#substance abuse tw

[blitzwhore]

So. Stolas is an alcoholic. That much is very clear at this point in the show and has been for a while now. He binge-drinks to cope with depression and with his life problems at large.

What's interesting is that he's far from the only character in Blitzø's life who is an alcoholic. In fact, substance abuse seems to be a recurring theme in the show. At least three other people Blitzø was or is really close with (potentially four, if we count his father) have struggled with substance abuse: Verosika, Barbie, and Fizz.

And the show has made a very clear point that both Verosika and Barbie have been in rehab. Not just that, but it's also emphasised that they're both still struggling with addiction (Verosika still drinks at her concerts, "clutches onto Beelzejuice bottles like they're the last cock in hell", and writes magazine articles about binge drinking being sexy; Barbie still peddles heroine, though not H8). Clearly, for both of them, this is an ongoing issue presently in the show.

So, with all of that being said, I recently saw someone theorise that, in a future season, Stolas is going to go to rehab, too.

I thought it was certainly a possibility, and one that I would personally love to see explored. So I've been thinking about it... and I remembered this:

The beginning of Unhappy Campers, and Blitzø breaking into rehab to go visit Barbie.

Now, I think a lot of people (myself included) felt surprised and a bit disappointed the first time we watched this episode, because our initial assumption was that Blitzø was trying to visit Stolas. It just made sense! Stolas was hospitalised right at the end of the previous episode and texted Blitzø that he could visit if he wanted to. (At this point, we also didn't know Blitzø had trauma surrounding visiting loved ones at hospitals). And suddenly they hit us with Blitzø seeking out Barbie out of the blue? So many of us were left wondering... why? Yeah, people have mentioned that maybe feeling like he could've lost Stolas prompted Blitzø to try to mend a different broken relationship, one that he felt he had more chances of fixing. But the timing, as well as the non-immediate revelation that it's Barbie he's looking for, is still... strikingly suspicious, isn't it?

And just now, after all this time, it hit me.

What if this is foreshadowing?

What if, all along, they were telling us Blitzø will visit Stolas at the hospital in the future... when Stolas is in rehab?

[wheatnoodle]

TW//

substance abuse, addiction, self medicating

-

eddie munson does not trust steve harrington.

more specifically, eddie munson does not trust steve harrington to be driving his sheep.

now don’t get him wrong, eddie likes steve, he really does! they get along wonderfully and spend a lot of time together since dustin brought them together. thats not the problem.

the problem is that when billy hargrove rocked harrington’s shit a few years back, eddie gained a new customer. a customer who asked for “something stronger” because weed wasn’t helping his migraines and his night terrors.

when robin notices eddie staring daggers into the side of steve’s head because he watches him wipe his nose on his hand as he steps out of the bathroom, she tells him it’s a nervous motion to calm himself down. eddie doesn’t buy it for a second.

he stares at steve all night. waiting for his nose to start bleeding or to catch a glimpse of something dusty on his hand or around his nostrils. but he doesn’t say anything though. at least not until it starts getting close to curfew and steve is standing from the couch.

“alright, kiddos! time to pack up before your parents start to panic,” he claps his hands together before reaching into his front right pocket for his car keys. eddie’s up in an instant with a nervous smile, ignoring the groans of protest in the wheeler basement to focus on steve.

“hey, why don’t i drive the rats home? you- you said you’ve got an early shift, right? go home, go to sleep.” he hopes he sounds convincing. eddie shoves his hands in his back pockets, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his feet. steve’s brows pull together in confusion and he lets out a chuckle.

“it’s alright, man. you drove them, i can take them back,” steve says and shakes his head. eddie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“i just mean, you seemed tired during the movie. sort of…nodding off…” eddie can see the tension in steve’s body. his jaw clicks closed behind his lips and he’s suddenly staring at eddie with a stronger intensity than he would like.

“i’m fine, munson,” steve says firmly, quiet for only eddie. eddie holds his ground. this isn’t king steve, this is just steve. there’s nothing to cower from.

“steve,” he says softy, almost pleadingly, “i’m not okay with you driving them tired.”

“i’m. fine,” steve punctuates. his eyes are wide, hurt, as they flick between eddie’s. he knows he won’t back down.

“steve.”

after a few beats of silence, steve scoffs and turns on his heel. without even a goodbye to the group, he’s out of the basement and out the door.

eddie turns back to the party who’s staring at him like he has three heads.

“…okay. rats, buckley, let’s head out.”

[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.

[mosscreeper-ao3]

Wow I love James so much. I can’t wait to spend October documenting his descent into substance abuse.

[maskednerd]

[ineffablecabbage]

Today's ER hot take is this:

I love Abby Lockhart, but in a just world, Lucy would have lived and she would have walked in on John Carter injecting himself with the big F.

[sicknessbysalem]

happy lost in heaven album day!! if youve listened by time you answer whats your favorite song? anyway! honestly im so happy to see lex and soren again. can we possibly see something with them? maybe see something of one of them (im biased to lex but… either works) thats gives us an insight into the new lore + emeto obviously! thank you so much!

omg i love you! i think i even deleted the post forever ago talking about how much i love c/hase a/tlantic!!

i have listened to it, multiple times! I think my favorites are HOURS LOST and YOU, but also RICOCHET and DISCONNECTED are bangers!!

i decided to do a semi continuation of this fic but also could just be a standalone, and weaved in some new lore to show where lex and soren are at right now in their relationship as well as lex and his whole situation!

if you have any requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way! i am so honored to be entrusted with lex and soren and i thoroughly enjoy these boys!!

tw emeto, fevers, trying to hide an illness, panic attacks, references to substance abuse trauma

The sound of the guitar strings hummed softly through the small studio, a melody that was familiar but still searching for its final shape.

Lex sat cross-legged on the couch, hunched slightly over his guitar, his fingers moving deftly across the strings, the faint calluses on his fingertips pressing into each note with a practiced ease.

Soren and Ksenia were deep in conversation over the latest track arrangement, their voices a quiet murmur against the steady strum of Lex’s playing.

Normally, Lex would have been sketching on his tablet during these breaks, doodling absentmindedly between takes while ideas flowed around him. Or, he’d be making abstract works based on what he saw when he heard the music.

But today, his focus seemed clouded, as though a thick fog had settled over his thoughts, leaving him feeling disconnected from the usual rhythm.

Every few minutes, he found himself clearing his throat—a small, dry sound, almost unnoticeable, except for how often it kept slipping out, a reflex he couldn’t shake. A habit Lex didn’t remember picking up, but had for as long as he could remember. A way to stave off nausea, he assumed. Or try to, anyway.

Soren’s gaze flicked over to him, a subtle glance that didn’t seem intrusive but held a quiet awareness, and Lex shifted under the attention, fighting the prickling discomfort that seemed to crawl along his skin.

His stomach gave a faint twist, the sensation low and persistent, a hint of nausea that lingered just enough to keep him slightly on edge. He cleared his throat again, this time with more force, trying to dislodge the tightness that seemed to have settled there.

“Dusty in here today?” he muttered, his voice steady but strained, offering a casual excuse as he shifted his gaze back to his guitar. “Could swear it’s getting to my throat.”

Soren gave him a brief nod, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but his eyes didn’t quite match the lightness.

“Maybe we should air the place out more,” he replied, his tone light but laced with a gentle care that only Lex would recognize, the subtle way Soren sometimes let him know he was there, that he noticed.

Ksenia had probably only heard fragments, but she looked up and offered a smile, standing from where she sat and opening up the window and pulling open the sliding door to the balcony.

“There, maybe the fresh air will help us think,” Ksenia shrugged.

Lex forced a small smile in return, shrugging as though it were no big deal, as though his skin didn’t feel cold and prickly beneath his old sweatshirt, despite the warmth that hung in the studio.

He shifted slightly, tugging the sleeves down over his hands, hoping the familiar fabric might ground him, anchor him through the quiet discomfort that was starting to settle deeper in his bones.

He pushed through the next half hour of playing, his fingers moving through the chords with mechanical precision, each note clear but somehow lacking the ease that usually flowed between them.

His head began to feel heavy, a faint ache forming just behind his eyes, and he could feel a slight chill spreading through him, an unwelcome reminder of a time when this sensation had been far too familiar.

Memories of the Silver Lining Tour flickered at the edges of his mind, bringing with them an uncomfortable tangle of anxiety and guilt, even though he knew that wasn’t where he was anymore.

In the past, on that tour, he’d always been slightly sick, or on edge, as though his body and mind were locked in a constant struggle. Back then, he’d hidden his nausea behind a facade of forced laughter, blamed his exhaustion on the long days, the flights, the sleepless nights. Anything beyond that was substance abused and left only himself to blame.

He could still remember the weight of that mask, the way he’d kept everyone at arm’s length, hiding the extent of his misery with a practiced ease. Now, sitting here, feeling the faint ache in his stomach and the beginnings of a dull chill, he realized he was still fighting that urge to downplay, to brush off any sign of discomfort before anyone could ask questions.

Lex shifted again, his stomach giving another faint twist that sent a shiver down his spine, the nausea growing more insistent, a weight that settled heavily, as though testing his endurance.

He cleared his throat once more, but the sound came out weaker this time, less controlled, and Soren’s eyes flicked up, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied Lex.

“You okay?” Soren asked, his tone casual, as though it were just another passing question, but Lex caught the concern lingering in his gaze, the slight tension in his posture. “You’ve coughed half a dozen times in the last hour…”

Lex forced himself to nod, keeping his expression neutral, leaning on the familiar habit of brushing things off with ease.

“Yeah, probably just allergies or something. Just feels a little… off today,” he replied, his voice steady, though even he could hear the faint edge of strain.

He looked down, focusing on the guitar in his hands, letting his fingers pick out a soft, aimless melody that kept him grounded, at least for the moment.

But Soren didn’t move his gaze, his attention lingering in that quiet, perceptive way that always managed to unnerve Lex without intending to. He didn’t press, though, just leaned back slightly, his fingers idly tapping on his notebook, as though he were giving Lex the space to be honest if he wanted to, but also letting him keep his guard up if that was what he needed.

Ksenia was absorbed in her own notes, humming a faint tune under her breath as she scribbled, her mind clearly lost in the music. Lex felt a twinge of relief at her distraction, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary. He took a slow breath, willing his stomach to settle, but the faint chill was beginning to seep into his bones, and he found himself wishing he could just curl up somewhere warm and quiet, away from the bright lights of the studio.

The minutes crawled by, each one marked by the growing ache in his head and the steady hum of nausea that refused to dissipate. He was vaguely aware of Soren’s gaze flickering toward him, and each time he looked up, he caught a brief glimpse of concern in Soren’s eyes, the subtle way he seemed to anticipate each uncomfortable shift, each forced cough.

Finally, Lex felt a light touch against his temple—a familiar gesture, one that had become a quiet habit between them. Soren brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Lex’s face, his fingers gentle, lingering for just a moment before he settled back into his chair. The gesture was almost automatic, a silent acknowledgment that Lex wasn’t fooling him, that he didn’t have to keep up the facade.

Lex’s chest tightened at the touch, a mixture of comfort and unease knotting in his stomach, the remnants of old defenses clashing with the warmth of Soren’s care. He took a shallow breath, his stomach twisting again, the nausea inching closer to the surface, but he pushed it down, swallowing against the uncomfortable tightness in his throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Soren asked quietly, his voice barely above a murmur, meant only for Lex.

Lex forced a smile, nodding, though he could feel the effort it took to keep the mask in place. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice softer now, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Just… a little tired, I guess.”

Soren didn’t push, just offered him a quiet, understanding smile, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to his notes, giving Lex the space he seemed to need.

As the recording session continued, Lex struggled to keep his focus, each passing moment feeling heavier, the chill seeping deeper into his bones. He leaned into the music, letting it carry him through the discomfort, but the memories of that tour lingered, casting a shadow over the present.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t there anymore, that he was safe, surrounded by people who cared, but the habit of hiding, of masking every symptom, ran deep, a quiet ache that lingered beneath the surface.

With each strum of his guitar, he tried to shake the memories, to remind himself that he was here, with Soren and Ksenia, that they were just working on music, nothing more. But the nausea and the faint dizziness clouded his mind, blurring the lines between past and present, until he felt like he was straddling both worlds, each one pressing down on him in a way that made it hard to breathe.

As the afternoon stretched on, Lex’s discomfort deepened, each symptom sinking into him like stones pulling him under. The nausea that had been a low, manageable hum became a sharper presence, curling tightly in his stomach, twisting in relentless waves that made his throat feel raw and tight.

He cleared his throat again, a small cough escaping before he could stifle it, and he noticed Soren’s gaze flicker toward him, the concern in his eyes growing with each strained sound.

Lex shifted where he sat, tugging the sleeves of his old sweatshirt down over his hands, hoping the familiar fabric might warm him enough to shake the chill that had settled deep in his bones.

But even with the hoodie’s weight around him, he couldn’t shake the shivers that ran sporadically up his spine, a subtle reminder of the feverish heat simmering beneath his skin. He clenched his hands, willing the nausea to pass, but each breath only seemed to tighten the uncomfortable coil in his stomach, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point.

The music continued around him, Soren and Ksenia discussing their ideas in low, familiar tones, but Lex could barely focus, his thoughts clouded by the ache in his head and the weight of memories pressing down on him.

He coughed again, the sound rougher, harsher than he intended, and this time he could feel his stomach lurch in response, a small, unwelcome gag that he quickly swallowed down.

His throat burned, and he had to clench his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through the nausea, refusing to let it get the better of him. Memories of that tour flooded his mind—nights spent hunched over in tiny, cramped bathrooms, the hollow ache in his stomach as he fought to keep anything down, the weight of his own exhaustion dragging him under, while he hid every symptom behind a practiced smile.

The memories settled over him like a heavy blanket, a quiet, relentless reminder that his body had once betrayed him in ways he could never forget. He tried to shake them off, to remind himself that this wasn’t the same—that he wasn’t there anymore. But the nausea was insistent, each cough digging deeper, pulling him closer to that edge he was so desperate to avoid.

“Hey, angel,” Soren’s voice broke through the fog, gentle but laced with a quiet urgency. He was watching Lex with a subtle intensity, his eyes narrowed in that way that told Lex he’d noticed every single one of those small coughs, each barely-contained gag that Lex had tried to swallow down. “Still with us?”

Lex realized Soren must’ve said something to him, or asked a question, and Lex was too wrapped up in his head to process it. He nodded slowly, but Soren didn’t say anything else, just shifted slightly closer, his presence a steady, grounding force that somehow eased the tension coiled in Lex’s stomach, if only by a fraction.

Lex managed a weak smile, hoping it might pass for casual, as though the nausea wasn’t clawing up his throat, as though he could ignore the uncomfortable ache pressing in on him from all sides.

But as he opened his mouth to say something, another cough slipped out, harsher this time, and he had to cover his mouth, his hand flew to his mouth instinctively, fingers pressed against his lips as he tried to keep the bile down, his face paling as he felt a faint, acidic burn on his tongue.

Soren’s hand was there in an instant, reaching out to brush Lex’s hair back, a gesture so gentle, so instinctive, that it sent a rush of warmth through Lex’s fevered haze. He felt Soren’s fingers graze his temple, steadying him, and Lex knew, in that moment, that Soren understood—had probably known long before Lex had admitted it to himself.

“Oh, Lexi,” Soren murmured, his voice calm, a quiet strength lacing his tone. “You’re not feeling good, are you?”

Lex swallowed, forcing a weak chuckle, his voice strained as he tried to brush it off. “It’s… I’ll be fine. Just… something in my throat,” he managed, his words barely audible, laced with a tremor that betrayed him.

His stomach twisted again, a sharp, insistent reminder that he was fighting a losing battle, but he clung to the excuse, hoping it might somehow make it easier to ignore.

But Soren didn’t let go, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s shoulder, his arm in such a way it held Lex’s hair down along his back, but the hold was a subtle reminder that he didn’t have to pretend, not here.

“Lex,” he said softly, his tone a gentle nudge, his fingers brushing against the back of Lex’s neck in a way that was both comforting and steadying.

Lex closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping as he finally let go of the thin pretense, his stomach churning with an intensity that made his head spin. He could feel the nausea creeping higher, settling in his throat, the burn unmistakable, and he knew, in that moment, that there was no stopping it.

Ksenia, noticing the quiet exchange, looked up from her notes, her eyes widening as she took in the paleness of Lex’s face, the way his hand was pressed tightly against his mouth. Without a word, she reached for the trash can, bringing it over just as Lex’s stomach twisted violently, the nausea surging with a force that left him breathless.

“It’s okay,” Soren murmured softly, his voice a steady presence beside him, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s back. “Lex, babe, you’re going to be sick, but you’ll be okay. Just breathe—I’m right here.”

Lex barely had time to brace himself before his stomach heaved, his body giving in to the sickness he’d been fighting so hard to ignore. The nausea hit him in relentless waves, each one dragging him under, and he felt Soren’s hand on his shoulder, a steadying weight that kept him grounded, kept him from slipping into the tangled mess of memories that threatened to pull him down.

He gasped, his breathing shallow and ragged, his fingers clenching the edge of the trash can as he fought to keep his balance. Soren’s hand moved gently to the back of his neck, his fingers warm and reassuring, and Lex leaned into the touch, letting it anchor him through the worst of the nausea.

“You’re doing great,” Soren whispered, his voice soft, a quiet comfort in the haze of discomfort. “Just let it out. I’ve got you.”

Lex’s chest tightened, a mixture of relief and vulnerability washing over him as he let himself lean into Soren’s support, his mind still clouded by the ache in his stomach and the memories he couldn’t quite shake.

For a split second, Lex thought the nausea was dissipating, but the sudden small gasp and equally intense wave of acid that splattered in the trash can told him he wasn’t that lucky.

He could hear Ksenia’s soft footsteps nearby, her presence a quiet reassurance, and he felt a faint sense of gratitude that she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t asked questions or looked at him with pity.

When the nausea finally eased, leaving him hollow and exhausted, Lex slumped back against the couch, his head hanging as he tried to catch his breath. Soren was still there, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s back, his touch a constant reminder that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to carry this on his own.

“Hey,” Soren murmured, his voice gentle, a soft warmth that cut through the lingering fog. “You okay?”

Lex nodded weakly, his throat raw, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yeah… just… wasn’t expecting that,” he managed, his tone laced with a faint, self-deprecating chuckle, as though he could somehow downplay the intensity of what he’d just gone through.

But Soren didn’t push, didn’t ask for explanations. He just offered Lex a faint smile, his hand moving to brush a few strands of hair from Lex’s forehead, a quiet gesture of care that left Lex feeling both comforted and exposed.

“Happens to the best of us,” Soren replied, his tone light, a subtle reminder that he wasn’t judging, that he understood.

Lex managed a faint smile in return, his chest tight with a quiet gratitude he couldn’t quite put into words. The memories of that tour still lingered, casting shadows over his mind, but here, with Soren and Ksenia by his side, he felt a strange sense of relief, a warmth that eased the weight of his discomfort.

Ksenia offered him a water bottle, her expression softened with an understanding that only a close friend could offer. “Just take it easy, yeah?” she murmured, her voice a gentle reassurance.

Lex nodded, taking the bottle with a shaky hand, his gaze flicking between Soren and Ksenia, the quiet warmth in their eyes grounding him, reminding him that he didn’t have to hide, not here. And as he took a sip of water, feeling the coolness soothe his raw throat, he let himself breathe, let himself be cared for, if only for a moment.

The initial wave of nausea left Lex feeling hollowed out, his head spinning, his skin clammy and cold beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

His breathing was shallow, each breath a careful, measured effort to keep the nausea at bay, but he could feel the sickness digging in deeper, a weight that settled heavily in his stomach and chest, pressing in on all sides.

Soren stayed by his side, his hand resting on Lex’s shoulder, his presence steady and calming, but Lex could barely focus, his mind clouded by the fever that had begun to build, making the room feel stifling, oppressive.

Ksenia was there too, her gaze soft with understanding, but Lex could feel the tightness in his chest growing, a creeping anxiety that wrapped around him, suffocating in its intensity.

His fingers clenched around the edge of the stool, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself, tried to find some anchor in the midst of the spinning room. The memories of Silver Lining hovered at the edges of his mind, a familiar specter that lurked just beyond his vision, pressing down with a weight that felt as real as the fever and nausea churning inside him.

He could remember the dimly lit backstage rooms, the way his body had felt weak and uncooperative, the hollow, aching sensation that came from nights spent fighting his own exhaustion and anxiety. The burn of liquor, the rush of everything else. And every time, the inevitable crash that came.

“Lex,” Soren murmured, his voice a soft, grounding presence, pulling Lex back from the edge of the memories. His hand was still on Lex’s shoulder, warm and steady, and Lex could feel the concern radiating from him, a quiet reminder that he wasn’t alone. “You’re not feeling any better, are you?”

Lex sighed softly, shaking his head as he tried to push down the nausea, the fever, the anxious knot that seemed to have taken root in his chest.

“It’s just… dizzy,” he managed, his voice a weak whisper, barely more than a breath. He could hear the strain in his own words, a quiet, familiar edge of fear that he hated to admit, even to himself.

“You always get dizzy when you throw up,” Soren said, trying to be reassuring but knowing he probably fell short. He pushed Lex’s hair behind him and carefully rubbed Lex’s back. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m going to lay down for a bit,” he continued, his gaze dropping as he tried to avoid the concerned looks from Soren and Ksenia. “Just need to… let this pass. You two should keep working. I’ll be back as soon as things… level out.”

Ksenia exchanged a brief, uncertain glance with Soren, her eyes flickering with worry, but she didn’t press, just nodded slowly, a small, reluctant acceptance of his words. Lex could feel the tension in the room, the way his own unease had bled into the space, turning it from a creative sanctuary into a place where he felt exposed, vulnerable.

Soren’s hand lingered on his shoulder, a quiet protest that didn’t need words, but Lex gave him a weak smile, his gaze steady, trying to convey a reassurance he didn’t quite feel.

“I’ll be fine, Soren,” he said softly, though even he could hear the tremor in his voice, the edge of anxiety that threatened to spill over.

Reluctantly, Soren let go, his hand falling away, though his gaze never left Lex, his worry palpable. “Alright,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a gentle concern that made Lex’s chest tighten. “But if you need anything, you let us know. Don’t try to… don’t keep it to yourself, okay?”

Lex managed a nod, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He turned, the room spinning slightly as he pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself against the wall as he made his way toward the bedroom. His vision blurred at the edges, and he had to grip the doorframe to keep from stumbling, his legs weak beneath him, the fever and dizziness making it difficult to stay upright.

Once he reached his room, he closed the door softly, sinking onto the edge of the bed as he let out a shaky breath, his head falling into his hands.

The quiet of the room settled around him, a heavy, suffocating silence that amplified every ache, every shiver that ran through him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to gather himself, but the nausea surged again, sharp and relentless, a wave of discomfort that left him gasping for breath.

He pressed his hand against his mouth, willing the nausea to pass, but his stomach was stubborn, twisting painfully, and he could feel the bile rising, a harsh reminder of the times he’d been in this exact position before. Memories of the tour blurred with the present, the sickness overlapping, until he could barely tell where one ended and the other began.

He could remember sitting alone in tiny, dimly lit hotel rooms, his body wracked with nausea and exhaustion, the hollow ache in his chest growing heavier with each passing day. He had fought through it, kept the facade intact, hiding every symptom behind forced smiles and laughter, even as his body crumbled beneath the weight of it all.

Now, he was free of that—no substances, no constant dread of falling apart in front of everyone. But the habit of hiding, of masking every discomfort, ran deep, a defense that had become second nature, even now.

He pressed his hands against his temples, feeling the heat of the fever pulsing beneath his skin, a reminder of the vulnerability he couldn’t quite shake.

He lay back against the pillows, pulling the blanket over himself, hoping the warmth would ease the chills that had settled in his bones. But even as he closed his eyes, trying to find some measure of comfort, the anxiety gnawed at him, a quiet, insidious fear that whispered he was back in those dark rooms, back to a time when he had no control over his own body or mind.

The fever pressed down, making his thoughts heavy, his breathing shallow, and he curled into himself, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as though it could shield him from the memories that surfaced with each wave of nausea. He wanted to be strong, to push through, to prove that he wasn’t the person he’d once been, that he wasn’t broken by the memories that haunted him.

Time blurred, each minute stretching into an eternity as he lay there, feeling the fever pulse through him, the nausea twisting in relentless waves. He could hear faint footsteps outside the door, soft, cautious sounds that he knew belonged to Soren, but he kept his eyes closed, hoping to feign sleep, hoping to keep Soren from seeing the state he was in.

But the footsteps stopped just outside, a pause that hung in the air, and Lex could feel the weight of Soren’s concern pressing against the door, a quiet, unspoken question that lingered in the silence. He could picture Soren’s expression, the gentle worry, the warmth in his gaze, and part of him ached to let him in, to let him offer the comfort that he knew would ease the weight on his chest. But the habit of hiding, of pushing through alone, kept him silent, his chest tight with the quiet fear that he would somehow drag Soren down with him.

-

Lex drifted in and out of a restless sleep, the fever pressing down on him like a heavy blanket, pinning him to the bed with its relentless heat. In the dimness of his room, time lost all meaning, and he felt trapped in the haze of sickness, caught between waking and sleeping, the fever blurring the edges of his thoughts until he couldn’t tell where reality ended and memory began.

Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of the familiar objects in his room—the posters on the walls, the soft light filtering through the curtains—but they seemed distant, removed, as though he were watching his life from somewhere else, somewhere feverish and surreal.

When he finally opened his eyes, he felt a fresh wave of nausea roll through him, sharper and more insistent than before.

His stomach twisted painfully, and he shivered, a sudden chill spreading through him that made his skin prickle beneath the layers of his hoodie. He tugged the blankets closer, his fingers shaking as he tried to hold onto the warmth, but the chill only deepened, sinking into his bones.

His throat was raw, his head pounding with a dull, relentless ache that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was closing in around him.

Everything felt wrong. His head hurt, he was absolutely freezing, and yet he could feel his long hair sticking to the back of his neck and his cheek. He wouldn’t be able to tie it up, but he could push the wet hair off his skin.

He pushed himself up, the room spinning as he sat up, and for a moment he had to close his eyes, willing the dizziness to pass. His breathing was shallow, each breath a careful effort, as though he were afraid that any sudden movement might tip him over the edge.

He could feel the nausea building, a sick, twisting sensation that left him lightheaded, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it down much longer.

Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled toward the bathroom, gripping the wall as he moved, each step an effort to stay upright. His vision blurred at the edges, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, a cold, clammy sensation that made his skin crawl.

He barely noticed the faint sound of footsteps behind him, too focused on the overwhelming nausea that threatened to spill over, the sickness pressing in with a force that made his head spin.

As he reached the bathroom, a familiar hand settled gently on his shoulder, grounding him just as the nausea surged, sharp and relentless. He felt himself lean into the touch, desperate for any anchor, any sense of stability, but the sickness was too strong, too insistent to ignore.

His stomach heaved, and he barely had time to brace himself before he was hunched over the toilet, his body giving in to the sickness with a force that left him breathless. He heaved, hard, whatever was in his stomach coming out and splashing sickeningly into the water.

Soren stayed beside him, one hand resting lightly on Lex’s back, the other gently holding his hair out of his face. His touch was warm, steady, a quiet reassurance that kept Lex grounded, even as his body betrayed him, each wave of nausea dragging him under.

Between the heaving breaths and the sickness that left him gasping, he could hear Soren’s soft voice, murmuring quiet words of comfort, a gentle reminder that he wasn’t alone.

“Easy, get it all up…” Soren told him, and Lex’s body was happy to oblige. IN fact, the next heave was so hard, backed by a heavy wave of sick, that it knocked Lex right to his knees.

But the fever was thick in his mind, clouding his thoughts, and he felt a faint, creeping panic settle over him, an echo of guilt and fear that he couldn’t shake. The memories of those nights on tour—nights spent hunched over in small, dimly lit bathrooms, the bitter taste of regret heavy on his tongue—flooded back, and he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling, the familiar shame rising up like bile.

“I didn’t… I didn’t do this,” he whispered, his voice shaking, spitting into the toilet, barely audible over the sound of his own breathing. His hands were trembling and he could feel the anxiety tightening in his chest, making it hard to breathe. “I’m not… I’m not high, I swear, I’m just… I’m just sick. I didn’t do this.”

Soren’s hand moved to his shoulder, his touch steady and reassuring, and he could hear the gentle concern in his voice as he replied,

“Lex what..?”

“I’m not.. I didn’t… I promise I didn’t…” Lex spoke, fragmented and panicked before heaving again.

Soren filled in the blanks, sighing softly and carefully pulling Lex’s hair out of his face, “I know, Lex. It’s okay. You’re just sick—it’s not anything else.”

But the words barely registered, the fever making it difficult to hold onto the reassurance, and he could feel the panic building, a weight pressing down on his chest, suffocating. His breath hitched, his vision blurring as the room seemed to close in around him, and he clenched his fists, trying to push back the memories that crowded his mind, the images of nights spent fighting himself, fighting his own body.

“It’s… it’s not that,” he repeated, his voice a desperate whisper, as though saying the words might make it true. “I didn’t… I didn’t do this to myself.” His hands were shaking, his chest tight, and he felt another wave of nausea roll through him, sharper this time, as though the panic were fueling the sickness, making it worse.

Soren’s voice was soft, calming, a steady presence that cut through the haze.

“You’re okay, Lex,” he murmured, his hand rubbing gentle circles along Lex’s back. “You’re just sick, that’s all. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lex could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, a quiet desperation that he couldn’t contain, the weight of his own guilt pressing down, heavy and relentless. He wanted to believe Soren’s words, to trust that this was just a simple sickness, nothing more, but the memories of that tour, the shame that had haunted him, were too deeply ingrained, a scar he couldn’t erase.

His stomach twisted again, a cold, clammy sensation spreading through him, and he shivered, feeling the chill settle in his bones. He leaned forward, his body tensing as another wave of nausea hit, and he felt Soren’s hand on his back, a steadying warmth that kept him grounded even as he fought to hold himself together. He heaved, again. He never ate much, couldn’t eat much actually, and yet it felt like he was purging an entire buffet’s worth of food.

“It’s… it’s not like before,” Lex whispered, as he caught his breath, his voice breaking, as though saying the words might make it true. “I’m not… I’m not drunk or high, I just… I don’t know why I feel this way, but it’s not that. I was fine this morning… It’s not…”

“I know,” Soren replied softly, his voice unwavering. “I believe you, Lex. You’re not alone in this. I’m right here, and you’re going to be okay. You probably just caught the bug I had over the weekend…”

The warmth in Soren’s words cut through the fog, a small, fragile comfort that settled over Lex like a blanket, easing the tightness in his chest. He closed his eyes, his breathing still shallow, but the quiet reassurance in Soren’s voice grounded him.

But the fever was relentless, the nausea unyielding, and as he opened his eyes, he felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him, his hands clenching the edge of the sink as he tried to steady himself. His vision blurred, his thoughts a jumble of fear and shame, and he could barely hear Soren’s voice over the rush of his own heartbeat, the quiet terror that lingered just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t… I didn’t do this,” he whispered again, his voice a faint, desperate plea, as though saying the words might banish the memories, the guilt that had haunted him for so long.

Soren’s hand stayed on his shoulder, a steadying presence, his voice gentle as he replied, “I know, Lex. You’re safe here. You’re going to get through this, okay? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Lex’s chest tightened, a small, fragile sense of relief settling over him, though the fear still lingered. He spit, trying to rid his mouth of such a foul taste.

“Got it out for now?” Soren asked, and Lex nodded. He was sure he wouldn’t throw up any time soon, and now he was miserably hot. As if he could feel his fever. He felt something brush over his mouth, the toilet flushed.

“Okay, here, I’m just grabbing your hoodie, nothing else,” Soren said, trying to keep Lex from panicking more as he helped his fiancé pull off his sweatshirt, tossing it aside. “How are you feeling? Still panicking?”

Lex hesitated, curling in on himself, “Not… not going to be sick… really fucking hot…”

Soren gently kissed the side of his head, “I know angel, I’m sorry. Here…”

Soren stood, grabbing a rag and running it under cold water, pressing the damp cloth to Lex’s face, “Better?”

Lex nodded, soaking in the sensation. It was relaxing and shocking in a good way. Soren wrapped an arm around him, using his other hand to press the rag to different spots on Lex’s face. Lex closed his eyes, leaning into Soren’s touch, letting himself be anchored by the warmth, the steady comfort that cut through the fever and nausea, grounding him in the present.

“Just breathe Lexi,” Soren said, “You’re going to be just fine…”

[lietwice]

thinking abt the episode second skin. there is absolutely no way that garak doesn't have some sort of breakdown after that. first sisko implies that he might have him kicked off the station, after acknowledging that it's the safest place for him. then he suggests he'll do that if garak doesn't help them. helping them then consists of going to cardassia, the one place he isn't allowed to go, the place that being away from is 'no life at all'. so he gets a little taste of home, a reminder of what he's missing, because he's literally being threatened with getting kicked off the station if he doesn't. then he has to go back to the station. and that's that. he just has to carry on with his life.

there are too many ways he could spiral from that. there's the possibility of a sudden increase in paranoia or a full blown psychotic episode, there's the drug addiction, there's the alcohol, there's the claustrophobia and panic attacks... so many possibilities.

what's also quite fun ( not fun. very much not fun for him. ) is that if he tries to explain, the truth kind of sounds like the sort of paranoid delusion he might have? that he's going to be kicked off the station and murdered if he doesn't do what he's told, that sisko is extorting him, that he was forced to go to cardassia, that they might make him do more things...

[the-whumping-hour]

Day 1 - Helpless

@febuwhump day 1!!!

CW: Mean caretaker (who is caretaking against his will), said caretaker making whumpee cry, multiple mentions of drug abuse, one mention of broken glass, one mention of broken bones, little hints of classism and ableism, annoyance at whumpee's fidgeting. 

Notes: Top ten men who break the Hippocratic oath by being fucking losers. Happy Febuwhump Day 1!!!! As this challenge continues, I may link related stories together. For those who are new, welcome to the hellscape! 

***

They’re still awake. Of course they’re still awake.

And sure, Seiah may be a medic, clinically certified and all, but hell if it means he can’t be pissed off at Felic Fucking DiMaggio.

“You got percs?” That idiot, the little whiny rat quietly digging a hole into the sofa cushion, hadn’t talked in almost fifteen minutes, which Seiah had hoped meant they’d be falling back into half-sleep soon enough. No such luck.

“No,” he snaps, hazel eyes tinged with streaks of insomnia roll up at them over his laptop. “Forty minutes and you can have more meds. I’m trying to study.”

Back to silence. Or almost— he swear he can hear threads ripping with every quiet tap of Felic’s fingernails against the seam. Just because it’s an old couch doesn’t mean anything. Just because they’re a 'friend' doesn’t mean anything. 

“Do you need a stress ball or something?” He’s trying to be nice. He really is. 

“You got one?” They still sound seconds from crying, or maybe that’s just the city drawl, thick in the back of their nose like they’ll hack it up with a hairball. They sound sick, look sick, they always look sick. Sick when they’re tweaking in meetings and sick now, bits of glass and two fractures in their leg and still they’re acting like they’re using every little scheming wrinkle in their brain to act normal. Not normal; something worse. Someone competent, or well-off, or anything other than a leech tagging along with the Rift Guard to seem like a savior.

And they reek like burning plastic.

He digs through his desk drawer. “Best I’ve got is a box of paperclips.” It leaves his hand with a rattle, a tinny sound that makes Felic twitch their head with a grimace, as the box hits their leg and falls into the cushion divot. They seem to paw it like a cat. “I can check the bedroom, but I need Gabe to rest…” he trails off.

“Nah, ‘s fine, ‘s fine.” They’ve maneuvered into some other horribly contorted position, leg still dangling off the couch like something dead. He hopes they’re content. He swears, if they’re not… but no, now it’s back to his pediatrics assignment, back to… reading this same section, again, and...

Holy fucking shit.

They’re using the paperclips. To pick at the fucking couch.

“No. No, you know what? Screw this.” Maybe it’s that stupid ugly couch, or his own lack of sleep, or how disgustingly pitiful they look in an oversized hoodie and bandages down an entire pale, skinny leg. “Done studying. Not even gonna try. Is that what you wanted? You want my attention? Gonna keep me up another three fucking hours because your tummy hurts when I don’t let you take every pill in this city?”

Maybe he should’ve thought that through more. Maybe, but it’s too late. Sue him. If this bitch wakes up Gabe, if they disrupt the final second of peace anywhere in this world at all—

They’re crying. No, no, no.

Shit, they’re crying.

“Felic.” His whisper-yells get more frantic. “Felic. Felic. Felic, hey, no, Felic, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I’m just tired, we’re all tired, Felic please,” out of his chair and onto the ground in front of them, they’re shaking like a leaf, no sounds but little sob-hiccups as their hands twist and wring themselves in their sleeves. They really are some helpless little thing, a pigeon stuck in a storm drain. “Look at me, look, I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at you. Calm down, calm down, just, I didn’t even do anything Felic, please just do this for me please…”

A knock at the door. Gabe.

“What’s going on?” His voice is rough with sleep, hair falling in curls over his eyes. And Seiah loves him, he loves him so much, but the look on his face when he sees Felic. As if they deserve it. As if the rat deserves any of this. “Did they have a nightmare?”

“They were never asleep at all, actually, which is—“

The glare Gabe gives him shuts him up quick.

“You need to give them space.” He motions Seiah away, impatient yet calm, locking eyes with the hairball having a breakdown on the couch. 

“No, listen, everything’s fine.”

“Clearly it’s not,” he retorts, still as calm as ever. “Go get some rest, Seiah, I’ve got this.” 

“We need to talk about this later.”

“Yes. Later. Shh,” he motions, and now he’s back to Felic, and it’s like Seiah isn’t here at all. Is this what his fucking job at the Rift Guard is? Keeping the rats on a leash?

Well, there’s no reason to stay here anyways. Seiah rises to his feet, computer abandoned, boyfriend preoccupied with a little bitch. 

Whatever. It’s not even a nice couch anyways.

He shuts the door. 

[riintasticresources]

💔💢😥--- Angsty Lyrical Sentence Starters

"And how about you just take some blame?"

"You should just forget my name."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"You give me nothing, but somehow it's always enough."

"And I'm terrified that you could leave me crying."

"Is there a word for bad miracle?"

"But, could we please pretend this won't end?"

"I wish it wasn't true."

"You clearly weren't aware that you made me miserable."

"'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty."

"I didn't cry when you left at first."

"I'd run away and hide with you."

"Everybody says they love me, but I'm still brokenhearted."

"I swear I'm not crying, the sun's just bright."

"Nothing good happens after 2am."

"I can't make it on my own."

"I'm just trying to be happy."

"Tomorrow might be good for something."

"He/She/They hasn't been sober for days."

"Was it something I did? Was it something you said?"

"It's like I'm the one you love to hate."

"No one will love you like I did."

"So, good luck finding something better."

"__, why are you calling me so late?"

"I guess we never really moved on."

"This rejection's got me so low."

"Who was I to make you wait?"

"My bad habits lead to late nights ending alone."

"I was looking for a way out, now I can't escape."

"I don't think I understand it all."

"We all got a dark side, we all try to hide."

"'Cause the truth is we're no different than the others."

"Will you never call again?"

"Will you never say you loved me?"

"I wish I could care less."

[wildfairies]

Would you be comfortable sharing more about your Infamous MC?

i would love to 😈🙈🖤 this is gracer glass, lead singer of [tbd]

her legal name is grace robak. in kindergarten, there were three graces in her class, and going by "grace r" evolved into gracer. so she's always gone by gracer, but uses a fake surname

1000% has undiagnosed adhd. incapable of thinking ahead

is the biggest flirt & romances everyone but gets very vulnerable and sad around seven

has a very hard lesson to learn that natural talent can only take her so far and she will eventually have to get it together and take her career more seriously

was a theater kid until high school. playing belle in beauty and the beast in 8th grade remains one of her greatest accomplishments

generally over-the-top friendly and extroverted but has a mean streak. incredibly petty

hates her negligent parents. the source of her substance abuse issues

loves music but not as much as she loves attention

[unkledeath]

bound, ghost, midnight for ezra! 👀

OC Asks

YEEEEHAW okay I'm putting these under a cut because this is gonna get A. long and B. probably pretty gnarly. (Any potential nastiness will be CWed in the tags.)

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Ezra's been captured more than once in his long, storied history of adventuring. Most of it has been pretty low stakes stuff he was able to talk himself out of, but his last experience with it was by far the worst.

It started about two months into his relationship with Gortash, who offered Ez a place to stay since he didn't have a stable residence at the time. What started off as a cozy little sugar daddy type of situation got ugly fast, and his wealthy arms dealer boyfriend turned out to- shockingly -be an obsessive control freak. It only got worse after they found out they were the respective chosen of enemy gods, and Gort put Ezra under constant surveillance to make sure his new pet canary wasn't singing his secrets to anyone else.

He finally managed to escape after several months of what amounted to house arrest, waiting until Gortash was out of the city on a business trip. Fleeing to the one supportive person he knew, his on-and-off patron and half-brother Luca, he laid low at his home for a while as he tried to recover from the experience.

Gort eventually caught back up to him and tadpoled him for having the nerve to leave, but even before that the whole experience fucked Ezra up pretty badly. He's always valued his freedom above most things, and while the gilded cage he was kept in might not have been the worst by most standards, dealing with being watched and controlled was terrifying. So no physical scars from it, but definitely some mental ones.

---

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

His mother. Ezra's mom didn't handle motherhood, rejection, or the dire poverty he grew up in especially well, and his entire childhood was an extended lesson in learning how to placate her. She was his first lesson in presenting people with the version of himself that they wanted, and her violent mood swings molded him into the person he is today.

He was 12 when she died, and while finding her body and trying fruitlessly to find help for her was traumatic, it's not really what haunts him. Ezra feels much greater guilt over how relieved he was when he finally accepted that she was gone.

---

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

Ezra has gnarly nightmares. It's 50% home-grown trauma and 50% the natural consequence of letting an evil lich ride shotgun in his skull, but he is not a sound sleeper. He has a hard time falling asleep on his own, and the only thing that can really guarantee him a solid 8 hours is self-medicating. (Laudanum's his preferred method, but he's not averse to drinking himself unconscious either.)

When that's not an option, he keeps himself distracted. There's always songs to practice, new projects to write, plans to be made. Anything to fill his mind, because it's not a pleasant place to be when it's quiet.

[jsbashirmd]

@lietwice sent:

"I thought I could handle it." ( garak after hiding his post-wire-removal headaches from julian and getting caught abusing drugs to deal with it! )

"... Oh." Julian had thought it was tragic before, but somehow, the tone of Garak's voice made it feel all the worse. "Addiction can be like that. It's not your fault that it got out of your control." He sat down, then reached out a hand to offer it to him. "I mean that. And I wish you'd come to me, but I don't think any less of you for this."

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1317

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

A whumpee who got out, who got better.

A caregiver. who is so relieved the worst is over and whumpee may not be back to their old self, but they seem okay and on some days caregiver isn't even reminded of what happened…

Until they catch the whumpee indulging in old patterns. Maybe the whumpee secretly punishes themselves. Maybe whumpee lets it slip they see themselves as less than human. Maybe the indulge in the form of unhealthy relationships or substance abuse.

The caregivers whole world comes crashing down while whumpee completely undoes any progress before their eyes as they realize they got caught.

[mosscreeper-ao3]

Kosmo taking James’ whiskey and cigarettes because he noticed it makes Keith sad when James drinks and smokes.

[bucktoothngapi]

Side Issue #1: young people