#accidental overdosing

[luminarai]

you’re on your own kid / yeah you can face this

I started this Parse comic almost a year ago (!) but I’ve only just managed to put it together now. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Kent and how he mostly exists in bits and pieces as seen through the eyes of other characters.

There’s just something about being haunted and defined by your past (mistakes) but also finding strength on your own. (And how there can still a hopeful ending despite it all.)

[jedi-starbird]

Qui-Gon: Substance Abuse? I would never abuse substances, I love them.

[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?"

[bruisething]

what ive been thinking about is coming to someone for help when i'm fucked up, and them saying they'll watch me, letting me sit on their lap. an arm around me, comforting me while my panic diffuses, gentle reassuring touches, gradually getting more intimate while i get closer to passing out. bolder than they would ever be if i was in my right mind, if they were worried about me remembering it.

[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?

[yellowjckets]

people being mad nat died from an overdose like … she didn’t actually overdose that’s the tragedy of it! also … we KNOW misty kills with fentanyl she steals from her job, it’s been established multiple times! like that’s the tragedy of it all. she’d finally got clean & she was finding a purpose again … it’s exactly how it was going to happen.

[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.

[leguin]

i suspect that there's more to the faked death situation than anyone remembers/is willing to share at this point - he might've been abusive or an alcoholic etc. but my great-aunt (the only one still alive who remembers this) said she was really amazed at how normal it seemed at the time that a man would permanently disappear to try and keep his family from being ashamed of/shamed by his financial failure, and how bizarre and pointless it seemed to her now that she was in her 80s. lot of shifting cultural and economic expectations...but also idk. at some point people just still being in your life probably starts to seem more valuable than anything else.

[honetii]

fun trivia about me. in like early 2022 I accidentally overdosed on nyquil (didn't read the label, accidentally doubled up on a different medication that had the same active ingredient) and it was the only time I went to the ER bc I was like actively hallucinating and in the middle of a panic attack ect ect wasn't a fun time. but like a few months after this happened there started to pop up a bunch of memes about nyquil like there was lean and nyquil chicken and the hat man and I truly believed that this was the universe fucking with me. like some cosmic entity thought it was really funny that I suck at reading warning labels and decided to put nyquil forefront in the general cultural consciousness. I'm still not convinced this isn't true.

[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.

[rightintheghoulies]

Artist Alison Lapper on the grief of losing her only child - BBC News

"Artist Alison Lapper on the grief of losing her only child - BBC News" https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cvgdze14xzno.amp

Disabled artist and personal tragedy.

Upcoming documentary

[eclipsedcrystalstar]

I might need stronger period drugs or just to finally be put on birth control because what the fuck man

[thisisthevoice]

...what

[louderfade]

from Is deep brain stimulation a treatment option for anorexia nervosa?

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1113

Anon asked:

Do you have any hurt/comfort prompts about chronic pain? My character has chronic pain from old spine and knee injuries and I want him to be taken care of for once instead of having to endure it alone (like me lol).

Sorry to hear you’re suffering Anon! Here are some comfort-based prompts for you. I hope these help: 

When the pain gets so bad, and the caretaker hasn’t seen A in a while, they’ll take a drink and some food to them, as well as a fresh hot water bottle or two to their room. A has been in bed all day, so is thankful for the snack and heat source - their electric blanket just isn’t cutting it. 

Maybe they hate using their mobility aids, but the caretakers find a way to make it more bearable. They glare at anyone who stares at A, they ‘pimp out’ the aid to make it more appealing, if they use a cane they could wrap the handle in something soft to stop it causing blisters (your caretakers always have plasters on hand for this occasion, though).

After too many occasions of A causing themselves more injury/agony by forcing themselves out of bed/a chair/off the ground, the caretakers insist on A texting them if they need help. A is at first reluctant to do this... but one day its so bad all they can text is ‘help’, and the caretakers come running without question. When they’re up, all A can do is apologise in their embarrassment. The caretakers literally don’t care; they’d rather take five minutes helping A up instead of forcing them to endure it themselves. They’re just worried that one day A wont have anyone nearby. 

Maybe they help monitor how much pain medication A is taking (they’re prone to taking too much when it’s bad), because all those tablets can’t be doing A’s liver any good. 

They help with alternative pain management: baths, hot water bottles, an electric blanket, recreational smoking, small exercises etc. 

For A, the summer is unbearable, all the caretakers can do is help massage the painful areas, yet it also inflicts pain on the whumpee. 

A is also miserable when they’re sick - they cannot get comfortable and every cough sends spikes of agony through their spine. 

The caretakers make sure A doesn’t spend too long on their feet (missions/outings etc are planned accordingly.)

If missions/outings do go on for longer than expected, then it’s unlikely anyone will see A for at least a couple of days as they recover. 

Speaking of which... what happens if A is faced with a scenario like the one that caused them their injuries?

Your caretakers comfort A whenever they feel like a burden. They love to remind them that they are more than their body: while it may betray them, the fact that A has survived their injuries is a huge feat of strength. 

And one for the giggles: A is dragged begrudgingly to an acupuncture session to see if it helps. (They were even more begrudging to admit that it did.)

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 11

CW: obsessive thoughts, drug mention

Intermezzo ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 12

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Yaletown Park looked more like a rocky desert than anything adjacent to the open hangout it was sold as, especially in the hollow glow of the streetlights. Caught between high-risers and vacant retail space, the few square meters of cobble only offered some trash or needles to pluck from the ground. If the grass patches shooting out here and there were ever kept trim in the first place remained a mystery.

Behind a strategically chosen planter sat a reserved man, smoking the second pack of the day and stewing in his jaded mood, still waiting for whoever wanted to stop by. All this was normal for Morris by now.

The evening had started promising, with frat boys strolling along the sidewalk and a few girls in tow; a view that was starting to become more and more frequent. He smiled joylessly, remembering how he met Amber on a night like this.

More than a year must've passed since then, he figured, trying to cling onto thoughts that wouldn't shock him with memories of someone he didn't have to think about anymore. At least when he was chased around enough.

"You're gonna sit there until I tell you otherwise!"

Goddamn. Not that it was easy for Belanger either, patrolling the streets to prospect the usual scum. No regret laid in avoiding each other, but since Morris was dependent on any signal to engage with the more casual clientele, he was stuck in place. 

That's what I get for my not so tight scheduling. 

As a fixer caught at the bottom of the food chain, and honest to god no agency or willingness to change his position, it was better to keep his mouth shut and head down. But with skin still in the game, did he have another option? For all he cared, they could make him do their laundry and scrub all crack houses of the state squeaky-clean. Anything else than ending up in Dutch's office with that thing-  

Another thought he quickly shoved aside, another problem to ignore till it blew up.

Except a lone hobo who threw up way too close to his shoes, nothing ripped Morris out of the daydreaming that kept his last sliver of sanity alive. The risk of being arrested on the spot or stabbed to death by someone who needed cash even more than him aside, the prize of it all was just...surviving.

"One day you wake up, and your whole life is spent in what?" Amber's life lesson was now sober reality, spot-on to the last detail.

Hearing her voice again used to pierce through his gut and leave him wrecked with self-hatred, although these feelings had died down in the time they spent apart. Not that he didn't try to distract himself from the distraction, oh no, he had several chances to drown out boiling memories of past love during the spring months, but this year it was different. Nobody was waiting at home. Morris couldn't let go, not this time, not since her...since him-

If Belanger didn't call right now, he would find a good use for all those narcotics in his pocket.

A break from it all, that's what he needed to work himself to the bone for. 

Wrapping his leather jacket closer around his body, Morris wished to disappear into it completely. Even the colorful August couldn't hide that it had gotten colder in the last days of an already far too chilly summer. 

Without any warning, his peaceful solitude was interrupted again. 

A figure stumbled blindly along the sidewalk. Morris' gaze followed them closely, how disoriented feet pushed each other forward and finally letting them flop down onto a bench near the park's exit.

Drunk or high, certainly. Care for another round? 10 bucks for a flat of fentanyl - dark green, quite popular at the moment. 

Still, Belanger didn't give him the go-ahead yet. Maybe he should make today's slow business hum: be proactive, independent. Write it on a resume, why not.

His stiff knee gave an audible crack as it was forced to stand straight, lazily stretching the sore muscles in his back and taking the first few steps towards his potential customer, Morris started to become flustered. 

Could be a setup, for all he knew. Something was off. 

The soon-to-be buyer was wrapped up in shadows, sitting quietly by themself and only rarely mumbling at the stones below their feet.

He approached until their shoes nearly touched, time to play offense: "You good?"

Nothing. Awkward, he wasn't used to making the first move like this.

Shoving at the motionless shoulders only made their head flop forward, and a forced sigh quickly followed it. First week on campus, probably, lost their friends and self-control only to aimlessly walk around the neighborhood.

"You definitely had enough fun for today, buddy," Morris scoffed, ready to turn around. 

Suddenly, he faltered. They had to rethink Belanger's strategy if he ought to stay here, passed-out freshmen were only good for catching unwanted attention and as long as Dutch didn't want to see his ass in jail, any cops on patrol should be avoided. Not that they lost sleep about the mass of catatonic bodies scattered throughout the city streets, just when they were seen in the wrong parts of town - the pleasant ones.

"Move," so he demanded, quickly lifting up their chin, nestled against the stiff collar of their windbreaker, with his fist. "You're gonna get me in trouble."

The hot breath against Morris' hand sent shivers up his spine. After nights like these, he felt mostly frozen numb, but the air coming out in labored and shallow puffs let his fingers tingle with newfound life.

Suddenly, the howl of an ambulance cut through the silence. Not for them, of course, it was surely headed east. As it took a turn and rushed past the unusual couple, Morris caught a quick glimpse of his vis-à-vis.

For less than a heartbeat, his body froze.

His mouth began to open and close like a fish on land, unable to produce a single word, whilst the prickle spread from his back through every inch of his body. A wonderful illusion bloomed under the blue-red-blue-red flicker and as quickly as it had reached both, it left them alone in the nightly glow of streetlights.

Morris didn't hear himself gasp, the rush of blood in his ears was too deafening. Now dead focused on the freckle-sprinkled skin, tousled dark hair and soft lashes, an inward pull kept him from blinking: the fear that he would be ripped out of his trance.

No dream, no wishful thinking. Morris would recognize this face anywhere.

"Elliot?"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24