed to shock the onlookers out of their stupor.

"Oh great lady of darkness!" Skyheed bowed from the waist. "We, your humble devotees, come before you to ask your blessing on-"

The woman turned her head to see Jak still struggling to free himself. He'd taken hold of the obsidian dagger to pry off the ankle bands.

"Agh-! Mi'jo, no!"

the goddess snatched the blade from his hands in an instant.

"That's a knife!"

It was as if she hadn't even seen the cultists. Micteca held the hilt between thumb and forefinger, scowling.

"Foul thing. Ugh! How did you even- Nevermind. I'm calling your father."

Jak cringed. "No-! It's not even that bad!"

He and Keira broke the last shackle together as he continued to babble protests.

"He-! He's busy! You don't need to tell him, i can handle this-"

"DAMAS! LOOK WHAT YOUR SON GOT INTO!"

the shout shook the room, sending curtains of dust raining down on them.

"Dude, your mom's a snitch," Daxter snickered.

There was a clap of thunder, and the chamber filled with a blinding light. A biting chill curled around them, contrasting sharply with the warm voice emanating from the center of the light.

"Why is it always "my son" when he's gotten into something he shouldn't?"

Jak groaned. "Guys, I'm right here."

That wouldn't help him and he knew it. But he had to save a little face in front of Daxter and Keira.

Incrementally, a face appeared in the light, then a muscular body, held aloft between wings more like an anemone's tentacles, formed of living sand. Stars wheeled across dark skin like a piece of the sky had come to personally judge them all. The giant gazed down at Jak and narrowed his eyes.

"Hello, son."

He sounded amused.

Ignoring the choked off curses and whispered questions around him, Jak dropped his face into his palm.

"Hello, Father."

"Got yourself into a Situation again, haven't you?"

"It wasn't my fault this time!" Jak protested. He pointed at Skyheed, and decided that whatever followed was on the duke's own head. "That guy made Dark Warriors out of his whole city! He was going to sacrifice me so he could control them all!"

"Ohhhh crap." Keira cringed.

Micteca's eyes flashed. In a much too calm voice she said,

"Kids, would you step outside for a second?"

"Yep! No problem!" Daxter said hastily, leaping off the altar, "No problem at all!"

Keira ducked the priest and Skyheed to grab Phoenix by the sleeve. "Let’s go, let's go! Trust me, you don't want to be anywhere near this room."

"Uh....maybe...don't kill all of them?" Jak offered, pausing at the door.

"The pale ones didn't choose this."

"Jakkkk-"

Micteca frowned.

Jak glanced at the bewildered soldiers, all completely disoriented by the mass influx of dark eco.

"Mamá, please?"

"...you're as bad as your father."

Burning eyes narrowed down at Jak, and long black talons drummed impatiently on the goddess's folded arms.

Damas left off prodding at a smaller Dark Warrior to smirk.

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said about me all year!"

"Oh don't you start-! Alright! We'll see."

Micteca glared at both Jak and Damas.

"The things I do for you two troublemakers..."

"Appreciated, my love."

Damas -- or Deimos or Xenodamas, the monks could never agree on whether his name ought to be more "formal" now -- tucked a lock of hair behind Micteca's ear and began idly braiding it.

"There. That ought to keep the blood out of it."

Jak met Klout's flummoxed and slightly horrified gaze. He, unfortunately, could relate.

"Ugh. There's a time and a place, Father," he muttered under his breath.

A nearly prehensile wing tip snaked out to cuff Jak across the back of the head.

"Be glad your mother has more restraint than I usually do. Relocate, offspring."

Jak shoved the wing away and grinned. "Yeah yeah. Thanks, Ma! Okay, eviscerate away!"

"OUT."

The great stone doors slammed into place behind Jak, and he rolled his eyes at his honorary siblings' unimpressed expressions.

"Well did you want to wade through pureed soldier bits?" he asked indignantly.

Phoenix stared straight ahead, wide eyes focused on nothing.

"What," he finally choked, "just happened?"

[luminarai]

I often think about all the people who were forced to go through their periods before reliable painkillers were invented. I just had period cramps so bad, I was frantically googling ‘how to tell the difference between period cramps, ovarian cysts, and a cute appendicitis’ while waiting for the painkillers to kick in and trying not to throw up from the pain. And how period cramps were probably the least of their problems. Absolutely insane. How did we survive as a species.

[nevergonnasimpyoumikey]

21 trikey or framar x

"... so she nearly overdosed, that stupid bi-atch..."

Franklin hadn’t been properly listening to Lamar — he was too high and tired to care about what the Ballas had done this time — but the mention of an overdose pulled him out of his thoughts.

He wished he could have stayed there.

But he was already thinking about his mother who he hadn't gotten to know, and how Aunt Denise blamed him for everything that had happened even though he was just a baby then and he knew it was stupid to feel guilty over something he'd had no control over.

Lamar kept talking but Franklin didn't listen.

He didn’t hear his name being called.

He did feel his arm being punched.

"Why you looking all girly and shit, fool?" his idiot of a best friend sneered, and Franklin told him to fuck off, but he didn’t, only continued, "What, you feeling bad for a Balla now? She brought it onto herself, dog."

Franklin, not very eloquently, told him to fuck off again and stormed out, swallowing and staring the night lights glimmering in his pool until Lamar followed him much later and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, a rare quiet apology.

[neuroticboyfriend]

Glad you're still here, sorry it's so hard </3 (/genuine)

- Near death experience club

thank you... <3 i'm glad i'm still here too... the experience is really setting in and. i'm heartbroken by the fact i had to deal with it myself. i didn't call 911, i didn't wake up my parents. i couldnt stand to see my mom cry, or even worse, deal with my abusive father on it. i just pushed through and hoped it wouldn't get worse.

i also keep thinking about how my younger sister had been away on a nice vacation, and she would have come home to her brother dead. i keep looking at my cat and thinking about how he wouldn't have me to take care of him all the time. he's so happy to see me every morning...

and i was texting my boyfriend to help get me thru it and keep me awake. i can only imagine the fear and heartbreak he'd have gotten if i stopped responding forever. he's been so supportive... i dont wanna die before i can hold him and kiss him and tell him i love him in person.

sorry to vent so much, i just. need to get it out.

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 The Miracle of Living Art by Imafuckinglibra

(Putting it after the jump because TWs)

TWs: Accidental pregnancy, grief, accidental overdose

My name’s Libra and I’m here because @artificiallita's work has emotionally affected me in the following ways…I’m starting a support group for the others hurt by her beautiful, beautiful little words.

Jk but also kind of not, Lita, you broke me. Veronica was right, this is ugh, just so amazing please never ever stop. Please take this illustration as a bribe for more even if it means waiting 5 more years, k ily bye.

Pride Challenge Points: 15,250

[faofinn]

BTHB - Overdose

"Harrison!" Taidgh shouted, hammering on the door. "Hars! You in there?"

There wasn't much more that he could do, his spare key was, of course, somewhere in Harrison’s flat, and Fao was fifteen minutes away. He wasn’t even sure Harrison was there, he'd not replied to any of Taidgh's messages for over eighteen hours. It had been normal enough, Hars had been on nights and had gone to grab something from his flat and then said he was too tired to drive, and he was just going to sleep. He sounded tired on the phone, drifting off as they talked. When he didn't get a good morning message, he only grew more and more concerned.

When there was no answer at the door, he called Fao. He knew the other man had a spare key, and probably always would. He kept hammering as he waited, knocking on the glass and shouting through the letterbox, doing anything to get Harrison's attention. He wasn't sure he was even there, maybe he had missed a shift, or there was something he'd had to do. Calling the cops and fire department were on his list, growing more of an option the longer Fao took.

Fao came as soon as he could, clutching Harrison's key. He met Taidgh with a stressed smile.

“I'm here, I'm sorry it took so long. Managed to get anything out of him?”

He shook his head. "Nothing. I heard his phone ring."

Fao nodded. “Mm, okay.” He mumbled, digging the key out. “He better bloody be okay.”

"He didn't say anything, he just went to get clothes or something, I don't know, but he was late off and said he was too tired to drive. He kept falling asleep on the phone so I said for him to just sleep there instead of having to drive."

“Mm. It was a bad day yesterday.” Fao said softly, pushing the door open. “Hars? Tomcat?” He called.

Tai pushed past him, desperate. "Harrison? Where are you? You here?”

Fao followed him through, worry curling in his stomach. “Harrison!”

Taidgh pushed the bedroom door open, his heart dropping as he found his boyfriend sprawled on his stomach on the bed. He rushed to his side, kneeling on the bed. He could hear Harrison breathing, thankfully, and cupped his face with his hand.

"Harrison, look at me. Open your eyes, love."

He tilted his head, reaching to squeeze his shoulder with his other hand. Harrison was cold to the touch and his hair damp with sweat. He clutched an empty bottle of jack in his other hand, fingers loosely wrapped around it. Empty cans and bottles littered the other side of the bed, obviously an attempt to throw them into the bin there. Taidgh's eyes flicked around the room, seeing if there was anything else. He'd not seen Harrison take his morphine in a while, but he had a bottle open on the side. His mind immediately going back to the first night he'd been worried about him, turning up on his doorstep with a bottle of vodka. There was no doubt he'd have taken both of them then, and he bet he'd taken it again.

It had barely been seconds, and Taidgh twisted to turn to Fao, who was now beside him. "Call an ambulance. Now."

Fao didn't need telling twice, quickly dialling. “What's his breathing like?”

"It's all over the place."

Fao pushed through his own fear to kneel next to Harrison. His hands quickly skimmed over him, checking him over. This wasn't good.

Taidgh searched Fao’s face, brow pulling into a frown. It wasn't like Fao to be worried like that.

Fao quickly spoke to the call handler, giving over details. They assured him an ambulance was on its way, and he looked at Tai. “They'll take him in, grab a bag or something? Just a few bits he'll need?”

He looked up from watching Harrison, his hand pausing on his shoulder. "I'm not leaving him."

He nodded, somewhat surprised. “Alright. You stay with him.”

Taidgh nodded, returning to watch Harrison, one hand rubbing his shoulder and the other running through his hair. He murmured softly to him, quietly begging him to be okay.

It was sweet, watching Tai with Harrison. Fao could tell he really genuinely cared, and he'd not been put off by the absolute state that was Harrison's flat.

“The ambulance won't be long.”

"It's been long enough already." He said tensely.

“I know. God knows how long he's been like this.”

Taidgh didn't need to hear that. He was already beating himself up for not joining Harrison at his overnight, already blaming himself for Harrison's state. He froze as Harrison stiffened under his hands, panic rising.

"Harrison? You're okay. You're alright." He said softly, hoping he could hear him.

Instead, Harrison coughed and retched, Tai quickly pushing him further onto his side as he vomited. "You're okay. I've got you. Get it out, eh? Might make you feel better."

Fao helped to hold Harrison on his side, rubbing his back. But he was quiet, just humming softly to him.

Tai looked at Fao. "Why is this happening?"

“It'll be the alcohol with the morphine, probably. It's a bad week for him.” For Fao, too. But Tai didn't need to know that.

"He didn't say. He was fine. He was happy." Taidgh said.

“He is happy. That's why he didn't say.”

"This isn't happy." Taidgh’s voice wavered, close to tears.

“Hey, Taidgh. He loves you. He doesn't want you to hurt like he does, he's always thought hiding was the answer.”

"If he loved me he wouldn't do this."

“No, no.”

He wiped Harrison’s cheek with the edge of the duvet. "I guess we're over."

Fao frowned. “Why? If he needs you at any time, it's now.”

"Oh, no, no. I'm not going anywhere. I just assumed… all this. ..I guess he's had enough of me."

“That's not it at all.” Fao sighed. “It's just a bad time of year. Sometimes when he loses control, this is what happens. It's not your fault, it's not anyone's fault.” Realistically, it was Fao's fault.

"I can't just do this. I can't just sit back and let him hurt like this."

“I know. It's shit. Just give him time, we'll get him sorted and then he'll have you. You're good for him.”

"Apparently so." He scoffed.

“You really are.”

"And this is how we've ended up."

“It's not as simple as that.”

"It never is."

“This isn't your fault.”

"It has to be." He said softly, and then sighed. "I should have done more."

“No, it's not your fault. Not at all.”

"It has to be."

“Hars would be first to tell you it's not your fault.”

"It has to be." He turned to Fao with tears in his eyes.

Fao shook his head. “No.” He wanted to say more, but the ambulance had arrived, and he rushed to open the door and let them in.

When Fao returned with the crew, Taidgh was fully curled over Harrison, rocking the other man gently as he promised things would get sorted. He pressed a gentle kiss to his temple before jerking back at the sight of them.

“It's okay, Taidgh.” Fao said gently. “They'll help.”

"Can you tell us what's happened?"

“Uh, yeah. This is Harrison, he's [age], has a history of alcohol dependency. He finished his shift nearly 24 hours ago now, and hadn’t been heard from since. Concerned, we’ve turned up to see if he’s okay and found him like this. Obvious signs of drinking, not sure how long he’s been like this for. Also looks like he might have taken oramorph too - he has a history of chronic pain following a right below knee amputation. His breathing is erratic, he’s vomited and has been pretty unresponsive since we arrived.”

"Alright, thank you. Do you know how much he might have had today? And how much oramorph he's had?" One of them asked, the other moving to check Harrison over.

Taidgh's jaw clenched as he gripped onto Harrison’s shirt. "It's not his fault. He's not had any in forever. He said he was fine."

“I reckon he’s probably had most of that bottle today. And if he was drunk, he probably didn’t do too well dosing the oramorph. He’d have tried, though. Hard to say, really. Think he takes about 20mg? But not sure how many doses he'll have had since yesterday.”

"He's not been taking the morphine recently. Last time he took it with me, it knocked him out."

"Alright, we'll give him a little bit of nalaxone, which will reverse the morphine. We'll run some fluids as his bp is on the low side. We'll give him some oxygen and some glucose too, just to help him out. We want to get going pretty quickly, get him to hospital where they can do more for him."

Fao nodded. “He can be quite combative if he's smothered, especially when he's got opiates in his system. So go slow, hands off as much as you can.” He went to say more, and then stopped himself. “Uh, Taidgh, you can go with him. I'll stay here, tidy all this up.”

Taidgh hadn't thought he could feel any smaller, but as Fao spoke with such familiarity, it was hard not to. He hadn't known half of what Fao had told the paramedics, and he felt utterly out of place.

"No, it's okay. You're better off with him."

“You're his boyfriend. I don't want to get in your way, it's not fair.”

He sighed. "You're not. You go with him."

“He'll want you when he comes round a bit.”

"I don't know anything about him. I don’t know him." Tai said flatly.

“Will you come up if I go with him? He'll want to see you.”

"Sure."

“You can call me when you arrive and I'll meet you?”

Tai ignored him, turning to the paramedic. "What are you doing now?"

“Just getting everything set up for him.”

"He shouldn't be in this situation."

The paramedic hummed sympathetically. “We're doing our best to help him out now.”

"Be careful with him."

"We'll look after him." They said reassuringly. "We're just going to give him some medication to reverse the oramorph. It can make him a little aggravated, or a little sick, so we'll keep an eye on him. The oxygen is just helping him breathe a bit better, too."

Fao squeezed Tai's shoulder. “It's okay.”

"None of this is okay." He snapped softly.

“I know, I know. But they're taking good care of him.”

Harrison retched again, and Taidgh panicked. "You're okay. You're okay, I'm right here."

"He's just had the nalaxone, so he might be sick." The paramedic warned. "Just keep an eye on him."

Fao turned away to pack a bag, conscious they’d need it. Taidgh wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure. Hars needed him.

Taidgh's fingers were soft in Harrison’s hair, trying to soothe him back asleep, while he silently begged him to wake up. Harrison raised an uncoordinated arm to bat at the cuff on his arm, letting out a quiet groan.

"Hey, you’re okay." Taidgh murmured. "I'm right here, you're okay."

Harrison barely cracked an eyelid open. "Marcus?" He slurred.

Taidgh's heart sank. "It's Taidgh, Harrison. Fao's here too. And the paramedics."

“You're alright, Hars.”

"We're just going to grab our bed and bring that in, and then we'll head off to hospital, okay?"

“Yeah. We've got him.”

"Do you have a bag for him?" One asked as the other headed out. "And was one of you coming with us?"

“Yeah, there's a bag here. And uh, Taidgh? Are you going with him?”

Taidgh looked at Fao. "You are."

“Will you drive up?” He asked gently.

"Which hospital is he going to?"

“We're going to take him to George's, as it's closest.”

"Alright, okay. I'll see you guys later, I guess."

“I’ll call you as soon as we get there, okay? And you can come straight in.”

"Sure, yeah." He stared at the floor as Harrison got strapped to the bed. "I'll lock up. My key's around here somewhere."

Fao dug around in his pockets. “Take mine, just in case you can’t find yours.”

"Thanks."

“Call me, yeah?"

He nodded. "Yeah. See you later."

“I’ll be with him.”

"Least he'll have someone who knows him."

“He’ll want you too.”

"Yeah, apparently."

“Trust me.”

"It looks like he does." Taidgh shot Fao a look, setting his jaw. It was easier if he pretended he didn't care, that none of this hurt so bad. He was fine, Hars didn't need him, he didn't need Harrison.

Fao didn’t have the time to take Taidgh aside and explain quite why Harrison was having a hard time. He had to go with Hars, make sure he got to hospital okay and that he was properly looked after. He felt bad for Tai, knew it was hard when he knew so much about Harrison whilst Tai was so new to it all. It would take time, that was all. Fao had known Hars for decades, it just came naturally.

In the back of the ambulance he gripped Harrison's hand and murmured to him, trying to soothe him the best he could. It wasn’t much, but it was all Fao could do.

[gayhoediaz]

.

[acowardinmordor]

Uh. Sorry?

Eddie tosses the towel to the stagehand and catches the water bottle right after. He downs it, misses the throw to the trash can in the hallway by several feet, and retreats to the dressing rooms. Gareth is already stripped to the waist and headed towards the shower, Jeff is still in full makeup, devouring the pizza their contract rider has delivered during their second encore. Frank has ear muffs on and his eyes closed. Each of them to their own preferred come down after a show.

So Eddie thinks his pouting is justified when his post show tradition is nowhere to be seen. Steve had been a little bit off since they got to New York. The band had a few days off while the extra effects for the Garden were installed and tested by crew. It was the first time in months that Eddie was able to wake up in the morning with his boyfriend. Without the show wiping him out, he’d hoped they’d go explore the city. But Steve was a little off, maybe coming down with something.

Maybe that’s where he is now. If his headache flared up, Steve knows that Eddie doesn’t mind him leaving mid show. When they were first starting out a few years back, Steve would push through the pain, always there to cheer at the end of a set. Because his boyfriend is determined to win a lifetime achievement as Most Supportive Boyfriend. Eddie loved him for it. Still loves him for it. Loved that he was always there for him, but when he found out in the spring of ‘89 that Steve’s new miracle cure for his headaches was actually heroin, Eddie loved him enough to make that stop. Even if it meant Steve couldn't make it through all the shows.

For the last year and a half, all their contract riders have an entire subsections for Steve, so he has a dark room and meds and water and snacks if he needs them. Officially, that stuff is listed for Frank, who needs it sometimes too. But Steve and Eddie aren’t out. Steve is on the paperwork as a personal assistant, and venues across the country know him.

That’s the happier alternative to Steve having another migraine. Something happened backstage, and Steve is dealing with it. The prescription meds only help if Steve catches it early, when it’s an aura. Unfortunately, his auras mimic the normal vibes of a metal concert.

A little mopey, Eddie sticks his head into the hall and asks Stacy if she knows where Steve is.

No confirmation, but she heard on the headsets that he went off mic an hour or two ago.

God, his poor boyfriend. He probably sat in the darkroom for a while, then gave up and took a taxi back to the hotel.

They didn’t have any press events tonight. Those are after the show tomorrow, so Eddie is free to do the same. As much as he would love to take Steve to another of the gay clubs in New York and show off how perfect Steve is… curling up with him and watching him sleep sounds good too.

One of the aides gets a taxi to the private exit, while another grabs Steve’s go kit, which was still by Eddie’s clothes. Again, his poor Stevie. If tonight’s headache is bad enough he forgot to bring the bag… shit.

So he’s a little stressed, but mostly eager as the elevator slowly rises. Having Steve with him has been what keeps Eddie afloat when life is hard. And life as a rockstar can be very hard.

But Steve isn’t in Eddie’s suite.

That’s… okay, Eddie knows Steve’s head is really bad tonight. And even their manager doesn’t know Steve and Eddie are together, so Steve has his own room. It never gets used for more than a change of clothes, but Steve must be really out of it tonight. Steve’s go kit always includes the spare key. Ever since the time in San Diego when Steve lost his key and vomited in the hallway.

One advantage to Corroded Coffin getting famous - of many, admittedly - is that he can get Steve a scrip for the new triptan meds, even while they travel.

Except Steve isn’t in this hotel room either.

And, okay, that’s weird, and it makes all the hair on Eddie’s arms stand on end, but Steve is an adult. The guy fought hellbeasts for years. If there is something he needs to take care of, Eddie trusts him. Very weird that Steve didn’t leave a message, but. Okay, there’s no need for Eddie to freak himself out over nothing. It was their first night at Madison Square Garden. First time playing there. The On site crew might have the message, but don’t know who Steve is, so it didn’t get passed over to the Tour crew.

Easy fix.

Eddie grabs this city’s contact sheet from the tour binder and calls the line to the venue. The manager, who did read CCs riders, knows this is a priority. He promises to chase Steve down, fire whoever failed to pass a message from Steve (not likely, it’s a union venue, even though he appreciates the idea), and call Eddie back. Actually he promises to have Steve call, but that’s all the same.

A little twitchy now, Eddie calls for a large spread of Chinese food, including the egg rolls that Steve loves and Eddie hates. It’s way too much food, but sue him, Eddie has a habit of spending money when he’s stressed. Some part of him still thinks he can apply money to problems and fix anything. Does buying too much food actually help get Steve to the hotel faster? No, but it eases some of the panic.

He jumps in the shower to burn some time. No phone call.

The concierge brings up two huge bags of food. No phone call.

And sue him, but Eddie’s never managed to smother the part of his brain that remembers the Upside Down. The boys can give him shit about an overreaction tomorrow. Eddie needs to know Steve’s okay. Normally they all wait a few hours in the green room to avoid unplanned fan swarming, they’ll still be there. He trusts those three enough to break the NDA and give them the truth. He trusts them to find Steve.

They grumble, but they promise. Eddie warns them that if he hasn’t heard back in half an hour, he’ll go back to the venue himself.

An hour later, a frazzled manager meets him at the private door, and says they haven’t found Steve. That they brought security into the loop and searched the entire back of house. They’re sweeping the front now.

There were a couple junkies that must have snuck into the back that they found in a bathroom, one of them in the midst of an overdose, but no one else yet. Normally, Eddie would chase down whoever that was, make sure they’re not on his crew, but.

Sue him. His boyfriend of five years this summer is fucking missing.

Around three am, Eddie goes back to the hotel. He’s shaking. He calls Robin, not caring that she has a lecture at a conference tomorrow. She has no idea, and now she’s panicking too. Wonderful.

Around five am, Eddie snaps, and calls the Byers, where El still lives, and asks her to check that nothing is going on. He’s pretty sure he apologized for the time before asking. Hopefully. She offers to look for Steve too, but it will take a while. She’s more powerful than ever, but distance and density is still hard.

Eddie is freaking out next to a pile of Chinese food, and asks her to hurry.

At six am, Eddie still hasn’t slept. Or eaten, pacing a hole in the carpet and repeating to himself that he trusts Steve. That Steve is an adult. That Steve has fought monsters, so there’s no reason to worry.

Underneath that is the rising hysteria that comes up with places Steve could be. Interrupted a mugging. Got lost in Central Park. Rescuing puppies. Found an old friend and is chatting at a bar. Hooking up with a groupie. Fed up with Eddie’s life during tour, and on a bus to Robin in DC.

Those are all fine by him, as long as Steve is safe.

There’s another thought underneath all that. Another little whisper about Steve and temptation and how easy it would be for Steve to score in NYC. And Steve had a really bad headache. And Steve’s triptans don’t help if he takes them too late. And Steve quit. He promised.

Sometimes the migraines get Steve confused, so. Okay, fine. It’s not ideal, and Eddie’s not sure how he feels about it if Steve relapsed, but once is… Eddie has always been in awe of his boyfriend for stopping cold turkey. For staying away from it so easily.

He’s proud of him, and he loves him so much. More than enough to forgive him if he did something stupid.

They’re heading towards the afternoon. Eddie has checked back with the Garden. Has talked to Robin. Has heard that El exhausted herself before she found anything. Has dropped the uneaten food in the hallway he talked to their manager and the concierge, and the front desk at a dozen nearby hotels just in case.

Jeff comes by and makes Eddie eat. Frank comes by with a joint.

They go back to the Garden and do sound check, warmup, and Eddie has played this set a hundred times. He’s played this set while running a fever. The show is more than fine. He keeps up a mask like he’s not screaming in terror inside. During the interview with a gossipy writer for Rolling Stone, the clock ticks over to 24 hours, and their manager calls the police to file a missing person report. Demands they start looking immediately because even in New York it’s bad press if a celebrity’s best friend goes missing.

They get the call an hour later.

Eddie… he doesn’t remember much for a while afterwards. He thinks he says something about being lucky they have a few weeks before they start the next leg of the tour. Even that is blurry. There’s a chauffeur and a car and neon lights through the windows. There’s white walls and linoleum floors and machines beeping. There’s yelling and apologies and a move from the main ward to a private room as Eddie tries to shove enough money at them to fix this.

If he gives someone enough money he’ll make the clocks roll back. He’ll trust his gut and follow up on the junkies they found. He’ll notice the shaking this morning and ask why. He’ll look a little closer. He’ll wake up early after shows and spend more time with his boyfriend.

If he can find the right person, he can give them enough money to turn back time to ‘89, and he’ll think for once. He’ll pay attention. He’ll get a second chance.

Because Eddie knows better than to touch this stuff. He knows how easy it is to get hooked. He knows how hard it is to stop.

He just needs to go back and shake himself until he realizes that the guy in a hospital bed beside him— a guy brought in as a John Doe— as another stupid junkie— the guy whose hands are too cold and whose face is too pale— who is lying there with no promise of life except the monitor beeping— as the love of his life—

Because Eddie should have known that no one, not even Steve Harrington could get clean that fast.

Eddie gets famous but Steve is the one who ends up addicted to the kind of shit Eddie knows better than to touch. The band is taking off and Eddie worries, so Steve makes sure that he keeps it hidden. If he had less money, he would have a slower slide into deeper, more dangerous risks. But his boyfriend is the lead guitar of the band on the cover of magazines, so it's easy for Steve score. His boyfriend is famous and touring and Steve is listed as a personal assistant as he tags along. His boyfriend is performing to a roaring crowd at Madison Square Garden, and Steve is overdosing in the bathroom.

[that1emowitch]

Bruce, high on painkillers, is being babysat by Jason. Jason has to do an emergency Red Hood thing, and lacking an alternative, slaps a stock domino on Bruce and drags him along.

Bruce proceeds to say/do the most unhinged shit. The goons are suddenly viscerally aware of where Hood got it from.

WOW okay you guys are unhinged, you know that?

(And I love it <3)

A/N: I fully intended to write a crack fic, but the feels crawled in through the plot holes I missed and made their homes in the heart of the story. Also I don't know what you mean by 'stock domino' so I'm assuming it's one of those dollar store ripoffs.

(TW: Accidental overdosing on painkillers, mentions of blood, Jason's usual level of swearing, some goons almost dying but like in a funny way.)

Word Count: 2328

Jason wants to scream.

Like, let it rip out on an abandoned cliff in the howling rain kinda scream.

But no, he's stuck babysitting Brucie Wayne who accidentally OD'd on fucking painkillers after trying to treat himself in Alfred's unfortunate absence (how does that even happen?!).

Dick and Damian are out doing some brotherly-bonding thing, Tim's with the Titans, Duke and Cass are at the movies, and Steph has declared herself "not one of Bruce's kids." Leaving Jason as the only one free to look after their "Dad".

Jason pushes Bruce down on the Batcave's gurney for the billionth time after he attempts (keyword: attempts) to walk again, scowling. None of them are getting any waffles from me again. Or pancakes. Or scones. Or anything I make for them out of my sweet, kind heart. Those little shits.

Jason puts two fingers on Bruce’s wrist, checking his pulse. His skin is cold and clammy, breathing slow, but at least he’s not vomiting anymore. He sighs, collapsing on a chair beside Bruce. He's tired. So fucking tired.

Just as Jason's eyes flutter shut for a moment, the Batcomputer's alarm suddenly blares.

Bruce shoots up, shouting, "ALARM!"

Grumbling, Jason drags himself to the computer, pushing Bruce down along the way. He opens the glaring red notification, brows creased.

Black Mask's goons have intercepted some military shipment...

"Ugh..." Jason groans, and moves to put on his helmet (he never changed out of his costume), checking his guns, when a sudden crash from behind him snaps his attention to the man-child he's supposed to be babysitting.

Bruce has stepped off the gurney and collapsed face-down on the med bay's floor.

He can't just leave him there, can he?

Jason considers his options: He could either strap Bruce to the gurney and leave (in which case Dick will have his head), or he could take Bruce out on the streets with him (in which case Dick will absolutely want to murder him.)

Jason smirks. It’s obvious which one’s the right choice.

Ten minutes later, Jason’s riding through the city at over a hundred miles per hour, with Bruce strapped to the backseat of his motorcycle. Bruce is wearing a dollar store ripoff of the Robin domino and a Robin-themed cape made of Tim’s bedsheets, looking absolutely ecstatic at the high speed.

They arrive at the warehouse where Black Mask’s goons have transported their stolen goods, parking in a shadowed spot a building away. Jason gets off, helping Bruce onto his feet, and says, “Now, I’m going to go shoot some people, you stay hidden and quiet, got that?”

“Guns are bad,” Bruce replies, holding a finger to Jason’s helmet. “Just like clowns. And ducks.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jason shakes his head. He doesn’t have time for this right now.

Jason quickly scales the nearest building, grappling to the roof of the warehouse. He peeks in through a hatch in the roof to survey the area. There are about a dozen armed goons, none of them looking very bright. There are 4 crates they’re guarding, likely filled with ammo.

Cocking his guns, Jason jumps down through the hatch, landing right in the middle of the warehouse with a ‘thud’ sound. “Surprise,” He grins, raising his guns.

“Aye, that’s Red Hood, ain’t it?” Comes a goon’s terrified voice. The others around him immediately aim their guns at Jason— they’re clearly untrained.

Suddenly there’s another thud behind him. “That’s a bucket, you morons!” Comes a too-familiar, slurred voice. Jason turns around to come face-to-face with Bruce, eyes wide. 

In a fight with any real criminals, this distraction would have cost Jason his life. But luckily these adorably clueless goons are just as shocked as him.

Unfortunately the distraction only lasts for a few seconds. Jason immediately jumps into the fight, shooting three goons in the kneecaps and dodging a few bullets. From the corner of his eye, he sees two more goons running out the door, crying. He punches another guy in the face, instantly knocking him out, and is about to turn back to check on Bruce when suddenly something hard collides with his skull.

Jason staggers slightly, trying to regain his balance, when he sees a goon holding a giant stone, wearing a proud grin.

Fuck, his helmet’s probably busted…

Then suddenly Bruce is running towards the goon, hands fisted and veins popping, screaming, “NO ONE HURTS MY SON!”

Then Bruce’s fist collides with the goon’s with a sickening crunch, splattering blood across the floor as the man crumples to the ground. Bruce doesn’t stop there, and continues to beat him up, yelling profanities.

It warms Jason’s cold, (un)dead heart to watch that— to see his Dad fighting for him. It’s like they say, you’re most truthful when you’re drunk— or high. This is how much Bruce loves him.

Then another thought strikes him— Bruce is going to regret being this violent when he sobers up. It’s going to claw at him, tear him up, and he’s going to compartmentalize and end up punishing himself by overworking.

Jason rushes forward, pulling Bruce off of the man. “B— Robin, stop!” He shouted, looking into the man’s domino-covered eyes.

Bruce’s brows furrow. “Robin?”

Jason points to Bruce’s Robin-themed cape and stock domino.

“Ah.” Bruce nods, pulling away. “You okay? Did you see any duck?”

“Duck?” Jason pauses in confusion. But before he can question it farther, he spies the three remaining goons using a ladder to climb up through the roof of the warehouse, trying to escape.

“Stay here. And do not move.” Jason orders Bruce, and runs after them.

He makes his way up the ladder as fast as he can , exiting under the polluted night sky. The goons, the ridiculously stupid goons, are standing around the edge of the roof, trying to figure out how they’re going to get down.

He doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this ridiculous shit.

Actually, scratch that, he doesn’t get paid at all.

“Wow, you guys are pathetic,” Comes Red Hood’s robotic voice, startling the goons, and one of them accidentally topples over the edge, screaming. Jason ensures that the guy’s hanging on tight— he can wait.

He cocks his guns, aiming both at the two standing goons. Both men are trembling with fear, hands up in surrender. “Hood— Mr. Hood, please—” One of them squeaks, but one look from Jason shuts him up.

“Please. Mr. Hood was my father,” Jason quips, his robotic chuckle sounding sinister. 

That’s when he hears another voice behind him (again)— “But I’m your father.”

Jason jumps, whipping around. “How did you— I didn’t even hear you come!”

Bruce just shrugs innocently, waving his bloodstained hands at the terrified goons.

Then Jason hears the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. From the corner of his eye he sees the bolder of the goons, the one that had spoken before, taking aim.

“DUCK!” He yells, falling out of the way.

Instead of dodging, Bruce falls into a defensive stance, looking around frantically. “Where?!”

The bullet barely misses Bruce’s ear as he turns his head.

Jason has had it with sky-high Bruce now. Annoyance rising, he quickly shoots the two goons in the kneecaps, forgetting about the one hanging off the edge, and stalks up to Bruce, glaring.

“What is up with you and ducks?!” He demands, his voice raised.

“Ducks are evil,” Bruce spits, nose wrinkled. “Just like clowns. And bats.”

Jason’s brows raise. “Bats are evil?”

“Yeah, duh, that’s why everyone’s scared of Batman.” Bruce rolls his eyes, his drawl sounding too much like Steph. “Bats are scary.”

“You really took ‘become what you fear’ too literally, huh?” Jason snorts, putting his guns back in their holsters. Then he takes off his helmet, checking the damage— just a slight crack at the back. Not too bad.

“You know, I fell into a hole and into a cave when I was a boy and a dozen bats attacked me. I nearly died.” Bruce continues, gesturing towards the air with his hands. 

“Yeah, right.” Jason shakes his head, chuckling. “Now come on, we gotta get you back.”

That’s when another voice rings out, high-pitched and scared. “Um, Mr. Hood? Please HELP! Please, please, please—”

Jason’s attention snaps to the corner of the roof— ah, right, the goon’s still hanging off the edge, isn’t he?

He grumbles, making his way over, and squats above the man, shaking his head. The man below him looks like he’s pissed himself, face ashen, tears running down his cheeks, muttering, “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die…” On repeat.

“I’ll pull you up on one condition,” Jason looks down at him, voice low. “Never become a gun for hire again. If I see you fighting on the streets…” He pulls out his gun.

“No, no, I won’t, I swear…” The man whimpers, eyes squeezed shut. Jason sighs, and grabs the man by the collar and hauls him up. He crumples onto the roof, curling into a ball.

“Take out your phone and dial 911, tell them you’ve been naughty,” Jason orders, his gun pointed at the man’s head. (What? A guy needs to have some fun.)

The man whines, and immediately obliges.

“Pathetic,” Jason ties the man up quickly, and makes his way over to Bruce, who was sitting on the floor of the roof, taking apart some random crushed handphone he’s found.

“Get up, old man. GCPD will be here soon. We’re going home.” He pulls Bruce up, ignoring how he longingly stares at the dismantled phone.

The two of them grapple down from the roof, landing safely on the pavement. As they walk towards his bike, Bruce says, “Did you know I ate a phone once?”

Jason stumbles slightly. “What?”

“Tasted nice. Like electricity. Crackle-y.” Bruce hummed, his face straight (as straight as someone dating Superman could be). He isn't kidding.

That, or he's delusional.

“Don't try it. You might turn into a computer or something.” Bruce nodded very seriously.

“Oh god,” Jason snorts. “I'm so glad my helmet’s recording all this. Perfect blackmail material.”

“Black's a very, very pretty color.”

Jason rolls his eyes, revving the motor, making sure Bruce is safely strapped onto the backseat behind him. “You're just emo.”

“What's emo?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, words slightly slurred.

“Y'know, when people wear all that black makeup, skinny jeans, with hair covering their eyes.” Jason explains, putting a spare helmet on Bruce's head. “And listen to, like, My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco. The Emo Trinity.”

“Oh, oh!” Bruce's eyes sparkle. “Dickie used to do that! He went to a My Chemmy concert once, but he didn't want me coming along.” He pouts.

Jason thinks of all the times Gerard Way has shoved a mic down his throat and grabbed his junk. “Yeah, I wonder why.”

Then he turns around to look Bruce in the eye. “But, Golden Boy was emo? Seriously?”

Bruce just smiles and nods, saying, “Now go.”

“Going,” Jason smirks and speeds down the streets of Gotham city, not slowing down until their surroundings change from shitty apartment buildings and broken street lights to the eerie quiet of Bristol. He can see the Manor in the distance when he takes a hidden turn, straight down the road that leads to the Batcave. 

He pulls into the underground ‘garage’ section of the Cave, parking his bike before helping Bruce off. As he removes Bruce’s ripoff domino and “cape”, he says sternly, “Now, you tell no one of what we did today, got that? Not a soul.”

Bruce just flashes a thumbs-up and smiles in the most un-Bruce-like way possible. It’s a little creepy, honestly.

“And even if you remember this once you sober up you won’t talk, because you swore on your soul not to tell.”

“Mhm. Kay.”

“Good.” Jason smiles slightly, helping Bruce back to the gurney, making him lie down. He checks him over for any symptoms that the painkiller overdose is making his health worse. His skin’s still cold and clammy, but his breathing’s more steady. His pupils aren’t as small anymore, and he’s way more responsive than he was an hour ago.

Huh. Maybe all he really needed was some exercise.

Jason sits down beside his father, taking a deep breath. “Hey, uh… Did you really mean that, back there? That… That I’m your son?”

Bruce’s brows furrow. “Yes, who else’s son would you be? Superman’s?”

A short laugh escapes Jason. He moves closer to Bruce, lying down so his head is resting beside the older man’s. “I just…” He sighs, unable to form the right words. “I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but… I love you, Dad.”

“Aww, Jaybird…” Bruce’s hand moves sluggishly to cradle Jason. “I love you so much more than you could ever imagine.”

A small smile plays on Jason’s lips as he closes his eyes, leaning into his Dad’s touch. Maybe… maybe babysitting a high Bruce isn’t so bad.

[BONUS!!!]

Dick walks into the infirmary nearly an hour later with Damian trailing behind him, intending to check up on Bruce. He’s been ringing Jason’s phone for a while now, but he hasn’t been picking up. And… Honestly, Dick’s getting worried.

“Tt. I knew we shouldn’t have left Father’s safety in the hands of an incompetent fool such as Todd,” Damian frowns, scowling.

“No, no, it’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Dick tries to reassure his baby brother, but he picks up his pace. “I mean, we both know what Jason’s like. One moment he’s nice, one moment he’s—”

His voice trails off as he sees Jason sitting on a chair beside Bruce, who’s on the gurney— both asleep, with Jason’s head resting on Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce cradling him.

“Aww, Little Wing…” Dick smiles, pausing. Even Damian freezes behind him. Dick steers him away, back into the main house, so as to not disturb the sleeping pair. “Yeah, they’re okay. Nothing bad happened.”

[you-call-it-a-dude]

Just Can't Hack It Pt.2

Pt.1

Request: so this is part two to a story. The original request was reader dealing with substance use. I had a few folks wanting another part and I was feeling inspired to add a second part so I did!

Pairings: Leighton Murray x female reader

Warnings: TW!!! I would say this one is more triggering than the first. Mentions of opioid use, accidental overdose, use of narcan/naloxone, difficult discussions around the topic of addiction, needles. This is a super heavy story. Read with caution, take a step back if it's not for you. I have many other stories you can check out if you want something more light hearted. Nobody dies, but it's a pretty realistic scenario about addiction/loving someone with addiction. Could be triggering in many ways, so please be aware.

Authors Note: here I go again adding more chapters to stories I've been saying imma leave as one shots lol. This story is super depressing, I'm so sorry. If you're into that tho, welcome lol. I apologize for my lack of posting. Ive had a lot of life changes happen recently and my mental health hasn't been the greatest (maybe writing this depressing ass chapter will help). I do want to clarify, I am not a drug user. Just a social worker that reads, does research lol. Thank you all for your patience, thank you so everyone that's read my other work while waiting for me to post again. I love you all. I love you for reading, for sharing opinions and engaging in discussions with me and I love you for existing. I hope you like this next chapter

**if you have any questions regarding Narcan/Naloxone, fentanyl test strips, or anything like that, feel free to reach out**

----

You woke up with a loud gasp, some random girl rubbing circles on your sternum. You rushed to sit forward, accidentally shoving her back.

The air was flowing back into your lungs and you felt like you couldn't get it in there quick enough. Your teeth were chattering and you were in that same fucking basement DJ died in.

You grab her wrist with shaky hands and she talked to you calmly, asking you if you were okay and all you could do was shake your head no. Your chest was heaving and it felt like you were inhaling razor blades or something.

What the fuck?

"Sit up slow." She tells you, helping you sit up and you notice her hands are also shaking. "You should probably go to the emergency room." She tells you and you're confused because you don't know why.

"Did something happen?" You ask, your throat dry. You cough to clear it and when you reach forward to grab a cup of whatever off the table, you see an oddly shaped object discarded on the table. You pick it up, your hands still shaking and you run your thumb over the pink 'Narcan' written on the label "Fuck." You whisper to yourself. "Fuck, did...?" You turn your attention to her and she kind of just shrugs.

"I'm not sure honestly. Maybe? But I didn't think it could hurt. You didn't look great, like at all."

You continue to stare down at the small nasal spray, your hands still shaking like never before. You blinked hard a few times, trying to wrap your head around everything.

"I'm so sorry." You apologized to this stranger for most likely traumatizing the fuck out of her.

"Do you have someone to call? You probably need to go to the emergency room." She ignored your apology and something about that made you feel like shit.

"Emergency room? What? That stuff worked. I'm fine." You say, tossing the bottle back onto the table.

"Yeah, but it wears off in like thirty minutes, more or less." She points out.

"Wears off?!" You ask in shock and she nods at you, looking at you like you were stupid.

"And I'm not using my other one on you so I suggest you go." She said with a slight attitude, no longer giving off that friendly vibe she had before. "And maybe get your own for next time, yeah?"

"Fine, Jesus." You say, no longer feeling as indebted to her the more bitchy she got toward you.

You take a few moments to gather yourself, still feeling not the greatest. The girl next to you that potentially saved your life was now injecting something between her toes and if that wasn't enough motivation to get the fuck up and go, you don't know what is.

You grab your things and thank her again. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't say anything back.

Your legs feel weak and shaky. Getting up the stairs and out of the house took way more effort than it should've. You hated this fucking place and you felt disgusting for even coming back.

Your intention was to take an Uber to the emergency room on campus, but when you checked your bank account you were almost certain a ride request wouldn't even go through.

You physically just felt too weak to stand so you sat on the curb, knowing you were going to have to call Leighton and just fucking hated yourself for it.

You pulled out the pills you had taken from your pocket and investigated them. You got them from Liza instead of your normal dealer. She told you they would be exactly the same pills you were used to buying from Angel, just less expensive. Your lack of funds sold you on them immediately. Except now that you actually took the time to study them, you realize they looked nothing like the other ones.

You had no idea what you took.

What you do know is you took two of them at once. It was less than what you normally would've taken. You can't even remember why you decided to only take two instead of your usual four, but clearly sober you was looking out.

Well...semi-sober you.

You called Leighton and it took three tries for her to answer. She was mad at you again because you bailed on her the other night on dinner plans that you made.

"Hello?" She finally answered. You could hear laughter in the background so you knew she was out with friends or out doing something and it made you feel even worse to ask her for help.

"Hi, Leight." You say softly, pushing your fingertips into your eyes trying to build up the courage to ask her. "Can you help me, please?"

"Help you?" She sounds concerned and you hear a door close behind her, all of the noise fading away. "What's going on?"

"I need-I need, fuck!" You try, the words feeling almost impossible to get out. "I need to go to the emergency room, I think." You finally get out, blinking hard to keep your brain working.

"Emergency room? What's going on? Where are you?"

"Please, Leighton. I'm at the blue house on the edge of campus. You know the one." You rub your palm against your forehead. "Can you please just come get me."

"Yeah. I know the one." Of course she did. Everyone knows the blue fucking house. It's literally nicknamed the druggie house on campus. There's only one reason people went there. Her voice sounded monotone and she was definitely connecting some dots. "I'm coming, I'm not far away." She hangs up on you before you can even tell her goodbye and you just feel her disappointment radiating through the phone.

It was less than ten minutes when you saw a familiar car pull up.

Leighton stepped out of the passenger side and as soon as the door closed, the window was rolling down to reveal Whitney in the drivers seat.

"Are you kidding me, Leighton." You complained as she rushed over to help you.

"Shut up." Whitney said from the driver's side, rolling her eyes at you.

"Fuck you!" You spat at her, letting Leighton help pull you to your feet.

"No, fuck you! What the hell is wrong with you?" You stayed silent because you didn't have an answer to her question. "That's what I fucking thought. Now get in the car."

Leighton sat in the back with you, letting you lay your head on her lap. She hasn't said a single word to you since she picked you up and you don't know if it was the drugs or the anxiety caused by her silence that was making your heart race the way it was.

Your body was sore and your head ached. You turned so you could bury your face in her sweater, inhaling the smell of her. She massaged your scalp, pulling you closer to her body.

Whitney dropped you both off at the front door and said to call her when you needed to be picked up. She sounded a lot nicer now, but she was also talking to Leighton.

You weren't feeling great at all and you definitely had the fear that whatever dosage that girl gave you was wearing off and you were going to die in the waiting room of this fucking hospital.

Leighton helped bring you to the front desk. You declined her offer of a wheelchair because something about that just felt degrading. Having to have her push you because of something you did to yourself?

Falling to the ground and crawling would be less embarrassing.

The woman at the desk greeted you and asked what was going on and you hesitated. Because even though Leighton probably figured shit out by now, you never said it out loud.

Saying it out loud would finally be admitting that you had a problem, which is why you've avoided it for so long.

"I-um-I-" both Leighton and the lady at the desk with the patience of a saint watch you fiddle nervously with the pen attached to a chain. "I am not feeling too great. I was given narcan maybe thirty minutes ago." You were blinking rapidly trying to get through your sentence, the fluorescent lighting and the pounding headache was making your brain short circuit.

The lady at the desk sat up quickly, asking you for your ID and insurance card, asking someone behind her to call for a nurse. You pulled your wallet from your pocket and Leighton had to help you pull the cards out because your hands were shaking and you just couldn't do it.

A male nurse appeared out of nowhere with a rolling blood pressure cuff and asked you to follow him to the triage area.

"What about my stuff?" You ask, letting this man escort you to a little area.

"I've got it, baby." Leighton said calmly, a few steps behind you, shoving your ID back into your wallet that she was still holding.

You sat down in a chair with your feet planted firmly on the floor like instructed and you felt like this firm wooden chair was consuming you.

He slipped the blood pressure cuff on your arm, the stethoscope planted firmly in the center of your arm. His eyes never left you while he asked you some questions.

"Do you know how many doses of the narcan you received?"

"Just one." You say and he nods.

"What did you take?" He asks, making eye contact with you and waiting for your response.

You swallowed and looked up at Leighton, who was waiting at you expectantly to answer.

"I don't know. It wasn't from my usual person. My friend that got it for me said it would be the same and it wasn't. I took less than what I normally would." You admit and it sounds embarrassing to even say something like that. You just hope he doesn't ask you-

"How much do you normally take? How much did you take of these?"

"Um, four to five 10mg Percocet. I only took two of these."

"Okay." He nods and the machine starts to beep. He removes the cuff from your arm and motions to someone behind you. "We are going to take you back now, okay? Your blood pressure is too low." He said while he and Leighton help you stand up and you were mortified to find them leading you to a wheelchair.

"Yeah, okay." You nod and when you sit you look back between Leighton and the nurse with a panicked expression. "Can she come back with me?"

"Of course." He takes hold of the wheelchair and takes you to a double door, pressing the button and leading you and Leighton through a maze of curtained rooms before bringing you to an open bed.

As soon as your butt hit that bed, two nurses were rushing in one was hooking you up to different machines and pulling down your shirt to stick electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart.

Before you could even process anything, your bed was being lowered and you were laying flat on your back and the second nurse was giving you a second dose of narcan up your nostrils while the first nurse finally explained to you and Leighton what the fuck was going on.

She said that narcan is usually done in two or more doses and that it often wears off before the effects of the pills do. That because you only received one dose, you were already showing the signs of the first dose wearing off and going into another potential overdose.

You didn't even have time to panic or freak out. They had the narcan up your nose and had you sitting back up like it never even happened. Leighton nodding with wide eyes from the chair next to you and trying to absorb what the nurse was saying.

You gripped the bridge of your nose and squinted your eyes while the nurse finished speaking, already starting to feel better.

"We are going to keep you here for a couple of hours just for monitoring." She rolls a little tray over to your bed that has a needle, test tubes, and a tourniquet. All the makings for getting your blood drawn. "We are required to do a toxicology screening on you, especially since you do not know what you took." She slips on a new pair of gloves. "These results will not be shared with the university." She reassured when she saw your face drop. "Arm out."

She cleaned your arm with an alcohol pad and tied the elastic tourniquet around your arm, pressing on your veins to find a vein. She inserts the needle in your arm and you watch the multiple vials fill up. She removes the tourniquet, has you hold a cotton ball where the needle went in and slaps a bandaid over it. She cleans up the area and says she'll be back shortly and walks out without saying another word.

Leighton had been silent the entire time. She was holding your things and sitting on the chair next to your bed watching the monitor with all off your vitals. Her eyes looked glassed over and you didn't know what to say or how to even begin to say it.

"Thanks for coming with me." You say pitifully and her eyes dart from the monitor to look over at you.

"I feel so stupid." She says, shaking her head. "Everything is like, making sense now, you know? The missed dates, the weird behavior, the angry outbursts." She nods her head, almost like she was agreeing with her own thoughts.

"I'm so sorry."

"And then you take shit that you don't even know what it is and- and you fucking overdose? What if you fucking died, Y/N?" She sounds so angry, but you can see she's on the verge of tears. You reach for her, touching her arm and she yanks herself away from you. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Then fucking go if you don't want to stay." You say, staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

"Stop."

"I should've just let myself die on the curb of that stupid fucking house." You slammed your head against the pillow, the machines beeping like crazy for a brief moment.

"Can you just shut the fuck up with that self deprecating shit?" She spits, crossing her arms and legs.

She's very closed off and distant now. It almost felt like you could feel her distancing herself from you in real time. There's an awkward silence between the two of you and you reach for her.

"Leighton..."

"Mmmh mmmh." She shakes her head no, keeping her attention focused on her phone

"Baby." You try again and when her fingers pause over the phone screen you know you're getting somewhere. "Please, baby."

She rolls her eyes and sighs, giving you her attention.

"What."

"I'm really sorry." You say sincerely, playing with the edge of the flimsy hospital blanket.

"For...?" There was no hint of emotion to her voice. But in scenarios like this, Leighton was always good at shutting down and putting her walls up.

"For how I've been treating you. For a lot of things."

"If that's all you're going to say, that's a really shitty fucking apology."

"No! Of course that's not all. I-fuck. Okay. Just give me a second to collect my thoughts."

"Well, maybe if you weren't high on god knows what you'd be able to give me a less pathetic apology."

Maybe it was your high wearing off, maybe it was just the drugs in general, but man for the briefest moment you wanted to cuss her out.

You clench your jaw and exhale through your nose in an attempt to remain calm.

"If you let me fucking finish talking maybe you'll be more than the pathetic apology." You say through gritted teeth and she just raises her eyebrows at you expectantly. "I fucked up, okay? I know that. I didn't mean for it to get this bad." You admit and she tilts her head, her gaze visibly softening.

"What do you mean?" She scoots the hospital chair closer to your bed.

"I got the meds originally when I messed up my knee. It freaked me out about if I would get to play again or not. When I got back into it, it was great, but I fucking sucked and there was this insane amount of pressure to be as good as I was before my injury. There still is that pressure. My knee just felt tight all the time. Like it was about to snap at any moment. I did the physical therapy, the ice baths, I did everything. Well, everything but admit that maybe it's just straight up fucked." You look down and begin to pick at on your fingertips. Leighton reaches forward to stop you and instead you press your thumb against one of her manicured nails, enjoying the feeling of the pinpricking pressure against your fingertip.

"Keep going, baby." She encourages softly and you could feel yourself relax.

"I refilled my final prescription for my meds right before I started playing again. I would ration the bottle and take them after games and stuff. Then I took them during a game and realized I could play pretty damn good and my leg felt fantastic. Well, until afterwards when it felt worse than ever. Turns out if you take meds to prevent pain, it's really difficult to gauge when you're pushing yourself too far. So I would take some meds before the game, during the game, then again after the games..." Leighton opens her mouth to speak, but you continue with your thought. "...And then one or two more before bed."

"Jesus Christ, Y/N." She says, sounding both shocked and horrified. "I don't even...how long-how many? I don't know! I'm trying not to ask my question without sounding like a dick." She admits and looks to you for some guidance.

You don't know her exact question, but you can guess where she was going with it.

"It was supposed to be refill that lasted three months and finished it in like a month. Maybe a month in a half if I want to be generous. They were a low-ish doses, so I would take more."

"How many were you supposed to take a day? How many did you take?" She asked her questions in a quick succession.

"I was supposed to take one, max two, a day." She nodded and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "I was taking like four to six."

"I-what?! You know what," she takes a deep breath to calm herself down. "Let me approach this in a non-judgmental way. I just, I really want to know what happened to escalate the situation and bring us where we are now." She squeezes your hand reassuringly.

"So my prescription runs out and I find a connect when I go to one of the parties at the blue house. I got pills from him for a while, but you would not believe how expensive opioids are." You tried to joke, only when you looked up to see Leighton was not laughing, not even cracking a smile, you quickly cleared your throat and got serious. "After DJ died in the house, I starting using more and it was just getting more expe-"

"Wait what? The guy that overdosed in the house, you were his friend?"

"I, well, yes. But I was also...there. I called the ambulance when I found him." You could feel everything else coming out like word vomit. "I introduced him to Liza, who introduced him to drugs." You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow down the breakdown you've been keeping at bay for over a month now. "I killed him, Leighton. It's my fault he's dead." You look up at her tearfully and when Leighton frowns and calls you 'baby', you fucking lose it.

She stands up and pulls your face from your hands. The machines attached to you are beeping rapidly for who knows what fucking reason and it was pissing you off.

"Get these off of me." You say mid sob, attempting to pull the electrodes of your chest, yanking at the wires and your shirt blindly. "Get these fucking off!"

Leighton was fighting your arms at this point, doing her best to keep your arms still. Your brain could comprehend that you were smacking her unintentionally, hitting her arms, her hands, and her chest. You felt like your body was stuck between fight and flight right now. You felt out of control in every aspect, mentally and physically. You wanted to stop, you wanted to calm down, you just literally could not.

Within seconds two nurses came in and Leighton held your arms until one of the nurses took her place. Her absence felt more upsetting and agitating, so you attempted to reach for her. Your throat felt raw from crying and now you were screaming for Leighton, begging her to help you.

You gripped a nurses arm tightly, your face smushed against her scrubs while you watched Leighton's horrified expression as the two nurses turned you on your side. One of them pulled your pants down on one side and inject a tranquilizer into your ass cheek.

You gasped and squeezed the nurses arm, mortified about what happened and that it happened in front of Leighton. You were also both shocked and impressed at how quickly your heart rate was going down.

You also felt absolutely terrible for the tears and snot you were getting on this poor nurse's scrubs. Going back and forth between pitifully apologizing to her and to Leighton while the meds kicked in.

You could feel your arms getting heavy and the nurses began to lay you on your back again. The one you were gripping for dear life was covering you with a blanket and you can over hear the one that injected your ass trying to talk Leighton through what she just witnessed.

Something about it being normal behavior when coming off a lot of drugs so suddenly. You don't fucking know.

What you do know is Leighton looked pale and traumatized and that it was absolutely your fucking fault.

You reached for her. Desperately trying to tell her that you loved her. That you're in love with her and that you were so fucking sorry.

She looked at you confused, holding your hand and telling you she couldn't understand what you were saying. You could feel yourself getting riled up mentally, but your body felt stuck. Like gum to the bottom of a fucking shoe you were stuck and locked into this bed.

The nurses left and she pulled her chair close to your bed again, her hand never letting go of yours while she did. She sat in front of you, calling you baby, pushing hair from your face, and telling you that it was okay and to just close your eyes for a little bit.

You moaned and whined, tears sliding down your cheeks. They matched the ones streaming down Leighton's and you wanted you kiss them away. Instead she wiped your tears and begged you not to cry, her lips pressed against the side of your head.

You closed your eyes, Leighton's lips against your temple while she whispered calming things in your ear.

---

You woke up confused. You had a hospital gown on over your shirt and pants, and you were also pretty sure you were in a different room.

"Water?" You croak, your mouth dryer than nothing you have ever experienced before.

"Here." Came a voice next to you that was most definitely not Leighton.

You turn your head to the side to see Whitney holding a styrofoam cup with a straw and you push yourself to sit up straight, blinking and wiping away the dried up tears and sleep gunk from your eyes.

You hesitate at first, but you take the cup from her. You drink the cool ice water down like your life depended on it.

"Thank you." You tell her when you finished drinking, breathing heavily like a toddler after they downed some juice. You look around the room for any signs of Leighton, finding none. You try not to panic, but the machine measuring your hate rate gives you away.

"She'll be back. I sent her home a bit ago to change into different clothes and get something to eat." Whitney informs you, setting the water on the little table. She stands up and goes to the sink, wetting a small stack of those thin paper towels with warm water and wiping your face and mouth. You could feel your dried spit and snot come off with ease. You closed your eyes while she wiped your face, too tired to feel embarrassed. "Better?" She asks you, patting your face with a dry paper towel when she was done.

You nod your head yes, settling further into the bed.

"How long was I out?" You stare at the analog clock on the wall, but it doesn't help much since you didn't even know the time you came in or were knocked out at.

"Maybe seven hours? It's been a while. They said it could range from like six to twelve hours." You nod, staring at your covered feet. You can feel yourself checking out mentally, but Whitney talking again brings you back to earth. "Leighton filled me in, I hope that's okay."

"Mhmm, yeah." You shrugged and nodded, trying to hide your shame over the fact that another person knows this about you now.

"Why didn't you say anything to anyone?" She was soft with her approach, but there was a thin layer of assertiveness underneath.

"Well, Whitney, the thing about having a drug problem is you don't really fucking realize you have a drug problem until you end up in a hospital and get a needle shoved into your ass cheek. Or, maybe it's when a girl that injects meth between her toes gets pissy for using her Narcan on you. Gee, I just can't decide." You say sarcastically and Whitney's face hardens slightly.

"Okay, I get it." She says defensively, sitting back in the chair to lean away from you. You sigh and attempt to run a hand through your hair, but it's all matted and sweaty.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." You say quietly. "I thought I had a handle on it, okay? I didn't think it was a problem." You admit, nodding your head as you thought to yourself. "Clearly." You vaguely gesture to yourself laid up in a hospital bed and Whitney nods.

"Everything is starting to make sense though. Your behaviors, your angry outbursts, the way you treated Leighton."

You wince at that last one. You treated her horribly the last like eight months and you knew that.

It was such a weird feeling. To love someone so deeply and be unable to stop yourself from absolutely wrecking them and treating them like shit.

"Yeah, I've been told already things are adding up. Glad I could provide some clarity." You give her a tight lipped smile and a weak thumbs up.

"You're awake!"

You look up to see Leighton coming into the room, a little visitor badge pinned to her hoodie. You nod, looking up at her with a smile. Your eyes start to water, something about seeing her just hitting you with the overwhelming urge to cry because you were so fucking happy she came back.

You open your arms for her and she sets her purse down to rush to your side and give you a hug. You wrap your arms around her and hold her tightly, pressing your lips wherever you could.

A knock at the door caused her to pull away. She took the extra seat on the other side of your bed as the doctor came in and greeted you, washing his hands.

He did an overall exam on you. Checked your mouth, your eyes, listening to your heart and lungs. He pulled his stool up to your bed and rested a folder of paperwork by your feet.

"So, we got your blood results back. It's routine to drug test in these situations. The school will not be informed of the results." He reassured you like the nurse did previously. "Now," he opens the packet of papers to a specific page where numbers are highlighted. "You have a decent amount in your system. I'm sure that's something you're aware of." You nod and he continues. "We do not think you overdosed on the pills themselves. Not to say that means you should go out and keep slamming them back."

The three of you made a face at him, unsure if his comment was meant to lighten the mood or if he was just a dick.

"So what's the problem then?" Whitney speaks up and he clears his throat.

"Well, you have a dangerous amount of fentanyl in your system. Whatever you took was most likely laced. Had you taken the four pills you said you normally took, you would probably be dead. Here are some packets about fentanyl as well as some inpatient and outpatient treatments for opioid addiction, and some information about methadone." He sets about five pamphlets in the open space between your legs and stands up, pushing his chair back in. "The nurse is going to come in with your discharge paperwork. Schedule an appointment with your PCP. Have a good day ladies." He sanitizes his hands and leaves the room, leaving the three of you looking confused and dumbfounded.

"That was it?" Leighton asks after he leaves, clearly frustrated. She reaches forward and grabs the pamphlets off your legs and thumbs through them furiously. "You almost fucking die apparently and that's it? You go the fuck home? What the fuck."

"Leighton, please stop." You say calmly, but she was pacing the room now while she read.

"This methadone seems good. I can call my dad and get you into a good rehab. Inpatient or out." She says while reading through the pamphlets and you start feeling overwhelmed.

Of course you wanted to be better and to stop taking the pills.

But the thought of actually doing it scared the shit out of you.

"Can I please just go home first and figure this out later?" You ask, scratching your eyebrow.

"Yes," Whitney says and looks up and Leighton sternly. "Yes, you can." She says, answering for Leighton.

"I have one request." Leighton says, shoving the pamphlets into her purse before sitting at the edge of your bed. "Please stay with us for a bit. A few days, a week. However long. Just please do it, okay?"

You nodded your head. You knew you scared her, no, fucking traumatized her. She was looking at you right now like she wanted to cry. Like if you told her no she would probably burst into tears.

You couldn't tell her no. You couldn't do this to her again. You definitely couldn't do anything to risk losing her.

"Yes, I'll stay with you. Can I stop at my room at get some clothes?"

"Absolutely. Can I go in with you when you do?"

You hesitated. You thought about the state of your side of the room. You definitely weren't as clean as you used to be. You most definitely had been slacking on doing your laundry and the thought of her going in there and seeing your gross, crusty underwear made you want to flip.

You still agreed though and she kissed your cheek. She went to kiss your lips and you turned your head.

"My mouth feels disgusting. More kissing later?"

"Deal." She nods, sneaking a quick peck onto your lips anyway.

There was a knock on the door and a nurse stepped in holding some paperwork.

"Alrighty, Y/N. Let's get you outta here, hun."

---

You rushed into your dorm, quickly picking up dirty clothes from the floor and tossing them in your hamper, picking up trash and shoving it aside.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." You apologize profusely for the state of your room.

"No, don't. It's okay." Leighton says, taking in the space.

She hadn't been allowed into your room for a while. Usually when she would come over it would be spotless and smell like air fresher. It was a complete 180 from what she was used to.

You could almost see her absorbing in the gravity of your addiction. As if almost OD'ing on laced pills, blowing off her dates, and having frequent mood swings weren't enough. She was getting a first hand view of how little you had been taking care of yourself because of it.

Something about that felt more shameful than anything. You felt vulnerable and exposed. You had been caught putting on a show and now all the curtains were being pulled back to expose the complex layers of your addiction. Exposing problems that you didn't even realize were becoming problems until someone you love is watching you scramble to clean it up.

"I just need to get some clean clothes." You say, opening your drawers and finding them to be pretty bare. "Fuck." You whisper to yourself.

"Why don't you bring some dirty clothes with you and we can do laundry at my dorm. Okay, baby?"

"Um, y-yeah." You blink hard, slamming your drawer shut. You open another and are thankful to find a handful of clean underwear. You pull them out and shove them into the bag Leighton had set on your bed. "Can you get me some shirts from my closet? I'll gather my dirty clothes."

"Of course." She turns around to look through your closet.

You grabbed a garbage bag and began picking clothes off the floor, plucking clothes from your hamper and other various surfaces around the room, shoving them into the trash bag. When a bunch of change falls out of one of your pockets you sigh, going back into the bag and digging through the pockets of any pants and shorts you shoved in there to make sure those were empty before you continued.

You picked up a pair of sweatpants, digging your hand into the pocket and freezing when you felt something sharp-ish poke your fingertips.

It was almost like you could hear angels singing when you pull the item from your pocket. A small baggie with three little blue pills in it. Three pills that you most definitely recognized and knew they would be safe. You traced your thumb over them, licking your lips.

"Do you want this sweater, babe?" Leighton asks from the closet behind you and you briefly turn around to face her.

"Yes, that's perfect, baby." You tell her. You weren't even looking at the sweater.

You had look at her face. Feeling guilty about everything that went down. Feeling guilty about all the time and energy she was probably going to put in to taking care of you.

You knew the best thing to do right now would be to hand the pills over. It would be the responsible thing.

You wanted to be responsible.

You grip the small baggie in your hand tightly and scratch under your nose with the back of your hand, thinking of the way you were going to hand the baggie over.

You open your palm again to stare at the pills, your hand shaking. You look around the room one more time, turning to smile at Leighton while she had a few shirts and sweaters draped over her arm for you.

You wanted to be responsible, just maybe not today.

You clear your throat, shoving the pills into the deepest corner of your front pocket.

[v1nsmoke]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 // 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

oneshot - fallout's john hancock x reader

tw: mentions of drugs (usual hancock activity)

summary: after days of exiting goodneighbor, you and hancock finally get to talk

fandom: fallout

a/n: there is not enough talk about this fella omg… now that liking the ghoul from the fallout show is accepted, i can come forward (i chose the “romance hancock” option every playthrough). no pronouns used, so gender neutral ig? also the inspiration for the title is that one song thats viral on tiktok rn, also galvanized square steel mentioned

tags: -

wc: 0.6k

“Day twenty-five since leaving Vault 111, today is Monday and my location is Diamond City, it’s currently 2:41 PM. Me and my companion are at the noodle shop,” you say, speaking into your Pip-boy. 

Recently, you’ve been documenting every day, usually just a brief summary on that day’s experiences. These experiences consisted of hourly radroach attacks, accidental overdose on jet, or encounters with hostile Mr. Handy’s. Or accidental near-death situations with a deathclaw. That only happened once. 

You weren’t sure anybody would ever hear these, even better, be interested in these daily logs. Your companion seemingly couldn’t care less about these logs, as he ate his portion of ramen next to you. 

“The Institute remains undefeated, and I doubt it will change today, I’m not in the mood for it,” you continue.

“If it depended on your mood, it would be there forever,” Hancock cuts in with his sarcastic remark.

A sigh escapes your lips at his words.

“Maybe I should switch back to Dogmeat and send you back to Goodneighbor,” you reply.

“Now, what good would that do for you?”

“It would spare me from more of these remarks.”

“But can Dogmeat give you this?” He asks as he slides you a jet.

Hesitantly, but you accept it with a smile. 

“John Hancock, the ghoul you are,” you sigh.

A smile creeps onto his features. 

“See? You like me enough.”

“Whatever helps you sleep…”

You’ve been traveling with Hancock for the past week or so, after you accepted the offer of Bobby, who just so happened to lie to you. One thing led from another, and after finishing off Hancock’s bodyguard, you managed to solve the bad blood between the two of you by killing Bobby herself. 

Hancock was useful and good company, helping out where he could and making small talk with you. Not to mention that he was supplying you with a different kind of drug every day. They don’t have that stuff in Vaults…

Last night, the both of you got high as hell in the home you bought with hard-earned caps here, in Diamond City. It was mostly a box, so you decided to illegally expand it with galvanized square steel and eco-friendly wood veneers. So, after the finished construction - that lasted four days with the cheap and friendly workforce including Little John (Hancock) and yourself -, the two of you decided to celebrate.

He plopped down onto the mattress - the construction fee was too much for you to spend even more caps on a normal bed -, resting his back against the wall. You popped open a bottle of Nuka-Cola, taking your place on the mattress next to him.

“So, how do ya like it?” He asks, taking a Jet out of his pocket.

“So far so good,” you reply with a sigh.

“That’s all? Not ‘I love this place more than the Vault’?”

“I do like it more than the Vault, cause you’re here.”

He stays quiet for a few seconds before speaking up.

“That’s good.”

“That’s all? Not ‘Wow I, too, am really glad that I’ve got you and get to share Jet with you and that you defended me from that Deathclaw’?”

He lets out a slight chuckle, hanging his head low. 

“Thank you, then. For these past few days I’ve spent with you. Never thought I would find anybody who would accept me as their companion.”

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[pumpkinsy0]

(TW: Overdosing and possible death??)

I know this idea is a little dark, but do you know if you’d be able to Curly and the Gang’s reaction to Ponyboy accidentally overdosing on Asprin? You’re like… the only creator I know that actually recognizes that he had that problem 😭😭

tw\cw drug talk and overdosing obviously☝🏽

OK SO i kind of already made a post talking about what would happen if they found out and its riggghhhttt here so for this one ill just more so explain what would happen, how everyone is doin in the hospital, that kinda thing

but bc im NICE ill let him live

•i think something wouldve triggered pony into depending on it more, he canonically uses the aspirin to help him sleep at night so maybe at first he starts having trouble sleeping and ups his doses just a bit to try

•just like in canon, neither darry nor soda even realize this happening, they notice that the bottle is finishing faster but theyve never seen pony take more than one and they live in a house w 4 other ppl, they just think its them

•however ppl, especially curly, notices pony getting sick, they dont know it but hes suffering side effects, pony vomits, his hearing is shit, gets some stomach pains and is kinda nauseated, but pony just says hes just coming down w something, but generally, he CAN push through that

•but one day pony felt ESPECIALLY worse, he was experiencing those side effects by like ten fold, he felt like he got hit w a truck and he was sm more irritable, bit for some reason ponys just,,,rlly well at hiding how sick he is, to some degree he doesnt even realize that!!!!

•anyways, either it was at school or it was at home and someone heard a big thump, he passed out and he looked rlly pale, he was a bit blue, and he was gurgling and had tiny pupils, he was breathing obviously but even then still struggling

•after that point, nobody could tell u what happened in between them finding out about pony and them getting to the hospital, not a singular soul

•now at the hospital, ponys still passed out, so darry and soda r not leaving ponys side, havent showered, havent eaten a full meal, theyre a mess

•and depending on how old u wanna make pony here, darry could b worrying about the social worker and pony and soda being taken away

•while pony didnt die, he did get close, so nobody but immediate family was allowed to see pony for a while, so there was always a group of boys out in the waiting room, sometimes w gifts

•tim found out before curly did and he REALLY didnt wanna b the one to tell curly

[mypearlsareclutched]

Being Here is Harder

High By The Beach | Chapter Two

Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character, Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character

Mila Stark has a brief interaction with death itself, but the Stranger offers her a second chance at life. Moving forwards, Mila needs to figure out what the future looks like to her, and if Aemond could still have a place in her heart...

Next chapter, guys and dolls and others. I'm really getting these chapters out quickly because my drafts are full of WIPs I'm eager to write (I have ADHD and have about a thousand ideas I'm sorting through) this chapter feels fillery but ignore that. Hope you enjoy.

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: references to SERIOUS drug use, angst, fluff, rehabilitation clinics, Rhaenyra being mother in every way, hospitals, found families, Cregan's big brother vibes, Targaryens being messy and dysfunctional, brief smut (18+), infidelity, moving on, Aemond's POV, slow-burn, a wild Aegon appears because he does that.

Word count | 3.5k

previous chapter // next chapter

It felt so good at first. The drinking, the drugs, the partying… Aemond. But like a tsunami, the first sign of danger is when the tide draws in.

The first thing Mila felt when she woke up was heavy. Her body felt like she was drowning, held down by chains at the bottom of a lake. She whined softly, forcing her eyes open as she tried feebly to rouse out of her deep sleep.

“Easy, sweetheart, you’re alright.” A teary voice murmurs, patting her sweaty hair. Mila sobs, opening her eyes a crack, bright white light burning her eyes.

"Nyra?" She mumbles, her voice hoarse as she looks up at the woman in front of her. Rhaenyra gives her a sad smile, brushing her hair back.

"You're alright, sweet girl, you're okay." The Targaryen soothes her, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"What... what happened?"

"You... darling, you overdosed." Rhaenyra says, her eyes glassy. Mila opens her eyes wider, looking around.

They are in a hospital, white and stagnant walls and floors. Laid up on a cot, the Stark girl is hooked up to IV's and beeping monitors. Mila starts panicking, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin as she wildly looks around.

"No.. no no no... Nyra, I'm so sorry." Mila cries, sobs wracking her body. Her heart rate increases, and Rhaenyra tries to calm her down as Cregan rushes into the room, his eyes red and teary.

"Doctor! Doctor, something's wrong!" Cregan yells, and Mila is wrapped in Rhaenyra's arms as she shakes and writhes.

The sound of a phone ringing awakens Aemond.

He groans, shifting in his sleep as his expensive sheets wrap around his bare skin. The ringing continues, echoing around the flat. He blindly reaches for it, his hand knocking it to the floor accidentally.

"Shit..." He groaned, mind still clinging on to sleep.

The soft padding of feet can be heard from across the room, and Aemond smiles softly, waiting for Mila to wake him up and tell him to get his ass into gear. The bed creaks as someone kneels upon it, their warm breath dancing on the skin of Aemond's neck as they lean over him.

"Wake up, little dragon." A woman's voice murmurs in his ear.

That's not Mila. Aemond opens his eyes, startled. Alys Rivers leans over him, a smirk on her red lips as she looks over him. Memories of last night come back to him. Viserys' party, the argument with Mila, taking Alys to bed again...

Disgusted, Aemond jumps up, getting as far away from Alys as he can. He grabs the comforter to wrap around his hips, face fiery as he glares at the older woman still kneeling on the bed. She pouts playfully, her face still smirking behind her mask of sadness.

"Get out." Aemond demands, fists shaking slightly at his side, "Get the fuck out!"

Alys laughs, making Aemond's skin crawl. She slowly crawls off the bed, sliding past him to grab her coat. With a look over her shoulder, she blows him a kiss, "See you soon, sweetling."

Aemond shivers as she vanishes from sight, the sound of his front door shutting and relieving him. His skin feels gross, slimy, unfamiliar as he remembers last night.

"Oh fuck, yes! Feels so good!" Alys moans, bouncing on top of Aemond's cock. His hands grip onto her waist, his neck craning as he stares up at the ceiling. Pleasure thrums through his veins at every snap of her hips, but his mind casts illusions of Mila in Alys' place. His body was too used to submitting to Alys and her affections, but his mind knew who he truly belonged to.

In his mind, Mila is on top of him, Mila is moaning his name, Mila is sending pleasure through his body with every clench of her cunt. As he finishes, it's Mila's name on his lips, his body shuddering as Alys climbs over him, settling in his arms.

"Fuck." Aemond whispers, storming to his bathroom, turning on the shower and scrubbing his skin until it was raw. Trying to remove the stains of that woman, unable to wash away the memories...

Returning to his bed, he throws on his clothes on haphazardly as he grabs his phone, eyebrows furrowing as he spots the many notifications.

(4) Missed Calls - O.Hightower

(12) Messages - O.Hightower

(2) Messages - Unknown Number

"Shit..." Aemond murmurs as he grabs his jacket and races out of his apartment. He ignores the notifications, dialing Mila's number instead. Straight to voicemail.

"Mila, my love, please answer me." Aemond pleads, pulling on his jacket, "I need to go and talk to Otto, then I'm coming to yours, okay? I can't... I can't leave things as they are, baby."

Aemond stops. Mila's car is still parked outside, in the same place they parked last night. He looks around, hoping that she stands around somewhere. Alas, no sign of her. Looking up, he can see that his living room window is clearly visible from the car's position. Worry claws his chest, but he shakes his head as he gets into his own car.

Does she know about Alys?

The doctor, a tall Dornish woman, presses her stethoscope to Mila's chest, instructing her to take a deep breath. As she does, her body shudders, ice in her veins and her skin itchy and dry.

"Hm." Dr. Toland hums, dark brows creasing as she listens to Mila's thumping heart, "Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal. I believe you will be fit to transported by tomorrow morning."

Across the room, Rhaenyra lets out a relieved breath. Cregan sits in a chair beside Mila's bed, eyes red rimmed as he watches his sister's pale face.

"Transported?" Mila asks, blinking up at the doctor. Toland gives her a grave look, before turning to Cregan and nodding. As she leaves, the air is charged with tension.

"We're sending you to a rehabilitation clinic." Cregan states, his hands shaking on his knees.

Mila swallows, bringing her thumb to her mouth to gnaw at her nail, "Is that really necessary?"

"Emiliana, you're shaking. Your body is hooked on that shit again and the second you walk out of this place you'll be going to Lannister to get another hit."

"How do you know Lannister sold it to me?"

"Who do you think I talked to to find you? Huh?" Cregan shouts, standing up, "I called you a dozen times and you wouldn't pick up. The pictures of Aemond and that fossil got leaked and I knew you were going to.... fuck, Mila." With a choked sob, he collapses back into the chair, holding his hand up to his mouth as a tear rolls down his cheek.

Mila chews her thumb, eyes vacant as she stares at the foot of the bed. She tried to listen to what her brother was saying, but she was feening for the needle, she needed it and it was all her body was telling her.

Across the room, Rhaenyra stares at her, taking in her appearance. Mila was always a beautiful girl, long dark hair and high cheekbones. Since getting clean and growing into a woman, she was on the tall side like most Starks, and at a healthy weight. But looking at her now, she looked just like she did when she was fifteen. Frail, scared, feeling alone in the world. Her steely eyes are dull, surrounded by dark bags and ashen skin.

"Sweetheart, what happened?" The Targaryen asks her softly.

"I told you what happened!" Cregan snaps, "Your fucking snake of a brother stuck it in his elderly ex and sent my baby sister spiraling. When I get my fucking hands on him I'll take his other fucking eye!"

"Cregan!" Rhaenyra shouts, and he goes quiet, breathing heavily as he flexes his hands, eyes full of anger.

"Does Aemond know?" Mila asks in a quiet voice.

"Alicent called me after Aemond's photos were made public." Rhaenyra says softly, "She couldn't reach you. I told her what happened... She wanted to come and see you but her father is doing damage control right now, and he won't let them be seen coming here. He wants to keep this whole thing away from the press."

"Yeah, can you imagine the headline; "Targaryen heir shags his dinosaur mistress, sending his girlfriend to her death"." Cregan scoffs, his knee bouncing with pent up anger.

"Aemond will probably know by now." Rhaenyra whispers, "But none of us will allow him to come and see you in this state."

Mila shakes in her bed, her skin crawling and her tongue dry. With a resolute nod, she looks at her family. "... I need to go to rehab."

Rhaenyra lets out a relieved sigh, and Cregan nods. Mila stares at the end of her bed, her thumb beginning to bleed with her gnawing. Her mind is a mess of bad memories and dwindling calmness brought on by the hit, and she knows that soon her body will start detoxing.

A phone rings, Rhaenyra grabs her bag and checks her phone screen. With a grimace, she excuses herself, leaving the room in a flurry of silver hair and dark, expensive clothes. Cregan stands up, sitting on the edge of his sisters bed as he cups her cheek.

"I almost died last night." Mila whispers, her eyes glassy as she looks up at her brother, Cregan looking down at her while rubbing her hair affectionately.

"But you didn't." He murmurs, voice cracking, "We're going to get through this, okay?"

"Mhm." Mila sighs, "Did you... were you the one who found me?"

"It was Rhaena." Cregan sighs, "She and Baela came with me to your apartment, she was the one who found you in the bathroom. I've never seen her so upset."

"Gods..." Mila whispers, tears falling down her cheeks.

"She was here with us all night, Rhaenys had to drag both of them home to get some sleep. They'll be back soon."

"I don't know if I can face them." She shudders, "After what I have put them through? I can't believe I've done this again, Creg."

"Shush, Emmie." He soothes her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "You're the She-Wolf. You're stronger than this. You'll see."

Breaking the speed limit multiple times, Aemond arrives at his family's mansion, his jaw set and face pale as he sees Criston Cole waiting for him. Parking his car, he gives his head of security a confused look, nerves growing as he takes in Cole's grave expression.

"My father...?" Aemond asks, sure Viserys' passing would have caused all of this.

"Alive." Cole says simply, "You need to go inside."

With one final look, Aemond rushes past him. The house is quiet, eerily so, but muffled voices can be heard, their voices grim.

Inside the kitchen, his family stands around the table. Otto braces his hands against the glass, trying to talk calmly to Alicent, who is pacing hysterically. Halaena and Daeron sit at the table, both looking spaced out.

"We must go, father." Alicent sobs, clutching a tissue to her chest as she takes deep breaths, "We must go to the hospital, Rhaenyra said she isn't out of the woods, if she... if-"

"Aemond!" Daeron exclaims, rising from his chair as he meets his brother's eyes.

The other's grow silent. Otto stares at Aemond as if he were an insect, a sneer on his thin lips. The others look at him as if he were a ghost.

"What's going on?" Aemond asks, his body going cold.

Otto pulls out his phone, swiping it open before sliding it across the glass table. Aemond picks it up, grimacing as an article pops up. Pictures of his apartment can be clearly seen, two people engaged in lewd acts. The headline reads "Targaryen Prince trades She-Wolf for Ex-Girlfriend! Spotted Getting Cozy After Viserys Targaryen's Shindig!"

"Shit." Aemond sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead, "How the fuck... gods they must have been outside my flat last night, waiting for something to happen."

"You're a fucking fool." Otto shouts, and Halaena presses her hands to her ears, her snake Dreamfyre slithering up her arm protectively. Aemond straightens his back, leveling Otto with a glare.

"I never meant for it to happen."

"Well, it did, didn't it?" Otto smiles cruelly, "Your... your weakness has once again tarnished this family's reputation. After a year of making sure you seemed like the perfect, model son, you threw it all away by being caught allowing that woman back into your life, discarding Westeros' golden girl in the process. Gods forbid the press find out what's happened to Mila, we'll never see the light of day again!"

Aemond goes still, his skin going cold. Panic erupts in his chest, white hot fear settling inside his ribs and crushing him. His hands shake as he looks around the morbid expressions of his kin.

"What... what's happened to Mila?" Aemond asks, his voice quiet and weak, more like that of a boy's than a man's, "Mother?"

Alicent sits heavily down in a chair, holding a hand to her forehead. Daeron opens his mouth, before closing it and wrapping his arms protectively around himself. Otto merely glares, finger tapping on the table.

"Your love made her sick." Halaena murmurs, as Dreamfyre nuzzles against her neck.

It is like Mila can hear all the sounds in the hospital. Beeping and whirring and talking and sirens, all too loud. The room is large but stuffy, her body hot yet cold, drowning in an ocean yet parched like she was crawling across the Dornish sands. She absentmindedly scratches at her needle mark, making it bleed, warm blood covering her chipping fingernails.

The door opens, and Mila is quick to hide her forearm in the massive sleeves of the hospital gown. A teary face greets her, locks in disarray as if she just woke up.

"Rhaena." Mila sobs, guilt overtaking her as she sees her friend. Rhaena bursts into fresh tears also, running over to collect Mila into her arms, shushing her and petting her hair.

"It's okay, you're okay." Rhaena whispers, her voice light and haunted.

"I'm so sorry." The Stark murmurs, "I'm going to rehab, I'll get better, I swear it."

"Good." Outside the room, the window shows the near empty corridor. Cregan stands against a wall, head rising as someone joins his side. Baela looks tired, dressed frumpy and wearing a face of barely contained anger.

"Baela won't come in?" Mila asks.

Rhaena gnaws her lip, "She said she will talk to you when you're better."

"Oh." Mila whispers, guilt and shame gnawing at her.

"She's not angry at you." Rhaena is quick to explain, "She's furious over the situation with Aemond. We heard Rhaenyra speaking to Alicent outside... I can't believe he would humiliate you like that? And then to... gods, honey."

Mila nods with a tense jaw, playing with her hands as she shakes slightly. Rhaena holds her hands in her own, sharing in her natural warmth. The door opens, and Rhaenyra enters with a soft smile, her hands full of a bouquet of sunflowers.

"Could I have a moment with her, Rhaena?" Nyra asks, placing the flowers down on the bedside table. The younger woman nods, pressing a kiss to Mila's knuckles before rising. As Rhaena leaves, Cregan waits outside. Through the window, Mila can see Rhaena collapse into his arms, and he holds her tightly, murmuring words to her.

Despite the years since they broke up, the fondness between them remains strong. You never truly forget your first love, do you? Mila closes her eyes in pain at the thought. Will Aemond haunt me forever?

The hospital bed creaks as Rhaenyra sits down beside her, taking Mila's clammy hand in hers. Mila smiles at her somberly, looking down at the pamphlet held in her hands.

"Alicent dropped this off, and the flowers." Rhaenyra nods to the sunflowers.

"What is that?" Mila asks, looking at the pamphlet.

"It's a rehabilitation facility, it's called Weirwood Rehabilitation." Rhaenyra sighs, flicking through it, "Apparently, it's one of the best. Many public figures have used it. It's known for its discretion."

"Sounds promising." Mila half-smiles, "Hopefully the Clubfoot will leave me alone for five minutes."

Nyra smiles, though it is pained, her eyes distant as she ponders something.

"What's wrong?" Mila asks, her eyebrows furrowing. Rhaenyra takes a breath, pressing her lips together.

"Aegon's been at Weirwood for the past year." She sighs, "I called them to ask if he was still a patient there, and they said that he has been checked out for a good month now."

Mila let's that sink in for a moment. Aegon was there. Recently. Though having never spoken to the eldest son of the Targaryen clan, it feels as if he will haunt that place. It feels as though she will not escape them, maybe she never will. Taking a breath, Mila nods resolutely.

"Okay." She says softly.

"You still want to go?" Rhaenyra asks, eyebrow quirked.

"...Yeah." Mila nods, looking at the sunflowers, "I need help."

The next morning, Mila is wheeled out of the hospital by Cregan, heading towards where Rhaenyra stands waiting by her car, next to Jace, Luke, Laenora, Rhaena and Baela.

"Should there be a priest here to read my last rites?" Mila rasps.

"I can't believe you." Jace sighs, "You just Mia Wallace'd all over your bathroom, Pulp Fiction style, and you're making jokes?"

"My whole life is a joke at the moment."

Weirwood was named after the forest surrounding it. Many miles from civilisation, the large stone building was nestled deep amongst the dark trees.

By the time they arrived at the facility, Mila was already feeling it. The heroin was leaving her system, and taking all her strength with it. She clinged to Cregan as he helped her to the large, ornate door. Inside, the walls were sage green and the floor grey marble. A dark-skinned woman dressed in a deep blue jumper rushes over, offering Mila a smile as she takes her weight from Cregan.

"Emiliana Stark." Cregan states, nervously bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I know, I saw her in the tabloids." The woman smiles, "We'll take good care of her."

"Okay... okay." Cregan sighs, body slumping slightly as he gives Mila a sad smile, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead before reluctantly turning and leaving.

Mila sobs, fingers grasping onto the ladies soft navy sweater.

"It's alright, it's alright, let's get you to a room." The woman says softly, holding her upright as they walk down one of the adjacent hallways.

The walk down was difficult, Mila's shaking and sweating making her weak and her head felt heavy and swimmy, but the woman persevered, rarely faltering in basically carrying the other woman further down the hall. A dog barks in the distance, each coming down the hallway.

"Sheepstealer, if you don't shut up!" The woman bellows, making Mila's ears ring, "Sorry about that. Here we are!"

Pushing open a door, Mila trips over her own feet, allowing the woman to drag her forwards to deposit her on a bed. The soft sheets offer immediate relief, and Mila practically melts into them.

"Alright, Emiliana. Do you prefer Emiliana or something else? Emily, Milly? Doesn't matter, we'll talk about it later. You can call me Nettles, or Netty if you would like. I'll leave you for a moment to grab you some water. There's a button beside your bed which will alert the front desk if you need help."

With that, Nettles disappears from sight. The room is cold, yet sweltering. The sound of her own heartbeat is deafening. A voice in her head is murmuring, her own voice...

Get high, we need to get high, this will end if we just GET HIGH!

Mila sobbed, her body feeling cold and shaky. Her stomach churned, her blood felt fiery and her skin frozen, shudders wracking her. She knew this feeling well, the heroin leaving her system and her system not knowing what to do without it. Like her and Aemond. Aemond was her own heroin, and now she did not know what to do without him.

Panic is taking her over again, delivering punch after punch as she lets tears stream down her face, grief over her relationship making her detox ten times worse.

Her door opens quietly, a soft voice says something which evades her. A warm hand is pressed to her forehead, taking in her sweating state, and she leans in to the touch despite herself.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” A man’s voice soothes, “Detoxing is a bitch, but it’ll get better, I promise.”

His hands are warm, rubbing over her shoulder. Mila leans into it, allowing his warmth and comforting scent to bring her some reprieve from the internal battle her body is fighting. The mystery man pulls a second blanket over her, the warmth and weight a welcome sensation. The stranger continues to rub her shoulder, before moving to leave her be.

Her hand shoots out, blindly searching for him.

"Okay, okay, I'm not going anywhere." He chuckles, the bed dipping as he sits down beside her. He runs a hand over her back again.

When she looks up, she meets a pair of big blue eyes, which crinkle as he gives her a kind smile.

“Hi, I’m Aegon.”

AN// Oh no another Targaryen for Mila to become attached to! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The shifting of perspectives between Mila and Aemond may be confusing and I am sorry, it won't become a regular thing x

Lula x

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1332

TW: Substance Abuse | Overdose

Anon asked:

Do you have some prompts for a whumpee struggling with substance abuse after some bad things happening in their life, and their friend / caretaker supporting them through it?

A few:

Maybe the caretaker notices erratic behaviour and decides to address it gently. This could lead to a discussion, or even an argument if the whumpee tries to deny it despite the evidence being clear. (Why do they try to deny it? Are they ashamed? Embarrassed? Worried about what people are going to think?)

The caretaker could find out about the abuse when the whumpee hits rock bottom. They could get a call from the hospital/a concerned friend etc. Maybe they haven't heard from the whumpee in a few days, so decide to do a welfare check of sorts. They could get there just in time to witness the whumpee overdosing.

Does the whumpee relapse? Do the caretakers threaten to give up on them?

^ I like the idea of the caretaker saying that in private, but the whumpee accidentally overhears.

During recovery they celebrate small victories - a day sober, three days sober, a week sober etc etc. It becomes tradition to get a cake for every milestone. Maybe at a longer milestone - when the whumpee as gotten much better - it's not until late at night that they realise it's a milestone day. Their only option is to go to a gas station to find a cake, but their only choices are the questionable hotdogs, flowers, a chocolate bar, or even more questionable sushi.

At first the whumpee rejects professional help, but seeing the strain it puts on the caretakers, they decide to seek out a therapist.

Don't forget the withdrawal symptoms.

What kind of coping mechanisms do they put in place? Chewing gum? Knitting? Folding laundry?

On the emotional side - the whumpee has to work very hard to repair the relationships they damaged.

[howfrightening]

i can’t get over how well written 3x08 Holes Are Bad is and how accurate i felt it is

cw / tw for suicide discussion below

thinking in particular about how Hetty lied about her death and down to the words she used; “accidental overdose” not just overdose, but accidental. it felt so much like don’t think this dangerous thing i did was at all purposeful, i didn’t know it was a risk to my life, it was an accident. also the other ghosts accepting that answer and no questioning at all.

and then none of the ghosts knowing, but asking each other “did you know?” and “no i never noticed” with no ill intent and it felt so much like the discussions when someone does attempt like i didn’t know, did you know, there were no signs, etc.

i’m having lots of hetty feelings before work