#today was going pretty well (other than being tired and dizzy from vertigo)

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 252

Adjective: Brittle

Noun: Ambition

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Brittle: hard but liable to break or shatter easily; (of a sound, especially a person's voice) unpleasantly hard and sharp and showing signs of instability or nervousness; (of a person or behavior) appearing aggressive or hard but unstable or nervous within

Ambition: a strong desire to do or to achieve something, typically requiring determination and hard work; desire and determination to achieve success

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

The Hangover (Def Leppard x Reader)

(Happy birthday to my blog!! To celebrate 3 years of the place where I concentrate my insane Leppard obsession, I thought I’d celebrate by posting the FIRST Def Leppard fanfic I EVER wrote ((which I have NEVER posted anywhere before!)) I began writing this exactly 3 years ago today- the day I made this blog ((February 19th, 2018))- and officially finished it about a year later. This is not intended as a romantic/sexual fic, it’s simply just an x reader in which the reader is basically one of the guys. In other words, it’s on crack.)

((I am aware this is kind of cringe-worthy at times... but I still like a lot of things about it. While I revised it very slightly before queuing it,  I was still 16 when I started writing this, okay... gimme a break...))

(Illustration by @paper-sxn​)

Words: 8,684 Prompt: Dublin, 1984. You’re with the Leppards in their early pre-Hysteria era house. You all wake up with hangovers after a boozed-up night at home, and you each try to put the pieces of the previous night back together. Meanwhile, you’re praying that one particular piece won’t fit in anywhere... (partially inspired by the “Blitzgiving” and “The Pineapple Incident” episodes of How I Met Your Mother)

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Gently piercing white light made its way through the windows of the bedroom. It hit your eyelids, and it hit your brain, igniting a brief but killer headache. As your eyes clasped together more, you turned your face into the gloriously soft pillow. For a second you asked yourself why you would have a headache so early in the morning, but then…

You laughed quietly into the bed, recalling without warning some vague happenings from the night before. There wasn’t much you remembered, but you clearly saw the image of the guys flat out drunk at some point (you along with them). There were some blips of you all singing together, Sav hanging from a door frame, you chugging some scotch, Joe chugging some vodka, Steve’s hair being in pigtails, and you think Phil might’ve been giving you a lap dance... or vice versa. It was, all in all, hysterical (at least- that’s what you wanted to think).

 Other than those faint events, unfortunately, the night was gone. Still, you were thrilled that it happened. Crazy times with your boys were always good.

You rubbed your eyes, ready for more sleep to combat the pounding in your head. When you did, they opened a little, and you realized… this wasn't your room you were in. Squinting around, you noticed that you were sleeping in Phil’s room instead of yours.

Oh, it’s not that much of a problem, you mused, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. I’ve woken up to worse in this place.

You let your eyes close again easily, and you found peace as you began to fall under again. That is, until you felt someone move next to you.

When it happened, you became aware of the warmth coming from someone else in the bed. They only shifted in their sleep a little bit before going still again. Your eyes went wide, and you held your breath. You don’t remember getting into bed with someone (in fact, you don’t remember getting into bed at all). Turning your head, you looked to see what sort of stranger was in bed with you currently. Instead of a stranger, scraggly blonde hair over a kind and shy face met your sight, and you were instantly calmed upon realizing that it was just Steve. That was good, that was good, but why were you and Steve sleeping in Phil’s bed? You were sure you didn’t have sex last night- at least, not with Steve. This tiny moment of appeasement and confusion was cut short by the faint sound of guitar chords coming from downstairs. The music echoed to your ears, signaling that it had to be Phil, and that he was playing the opening to Bringin On the Heartbreak. Cautiously taking the covers off you- not wanting to wake Steve- you felt obliged to go to the other guitarist. When you stood up and began walking, you nearly fell forward from the sudden vertigo of your hangover. You had to hold onto the counter of Phil’s dresser for extra support, and that’s when your reflection in his mirror caught your eye. Not only that, but that’s when your outfit also caught your eye. One of the guys’ Union Jack tank tops had been slipped over you somehow, and two hand prints were on either side of your face in dried paint; one was blue, one was green. "What…?“ you whispered, touching your face and feeling the shirt on you. It seemed to fit you alright, which made you wonder whose it really was. You were also in black underwear, and nothing else. While eyeing yourself, you took notice of Steve in the reflection. You now saw a few big red lipstick stains on his face, untouched and unsmudged. It was pretty cute, you had to admit, but another thing that came to your attention was that it wasn’t you who was wearing the lipstick at the moment. So then who kissed Steve all over his face? You treaded carefully down the hallway, putting one foot in front of the other and dragging a hand on the wall for support. The melody of the distant guitar didn’t cease the whole time you trekked through the house to get to Phil. When the chords of the song dragged on to the part where the vocals should have begun, no vocals came. Everything in the house looked remarkably the same (despite everything you remember from last night). There were large, ripped pieces of cardboard in the middle of the hallway;  scattered out as if leaving a trail. Alongside that, there was a piece of paper labeled “pay 2 the orerr of Rick: one fuckin bendee straw” in what may have been Sav’s handwriting on top of the stairs, and blue paint smudged on the railing going downwards (guaranteeing that whoever did that eventually got to your face, too).

Step by step you descended as the scenery of the house teetered around you (a little too reminiscent of Me & My Wine, you would add). When you reached the bottom of the stairs and looked into the living room, sure enough, Phil was there, strumming away.

“But it’s easy come and easy go…” he hummed.

“You’re…” you mumbled, burped a little, and continued, “Awake. How?” He stopped playing and crossed his arms, quietly sassing you, “Ah, she rises again. You regrettin’ anything yet?” You blinked and rubbed your eyes, scratching a little bit of paint off of your face and inquiring in a scratchy, tired tone, “I guess so… but- how? You, how?” Phil took off his guitar and stood up with his hands in his pockets, “Because I barely drank at all last night, and I also sure as hell didn’t shag Steve in someone else’s bed!” “How do you mean- I didn’t- wait- and Steve- what?” you rubbed your head, getting dizzy, causing Phil to guide you to the couch. “I didn’t- I didn’t shag Steve last night,” you insisted. “Mm hmm,” the guitarist hummed disapprovingly, “Alright.” “What the hell are you on about?” Phil smirked evilly and laughed, “He carried you upstairs, we heard the door close, and then some rather happy noises were heard, so we all just assumed-!” “That’s not-” you swallowed and lay your head back on the couch, “-a valid assumption.” “Oh, you poor thing,” came the sarcastic remark, “You really don’t remember, do you?” “Well I figured if I ever fucked any one of you I would- you know- remember it!” you raised your voice at him, then rubbed your temples. “I’m touched, really. But I’ll fill you in a bit,” Phil yanked up his guitar he’d put down, placed himself next to you, and played the into to “Ballroom Blitz”. Then a bit of the night came back to you. “Oh... that’s what started it all, didn’t it?”

~The night before~ Rick began banging out a tune on his drum kit in the house with you, Sav, and Steve sitting close by, them being at the ready with their guitars. “You ready, Steve?” you mimicked the original lyrics. “Uh-huh,” he replied exactly like Steve Priest in the original song. “Savy?” you said next. “Yeah,” Sav bopped his head to the beat. “Rick?” “Okay.” “Alright, fellas,” you called out, “Let’s go!” The two guitarists let their instruments ring out around the house, playing the all-too-familar tune. As soon as they started this, the front door opened, and none other than Phil and Joe walked in. Joe was holding a bag that was weighed down by the mass inside it (a painfully obvious sign that there were a few bottles of booze). Although the two of them weren’t talking, they were physically hushed upon hearing the situation you and the others had created. “Oh life’s been getting so hard, living with the things you do to me…” you sang lowly and quietly along with the music being made, just to make sure the musicians knew their places. You noticed Phil run out of the room in excitement, and into the one where he keeps his guitars. Joe, on the other hand, stayed put and watched the rest of you from afar, fighting a smile. “My dreams are getting so strange, I’d like to tell you everything I see…” You stood up, and Joe began walking towards you when you called out the next line of the song, “Oh- I see a man in the back, as a matter of fact, his eyes are as red as a sun!” Joe chimed in without warning at the next line, putting an arm on your shoulder and pointing at you, “And the girl in the corner, let no one ignore her, ‘cos she thinks she’s the passionate one!” *** “It’s, it’s a ballroom blitz, it's, it's a ballroom blitz,” Phil sang the ending teasingly to you when he put his guitar back. It felt like he was rubbing his energy in your face (since you lacked it). Before Phil could continue, Joe suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Yeah! It’s a ballroom blitz!” he announced, throwing his arms into the air and taking a bow. He sounded a bit tipsy still. Joe was wearing his Union Jack shorts, but no shirt. Instead of a shirt, though, he had the words “PROPERTY OF DEF LEPPARD” sloppily painted across his chest in blue and green paint. Right over his nipples there were also two handprints, almost exactly matching the ones on your face. Joe stumbled in the doorway, falling to his knees and groaning in discomfort, “Ohh... probably should’ve stayed in bed.” Phil sluggishly trekked over to the singer and pulled him partially to his feet, yanking him towards the couch, “Oh yeah? And by ‘bed’, you mean-?” “Definitely not the bathtub.” Joe assured him, but winked at you. “No matter where you slept, it’s still not as bad as where she slept,” Phil pointed at you, “And what she did there.” “Why? What’d you do?” Joe’s tipsiness wore away in his sentence, making him sound genuinely concerned and curious. You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what Phil was going to say, “Phil, I-” “It’s not what she did, it’s who she did- she shagged Steve in my bed!” the guitarist accused you again while pointing a finger. Immediately Joe exclaimed, “Nice!” and held up a hand to high-five you. “Joe!” you scolded him, surprised that he took this as good news. “Oh-uh, not… nice?” he took away the offer of a high-five and scratched the back of his head awkwardly instead, “Also, is that my shirt?” You took a look down at the Union Jack tank top you were wearing and back at Joe’s torso. Then something clicked in your head. “Ohh…” you continued staring at Joe’s chest, feeling yourself blush as old memories unraveled in your head, “I think... I think I remember something else that happened last night.” *** You were all drunk; it was no lie. After your quick jam session, there was a booze-filled music fest going on in the house. Joe had even put on his Union Jack outfit, pretending he was getting ready for a show. At one particular point of this “festival” you'd all created, records were being played, and you ended up dancing in front of Joe to REO Speedwagon’s “Take It On the Run”. “You’re bringing up your white lines, you’re pullin’ on a bedroom eyes, you say you’re going home, but I won’t say when,” you sang the wrong lyrics as you swayed and drunkingly made flirty faces at Joe on the couch. Sav, meanwhile, was playing with some old craft paint off in the corner. The blue and green substances were all over his hands (but somehow, one color managed to stay on each hand). “Yeah, you dance for him, Y/N!” Rick cheered you on from the kitchen as Steve and Phil sat on the couch. Phil was perfectly sober, and Steve was giggling and laying with his head on Phil’s lap. You, on the other hand, were now moving closer to the singer, almost like you were giving him a lap dance. “You take it on the run, baby,” you sang along, slowly taking Joe’s Union Jack tank top off of him (with no objections from below), “If that’s the way you wanna, baby...” In return to Joe being shirtless, you slowly took off your own shirt (triggering wolf-whistles and cheers from the guys) to replace it with Joe’s tank. “Sav, mark him up!” you ordered the painted bassist in the corner as you tried to dress yourself. He happily made his way over to you and questioned, “What should I mark him with?” A single hazy idea came to you, and you eagerly whispered it into Sav’s ear. He giggled in response, and proceeded to move over to Joe, drawing something on his chest in the paint. To keep Joe from looking at what it was, you went behind the chair and covered his eyes, ordering coyly, “No peeking!” “All done!” Sav announced and retreated back to whatever he was doing in the corner. “Now, wait, Sav!” you sped over to him, lifted his hands up, and double high-fived him, getting the paint on your hands as well. To finish off what Sav had started, you ran back over to Joe on the chair, and slapped your hands on his chest, right over his nipples. Laughter erupted from everyone in the room (including Joe) and you repeated Sav’s words. “All done!” Joe gazed down at the words “PROPERTY OF DEF LEPPARD” on his chest as you continued to dance to the song playing. “You’re mine, now! You take it on the run, baby... if that’s the way you want it, baby...” Joe tried to tell you in a sexy voice, “Am I your baby now?” “If that’s the way you want it baby,” you repeated the words from the song to him, “Now I’m done dancing for you! Somebody dance for me!” Steve began pointing at everyone individually, childishly suggesting, “It should be, eenie, meenie, miney, Phil!” “Why me?” Phil laughed in objection as you took a seat across the room. “Because you’re not wasted,” his terror twin argued, poking him on the nose. The sober guitarist looked over at you with happy anticipation, awaiting a comment, while all you did was wiggle your fingers at him with a goofy grin. After that, you returned the gesture to the man on his lap, giving Steve a sexy wink. *** “Oh my god...” you put your head in your hands shamefully as Phil and Joe giggled at the memory of the previous night, “I can’t believe I did all that...” “That was a treat!” Phil laughed, hugging you from the side and pulling you closer to him in consolation, “It was funny! We never get to see that side of you!” “There’s a certain reason why you don’t...” you moaned with embarrassment, then asked out of guilty curiosity, “How many times did I grab your ass during that lap dance...?" Phil thought for a bit before telling you, “Four. Well- four and a half...” You gave a loud groan of protest as Joe laughed and slumped back into the couch. “Oh, you only did those things because you weren’t thinking!” Phil consoled you, swayed back and forth with you in his arms. Joe chimed in, “Yeah, and see what happens when you don’t think? You do! Most importantly, you do Steve!” “I didn't do Steve!” you shot your head up and yelled at Joe. You received only laughs and snorts from both men in reply. Suddenly, Sav appeared on the staircase and began singing “Squeeze Box” by The Who with a tired yet cheeky smirk, “Mama’s got a squeeze box she wears on her chest, and when Stephen comes home, he never gets no rest-” Joe and Phil joined into his song with, “Cos' she’s playin’ all night, and the music’s alright! Mama’s got a squeeze box, Stephen never sleeps at night!” You just put your head back in your hands, trying not to accept your fate of being teased. You didn’t want to think that you possibly shagged Steve. He always seemed so innocent to you in a way, and you feared that this would kill your friendship. If everything the boys said was true, you would never hear the end of it, and you don’t even know what Steve would think of you from now on. Was it possible that he remembered anything about the night before? “It didn’t happen, it didn’t happen...” you repeated to yourself in a whisper as Phil unwrapped his arms from you. Sav came all the way down the stairs; his body language making him look grumpy with the world, but his tired grin signaling that he was pleased with seeing you. “Oh, it happened, sunshine!” the frizzy-haired bassist laughed, but quickly regretted it and rubbed his head with his still-painted hands, “Ah- yep, it happened. You could probably hear you two up the whole damn street.” As Sav wearily joined you all on the couch, Joe complained, “Sounds like that was a treat; I wish I remembered it!” Phil was caught off guard at the comment. His head turned to Joe in the blink of an eye and gasped, “Wait, you don’t remember hearing them?!” “I wish I could say I do, but there’s nothing there,” Joe stood up after he spoke, and quickly held onto the wall nearby. His hand went over his stomach as he whined, “Oh... fuck, Y/N, why did you make me race you last night?" “'Race me'?” you squinted as you inquired, “Race you with what?” Joe didn’t answer, but slowly took steps into the kitchen, using the wall as his guide. His answer came when you, Sav, and Phil all heard him throw up into the sink. You sighed, resting your hands over your eyes, trying to remember the cause of Joe’s sickness, “Oh no, was that really my idea?” *** “Look what I found!” you trotted into the room tipsily, holding two bottles; one of scotch, one of vodka, “Only half full! Who wants em?” While you weren’t full-on drunk, it was no secret that the title wasn’t that far away. After your little Ballroom Blitz, it was one beer after the next, then it was digging into the fancy liquors that Phil and Joe had just brought home. Your judgment was impaired, no doubt about it, and so was the judgment of all the guys. Joe even changed into his normal live-show-only Union Jack tank top, claiming that he was gonna "put on a show." The only one who was still sane and sober was Phil, who seemed to be staying away from your poison. Upon registering your sacred offer of alcohol, Rick ran forward, chanting, “Me! Me!” You lifted the bottles away from him, commanding, “Uh-uh! I get the scotch.” “Oh, bollocks, then you can keep the vodka,” the young drummer grumbled and turned away from you. Just as Rick rejected your offering, Joe sprung up and eagerly trotted over while shouting happily, “I’ll take it!” “Sold!” you handed the bottle over to him, “Betcha can’t finish before me!” “Betcha I can!” he sneered back before taking the cap off his bottle. There was no official “ready, set, go” for the race; you both just kind of went for it without any saying. While your throat and stomach were already protesting your actions (and you could almost sense that Joe’s were doing the same), you didn’t stop once; neither of you did. You held up your bottle and announced, “Done!” Looking over, you saw Joe was also finished. “I finished first!” “Nuh-uh!” you insisted, “It had to be me! Tell him, guys!” The four others hadn’t been paying attention to you and Joe’s little competition; they were instead focused on a box that Sav had pulled out from a cupboard. From the box they pulled out bottles of paint and various types of used makeup.

Joe scolded them all in a more sober manner, “Oh come on, you lot weren’t even watching!” “Yeah, yeah, it was probably a tie, anyways,” Rick chuckled, pulling out more items from the box. “This box is much more interesting, too," Phil protested, holding up a stick of lipstick as Sav held up two bottles of paint, "This is a box of makeup that I had for me and the lads in Girl! Just look at it all! Think we can have some fun with this?" "Oh, piss off," you threw the empty bottle onto the couch, "We need some music." Joe had slumped down onto a chair, and you stumbled your way over to the shelf with all the records on it, flipping through and eyeing them all as carefully as your body would let you. After only a few seconds of searching, your eyes lit up at a discovery. "Here's a good one!" you exclaimed as you pulled out a copy of Hi Infidelityby REO Speedwagon, "Let's give it a spin!" ***

Joe wandered back into the room and fell onto the empty couch with a grumble. “Sorry, Joe...” you muttered over to him, realizing that you pressured him into more consumption of the booze. “It was probably gonna happen anyway...” he admitted, wiping his hands over his face, “It’s was my stupid choice to go through with it.” “Woah,” Phil pointed out out of nowhere, looking at you with great surprise, “What’s that on your neck?” You felt your heart drop into your stomach. “What!?” you shot up from where you sat (bringing on more dizziness), and rushed over to a mirror. Once your dizziness subsided, and you could finally see your reflection, the pink shape of a hickey on the side of your neck was now clearly conspicuous. You wondered how you hadn't noticed it before. Joe exclaimed with a smug and proud grin, “Is that from Steve!?” You groaned angrily, feeling yourself become more and more defeated. “I can’t believe it,” you gasped, slapping a hand over the mark, “Something did happen between us-!” “Y/N,” Phil pointed out again, “There’s lipstick on your thigh...” Looking down at your legs, you saw that he was right. There was a single red symbol on your right thigh that marked a kiss from the night before. Upon seeing this, what you saw when you woke up popped into your head. “Looks like Steve went to town down there,” Sav smirked at you, only wanting to rub it in more. “Guys,” you softly noted, “That wasn’t Steve... he has lipstick marks all over his face from someone else...” The three men all exchanged confused looks with each other. There was a dead end to the story of the previous night. None of them knew how to solve the mystery of the lipstick. Not even Phil, who was as good as sober 12 hours ago, didn’t have any input. Sav suddenly blurted out, “Wait a minute, I know what happened- I think...” No one said anything, but eagerly leaned forward, ready to hear the tale the bassist had to tell. “You lot remember how we found that box of old makeup last night?” he began, “Well, I walked into the bathroom with you afterwards, Y/N...” *** Rick looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, carefully applying the makeup to his lips, and being extra careful to not get it on the blazer he was wearing. The drummer put on his best suit just to see how it would look with the makeup he was putting on. He thought he was doing a good job for the most part; he didn’t look half bad at all! It was far easier than he expected it to be, and wondered if he was good enough to help you with your makeup at times. Thinking of you seemed to have made you appear in the doorway next to him. Both of your hands were still covered in paint. “Sink,” was all you commanded of the drummer. He moved without a word and you began to wash your hands. At the same instant, Sav appeared nearby. He grabbed the doorframe and began to swing from it, leaving conspicuous handprints afterwards. “Aren’t you gonna wash up, too?” Rick crossed his arms to sass him. “Nah, I want the colors, they’re makin’ me feel- colorful...” Sav grinned, walking over to you at the sink, requesting, “C’mere.” You looked up, only to have your face taken in Sav’s paint-covered hands. He softly giggled as you squared your vision in on him with a sneer. “Rude,” you teased, then went back to washing your hands; paint now all over your face. “What’s really rude,” Rick pulled back the shower curtain and taking a step into the tub, “Is you two interrupting my makeup time! Good night!” He sat himself down in the tub and laid himself down as if he was going to sleep.

Before he had the chance to catch some shut-eye, you marched over to the tub and objected, “Rick, if you’re gonna sleep, I want a goodnight kiss first.” Without another word, Rick sat up and planted a kiss on your thigh (since it was closest to him). There was now a bright red imprint of his lips on your leg. “Thank you.” you smiled down at him, “Now goodnight.” “Don’t leave the water on, you hear?” Sav nagged him, pointing a colored finger, “You’ll drown." Rick chuckled with his eyes closed, “I’ll drink myself out. I'm in a drinkin mood, anyways." “Oh yeah? You haven’t got a straw or anything,” the intoxicated bassist continued to argue with him. “Then don’t let me drown! Get one!" “I’ll get you one later. I’ll just-“ Sav burped, and continued, “I’ll write a note or something.” “Sounds good, mate,” Rick slumped further into the tub and pulled the curtain closed, “Now you gonna stay here all night?” “Actually,” you noted out loud to yourself, different alcoholic emotions boiling up inside you, “I wanna go downstairs- I just need to see Steve- like right now...!" You turned on your heels, speeding past Sav and flying back down the stairs. *** “So that explains the paint on my face, and the paper in the hallway, and the lipstick, but what happened after that?” you asked Sav, as you were now slumped on top of Phil’s arm again. “Beats me,” Sav ran his still-painted hands through his hair, “That’s all I’ve got.” “But wait, if you said that Rick fell asleep in the bathtub...” Phil began his sentence, only for you and the other two men to exchange knowing looks with each other. All four of you immediately sprung up and rushed (as much as you could) up the stairs and into the bathroom. Upon getting there, Phil flung back the shower curtain to reveal a partially awake Rick, dressed in a suit, and still wearing the lipstick from the night before. “Mornin’,” he groaned as he stretched, then winced, “Ah, fuck- sleeping in here wasn’t the best idea for me neck.” Sav looked back at the paint on the doorframe and asked the drummer, “So then why did you sleep in here?” “Oh,” Rick looked around the tub, stating as-a-matter-of-factly, “The porcelain keeps the suit from wrinkling. I guess drunk me was very careful last night.” “I’ll say,” Joe complemented, “The lipstick’s still holding up pretty well.” Phil halted the conversation, “Wait, so you were in here when I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night?” Rick chuckled, “Yeah, and let me tell you, for a smaller guy, you’ve got a big bladder.” “Wait,” you slowly turned and pointed at Joe, “I thought you said you slept in the bathtub-?” He gave you a cocky smirk in return, “I told you, ‘definitely not the bathtub’...” Rick sleepily laughed and pointed at you, “Ha- Y/N, you look like Joe!” “Why, just because of the shirt?” you inquired, pointing at Joe’s tank top on you. “And the paint!” Rick corrected you, “I can’t believe you guys didn’t wash it off yet!” In a second, you felt a rush of worry upon realizing that Rick hadn’t said anything about you and Steve yet. It made you suddenly come to the possible conclusion that he may not know about it all. “Wait,” Phil snapped his fingers, “So you do remember some stuff from last night?” “Yeah, a bit, I think. Why?” “Philip Kenneth Collen, don’t you fucking dare....” you growled at him in an almost pleading manner, rubbing your temples and grinding your teeth. “What do you remember?” Phil asked him, not giving any sort of reaction to your begging. Rick thought for a few seconds, clearly as hungover as the rest of you. It didn’t take him long to list off some brief happenings he recalled. “Well, I remember us singing Sweet, there was a lap dance, I remember- uh, being denied a bottle of scotch, there was, uh... there was lipstick... and did I try to ice-skate on pieces of cardboard down the hall...?” “Is that why there’s cardboard all down the hallway?” you motioned towards the door. Rick gave you a big proud smile and a nod in response. “So...” Joe looked around, definitely looking eager, “What’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep?” Rick rested his head back on the tub again, thinking as hard as his hungover mind would let him. You hoped to every god there was that he didn’t say anything about Steve. “Just Phil comin’ in here and having a long piss, that’s all.” came the verdict. “You sure you didn’t hear-“ Phil anxiously began to ask him, but got a hand slapped over his mouth by you. “No!” you yelled on impulse, sending more daggers through your burned-out head. All eyes were now on you, and silence fell. For a few tense seconds, you stared into Phil’s eyes, sending him visual messages of both threats and desperate requests. “...what the hell happened last night?” Rick broke the silence in a tone of utter confusion, knowing that something more serious than what he remembered had taken place. You pulled your hand back from Phil’s face, “Yuck, Phil, come on!” “You licked her hand, didn’t you?” asked Sav. “Yes,” Phil confirmed, and continued without missing a beat, “And I’m glad you asked that, Rick, cos' I know what happened after Y/N and Sav paid you a visit last night.” “Phil, if you love me in any way, shape, or form, you will not tell Rick what happened,” you begged to him as you began to walk out the bathroom door, heading back downstairs to wallow in more of your shameful hangover, “I refuse to believe it happened until there’s hard proof.” “Well what more proof do you want? A positive pregnancy test?” Phil shrugged, but suddenly slapped his own hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just said. You shot him an angry look. You were too tired to have it out with him, so you stumbled away. Right about now, you were ready to give up and accept the fact that you probably did shag Steve. Phil turned to Rick, gaping, and slowly began to speak again, "Right... so last night, after those two were in here, I think that’s when they came back downstairs..." *** "So why are you tying up my hair again?" a drunk Steve asked Phil, who was happily putting his hair into pigtails. "Because I knew you’d look pretty, and I knew you wouldn't object, either," the other guitarist laughed evilly as he finished tying the second bundle of golden locks together, "There, you're all done now." "Cool... I think," Steve tilted his head, staring at himself in the mirror on the wall as footsteps began pounding their way down the stairs. "I think you look pretty, Steve. Pretty, pretty, pretty," Joe giggled as he was flipped off by the pig-tailed guitarist. As this happened, you trampled the stairs in your descent, calling out, “Steve- Steve! Come here!” More than happy to be ripped away from Phil’s pigtailed plans, he let you run up to him as you belted out, “I’ve got an idea...!” He didn’t say anything, but he did let you whisper something in his ear. The second he heard your idea, his eyes lit up and an evil smirk crossed his face. Steve was always in the mood for causing terror. You pulled back and exchanged the same look of understanding with the guitarist. He stared at you with a sort of appreciation, and without another word, swept you off your feet, carrying you bridal style now. With a quick smooch to your lips, he began carrying you up the stairs as you giggled with some sort of glee. Phil’s jaw dropped, looking at Joe with astonishment in the process. The singer’s face mirrored the exact same expression. “I should’ve bloody known...” Phil gasped in astonishment, “She’s been eyeing him up real funny all night... I can’t fucking believe it!” Sav came down the stairs slowly, his life depending on the railing as he dragged his hand on it. He left a long streak of blue paint as he did so. “What’s gotten into their pants?” “Each other, apparently,” Joe scoffed, taking a sip of a beer he found, “Lord knows how the hell that happened.” *** You were all sitting back on the couches in the living room, all seemingly regretting the night before (you knew you most certainly were). Everyone knew that the end of Phil’s story was the true ending of the night. Now there was really a dead end to the whole tale. “I can’t believe it,” you whispered with sorrowful acceptance, “Me and Steve...? What happened next?” Joe scoffed, “Well that’s kind of a stupid question.” “That’s where it ends, Y/N. I went up to bed afterwards, only to hear-“ Phil cleared his throat to impersonate you and Steve, “‘Oh, Steve! Yes!’ coming from my room! So after an immense helping of disapproval, I slept in Rick’s room.” “No, no, that can’t be it!” you insisted, “Guys, what really happened next?” “Can’t say,” Joe mumbled, holding his head. “Sorry, mate,” Rick apologized. Sav remained silent, but looked apologetic. “That can’t be where it ends...!” you persisted, “Sav? Tell me I’m right!” Sav rolled in his lips, and darted his eyes away from you. You continued to stare at him suspiciously, but no one else thought anything of it. Phil tried to finalize your fate sympathetically, “Give it up, Y/N, at least it’s all over now.” “But it still happened! What am I gonna say to Steve when he wakes up? You know what- no. It didn’t happen, I refuse to believe that it did.” “How much more proof do you want?” Rick shrugged, pointing at Phil and Sav, trying to make you face the terrible truth, “They both heard ya, and Steve even gave you a hickey.” You hung your head, thinking you might just decide to cry out of shame. Yes, you loved Steve, just as you loved anyone else in the band, but you never had (or planned to have) any sort of sexual relationship with them. Even if you ever did, you were afraid it would ruin everything your friendship had stood for. “Sav, what’s wrong, mate?” Joe asked out of the blue. The bassist in question was still avoiding the conversation, staying eerily silent and weaving his hands together. At this point, you noticed that he was also blushing. “That wasn’t Steve.” he stated bluntly, still not looking at you. “What wasn’t Steve?” you asked as you stared at him dead on, your heart now pounding. “That hickey... that wasn’t Steve,” he paused, “That was me.” Immediately you gasped and slapped a hand over the mark on your neck. “What?!” the other three exclaimed. Joe and Rick immediately hissed at the searing pain their outbursts caused. “Sav, what the hell?!” you scolded him, finally happy that you weren’t the only one being called out for their mistakes. “Now before you say anything else,” he finally looked at you and held up a hand, “It was your idea.” Your face fell, softly asking him, “What do you mean?” “Well, after you and Steve-you know- and only Joe and I were downstairs, you actually came back down, too- wipe that smug look off your face, Joe. You’re not entirely innocent here, either.” *** You stumbled down the stairs, giggling to yourself. Your mission was now accomplished, and Steve was asleep upstairs. In a word, you were pleased. In two words, you were still drunk. Records were still being played when you returned to the living room, and Joe currently had his copy of Sheer Heart Attack on the turntable. “She Makes Me (Stormtrooper In Stilettos)”flowed softly from its speakers. “There’s our killer queen!” Joe cooed to you happily. He was now sprawled out on the couch, two empty beer bottles on the floor beside him. Sav wasn’t too far off. The paints on his hands were now dry, and he was reclined in a chair across the room, twiddling a bottle in his hand. They both looked ready for bed, and it made you wonder how they held out for this long. The singer slurred on with an interested smirk, “You two have fun?" Sav spoke up with a scoff-like laugh, “Sure sounded like it!" “Oh, you know it,” you gave them a wink, setting yourself down on the couch next to Joe, “Guess Phil finally ditched, huh?” “Yeah, the wanker went to bed- but you’ve lost your pants!” he gestured to your black underwear, made room for you to lay down with him, and took you in his arms like a teddy bear with a sigh of appeasement. You reached back and playfully poked at Joe’s dimple, “Steve's fault." “Well, that’s no good,” Sav objected, pushing the footrest of the chair in and returning to a sitting position. “What isn’t?” Joe asked him, "Steve gettin' into it with her?" “No, that cuddlin' you're doing- it’s boring. You stay like that, you’ll fall asleep on me!” He was certainly right about this. With you in Joe’s arms and his face nuzzling into your hair like some sort of animal, he was already falling asleep. “What do you want us to do?” you chuckled, thinking that Sav was only jealous of his friend. Joe mumbled happily into your hair, “How 'bout you just do me like Steve, and we’ll be good.” At this point, you noticed the feeling of something pressing lightly against the bottom of your back; a certain weight where Joe’s hips were, and a weight that wasn’t there at first. “Joe,” you whined at him, “You’re fucking gross.” He chuckled, then slowly moved his hips to lightly rub himself against you, a low quiet moan rising in his throat from the temporary pleasure it provided. “Ah- Joe!” you protested again, reaching back and hitting him as best as you could. You wiggled out of his embrace as he burst into giggles like he had just accomplished something. Sav, on the other hand, cringed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re even hornier than when you’re sober!” you grabbed a pillow and whacked Joe with it. “You’re one to talk! You just shagged Steve!” he smirked evilly, "Why not me?" “Ha! The only way I’ll do you is by some miracle, or at least a dare,” you threw yourself onto the other couch, picking up a nearly empty beer bottle and pouring whatever was left into your mouth. Sav’s eyes finally lit up, “That’s what we oughta do- truth or dare!” “Ooh, sounds like terrible fun,” you turned yourself so you were sitting upside-down on the couch, “Sav, truth or dare?” “How come he gets to go first?” asked Joe, “I wanna get down to business!” “Dare,” Sav declared, ignoring the singer’s objections. Immediately, your intoxicated mind thought of a scheme. Despite the plan you and Steve had executed ever so perfectly, you were still a child seeking more terror. You knew Joe wanted you, and it was no secret either, so how exactly would you use Sav to reign terror over him? You wanted something to rub in Joe’s face- something that would leave a mark on him. “I dare you to-" you clumsily pointed to your neck, "Gimme a hickey.” Joe's jaw dropped with offense and jealousy; exactly as you had expected. Sav began to laugh rather loudly at the request, and stood up, now understanding your true intention of making Joe jealous. “C’mere,” he motioned with his hand. More than happy to obey the command, you strutted over to him and paused, waiting for him to make the first move. He took a step so your bodies were practically pressing together, moved your hair out of the way on your neck, and dove right in. You smiled with glee, taking in the feeling of Sav’s mouth and tongue moving over your skin (as well as Joe’s groans of protest coming from a few feet away). As the bassist sucked on your neck without hesitation, it only made you think of one thing: “Wow, there’s definitely gonna be a mark after this.” *** Rick and Phil were staring at Sav with their mouths open in shock. You kept a hand over the mark he left on your neck to prevent everyone from looking any more than they already had. “So, wait, if it was you who gave me this, why didn’t you say anything before when we said it was Steve?” you asked Sav, more suspicious than outraged now. “I- ah, didn’t... wanna say anything...” he looked away, beginning to blush again, “I guess I was too embarrassed." “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is you, Joe,” Rick turned his attention back to the singer, “You fuckin dry humped her!” Joe exclaimed in his own defense, “Yeah, and I don’t even remember it! It’s not my fault- I was drunk and horny!” “See! Just like me and Steve! I don’t remember shagging him, either! So I guess we’re even.” “Even Stephen,” Phil scoffed. You slumped into the couch more, staring blankly ahead and realizing, “So I pretty much got to second base with all of you last night...?” “I think you made it all the way home with Steve,” Rick pointed out. “Thanks, Rick,” you kept your head hung, “I feel like a slut.” “You mean you’re not?” Phil joked, only to be hit in the arm by Sav.

Just then, you all heard the sound of movement upstairs. Your heart stopped and your blood ran cold; Steve was awake now. Everyone's jaws hit the floor, and for a second, you thought they were all afraid of what you were fearing. "He's awake..." Rick announced in a sing-song voice, teasing you. “Oh no...” you gasped quietly, “Oh no, oh no! Oh god, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna say to him?!” “Hate to break it to ya, but this isn’t necessarily our problem!” Joe shrugged in a panic, hearing Steve’s footsteps get closer. “But guys! You’ve gotta help me! You’re his best friends! What should I say to him?!” “Just act like it didn’t happen! Maybe he doesn’t remember-?” Sav proposed. Rick suggested, “Just straight up ask him if he remembers anything!” “Just get out of here!” Phil made a swatting motion towards the other room. “None of those are gonna do me any good! It still happened!” you yelled at them in a whisper, “I have to live that with that fact, even if neither of us have any memory of it to live with!” It was too late for any salvation; Steve was already at the top of the stairs. The band members held their breath, and- without words or warning- all scrambled out of the living room. “No!” you whispered, “Guys- wait!” You caught Rick by the wrist when he stood up. “Rick, c’mon, please don’t leave me here!” you begged. He yanked out of your grip and apologetically condemned you, “Sorry, Y/N, but this is your business.” As the four of them retreated, you tried to bolt after them. As soon as you hit the doorway, however, Phil turned around and pushed you back on the couch nearby as slowly as he could. It was so sudden that you were on your back before you knew it, and they were all gone. “Hey!” you called out after them, “Assholes!” Steve’s voice suddenly came to your ears (rather closely, too), “What’s their problem?” You jumped, “Ah- Steve!” He had a silent step, and made it down the stairs and across the room without making a sound. He also looked just as he did a little while ago when you first woke up; scraggly hair, lipstick stains all over his face, but no visible evidence of a hangover. “Hey, wow,” you forced an awkward chuckle at him, “Nice- uh, nice- lipstick...” Steve slumped down onto a chair and grumbled, “Thanks. Who even did this to me? Doesn’t look like it was you.” “That was, that was Rick- I’m assuming... I don’t remember that happening and I don’t think he does, either. He’s still got the lipstick on, too.” He played off the remark with a tired smile, “Oh, nice... last night really was something, wasn’t it?” Heat rushed to your face, and you tried to look away without being conspicuous. “Ha ha... yeah... really something!” you faked your amusement for him, now wondering if he was implying anything about the previous night. Steve leaned forward and asked, “Do you remember Sav and the paint? That was pretty funny, wasn’t it?” Still blushing, you darted your eyes around the room and nodded in agreement, “Mm hmm, yeah... he was like a toddler or something.” He sunk back into the chair again and closed his eyes, reminiscing about the events of the previous night. For a second you thought you were in the clear, and that maybe he didn’t remember the specific event that Phil and Sav did.

That illusion was shattered when his eyes snapped open, whispering “Wait a minute”, and sitting back up. Immediately, your heart dropped into your stomach.

“How did our plan go?” he questioned quietly, figuring that the others were still somewhere nearby and listening. “P-plan?” you stuttered, partially afraid of what he meant, but partially caught off guard, “What plan?” “You know-” he whispered again, thinking you remembered, “It was your idea. Did they believe it? We were convincing enough?" You darted your eyes down to the floor, confused, but also embarrassed. 'Convincing'? What did that mean? "Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t remember!” he smiled playfully. As you stared at him with fearful confusion in your eyes and redness on your cheeks, his smile was suddenly wiped away. He muttered under his breath as his face fell, "Oh... you don't remember... bloody hell, okay, this is gonna be hard to explain..." "Then explain it, because I'm really fucking confused..." your voice wavered with a sarcastic chuckle. Steve sighed and leaned forward, slowly weaving his hands together. He didn't know where to begin. "This is one of the few things I remember from last night..." he started off, "And there's no way to make this sound... good... in any way, but you came up with the idea of us pretending to shag- like making noises and shit like that- to trick the others into thinking we really did. For some reason I thought it was a great idea, and I'm pretty sure I carried you upstairs, too.” Instantly, a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. It wasn't real; you didn't shag Steve, and he could even tell the guys himself! You blew out a big sigh of relief, and slumped back into the couch, closing your eyes. "Oh, god," you slowly panted, "What a huge relief- I suppose we were really convincing, then." "Why d'you say that?" You laughed tiredly, now feeling rather thankful for your raging hangover, "The guys are all convinced that we fucked last night. Only Phil and Sav seem to remember it, though. They've been hounding me about it all morning. I kept telling them it couldn't be true- and I was right!" "What, would it be so bad if we actually did?" he teased you in a hushed voice. "Well, I've had to live my day so far under the impression it did happen. I was teased, ridiculed, embarrassed, and felt guilty about it. I was afraid it'd ruin our friendship if it was true... I was kinda hoping you didn't remember so we could just forget..." The red in your face returned all over again. Steve, however, didn't seem bothered. "If you really want to, we can keep pretending it happened and steer into the act; give em' what they want." "What? No!" you laughed out loud, standing up, "You're crazy, Clark! I think I better go tell the others the bad news. They'll be disappointed-ha!" You walked across the room to go find the others and disclose unto them the "bad news", giving Steve a pat on the shoulder when you passed him. Once you were gone and out of sight, Steve also blew out a big sigh of relief. "She didn't remember anything," he thought to himself, "That was a close one." While he knew you two didn't go all the way the previous night, he figured if you didn't remember it, then it was for the best you didn't find out. It was nothing serious; just a bit of fooling around, really. Just a bit of drunked-up teasing, and nothing more. The guys had no proof that anything actually happened between you two, and you were about to tell them the partial truth anyway, so why say something to reignite the suspicion? After all, they were all hungover to begin with, so there wasn't much memory of the whole affair, either. "Thank god for these hangovers,"Steve thought, "Thank god. I couldnt've asked for anything more." ~Epilogue~ When you got to the top of the stairs, Steve put you on your feet and spun you around. "You ready?" he whispered, childish excitement in his voice. You nodded with equal excitement, "Take me away, Clark." The two of you began eagerly walking hand-in-hand to whatever room you pleased, but before either of you had the chance to pick one, the bathroom door opened, Rick popped his head out and commanded, "Stop right there!" Both you and Steve froze and looked at him. He still had his lipstick and his suit on, and a kind of serious look overtaking his face. A finger was kept in a pointing position at you, a few large pieces of cardboard were underneath his other arm, and he slowly took steps down the hall to meet you. Neither of you moved, but both of you waited. When Rick got to you, he didn't say a word, but did take Steve's face in his hands (dropping the cardboard in the process), and proceeded to the kiss the man all over his face.

Steve remained silent, and let Rick have his way until he decided to stop. When he did, there were several lipstick stains on various parts of the blonde's face.

"Thanks, mate," Steve muttered sarcastically as Rick kicked some of the cardboard pieces in different directions. He then stepped on two of them, trying to slide down the hall on them as if they were ice skates. When he got back to the bathroom, he went back inside and shut the door again.

Without another word, you turned Steve's face toward you, gave him a peck on the cheek as Rick had done, and kicked open the door behind you (which just so happened to be Phil's bedroom). You both fell back into the room, giggling with makeshift lust in your eyes.

After all, you had to make this authentic, right?

[chipsfics]

Part 1 - Introduction/Invitation

Part one of my currently-unnamed Inanimate Insanity fanfiction :)! Feat. Tissues and Yinyang. Some shipping but not a whole lot ;)

Rated: PG (A few heavy themes)

Hope you enjoy and much more to come !! :D

~~~~

Unlike Tissues, Yinyang knew he was going to be eliminated. Yin did, at least. He figured after a certain amount of time, the viewers just saw him as... Annoying. He had used up his entertainment value- Inanimate Insanity had packaged and squeezed dry his "quirks" of any and all comedy until they were just problems again. He was sure his other half knew elimination was at least a possibility- He was probably too preoccupied with his own thoughts, which sometimes blended together with Yin's. A lot of... "Everyone here hates me," and "I hate everyone here." Seemed like the situation was stressing them both out.

Weeks later, After they were all freed from the closet, Yinyang watched the episode where he was eliminated. Yinyang cried, not because he lost, but something kind of got tangled in his brain watching the way he acted. He was grinding his teeth watching the playback, Yang holding back tears and Yin letting them flow freely. If only, if only, if only. Needless to say, he didn't really remember a lot about what happened cooped up in that tiny closet. He mostly hid in the corner and tried not to grind his teeth down to his gums. Tissues, on the other hand, barely knew what was going on. One place to another, off a plane, rushing from iceberg to dodgeball court, grass field to bleachers- Next thing he knew he sneezed himself through a portal and ended up cooped up in a closet. Once the dizzy feeling cleared and he ended up face down, alone, in an empty closet with a locked door- One thing was abundantly clear: He lost. As usual. When another contestant stepped through the portal, the relief he felt was overwhelming- and as the closet filled up with eliminated contestants, the sense of relief he felt was replaced by self loathing and shame- Everyone else pretty much all hated him. As usual.

When they finally got a breath of fresh air, space to move around, personal rooms and even a breakfast juice bar- After everyone who came in contact with him was thoroughly sprayed down by Soap, nobody hated him anymore. They just didn't talk to him. Although, when he walked in the hallway, Soap would follow a safe distance behind him and clean where he last stepped with disinfectant. That didn't really help his self-esteem.

One quiet afternoon, everyone was still trying to settle into their new (but much nicer) living situations, Tissues got paired with the roommate who hated him the most. One Trophy horseplay, who was the one who stomped his face in more than a couple times while stuck in the closet. Of course, due to the technological advancements of melife, Mephone brought him back immediately after he got the death notification- bzz-ding, Tissues died again, to Trophy's frustration. Living with Trophy, he tried to keep all of his stuff in one corner- And he was kind of being shoved over by Trophy's ever-growing collection of sports equipment. Apparently he had nowhere to put it except for cluttering up their shared bedroom. He didn't have much things anyway- and he spent most of his time in the front game room. Tissues, Yinyang, and a few wanderers in and out every day in that same room, that same dinky game system, the same 4 outdated platforming games. He didn't remember the names of those old things, and he wasn't great at them anyway- It'd surprise you, but he didn't have the best hand-eye-coordination. 

Yinyang was also bad at them. He'd argue and curse and throw the controller and tug at the wires, Tissues would follow slowly behind him in co-op play. It was fun to play with someone who had the same skill level as he did, and it seemed like Yinyang had mellowed out a little from his appearance on the show- Having a bit more freedom and alone time seemed to make Yang calm down and Yin become cheerier and more friendly. If Tissues could say one Inanimate Insanity contestant was his friend- It was Yinyang. They had something big and terrifying in common- They were both freaks. The unlovable tend to find a way to love each other.

~~~~

Yaaaawn. Tissues stretched and looked at the clock- 11:30, about 3 hours earlier than when he usually woke up. He wiped the drool off his face, got up and feverishly brushed his teeth. He realized the breakfast bar was still open for another 30 minutes- More like 25 now that he'd dragged himself out of bed. OJ wasn't the world's most attentive hotel owner, but the breakfast bar seemed like something he was passionate about. There were rumors that he refilled the cereal dispensers by himself and doesn't let anyone else do it. Soap always threw a fit when someone else did the chores for her, although she seemed to have a quiet respect for OJ's breakfast bar. Tissues took the elevator down- He didn't trust himself to go down the stairs because of his vertigo. Lo and behold, someone else bumped into his hand reaching for the down arrow. It was Yinyang! 

"O-oh, go ahead, you first," Tissues said bashfully. 

"No, you first!" Yin chirped. "I assume we're both going down?" 

"Yeah, I'm gonna try and catch the last wave of breakfast, guyse. I'm not usually up this... SNIFF. Early," Tissues said, and jammed his finger into the down button, which started to glow a faint yellow.

"Wait, is the free breakfast thing still open?" Yinyang said, "The one where you can make waffles with the little do-it-yourself waffle iron?" 

"Is that what that is? I thought it was just a weird smoothie dispenser. I thought the stuff that came out of it tasted like waffle batter," He sniffed.

Yinyang laughed. Tissues would have been peeved, but it didn't seem like Yinyang was laughing AT him. That, or just the fact that his laugh was crisp and clear as a ringing bell. Tissues didn't think he heard him genuinely laugh a whole ton of times. It was nice. 

As they waited for the elevator to come up, Tissues noticed one of Yinyang's eyes blinking and drooping. Yang's side seemed to be sleepier than Yin's- His body lagging to one side until he had to jerk back into a standing position. Was it possible for one half to fall asleep and the other half to stay awake? DING. Tissues' train of thoughts was interrupted by the elevator door sliding open. They stepped in, and for the entire ride down Tissues fought as hard as he could not to sneeze- In a closed place like an elevator, that could be very annoying. More annoying than usual. The elevator ride was mostly silent and awkward- It seemed that Yang almost tried to fight on what button to press, but he was too tired and hungry to cause any trouble this early. It was a Saturday after all, the slowest days in the hotel, and once they made it downstairs to the breakfast bar, there didn't seem to be many contestants looking for something to eat so late. Tissues grabbed a paper plate and put a blueberry muffin on it, and got a small paper cup of orange juice. He noticed Yin and Yang were having some sort of quiet argument about what to get for a drink. Tissues couldn't help but overhear-

"Coffee." Yang spoke in a harsh whisper. "Not today, Water." Yin replied. "Coffee." "Juice, then." "Ok, Fine." "Apple juice." "I want orange." "Not today. Apple Juice feels more..." "Pure?" "Yeah." "Bull." "Let's just get our food, I'm too tired to argue." "..." "..." "Me too." 

Tissues seemed distracted, until Yinyang moved down the line and bumped him further down. He looked away, face flushed, and moved to the couch, flicking on the TV- He felt like he had just intruded on Yinyang's privacy, but Yinyang didn't seem to care. He'd grabbed apple juice and a pastry of some kind, filled with cream cheese. Yinyang and Tissues ate together, Tissues sitting on the carpet and Yinyang on the couch close by, both staring at the gameshow program that was playing on TV- something that aired often, it was starting to get old. That and the fact that the episodes are hard to tell apart. Same host every time, same backdrop, same formula. Because of this, Tissues' mind couldn't help but wander, and so did his eyes. Yinyang was focused intently on the tv, one hand, Yin's, tapping the sides of the paper cup and the other, Yang's, lifting the pastry to his mouth and taking a bite. They seemed to have figured out a good way to eat without arguing. 

"So," Tissues said, breaking the silence.

"Yes?" Yin said politely. 

"Can i sit next to you guyse?" Tissues asked. Yinyang looked a bit puzzled.

"Sure. Why not?" Yinyang said, "Just try not to get any of your germs on me." Yang grumbled. Yin pinched his arm. "Don't be rude," Yang growled, but once Tissues got up and hopped up onto the couch cushion next to him, Yang seemed to have forgotten about it. Tissues was so short he had to put in a lot of effort to get onto the couch- It was almost comical. Because of that, he preferred to sit on the ground. People seemed to prefer him down there anyway. It was kind of nice, up there, though, and honestly the only thing he felt different was... More comfortable, and taller. It was nice. He hadn't even noticed the TV program changing from the game show to an ad break- some kind of infomercial on chairs. 

"Sooo.... Do you want to go and check out the pool today? I've heard that there's like, complimentary towels. I haven't actually been there yet," Tissues said.

"Are you... asking us to hang out with you?" Yinyang said curiously. 

"Well sure," Tissues smiled. "We're friends, right?"

"Umm..." Yinyang's face flushed a bright red. "Of course!" Yin chimed. 

"Whatever." Yang added, clenching his jaw and slightly baring his sharp teeth.

"I just didn't wanna show up alone. Can you swim?" He asked. Yinyang looked away.

"Not really," He said, embarrassed. "It takes a lot of coordination, and Yin hates listening." Yang said aggresively. Yin glared at his other half. 

"Ohhh thats cool. I can't either," Tissues replied. "I was just planning on sitting by the side. Maybe putting my feet in- Its just nice to have like... uhh. SNIFF. Change of scenery... I like the chlorine smell." 

"Well that sounds nice!" Yinyang said. "But we need to go back to our room first, Right?" Yang sounded like he was directing the question less towards Tissues and more towards Yin. 

"Oh. Well that's ok. I'm here all day," Tissues said, pulling his mouth into a goofy half-smile. Yinyang finished off his apple juice and got up, silently turned and smiled towards Tissues, and walked away. Tissues wondered what he was thinking about. 

~~~~

[nspinelliwrites]

Chronic Illness: a Conversation with Loved Ones

*I wrote this almost a year ago. Since then I have had an additional diagnosis on top of this one of a similar vain. Actually most are of a similar vain. “It’s all in my head” hah. Edited for updated information*

I have Meniere’s Disease. I suffer, I live and sometimes I just rest with Meniere’s Disease. But it’s there always and forever. For those that don’t know, and I know it’s most. Meniere’s Disease is a chronic, invisible, disease that has no cure. It brings vertigo, tinnitus, hearing loss, ear pain, and pressure into my life. Amongst many other symptoms. Most are hard to explain when I sometimes have trouble understanding them myself. I generally try to yell “This is Sparta!” at my day at least once. It helps with the constant battle that goes on without my control or say.

What You Need to Know: The Specifics

The Mayo clinic describes my life so much more simply than it feels. “Meniere’s disease is a disorder of the inner ear that can lead to dizzy spells (vertigo) and hearing loss. In most cases, Meniere’s disease affects only one ear.” But here’s the truth, this disease like many chronic illnesses affects each and every recipient differently.

Most days I can’t walk. A lot of the days I can’t walk on my own. I consider those pretty good days. My most visible symptom is vertigo. Not, just got off the roller coaster going to throw up my lunch dizzy. More like my life is never getting off the Tea Cups and they are going backward. But the world is what is actually spinning and it’s around me–and I can’t get it to stop.

Other parts of my symptoms include hearing loss and ear pain. Brain fog. You know this feeling when a word is just on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite grasp it. I can feel that way, all day, for anything and everything. If you ever had to explain the word “stairs”, while looking at them. You feel me. Or ear fullness/pressure. Going up in an airplane that wonderful pain in your ears that come with the pop. Just no pop, most of the time, and on the ground whenever it wants. Did I mention the tinnitus? The roaring in my ears? And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

One day I might need hearing aids. One day I might not have any hearing in that ear at all. One day I need a cane and one day I don’t. One day I could need a walker.

It’s a Vestibular Disorder of the inner ear. There is fluid in my affected ear. For me, it’s my left ear for now. At the moment, it is only lateral. Meaning it only affects one ear. However, it can become, bi-lateral and affect both ears.

It’s a long term disease. Long term. Rest of my life long term. Guys, I am never getting better. I am never going to “feel better.” Whatever that even means anymore. I am never going to get over it. This isn’t the flu. I won’t just wake up one day and be better. Better is just not something that is me. And that is, okay. I am forever sick.

You should hug your local chronic illness sufferer. Even though at the end of the day, we do not want your pity. Maybe you should ask about the hug thing too, you know? Germs and all. I may not have the flu, but I can still catch it. We just want acceptance and understanding. You don’t have to get a PhD. on the topic, just believe us.

Just believe that when we say it’s a bad day. That even though I am walking with my cane today. I am fine, it just helps sometimes. That I understand my limitations. That I am not giving up on the things I wanted in life. I am choosing to live a life where I spend most days okay. At a functioning normal. Not stuck in bed because you thought it would be a good idea for me to go to that concert or take on another activity. I learned the hard way when I didn’t want to change. When I liked the life I already had. When I thought I was giving it all up, which wasn’t the case.

Just Listen the first time

We shouldn’t have to have a discussion more than once. Please understand, that I understand that you don’t see when my S.O. has to carry me up the stairs just so I can pee. Or that he has to bathe me from time to time. I know you don’t see me after the weekend we spent at New York Comic-Con. When I am stuck in bed. In the dark, under the covers, probably annoyed at the dog who wants to torture the cat or vice versa and now won’t go upstairs without me. And I am unable to walk or even turn over.

I don’t mean to have to cancel plans. To be unavailable when you need me. I would love to go on vacation with everyone when they wanted. To spend the weekend in some place with flashing lights and music. Where we drink until we forget where our room is. But I have to think about the next day and the day after. About being able to walk. You don’t and I understand that. So why is it so hard for you to understand that for me?

Why can’t we all understand that my life has changed differently than it has changed for you? That I dreamed of traveling the world and being Lara Croft, but I get to cry about how that is never going to happen. Not you. Could you imagine me having an attack in a foreign country? I can hah.

That only I know how I feel right now, that my illness can’t handle the stress of school or work or a three-hour party at Dave n Busters for my niece’s eighth birthday. Sometimes I did them anyway. Knowing I wouldn’t feel well after or during because it was for someone and I paid the price.

Dave n Busters I’m looking at you.

At the end of the day, I didn’t make these decisions lightly. It kept me up for nights on end. It still does when you ask for help with your homework and still make comments about how I should be a teacher when I can barely work anymore.

Did I think this would be my life at 28? No. I thought I would have a family already, my dream job and life. But things change and that is okay. I accept them, you have to too.

I Don’t Need Your Pity

I know I am young. I know the average age for my illness is much older. And trust me I know I am too young to be this sick. Yet here we are. I don’t want you to look at me with that sad look as if my life is over. It’s not, it’s just different and it is allowed to be. It’s doesn’t have to be everything I planned. Or everything you think it should be. It can be new and exciting. I can enjoy the little things and big things, as I see fit and am able.

Here’s My Pitch.

Do you have questions? Well, good ask them. Don’t be afraid too. I would love to answer them. I will tell you whatever it is you want to know. That I know.

Do you know exactly what my disease is? Most doctors don’t either, isn’t that fun?

Have I told you I can’t do the thing you want me to do? Don’t ask me again. You will notice, by the third or fourth time I repeat myself it won’t be as kind. Which I don’t mean to do. It’s just–guys, I’m tired. Always. No matter how much sleep I get, or what I do. I could relax in bed all day. I will be exhausted.

And all I want is to make this easier for both of us. I struggle with canceling plans or leaving early. Being unable to help when I used to be able too. Not going to places I want to go. It’s always a fight and it’s not exactly one I am winning here. So let’s work together.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 31--In Sickness

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “In Sickness.” Ienzo catches the flu.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

He’d truly felt strange all day. Something wasn’t right.

The fatigue was weighing him down. He found it hard to focus on the task of the day--helping Ansem proof lines of code. A hot headache bloomed behind his eyes, thick and horrible. Ienzo wasn’t pleased to excuse himself, but he knew he would be just about useless.

He made himself tea, tried to sweat out the inevitable illness, but all he did was make himself hot and irritable.

He’d been taking considerably better care of himself, but still he’d fallen sick anyway.

Ienzo lay on the couch under a blanket, shivering a bit. Beans curled against his hipbone, her warmth welcome. What he should really do was get into bed and call Demyx, but Ienzo knew he was busy enough as is--he was filling in for Aerith today--and besides, he could deal with being ill. And he would go to bed--once he found the energy.

What time was it? Had he fallen asleep? It was as though time had clipped, which was concerning. Where had he put his phone? Goodness, it was all the way over by the door. It might as well have been on another world.

Just get up, Ienzo.  

His elbows were shaky, and they ached. He cursed his corporeality. What was the point of a body if it continuously broke down? Sweat crawled along his hairline, both hot and cold. Was it the tea that did this? Merely a fever? His thought processes were muddy at best, and he felt he might vomit.

It had gotten dark; when had that happened? The door creaked, louder than he thought possible.

“Oh… hey, sorry. I thought you were asleep. Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

A lamp flicked on, blinding him and sending a flare of pain through his head. He might’ve said something, but he forgot it immediately. He heard the bathroom door shut, water running. It could’ve been an hour, or ten minutes, before Ienzo felt a cold hand against his cheek. “Geez, you’re out of it,” Demyx said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not… well.” Things were dangerously sheeny. “I was going to call you--”

“Couldn’t get up?”

“...No.” A wave of shame broke over him.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’ve got me, right? I’ll patch you up.” He slid his arms under Ienzo, hefting him up. A shock of dizziness made everything go gray for a minute. “God, you’re warm.”

Ienzo felt the bed under him, and his sweater being tugged off. “...What?”

“You’re overheating in all these layers.”

Ienzo could not recall putting on more than one, but evidently he had.

“Let me take a look at you.” Demyx touched his forehead. “Bet you feel pretty achy, huh?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve been dealing with the flu all day. You’re basically a textbook case. I must’ve carried it in with me. Sorry.”

“...How bad is it?”

He exhaled heavily. “You’re at about forty now. If I had to guess.”

“...Fuck.”

He laughed a little. “I can fix it, okay?”

The next thing he knew he was being given a glass of something sour. He flinched.

“I know it sucks,” Demyx said, “But we’ve gotta get your fever down.”

He was able to get it down, as well as some other kind of pill. Demyx had explained it to him, he was sure, but his mind felt like a sieve.

“Bet you feel quite a bit woozy,” he said.

“I don’t recall ever feeling like this before.”

“Well, don’t worry. It should pass in a few hours. Maybe you should sleep, to make time go faster?”

“I do worry.”

Demyx’s face came into focus for a moment. “About what? I’ve got you.”

“What if I were… to…” He was shivering now. “...become delusional, like Ansem?”

He smoothed Ienzo’s hair away from his face. “Well, if you did, I’m right here, okay?”

“But…”

“But what?”

Ienzo felt his eyes watering. “I’m not sure.”

He squeezed his hand. “Babe, it’s okay.” A pause, then, “Do you… do you feel lost like that?”

“I don’t think so.” His body was so heavy and so cold. He tightened the covers around his shoulders. “I still… have nightmares. I feel they may be much worse while I’m--”

“Try to ride this out, okay? Take a few deep breaths.”

“I don’t like the way this feels.” His voice sounded outside of himself.

“It’ll pass. It’ll be over before you know it. Just let the medicine do its work, okay?”

His breath caught. He pressed his face into the pillow. Demyx rubbed his back through the covers.

“I think you have a great excuse to have a good cry,” he said softly. “I’ll even pretend it didn’t happen.”

Ienzo’s lips twitched in an uneven smile. “You shouldn’t have married me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not… you’re too…” He heard the sob more than felt it.

“Baby…” Demyx kissed his forehead. “You’re still so warm. Let me…” Ienzo heard him wring something out, felt the cold cloth on his face. “It’s just the fever, twisting things. The more you stress about it, the worse it will get.”

“How do you do this all the time?” he asked. “Take care of people. It must be so exhausting.”

“It’s not easy.”

“Do you regret it?”

Demyx thought about this for a long time. He ran a hand through his hair, flipping the heavier middle part left and right again. “...No,” he said at last. “It feels good, getting rid of that pain. I never realized how heavy apathy is. You know?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“It takes work, to not care,” Demyx said. “I’m too… I’m too tired.”

“I suppose that is wise.”

“Mm.”

The pain in his body was lessening. “Oh, goodness, I’ve probably gotten you sick too.”

“I’ll take it. You’re still pretty cute, even when you’re a mess.”

“You flatter me.” Ienzo bit his lip.

“...I took one of the cures, anyway. In case. Get ahead of it, right?”

“Don’t give up on me,” he mumbled.

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you’re just a little delirious. It makes things… weird. Like, the depression. It’s not… your reality.” He looked so tired.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course. Like what?”

“Like…” He was feeling heavy. “Like… I don’t know.”

“Get some sleep.”

“Lay down with me?”

“Yeah, I should… I’m exhausted.”

Was he delirious, or did Demyx sound sad?

He drifted… and he woke suddenly, covered in sweat.

“Oh good,” Demyx said. “Your fever broke.”

The world was clearer, but not quite sharp. Ienzo sat up. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little. I was worried. You were burning up there for a while.”

Ienzo took his hand. They were cold, a bit clammy. "I was just ill."

"I know. I…" Demyx laughed a little, but there was a dark undercurrent to it. "It's hard to see you like this, you know. Helpless. It reminds me of…"

Ienzo took a deep breath. "That affected you a whole lot more than you ever admitted, huh?"

"It shouldn't."

"But it did." Ienzo reached for his hand. The sheets were damp, cool--with his sweat, he realized, and he shuddered.

"I…" Demyx rested his face in his hand. "I feel like I keep going back to this. I know you were just sick, but I still…" He exhaled. "I see it too much. In my head. You were… you were dying. For me. I… the thought of losing you… is that codependent?"

He tried to think, but his mind felt like sludge. "I don't think so. There are… layers as to why you feel this way. All those people you lost then… that's just below the surface." There was a flash of something like insight. "Is that why you do this? So nobody else dies?"

"Maybe? Is that a… good reason?" He exhaled shakily. "I… I don't know. It's a lot of pressure and I don't know how to not take it personally. This just… reminds me of that." He looked towards Ienzo. "...I shouldn't be talking about this now. You probably feel like shit."

"I don't feel great."

"...Sorry."

"It's okay. Don't be ashamed."

He nodded, sniffling a little. "Let me, um. Get you something."

"You should talk to Aerith about this. Maybe she can help you more than I."

Demyx handed him another glass of medicine. "Maybe. Did you… did you have any dreams?"

"Not that I can recall. Nor do I recall falling asleep. Which I suppose is a mercy." He propped himself up, his arms shaky and sore. "Why don't you get some rest? I'm alright now. Things might feel a bit better. You tend to get grouchy when you don't have enough sleep, which as of late is quite often."

Demyx nodded. Sometimes the knots of their pain were easy to unravel; this was not one of those times. "You'll wake me up? If you need something?"

"...I also plan on going back to sleep. But yes." He squeezed Demyx's hand. "I love you."

"I… I love you too." He leaned in and kissed Ienzo before he could pull away.

"You're most certainly going to catch it now," he said.

"Eh, I've been breathing your air for hours."

For a long moment, Ienzo watched him settle. It occurred to him--not for the first time--that love couldn't solve their issues. Demyx had to work things out on his own.

Ienzo may have just been prone for several hours, but he felt like he was also witnessing something helpless. He exhaled. He was not in the headspace to be able to deal with this.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.

---

Ienzo did feel noticeably better when he woke again. It was midafternoon, if the light was anything to go by. There was an unpleasant film all along his skin, from the fever. The first thing he needed was to bathe; then the inevitable, tedious process of cleaning the place down.

He heard the slight, soft pluck of Demyx's sitar; he was already awake, on the couch, his left hand wandering aimlessly along the frets. In the bright sunlight, Ienzo could see the glint off his wedding ring. It was a bit dazzling, hypnotic.

He figured he must still be rather ill.

Ienzo stood, feeling some degree of vertigo.

Demyx's head snapped up. "Sorry--did I wake you?"

"No. I heard it in my sleep. Quite pleasant, actually." He stretched. He never did like the way sickness felt, the way it made his body yet more alien.

"How do you feel?"

"Better. Not good." He felt Beans rub against his legs and gave her a pat. "No work today?"

"No… I… figure I might be contagious. So here I am." He shrugged. "You should eat something. The antiviral's probably going to make your stomach upset."

"Nausea is the least of my worries." Ienzo sat next to him. "Something is very clearly going on with you."

"I…"  Demyx cut himself off and inhaled. The sitar disappeared, almost hesitantly. "You're sick. You should be resting. You don't need more stress."

"Deflecting isn't going to do any good. We're sick, and we're stuck with each other. I am going to make you speak with me." He touched Demyx's cheek; it was clammy. "So. What's wrong, hm?"

Demyx shied away from his touch. "I don't know, I feel so…" He trailed off. "I feel so fucking empty, okay? Is that what you want me to tell you?"

Ienzo froze. "For how long?"

He took a breath, sucking in his cheeks. "I did something stupid," he said. "I… I messed up. Someone died."

He blinked. "When?"

Demyx shrugged.

"How long have you been sitting on this?"

"A… a week or so."

Ienzo bit down hard on the indignation he felt. "What exactly happened?"

He looked down at his empty hands. "It… there was this kid," he said slowly. "Couldn't figure out what was wrong with him for the life of me. Something degenerative? I don't know. I figured… it was something that would go away on its own. I should have asked for help, I should have asked for a second opinion, but he just…" Demyx covered his mouth. "I couldn't stop the memories."

Ienzo took his hand.

"Every time I feel like I'm getting better this is what happens. I get… stuck. I'm not… what if this keeps happening? Forever?"

"Maybe you should stop doing this. At least for a little while. You've burnt yourself out, and now you're more vulnerable to your triggers."

"Then what would I do?"

"What do you want?"

"The thing is, I do like helping people. I just--"

"You have to take care of yourself too. You have a little more to work on before you can withstand all the pressure in a healthy way. It's okay."

He really was getting worked up now; Ienzo could see the flush in his neck. "I fail all the time--"

"You're not failing."

He took a sharp breath, a few tears slipping free. Ienzo put his arms around Demyx. "You can cry, if you want. I'll pretend it didn't happen."

Ienzo felt him shudder. He cried for a while, almost worryingly, but finally Demyx pulled himself together. "I'm sorry," Demyx said.

"Oh, love. You did nothing wrong."

He wiped at his eyes.

"I wish you would tell me about these things."

"I tried, I did, but--"

"It was less painful to protect yourself?"

He nodded. "But we're married, I should tell you everything--"

"Not necessarily. You're entitled to some privacy, you know. But if something truly hurts… let me help you. It's just as important for you to tend to your mental health as the physical. Think of it like…"  Ienzo bit his lip, which was dry and cracked from illness. "Think of yourself as your own patient."

"That's… not half bad advice. You're good at this."

"I'm good at you. That took some practice."

He smiled through the tears.

Ienzo kissed his cheek. "Relax today. Catch your breath."

He snorted. "You should too. Mister Forty-degree fever. God, it was terrifying."

"Then it's a deal?"

"It's a deal."

[greeneggsandhann]

Hey guys. I’m Hannah. I am an Alcoholic and an Addict. Both Alcoholic and Addict are capitalized because I look at my addiction and alcoholism as an asset to my life rather than an expense. Here is my journey:

I know exactly where and when my disease started. It was 2010 and I was 16 years old. Some junior girls invited me to a sleepover with them. My friend and I have never drank before, so we thought this was going to be the perfect occasion, somewhere we were safe and somewhere we couldn’t get caught,...and if we did get caught by our parents, we wouldn’t actually get into any trouble other than a lecture or a very intense hangover. So, we all sat in a circle with two water bottles one filled with strawberry vodka and one filled with orange vodka. They taught and demonstrated how to take a “shot.” Step 1) Put a little bit of koolaid in your mouth Step 2) Drink the vodka Step 3) Chug the rest of the koolaid After I took that drink I remember my lips went numb along with my teeth. I thought this was crazy and I loved every feeling of it. We each had about 3 shots and within the hour we all were laughing and had a pretty good buzz going on. Things kept coming in and out for me. One minute I would be upstairs and the next I was downstairs trying to take more shots with my friend Jo. I finished the bottles and passed out in my own throw up. The next day when I woke up I was filled with shame and guilt because this poor girl had to clean up after me all night. I was mortified and embarrassed I couldn’t hang like the rest of them. Also, I felt like shit. Of course, I never would have known at that point in time that my brain functions differently than other peoples brain. In my 16 year old head I never thought I could be an alcoholic just by that one time.

I moved away from home for my first time and tried out college. I made up this huge bullshit story to my doctor about how I needed adderall to help me focus better in school. That was all I had to say and BOOM wish granted. The world in my hands. I could do so much more and actually enjoy anything I was doing while on it. About a month after I had gotten that script I dropped out of school and found a passion in the food service industry. Where I moved up fast. I Became a bartender and then moved up to management by the time I was 21. I was working long hours, close-open shifts. My tolerance with adderall built up. And I needed more and more to make it through the day. Eventually, my script lasted less than a week and that is when I started spending hundreds of dollars on adderall a month. When I didn’t have the money and couldn’t take it, I became a completely different person. I was irritable and lazy, always tired and pretty much careless. I remember thinking out loud one day to a friend about how much money I am spending on it and how I felt like I didn’t have any passion or care about anything when I was on it. But I didn’t think that was a stopping point I just wanted it to go back to how it used to be where I could take one per day and go to sleep at night without having to feel wired.

About a year of being an assistant manager, I was often tardy for my shifts. My best friend in the whole world fired me. It was something I needed. I needed to get out of the industry and move back home with my mom and save up some money. So that is what I tried to do. I stopped calling my doctor for the adderall because I knew it was killing me. That was when I started picking up pints of vodka. One day I had missed work because I got too fucked up during the day and passed out. I woke up to my mom screaming at me. So I got in my car and was on my way to my aunts. On the way I was hit by a huge SUV. I was still drunk and didn’t have my seat belt on and passed out in the car for a few minutes. When I woke up there were so many lights, firetrucks, an ambulance. My head was gushing blood. At my window there was the couple who were in the other car. I started screaming and crying and they were the sweetest couple ever. They hugged me and asked if they could pray with me. So we prayed. I was off in the ambulance next and asked them to take me to Mercy Health hospital because there must be some God there waiting for me. That happened to be the nurse who clearly knew what had happened but refused to do any blood work on me that could check my BAC. She was an angel and stitched up my head with no judgement whatsoever.

My next brilliant idea was to move to Detroit with my cousin, Jewell. Find a new scenery away from everything kinda like a fresh start for me. I was doing pretty good there. I didn’t have very much money to drink and no adderall. I found a good job at the airport. Then started bartending again and suddenly had good meeting so I started drinking more and more. Started buying pints every night to just chill and have a little fun and something to look forward to. Never really thought it was a big deal, but I never told my cousin about it either because she would be all weird and try to tell me I shouldn’t be drinking so much and watching my every move. So it was my little secret. Work was going well. Longer shifts were getting more difficult to me and I couldn’t understand why. I started getting really dizzy and felt like I was going to faint. My hands would shake and I was sweat profusely. I thought I had vertigo or something like that. Not once did I blame it on the alcohol.

The year went by and I moved out. My car broke down. Back at home with my mom and my brother. Drinking a lot. Having mental breakdowns often. Haunting dreams. That brought me to Pine Rest where I was an impatient for mental illness and drug abuse. I went into this facility thinking “its unrealistic I am never going to have a drink again.” That kind of attitude. When I left there I felt so good for the first time in a while.

About a month later I got wasted while working. I was taking xanax and sneaking shots while I was working. I got sent home. Probably fired. I drove and smashed my brand new 2015 honda civic into a parked car. Tried to start my car and get away. But my car was too smart and notified the police. I blew .31 and was still functional (kinda) So i went to Jail, and I tried every kind of way to get out. That includes faking a seizure and scratching so hard my wrists would bleed. Obviously, that didn’t work. I was too embarrassed and did not want to face my guilt and shame to call someone, so I didn’t. ohhhhh but they found me. and brought the whole litter to pick me up. (aunts cousins niece brother mom) I was offered to go to rehab that day and I told them that jail was rehab enough,

One month after that incident I was on my way back from Detroit I was feeling really sad and depressed and I had a lot of thoughts about suicide in my head. I was drinking the whole way back and made the selfish decision to speed up and hit a semi going 85 mph on the freeway. I didnt know what the plan was in that moment, I didn’t know if I actually wanted to die or just wanted a scare. It was so selfish and I cannot believe I would ever put other people at risk. I am so ashamed to this day. The cop asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital or get breathalyzed. I choose the hospital. my BAC was 5X over the legal limit. and when my aunt and my mom showed up I cried and told them I was ready to go to rehab and I needed help. The next day I was checked into Brighton rehab center for two weeks.

Rehab was amazing. It is not a bad place to be. Its a safe and comfortable place to share your emotions and to withdraw without any judgement. I made life long friends and learned so much about recovery there.

Right after that trip I continued going to my SMART Recovery meetings and had just moved into a sober living house. I was doing really well I had gotten a job, learned how the bus system works. I learned so damn much in that month of being there. But another Relapse happened. It was a 4 day relapse. This time I was DONE.

I made my second trip to Brighton rehab center for two weeks. I knew this was not enough, After that, I admitted myself into the Sanford house for 44 days of rehab. I was doing well and I was nervous about leaving because I would actually have to start connecting with people at meetings etc. I really wanted to give AA a try so i started attending meetings. I found a sponsor right away who is truly amazing. She has taught me so much and guided me through the steps. I started going to YPAA meetings and connecting with young people in recovery. I have made so many life long friends through all of this. I had finally found a hope that I never thought could exist. I know that this is still early recovery and some people might say it’s my “pink cloud” but I have seen so much God in my life right now. Finally, I feel free and I feel actual Joy and contentment.

Being an Alcoholic and an Addict is an asset to my life. Because without this disease I would not be the strong and hopeful woman I am today, It is so amazing to be able to say I am Proud of me.

Long post. Thanks for reading. If you or anyone you know are struggling with addiction and need some support or an ear. PLEASE do not hesitate to contact in my messages on here.

Thanks again for reading. KEEP COMING BACK IT WORKS IF YOU WORK IT AND IT SUCKS IF YOU DONT

ONE DAY AT A TIME

[princessofthedarkrealm]

Queen of Ash and Dust- An IT/Dark Tower crossover- Chapter 13

You opened your eyes. Your stomach roiled and gurgled. Pale sunlight shone through your window. You sat up. Roland was gone. Had he stayed with you through the night? You swung your feet out of bed. When you went to stand, your stomach gave a lurch. You sat back on the bed, placing your hand on your belly. That was odd. It must have been something you ate. But you, Roland and Allie had all been eating the same things. You stood up again. Fighting your sudden and mysterious nausea, you dressed.  As you started to descend the stairs, you were hit with a sudden sense of vertigo. You grabbed the railing, your breaths coming out in gasps. Where had that come from all of a sudden? The vertigo passed and you tried again.

You heard the sound of sizzling as you made your way to the kitchen and smelled something that reminded you of hash browns. You only wished it was hash browns. But corn fritters worked well enough. The scene in the kitchen was just as it had been the last two mornings, Allie at the stove and Roland at the table. When Roland saw you, his usual neutral visage turned to one of concern.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” He stood.

Allie turned. “Oh dear,” she said in a concerned tone. “Honey, are you feeling well?”

“I’m uh… I guess I’m okay.”

Actually you did not feel okay. Your stomach churned and when you would move your head, the room felt like it was tilting.

Roland pulled out a chair for you. “Here. Sit down.”

You sat heavily. You put your elbows on the table and your head in your hands.

“Hope you ain’t comin’ down with something,” said Allie.

“Oh, God, I hope not.”

You heard a chair being moved close by. Roland must have moved to sit closer to you.

“How long have you been up for?” he asked.

“Not long.”

“And you’ve been feeling poorly the whole time? You do look kind of pale,” said Allie.

“Uh huh.” Your stomach gave another lurch. You started rubbing it. “I am sooo nauseated.”

“Hmm. Definitely not good,” said Allie.

“Do you feel hungry?” Roland asked you.

“Roland, when on God’s green earth has a woman ever been hungry and nauseated at the same time?” Allie said in a chiding voice. “Especially if she’s-”

You held your breath. Tried to fight the bile that was threatening to rising in your throat. No. That wasn’t possible. You had lost the baby. And Walter couldn’t have… You were already pregnant for Pennywise when he…

You cast Allie a careful glance. “I lost my baby, Allie. You know that.”

The two of you stared at each other for a minute. Finally Allie gave you a small smile.

“You’re right. It must be something else then.” She went back to her corn fritters.

You cast your gaze downwards. You could feel Roland watching you intently. What was the gunslinger thinking right now?

He stood. “I’ll be right back.” He left the kitchen.

**********

Roland made his way to the washroom. Something was definitely ailing Y/N. Her skin was paler than usual. And she didn’t seem like her usual self. She always carried herself so straight. Now she just seemed to sag. He found a rag and made for the well. Maybe a cool rag on her face would help.

He let out a weary sight. He was so tired of seeing her like this. Every time he would think she was out of the clear, something else would happen. He just wanted to pull her tight against him, tuck her under his coat, and shield her from all of the pain and anguish that kept being thrown at her again and again.

He wet the rag good at the well, then went back inside. When he got back to the kitchen, Y/N was nowhere to be found, but he could hear the sounds of retching.

“She couldn’t make it?”

Allie let out a noisy breath as she put some corn fritters on the plate. “Nope. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that girl’s got a bun in her oven.”

Roland felt his chest tighten. Y/N had said Walter had been in her room. She said he didn’t do anything, but what if…?  Roland’s jaw clenched. If he ever got his hands on Walter, the bastard would be lucky if all Roland did was strangle him. Or stab him. But no justice would be good enough. Not for Y/N. Or Roland’s parents. Or his gunslinger brethren.

A side door to the kitchen opened. Y/N’s face was green. Roland had to fight to not scoop her up and carry her upstairs into his own bedroom, tuck her into his bed, lock the door, and crawl in next to her. He just wanted to hold her. Wanted to protect her from the sick and twisted bastard that stalked her and even from her good for nothing excuse for a husband.

If he even really was her husband. He remembered what Y/N had told Roman behind the saloon yesterday. He would have to ask her about that.

But not right now. Right now Roland would do what he did best. He would take care of her.

And he would love her.

“I got you a wet rag.”

Y/N wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. She gave him a weary smile. “Thank you.” She pulled up a chair on the other side of the one Roland had been sitting in.

He handed her the rag and she started wiping her face with it. “Ugh. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “And you just started feeling like this?” Roland asked. “Right when I woke up. But my stomach was already nauseated, like it had stared sometime during the night.” Roland drew his lips into a line. “Is there anything else bothering you, or just your stomach?” “I caught a little dizzy spell as I was coming down the stairs and for a little bit after. But I think it’s going away now.” Yes something was definitely not right with her. “Allie cracked an egg into a skillet. “Why don’t you go lay down? Roland, you can go with her. And I’ll bring the two of you up some food in a little bit.” Allie gave Roland a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow at him. He scowled at her. What was Allie up to? She had been mentioning to Roland lately about how pretty Y/N was and how much she needed someone to care for her. Of course Roland cared, more than he would admit to anyone, but that didn’t mean he would act on it. Y/N was a married woman and not to mention half Roland’s age. Plus he had his duty to think about—bringing about the demise of the man who had taken from Roland everyone that he ever cared about.

Y/N calmly folded up the rag and set it on the table to her right. Not everyone, he reminded himself. “That sounds like a nice idea,” he agreed. “Yeah it does,” Allie said. She put one hand on her hip and turned her attention towards Y/N. “How about it? It’s the Sabbath anyway. How about some breakfast in bed?”

You cast an uneasy gaze back and forth between Allie and Roland. You wanted to go back to bed alright. But it would be to hide. You knew how childish it was to think that, but you really didn’t want to have to face the world anymore. “I...can go lay down,” you said slowly. “By...myself.” You cast a sheepish glance at Roland. He just stared at you, his face neutral. Goddamn it, just say something, you thought. “Alright. Do you at least want me to walk you up?” he asked. Damnit. “Alright,” you said. Roland followed you upstairs. You stopped at your door. “Allie said there’s a church service in town. I would ask you if you wanted to come, but-“ “Walter didn’t have sex with me again.” Roland tilted his head back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’m not pregnant. He didn’t...put his hands on me that way.” You crossed your arms over your chest. You really wished you knew the extent of Roland’s feelings towards you. Not that it would make any difference. You did care about him as a friend and maybe you were a little bit attracted to him, you finally had to admit to yourself, but that was it. “I believe you,” he told you. “And I truly hope you feel better soon. If you need anything, just ask Allie. I’ll be back soon.”

He lifted his hand as if to embrace you, but dropped it. He turned and left. Your heart dropped. Roland really was doing his best. You wanted to call after him, but stopped yourself. You went back under the covers. Your nausea had mostly subsided since you had thrown up. Maybe it was just something you had eaten that just hadn’t agreed with you. You laid on your side facing the window. You wondered how many of the towns people went to church. Maybe you could go to the barn again after breakfast. Allie finally came up. You ate, but not much. Just a fried egg and a corn fritter. You didn’t want to overdo it. After you were done, you decided to go for a walk. The town was dead. A stillness hung over the air. Normally that would have freaked you out, but today it was a comfort. You could have all the space you needed. You found your mule, Billy, you had decided to name him. You put some grain in his stall. When you came out, you stopped in your tracks. Three men stood before you. They were all dressed in silky, loose-fitting black shirts and black trousers. And they all wore the same expression that bordered between neutral and a scowl. Either they all worked for someone very important or they were about to be going clubbing.

You cleared your throat. “Can I help you boys with something?”

The guy closest to you, who was not much taller than you, and lean with short dark hair and intense dark eyes, said in a deadpan voice, “Our boss sent us to check on something. We do not wish to hurt you.”

You could have laughed. This was like a scene from a low budget action movie.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Well then, by all means, don’t let me stand in your way,” you said tartly.

“You are the way,” he answered in a placid voice.

Before you could ask what he meant, a dark hood was thrown over your head. You started to struggle, but strong arms grabbed you from behind.

“Grab her legs,” someone hollered.

Holy shit! They were kidnapping you. And you had a feeling it wasn’t to bring you to some tranquil cabin in the woods for a nice little chat like Chris had done. Sure enough, someone went for your legs next. You tried to kick out, but whoever had you was smart. They grabbed your legs from the side. All you could do was squirm. You were not letting this happen again. You closed your eyes and threw your mind outward in a screech.

ROLAND! PENNYWISE! HELP! I’M BEING KIDNAPPED! SOMEONE, PLEASE!

You felt the hem of your shirt being lifted to expose your belly.

“No!”

You tried to jerk away, but it was like your body was stuck in a steel grip. You cried out when you felt a small jab in the right side of your abdomen followed quickly by a stinging sensation. No one moved or spoke. You couldn’t see at all what was happening to you.

((((()))))

Walter felt her fear as if it was his own. He hated it. But it was necessary. And when she used her Shine it lit up like a bright star in his mind. She was getting stronger. Soon he would find out just how strong. And how much closer she was to completely becoming his.

He closed his eyes and smiled.

((((()))))

“You know this isn’t smart right? If you know who I am, then you know who I am mated to and what he is. He will find you.”

No one answered. The stinging sensation lasted for several more seconds, and then the pressure on your abdomen was withdrawn.

“We have it. Let her go.”

All at once, all hands on you fell away. You staggered.

“Let’s move out!”

You heard retreating footsteps. With a shaky hand, you removed the hood from over your head. Your assailants were gone. Your abdomen burned and stung. You lifted your shirt. There was a red spot where the jabbing feeling had been. Had you been stuck with something? And if you were, had something been injected into you or taken out? And what was the purpose for the hood? You started shaking. You took several steps towards the front of the barn. You were almost there when another wave of dizziness hit you. You started seeing red. You plopped yourself heavily on the ground in the doorway. You swayed sideways and closed your eyes. Roland would find you. You placed your hand on your belly as an uneasy feeling started to settle in it again. You let your head fall back against the aged wood and tried to focus your breathing.

Seriously?! How many times in the past couple of months had you ended up passing out, throwing up, or both? At least Roman had been there for you all those times. Would he ever be there again? Or had he finally given up on you? Maybe he had thought you had given up on him.

Your world went dark.

***********

Y/N.

Someone was shaking you.

Y/N.

“Ummm.”

More shaking.

“Y/N, wake up.”

You stared upward. You were lying on the floor just inside the barn. Roland was right over you, his hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

You hoisted yourself up into a seating position. You must have passed out again. You had been doing that way too easily lately. Like your body was trying to go into hibernation any time something crazy happened. Maybe if you ever got back to Derry, one day your theatre group would decide to do Sleeping Beauty. Ha. That would be an easy role to nab.

“I uh…a group of men attacked me. One of them put some kind of hood over my head and another one did this.” You lifted your shirt to show him the red dot. A small bruise was already starting to form around it. “I think they stuck me with something. But I couldn’t see.”

“Stuck you with something? Like what?”

“I don’t know. I just know it stung.”

“Did you see where they went?”

You shook your head.

“Can you stand?”

Roland held out his arm. You grabbed onto it and used it to steady yourself as you stood. He put his other arm around your back. You cast a worried glance around. The two of you were alone.

“There’s no one out there,” Roland said. “Did they say anything? The men who did this to you?”

You told everything. As your story progressed, you noticed Roland tighten his grip on you.

“And then one of them said ‘We have it. Let her go.’ And then they left.”

“We have it?”

You nodded.

“That doesn’t sound good. Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Roland released his hold on you, but kept his arm around you as he led you away from the barn. The sun was nearing its zenith.

“The one with the dark hair said you were the way,” Roland asked.

“Yes. I wish he knew what they meant. The whole situation scares me.”

Roland squeezed your shoulder. “We’re gonna get you back to your room. I’ll have Allie keep the place locked up. I have a feeling she’s not going to get much business anyway.”

“So how was the service?”

“What you would expect. Fire and brimstone. I left early though. For obvious reasons.”

You shot him a hopeful glance. He had heard you. He had actually heard you. You didn’t really think he would have. But it had worked.

Your heart leapt. Maybe Pennywise had heard you and would show up too.

Just maybe.

It did not take much to convince Allie to keep the saloon locked up. As soon as Roland told her of your attack, Allie locked the doors back behind you. “Sister, you do not have good luck with that barn.” You only halfway heard her. The spot on your stomach where that man had injected you at burned and throbbed. Roland must have noticed your vacant look. You felt his hand squeeze your shoulder again. “Let me go check your room and you can go up.”

You sat down at one of the tables. You would hear the wind howling outside. “Sounds like a storm coming,” Allie idly remarked. You sighed. That was just what you all needed. To have your hard pan dirt turn to mud. But maybe it should rain. It would be a nice change from the dry relentless heat. Several minutes later, Roland returned and announced that the rest of the building looked secure. You didn’t say anything but you really didn’t believe that mattered. Not when you were dealing with men who could just appear out of nowhere. Roland followed you to your room. You were so tired of feeling like a hospital patient. Your window was rattling from the gusting wind outside. You sighed. “I guess I’ll lay down. Again.” “I know. But rest is good. Especially after all you’ve been through.” Your heart leapt as an idea came to you. Maybe you wouldn’t have to rest alone. “Hey, Roland, I want to ask you something. And you can say no if you want.” You turned to face him. The look on his face said he was ready. Ready for anything you had to throw at him. Or for anything you had to offer him. You didn’t know if that was good or bad. You guessed it was time to find out. “Can you...lay down with me? Next to me?” Roland raised an eyebrow. “I just don’t want to feel alone right now.” Roland swallowed. Was this really a good idea? “If that’s what you want,” he responded. Your stomach flip flopped. This was the moment where things had started to heat up between you and Pennywise. He had spent the night with you in your bed. Of course you hadn’t had sex, but there had been other things. You pushed the memory of that night from your mind. The last thing you needed right now was to remember Pennywise’s fingers pumping in and out of you, his bells jingling on his wrists.

You sat to remove your shoes. Nope. None of that would take place today. You pulled back the covers and climbed in, scooting over to give Roland some room. You laid on your side, facing him. He took off his coat and to your surprise, his guns, and set them on the chair. He didn’t remove his boots. He climbed in bed next to you on top of the sheets and laid on his back, his hands laced together across his chest. You wondered if this was as awkward for him as it was for you. Neither of you spoke.

And the wind continued to howl.

**********

Walter was pacing in his study when Sayre arrived. The vampire held a small, heart shaped vile in his hand.

“I have what you have been waiting for, sire.”

“Good. Now drink it,” Walter commanded.

Sayre opened it and took a small swig. He closed his eyes. Walter waited.

“A strong hama-demon, sire. Your powers have almost completely eclipsed that of her mate’s. She will make a fine queen.”

Walter’s heart almost quivered in his chest from the excitement. “Excellent.”

Sayre’s eyes opened. Walter scowled at the look of worry on the vampire’s face.

“What?”

“There is…something else, sire.”

Walter put his hands on his hips. “Then what? What is it? Tell me.”

“The girl…is with child.”

**********

Bang!

Roland’s eyes popped open and his head shot up. Y/N’s door had been thrown open. Sheb the piano player was standing there. He had a crazed look in his eyes and a knife in his hand.

“Ahh. The Interloper and his demon whore. How appropriate.”

Y/N was sleeping snuggled against Roland’s side with her hand on his chest. He was surprised she hadn’t awoken. She wouldn’t have a choice now.

Roland rolled out from underneath her. With an inhuman yell, Sheb came at him with his knife raised. Roland went to the right just as Sheb stabbed downward. The knife barely missed Roland’s arm. The larger man grabbed Sheb’s right forearm with his right hand. Sheb couldn’t move his arm. Roland had to work to grab the knife from the little man’s grip, but he got it and threw it aside. Roland punched the piano player in the gut, causing the little man to double over.

It was over just as fast as it had started. Roland grabbed Sheb by the collar. He turned his gaze towards the bed. Y/N was sitting up awake. He knew the look of terror on her eyes would haunt him for many days to come.

**********

Walter stared at Sayre as if the vampire had just told him that all twelve Guardians of the Tower were about to descend upon them.

“What do you mean ‘with child’? That is not possible. I killed it.”

“Blood does not lie, sire.”

“Well then, there must be some explanation. Pennywise must have lain with her.”

He started to pace again. Y/N was pregnant. There was no way in this universe that that was possible.

“You would have known if he had, sire,” Sayre continued. “Just as you would have known if she had lain with the gunslinger.”

Walter hated when the vampire was right. But something wasn’t adding up. She had lost the demon clown’s seed after he had taken her in the barn. That meant it would have flushed out any sperm that he had just injected into her as well. Unless…

It wasn’t completely impossible. Walter was practically a demon himself, being a cousin to the Crimson King. But one thing was certain—his new paramour was pregnant.

And Walter, it seemed…was the father.

**********

Rain lashed at the windows. Thunder rumbled and lightning streaked across the sky. Roland poked his head back into Y/N’s room again. It was well after midnight. And she was still sitting up. He saw her head fall, but she sat up straight again. Roland shook his head.

After the incident with Sheb, Y/N just kind of went into herself. She wouldn’t speak. She didn’t even want to eat. Roland took a deep breath and tried to keep himself in check. What if this was it for her? What if this newest attack, an attack that Roland had tried over and over to assure her was because of him this time, was finally too much for her?

He heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. To both his surprise and severe annoyance, it was Roman. The young man wasn’t even wet.

Not a man, he had to remind himself.

“What are you doing out here?” Roman demanded.

“She’s not sleeping.”

“Is she in her room?” Roman turned his gaze in that direction. He started to go there, but Roland blocked his way.

“Wait. There’s something you need to know.”

Roland told Roman about what had happened in the barn. Roman’s face slowly turned to one of worry to one of murder.

“And one of them stuck her in the belly with something?”

“That’s what she said.”

“And then someone else came in this afternoon? Someone after you?”

“That’s right.”

Roman’s eyes fell to Y/N sitting on her bed. “I know how to pull her out of this. Get her to sleep. But you’re not gonna like it.”

Roland hated Roman with every breath in his body. But hate would not pull the woman he cared so desperately about out of the stupor she had fallen into. “Do what you must,” he finally consented. “Wait here.” Roman strode past him and went, to Roland’s surprise, into Roland’s bedroom. Roland inhaled deeply. And he waited. Finally Roman emerged. Only it wasn’t Roman. It was Pennywise. The demon clown stood next to the gunslinger. One day Roland would understand what Y/N saw in him. And maybe one day he and Walter would become best friends. “If you hurt her, at all...” Roland reached for one of his guns and cocked it, “you better hope I miss.” Pennywise towered over him. “Good, good, you put her out of her misery...” Pennywise’s face was right next to his. Roland could smell his fetid breath. “...and I finally put you out of yours.” The clown went into her room.

**********

Your eyes closed then you jolted awake. You would not be taken off guard this time. Your eyes closed again. Another jolt. You still saw Roland fighting off Sheb with that knife. Your eyes closed again. The men in the barn. You needed to at least lie down. Your eyes closed yet again and you smelled something. Something you hadn’t smelled in a good while—cotton candy. You inhaled.

You liked that smell. It reminded you of home. You laid back. As you did, you felt satin underneath you—firm satin. You smelled that cotton candy smell again. You ran your hand up the satin and felt something poofy. A pom pom.

A firm arm wrapped around you and pulled you close. With a smile on your face, you let out a deep sigh and let yourself relax.

Maybe you were home now after all.

@hoe-for-daddywise  @penny-trash  @booklover2929  @smileysam13579  @bill-istvan  @messoria109  @ichigokage  @pinoflicious  @grotesquegabby  @syynnaah  @theloriequeen  @tomuchofaclownlover  @moonlighthope7  @see-a-penny  @superwholock36  @allkundsofwrong  @hunterplushy  @nychowise-hl  @jeanethclaton18  @skrillexsonnyjohnmoore  @fandomimcurrentlyobsessedabout

[builder051]

Hi! If you're still taking prompts, what about Steve getting a concussion on a mission that makes him really sick, but he manages to hide it until he gets home to Bucky?

Here you go!  I know, long wait, but hopefully it was worth it.  This is on the long side, about 3500 words.  When I write mission fics (which is not often), I feel the need to set up a decently plausible mission with plot and stuff…  So hopefully this works for you.

Somewhat-canon ‘verse.

___________________________________

I get knocked down…but I get up again…you’re never gonna keep me down…

Steve’s flat on his back, and the words echo blankly in his head.

What the fuck?

It’s so dusty.

And he’s so…tired?

I get knocked down…

There’s…is that a hole in the ceiling?  Dilapidated rafters and corrugated metal sheets are busted out of the way to allow a view of the blue sky and a shaft of warm sunlight to hit the floor.

A little unorthodox for a skylight.

“Cap?”

Steve’s almost sure he heard the sound with his ears, but he can’t be positive.

Why is he lying on his back?

Steve pushes over to his side, then uses his arms to hoist himself up to seated.  Immediately the world shifts around him, and his hand slips against the dusty concrete.  The floor seems to have become the wall, but he’s still stuck to it…

I get knocked down…

Why is that damn song stuck in his head?

Isn’t he supposed to be doing something?

“Cap?  Steve?”

Yep, definitely supposed to be doing something.

“Hey, what happened?”  Footsteps echo toward him.  Nat’s face materializes upside down over him.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, sure.”  Steve raises himself up to a sitting position again, and the floor-wall miraculously returns to its original position, though it leaves Steve with a wave of dizziness reverberating through his skull.  Which hurts.

“Did you get hit?”

“Must have.”  Steve’s voice sounds oddly echoey.

“Must have, as in, you’re not sure?” Nat asks, her eyebrows going up.

“It was a pretty hard hit,” Steve admits.  Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing, as he still doesn’t remember it.  He picks himself up off the floor, automatically brushing dust from his deep blue suit and freshly polished shield.

“That’s what your helmet’s for, dumbass,” Nat teases him.  But her eyes flick from his face to his hairline, searching for a visible wound.

Steve doesn’t think there is one, but he runs his gloved hands over his head to be sure.

“Really, why’d you take off your helmet?” Nat asks.

Steve knows the answer to this.  He just can’t make it make any sense in his head because the context has evaporated.  “Better to talk to civilians without it.”

“Oh.  You found the hostages?”

Did he?  Steve glances around as quickly as he can, trying to get his bearings back without upsetting the precarious balance of his head on his shoulders.  The more he moves, the more it feels like a brass band it setting up shop in his skull.

The abandoned warehouse is starting to look more familiar now.  That busted-up sheet metal half-wall thing, that’s concealing the posts where the hostages are chained up.  Steve enunciates that to Nat as clearly as he can, then casually palpates the back of his head where it vaguely feels like he’s being smashed repeatedly with a hammer.

Now Nat’s saying something, and Steve’s missed the beginning of it.  “…when they’re coming back, but we need to move them now.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?” Nat asks, looking concerned again.

“Yeah,” Steve assures her.  “Just…still shaking it off.”  Although Steve’s sure that if he shakes anything, especially his head, he’s going to fall over.

“Ok, well, finish shaking and cover me.”  Nat draws a gun from the collection on her belt and starts across the warehouse.

Steve keeps pace with her jog, but clenches his teeth together as the motion jostles his stomach.  It’s as if wire-fine neurons have re-woven themselves to as to directly connect his head and abdomen.  One step equals one throb equals one swallowed wave of disgustingness.

The scruffy-looking group of coal miners chained up in the corner of the warehouse start whooping and cheering when they see Nat and Steve coming toward them.

“Shh, stop,” Nat commands them.  “They might hear you and come back.”

Steve’s just grateful it’s quieter again.  The sound had been wreaking havoc like drumbeats in his head.

“We saw you get slammed earlier, Cap,” one of the miners says with an Appalachian drawl.  “Didn’t know if we’d be lucky enough to see you come rescue us.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Steve says, trying to convince himself that his words are true.  “You’re all ok?  They haven’t hurt you?”

“Not yet,” the miner replies.  “Kept threatening that we’d be the fuel in their new clean energy rig, but, honestly, we’re used to hearing shit like that.”

“Well, they probably meant it,” Nat says, using a miniature pulsar beam on her wrist to start cutting through the chains around one man’s wrists.  “HYDRA’s no joke.  But what the hell they’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere…It is more like a tease than a threat.”

“Hey, this isn’t nowhere,” the miner pipes back up.  “We live here.”

“Yeah, she didn’t…” Steve has to blink hard to ground himself and regain his train of thought.  “…didn’t mean it.”

“You gonna help or stand there?” Nat barks in response.

“Oh.  Help,” Steve replies.  He uses the edge of his shield to bash the chains holding one the nearest miner’s feet to the thick concrete post.  The resulting clang is enough to make Steve want to curl up with his hands over his ears.

“Yikes.  Maybe I don’t want you to help,” Nat says, cringing herself at the loud noise.  “Just stand watch and see if the creeps in the gas masks come back… oh shit.”

Steve follows Nat’s gaze and immediately lifts his shield in front of his chest.  Two black-clad figures with bulky masks over their faces are sprinting for the cluster of hostages.  They don’t immediately look harmful, but with the threat of alien tech and something akin to nuclear power, no chances can be taken.

Nat’s drawing another gun out of its holster, one that shoots paralyzing beams instead of bullets.  “I’m on ‘em,” she says.  “Keep working on the hostages.”

“Roger,” Steve replies.

The gun fires loudly, and as the sound reverberates through Steve’s head, his vision blurs.  He takes out a good chunk of the concrete floor before he’s able to adjust the edge of his shield and bust through more of the chains.

The second gunshot sends Steve’s hands to his knees.  He struggles to hold onto clarity as he swallows his stomach back down into its proper place.

I get knocked down…

Why is that stupid song still hanging around?  He’s got much more important things to think about…like trying his damndest not to barf, and cutting chains, and covering Nat’s six…

“They didn’t unleash some weird bio-weapon on you, did they?”  Nat’s at his shoulder, poking him back to standing upright.

“Don’t think so.”

“That’s good,” Nat says, going back to lighting up chains with her mini pulsar.  “But you’re acting weird, you know?”

Steve shrugs.  Through the fuzz in his head, he’s starting to suspect what might be wrong.  He doesn’t want to think about it, though.  He’d die of embarrassment if he had to go to a head injury safety lecture for forgetting to put on his goddamn helmet.

“Ok, that’s it, freeing up the last of them.  Two operatives incapacitated, doesn’t look like there are any more,” Nat’s saying.

Steve’s confused at first.  Then it dawns on him that she’s talking into her comm, probably with Fury on the other end.  But Steve should be on the call too.  He feels for it with clumsy fingers, but the little piece of metal and plastic that should be poised on the edge of his ear canal is gone.  It probably fell out when he hit the ground earlier.

“Alright.  We’re headed out,” Nat says.  She turns toward the group of rescued miners and informs them that there’s a cadre of police cars outside the warehouse and a little ways down the hill. They should be safe now, and the regular police corps will take over from here, helping the miners and arresting the injured HYDRA agents.

“And we’re done.  We’re leaving,” she adds to Steve.  “Did you lose your comm, too?  God, you’re a mess today.”

“Yeah,” Steve says absently.  He tries to plug his brain back in against the throbbing backbeat.  “That was it?  Just those two guys?”

“Looks like it,” Nat says.  “But with the lack of tech and stuff in their hideout, I’m wondering if they were just some weirdo sympathizers instead of actual HYDRA operatives.”

“Hm.”  The glossy black Hummer that’d driven them out of DC and into Appalachia is waiting, burning fuel as it idles in a gravel driveway.  Steve opens the door and flops gratefully onto the richly cushioned backseat.  The air conditioning is blasting, and Steve positions his head so he’s in the direct path of the breeze.  It dries the sheen of sickly sweat on his forehead, making him feel better for all of one moment.

The drive from rural Virginia back to the DC Metro area is set to take a couple hours.  At first the prospect of lounging across the roomy backseat is appealing.  All Steve wants to do is rest.  But when the Hummer starts bumping down the hilly terrain toward the main road, Steve has to clamp his teeth together so his head doesn’t flop off and start rolling across the floor.

Nat’s tapping on an iPad, getting a head start on the mission report paperwork and playing Angry Birds.  At least, that’s what Steve thinks she’s playing.  The squawking sound effects seem somewhat familiar.  Waves of sleepiness compete with nausea washing over Steve’s head and chest.  He leans the side of his head against the cool glass of the window and lets his eyes drift shut.

“You alright?” Nat asks, jolting Steve back into painful awareness.

“Hm?  Yeah,” Steve says, trying to swallow the vertigo that’s loping from his forehead down to his lap.  “Just tired.”

“I didn’t think it was that strenuous.”  She’s talking about the mission.  “Did you not sleep last night or something?  Bucky keeping you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, still trying to work out the shift in topic and decode what Nat just said.

“Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Huh?”

“Were you guys boning or dealing with nightmares?”

“What the— geez, Nat, I don’t talk about that stuff.”  How the hell did the conversation morph to include his sex life?  He’s not firing on all cylinders.  Something’s definitely wrong.

Steve’s had a concussion before.  All this, the severe headache, the mental fog, the tiredness, the strong urge to puke, is dreadfully familiar.  There’s nothing to be done except lie down and throw up and feel stupid while someone asks inane questions about the president and the date and things Steve still has trouble with even when he’s feeling fine.  He just wants to go home.

Steve does his best to stay awake for the duration of the drive.  The sound effects from Nat’s game and his own nausea do a good job of keeping him from drifting off, but the soft rumble of the Hummer’s engine is a difficult lullaby to resist.  By the time they’re rumbling past the shops and neighborhoods of Falls Church, Steve’s barely holding onto his consciousness and his stomach.

He wants more than anything to be home, and it would be just too much to drive by the townhouse and go on to SHIELD.  “Hey,” Steve says, swallowing down bile and raspiness.  “Can we…can you drop me off at my house?”

The agent driving the Hummer turns his head to look at Steve, obviously perplexed by the unconventional request.

“Why?  You have to debrief, see medical, finish up the mission paperwork,” Nat says.

“Yeah, I…I’ll come back in a little bit,” Steve forces out.  “It’s just…Buck’s got an appointment.  I forgot about it till now.  He wanted me to go with him…”  It’s a complete lie, but Steve’s desperate.

“You are so weird today,” Nat sighs, shaking her head.

The driver seems to take pity on him, though, and asks where to turn off.  Steve directs him to the complex of townhomes, then lets out an exhale of relief when the huge, thundering car pauses at the end of his driveway.

“Thanks,” Steve says.  “I’ll, uh, see you soon.”  He had told Nat he’d come back, right?  He doesn’t exactly remember…

“You better,” Nat replies.  Then, somewhat softer, “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Steve mumbles.  He grabs his shield and opens the car door, gripping it tightly as he steps onto the concrete of the driveway, which may or may not be moving under his boots.

Steve fumbles in his pocket for his keys and shakily unlocks the front door.  The Hummer is speeding away down the road, and Steve’s relieved it’s going.  His stomach is wedged so far up his throat he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it down for the next minute as he gets into the house.

Sweat beads up on what feels like every inch of his face and body.  Steve feels the knob turn in his hand, and he nearly walks into the flat of the grey painted door because he can’t get it open fast enough.

“Hey,” he hears Bucky call from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

Steve’s on the point of replying, but when he opens his mouth, a gag and a rush of undigested stomach contents beat down the words.  He reaches for the wall and braces himself, doubled over, as he vomits all over the doormat.

“The fuck?”  Bucky’s footsteps pound around the corner and into the entryway, and he’s quickly at Steve’s shoulder, supporting his trembling form.  “What happened?”

“God, my head,” Steve exhales, trying to push his stomach back down to its normal location.  He fails miserably and his throat goes into contraction again.

“Ok,” Bucky soothes, sidestepping the puddle of sick and peeling Steve away from the wall.  “Do you wanna come into the bathroom, maybe?”

“No, I’m…I’m ok,” Steve breathes heavily and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’s finished retching for the moment.

“Alright, well, at least come lie down,” Bucky says.  “Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

“Probably,” Steve says, trying to give off more confidence than he actually feels.

“Ok, come on.”  Bucky’s metal arm wraps securely around Steve’s waist, and they start slowly up the stairs.  Steve grips the railing tightly, and he feels the whole thing shaking with the tremor in his body.  Or maybe it’s just his unsteady brain playing tricks.

Once in the bedroom, Steve immediately flops onto the end of the bed, letting his body rest horizontally while his feet remain on the floor.

Bucky starts unlacing his boots, tugging gently and asking, “Alright.  What happened?  You were fine this morning.”

“I think I…got hit.  In the head,” Steve whispers, drawing his hands up over his face.

“What?  And medical released you, even though you’re barfing all over the place?”

Steve lets the words sink in.  “Sorry,” he rasps.  Then, “I…haven’t been yet.”

“Why?  You need medical attention.”  Bucky finishes removing Steve’s boots and starts looking for the zipper to release him from his suit.

“They’re not gonna do anything for a concussion…” Steve mutters, tossing his arm over his eyes to block out the light.  “Just need to…be sick for a couple hours.  I’ll be fine.”

“You’re concussed?” Bucky says, concern melding with surprise.

“I think so,” Steve replies.  He massages between his eyes, but it only succeeds in bringing the underlying current of nausea up to the surface.  “Buck, I’m gonna throw up again.”

“Hold on a sec,” Bucky says.  He sprints away into the ensuite and returns with the small trash can.  The world tips maddeningly as Steve heaves himself back to sitting and retches into the white plastic bin.

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes on a hitching breath.  He feels like a collection of parts strung together in the most illogical way.  The sweat dripping down his forehead makes his shoulder cramp, which brings an ache to his low back, and then forces another wave of stomach acid up his throat.

“It’s ok,” Bucky soothes, adjusting the trash can in Steve’s limp grip.  “But, are you sure you don’t want to go to medical?  I mean, I can take care of you and all, but…”  He trails off, patting Steve on the back.

“It’ll…heal itself up in a few hours.  I’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”  He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hey.”  Bucky softly swats Steve’s shoulder.  “Don’t do that.  I’ll get you something to clean up with.”

“Ok.”  Steve releases the trash can to the floor and watches it settle between his feet.

The washcloth is cool on his face and neck.  The breeze of the air conditioning bites into his clammy skin when Bucky helps him out of his suit.  The bed pillows are soft under his head, but there must be a rock or something right below them.  Perhaps it’s under the mattress, or pressing up through the foundation of the house…

“Hey, wake up for a second,” Bucky says.  He lightly massages Steve’s shoulder.  “How do you feel?”

“Nauseous.”

“Do you want to throw up, or try to answer some questions?”

“God.  Neither.”  Steve tries to turn onto his side, but his stomach threatens mutiny, and he stays stationary on his back.

“Let’s try for a couple questions,” Bucky encourages.  “Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Do you know who’s the president of the United States?” Steve hoarsely mumbles back.

“Yeah, I do, but I’m asking you,” Bucky laughs quietly.

“Uh…Truman.  I mean, Obama.  But, no, um…Donald…?”  Steve shuts his eyes and scrubs his palm over them.

“What year is it?”  Bucky asks.

The bed is a raft, floating on an angrily choppy ocean.  “I think…” Steve swallows thickly.  “I’d rather throw up.”

The next thing Steve knows, the phone is ringing.

“Hey, it’s Nat, do you want to talk to her for a sec?” Bucky’s asking him.

“No.”  Steve wants to go back to sleep.  Maybe take some Excedrin.  Or go to town on a bowl of peppermint ice cream.  His mouth tastes terrible.

“Naw, he’s ok.  Kind of sick and a little confused, but he’s already pulling himself back together.”

Steve blinks.  Or, at least he thinks he does.  The bedroom is much darker than it was, and the cool glow of moonlight sifts in through the curtained window.

Bucky’s lying on his stomach, his arm tucked around Steve’s chest and his chin resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder.  The strong scent of pine-sol hangs in the air.  “Hey,” he whispers when he sees Steve’s eyelids flutter.  “You were talking in your sleep a little bit.”

“Huh?”  Steve grunts.  “What about?”

“I get knocked down or something like that.”

“Oh.”  Steve can’t fight the smile that’s spreading across his face.  He presses his palm over his forehead, cooling the lingering headache and attempting to force his thoughts into an intelligible order.  “That song.  It’s been stuck in my head.”

“That’s funny,” Bucky chuckles.  “Only you’d be enough of a punk to get a concussion and start singing about it.”

“Shut up.”  Steve weakly shoves Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.  “Not completely great, but I don’t think my head’s going to fall off now.”

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement.”  Bucky laughs again.  “How’s your stomach?”

Steve considers for a moment.  The slightly seasick feeling that accompanies any bad headache remains pressing slightly into his temples.  But it’s such an upgrade from the gale force of sickly vertigo from earlier that it hardly rates.  “Pretty good, I think,” Steve says.  Then, “Sorry you had to clean up so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says.  “I’m just relieved you’re back in your right mind.  You had me a little worried there.”

“I’m ok.”

“Yeah.  Good thing, too,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head up from Steve’s shoulder.  “Now, you wanna come downstairs and get something to eat, or are you gonna demand bedside service?”

“Well, you’re pretty good at the whole bedside service thing, but then you’d leave me up here…”  Steve ruffles his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I know you still don’t feel good,” Bucky says.  “You’re clingy.”

“Is that really a bad thing, though?”

“No,” Bucky smiles.  “Not at all.”

[sickficprompts]

Madness and Blood (or lack thereof)

A Carmilla sickfic! YAY! My FIRST Carmilla fic!!!!! I hope you guys like it! I’ve been working on it for like a month...

Okay, so spoilers for seasions 1, 2, and 3 starting NOW.

This story takes place after season 3, but if Carm was still a vampire. (Cause sick humans aren’t nearly as interesting. Let’s face it.) So basically, they decide to move to the US. And turns out LaF hasn’t secured a source of blood for Carmilla yet... How long can she last without telling Laura the truth?

“Carm! Hey, Carm! Check this out!”

Camilla turned her attention to the little blonde sitting in an office chair. She motioned widely to the computer, now lit with a home screen. Carm didn’t even blink.

After a moment of this, Laura pouted. “Don’t you see? I got it working.”

“Oh, right.” Carm looked down at her book again. She suppressed a yawn in her fist and blinked at the pages. As much as she loved ancient philosophy, the words were going straight through her today.

Laura started playing around with the computer again and Carmilla sat staring at the seemingly wordless pages. She couldn’t think of a reason why she’d be so tired…

“Hey, Carm?” Laura said. The vampire looked up again. “Do you really like this place? I know it’s not as fancy as your mom could have afforded…”

She forced a smile. “It’s great, cupcake. Now play with your technology.”

“Are you sure, though? You’re acting broody.”

Carm closed the book and directed her eyes at it’s beautiful old cover. “Just tired is all.”

“You must be! I am too. It’s been a long week. First packing everything up, then traveling, then having to receive all our stuff from the mail, because for some reason it’s more expensive to check bags in than to just mail them to yourself, and finally moving them all in and unpacking them. And I haven’t even found my Austrian snack-cakes yet! I stored them away so I wouldn’t have to import them.”

As Laura rambled, Carmilla had thought of something, though. Had she fed at all in this crazy week? For the first time in… ever? she might have forgotten. That would explain the exhausted and even slightly sick feeling she had.

But they hadn’t heard back from LaF yet about their connection with a local blood bank -god only knows why she has a connection with a blood bank in America. Had she packed any? LaF usually took care of blood bags, and Carm was used to just feeding off whatever -or whoever- was in the area when they were needed. Except this time, she had promised Laura. No more live prey.

“Carm?”

“Huh?”

“You’re doing it again. Brooding. What’s wrong?” Laura crawled onto the cheap mattress on the floor and placed her TARDIS mug on the box which held the Ikea bed frame. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah.” Carm pulled Laura into her chest and closed her eyes.

“Hey, guess what.”

Carm smirked. “Oh no. What surprise could you possibly have?”

“Wanna know why we had to move so quickly?”

“Because there was a portal to hell at school?”

Laura pouted.

“Okay, fine. What is it?”

“There’s a meteor shower tomorrow night, and this is the best spot in the country to watch.”

Carm blinked. “You really did your research, Creampuff.”

“Of course I did! I heard there was a meteor shower, and I knew you’d love to see it.”

Camilla laid her head on Laura’s. “You’re amazing.”

They sat like this for a long time. Carm lost track of how long exactly. Laura, on the other hand, knew the exact time.

“It’s almost two in the morning. We should sleep.”

Carm hummed an agreement, her eyes closed. A lock of wavy brown-black hair fell from behind her jawbone and tickled her nose. Laura brushed it back. “Carm?”

Camilla opened her eyes. Laura was staring at her worriedly. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

She sat up. “Tired. Let’s go.”

“Yeah, okay.”

A loud clatter of pots and pans woke Carmilla from her deep sleep. She groaned and looked at the clock, thinking it must be way too early for Laura to be getting into any trouble.

The clock read three PM. Carm mumbled a swear. She’d been doing well at waking up at human times for Laura, but she was just too exhausted for it today.

She forced herself out of bed and to the kitchen where Laura was fumbling about with cookware.

“Morning, cupcake.”

Laura muttered something about cooking not being her job and how could Perry handle this stuff as a response.

Carm almost sat heavily in the kitchen chair, but she remembered the not-so-skillful job she’d done at putting it together and thought better of it. She sat gingerly on it, testing if it would hold her weight. Luckily, it did.

She watched Laura skittering about the kitchen. The movement was dizzying, but Carmilla loved watching Laura doing her human things.

It took a while, but Laura managed to make something that looked somewhat edible before sitting at the table and digging in. She stabbed the french toast covered in sweet syrup and sugar with her fork and held out a piece to her girlfriend.

“I’m fine,” Carmilla said.

Laura shrugged and shoved the big piece in her mouth.

Camilla texted LaF about getting ahold of the blood bank, but the only reply she got was, “I’ll call when they open.”

“Hey Carm?” Laura called from the kitchen. “Can you help me out?”

Camilla heard the call but didn’t move initially. She was curled up in a corner of the couch holding a book of poems, nearly asleep.

“Carm, C’mon!”

She blinked blearily and pushed herself up. A wave of dizziness nearly knocked her back again, but she managed to right herself and shuffle into the kitchen.

Laura was pushing all her weight against the fridge, apparently trying to move it?

Camilla sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Cupcake, what on earth are you doing?”

“Moving the fridge! Perry said we should do a deep clean when we got here to make sure there wasn’t anything nasty, especially since it’s a pretty cheap place.”

“So you want to clean behind the fridge.”

“Yeah!”

Carm stood straight again. The slight change in angle gave her a sense of vertigo, but nothing too bad. She wasn’t sure if she’d have the strength to move the fridge though… The only times she’d ever been without blood this long, she’d also been captive and didn’t have to move much.

But Laura continued to try and move the giant appliance on her own, and Carm wasn’t about to let the poor human hurt herself. So she braced against the fridge and helped.

By some miracle, it actually moved.

The got it moved so that Laura could slip behind it with her cleaning products, and Carm slowly moved away from the fridge.

Her head was spinning at this point, trying and failing to find a grounding point. There was a flash in her vision, and she grasped for the counter, only grabbing air.

Carm collapsed to the kitchen tiles, the air coming out of her in one whoosh. There was a strange sensation of water all around her and a loud noise. She blinked, trying to see, but it wasn’t registering. She felt her heart pound in panic, trying to understand what was happening.

She had to be okay for Laura. Laura had gone through all this trouble of setting up a special night tonight. A stupid packing error shouldn’t ruin it.

Her vision finally began to clear and she felt that she was laying limply against the counters. Her head hurt. How did she get against the counters?

“Carm!”

Laura was frantically squeezing herself through the thin gap between the fridge and a neighboring counter. She looked like she was struggling.

Though there was still a general numbness about her whole body, Carm grabbed the countertop and started to pull herself up.

Laura finally broke through, ran over, and pulled Carm back into a sitting position. “No, no, no! Sit down. What happened? Are you okay? I didn’t even know vampires could faint.”

“I didn’t faint,” Carm sneered. Her voice sounded like it wasn’t hers, but at least she was back in control of her body.

“Then what was that?! Are you sick?” Laura felt for a fever. “What’s going on?”

Carm shrugged her way out of Laura’s grip and leaned against the cabinets again. “Nothing.”

“Something. What is it?”

She shrugged and looked down at her hands. She was surprised to see them shaking a bit. She did feel shaky, she noticed now as the numbness was fading. Sitting felt so much better…

“Carm?”

Right. The question. She had a question. What was it? She wanted to say nothing, because she knew that’s how she answered the first time. But Laura wouldn’t accept that again.

“What?”

Laura looked really worried now. She leaned in to look Carm in the eyes. Carm found it difficult to keep her eyes focused on Laura’s.

“Are you high or something?”

Carm raised her eyebrows.

“Right. Not high. Can vampires even get high? Okay, never mind. Question for another day. You look like you’re either high or have a major fever, and you don’t feel like you have a fever.”

Another dizzy spell hit then. Carm licked her dry lips and squeezed her eyes shut. She just had to keep this going until LaF called back, but she had no idea when that would be.

They heard her phone chime. Carm went to grab it from her pocket, but found it missing. She opened her eyes and looked around in confusion. Laura was already picking it up off the floor. It must have fallen at some point.

“Laura-“

Laura looked at the screen, her eyes concentrated. She frowned and looked up again. In her mother voice, she said, “Have you fed?”

Carm looked down.

“Carmilla! Are you insane?! When was the last time you fed? Why would you do this to yourself?!”

“Laura, it’s not that big of-“

“You could have died! Where’s the blood bags?” She leapt to her feet and opened the fridge. After a moment, her mouth opened a little and then she pursed her lips together. She closed the fridge and closed her eyes. With hand motions for emphasis, Laura said, “Tell me there are blood bags in the fridge.”

“Laura…”

“Tell me that you’re not that stupid.”

Camilla said nothing.

Laura sat on the floor where she was. Carm considered going over to her but decided moving was not her best option. Instead, she grabbed her phone off the floor and looked at the text.

“Bbank closes @ 5 nd friend drop off blood at 6 ok?”

If her phone’s time was right, that meant almost six more hours…

Her chest felt tight now, like something heavy rested over her ribs, crushing her lungs so they couldn’t take in enough air. She heard her breathing pick up and tried to stop it before Laura noticed, but when she looked up, Laura was already watching her with wide eyes.

“What can I do?”

Carm took a few deep breaths before answering. Laura crawled over and wrapped her arms around the vampire. She placed and hand on Carm’s head and gently guided it to her shoulder. Carm leaned her weight into Laura.

“I’m sorry,” Carm said.

“I know. i just wish you’d said something. We could’ve figured something out before it got this bad!”

“What else could we do? LaF’s the only one with a connection around here.”

Laura hesitated, but answered. “There is one person here who’d be willing-“

“Laura, no. Don’t.”

“But if you need-“

Carm pulled away. “Not that badly. I’m not going to keel over in the next couple hours.”

“But you did it before!”

“When will you get it through your thick skull? That was for you. This? This would be for me.”

“It’d make me happy to make you feel better.”

“Don’t pull that crap on me.”

Laura stood and left the room. Carm blinked, surprised, and crawled over to a chair. She pulled herself up into it and sat heavily. It felt a little less secure up there, but she didn’t feel like collapsing.

Then Laura came back. Camilla opened her eyes to see that she was holding a pink disposable razor, clear cover still over the blades.

“Laura, I said no.”

“Just a little. I’m not going to let you be miserable all day.”

“Laura.”

“If you don’t take it yourself, I’ll- do it myself.”

Carm closed her eyes tightly. She bit her lip so hard she could feel the skin beneath her teeth pulling and ripping.

Laura came over to Carm. She sat on her girlfriend’s lap and waited for her to open her eyes.

When Carm did, Laura was staring at her.

“Please, Laura. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want you to hurt either. I love you.”

Carm leaned in and kissed Laura’s neck. She felt the pulse under her lips. She let her tongue trace Laura’s collarbone and the girl shivered. Carm looked up, waiting for a cue to stop.

“Go ahead. It’s okay.”

Carm slowly put her lips against Laura’s neck again, spread them, and began to bare her teeth. They brushed against Laura’s soft skin lightly at first.

“It’s okay,” Laura said again. The vibration beneath her teeth felt familiar…

She bit down as softly as she could while still piercing the skin. The puncture was small but bled well, and Carm drank.

“You tired, Creampuff?”

Laura nodded and cuddled against Carmilla. She felt exhausted actually, but that was okay. They were finally seeing the stars together.

“Pass me a soda. I want to be awake when the shower starts,” Laura said.

Carm handed her a bottle, and Laura glared at her. Carm laughed and uncapped the bottle herself. “What? You don’t like blood?”

“Laura leaned over Carm’s lap and grabbed a soda herself.

They would both be okay.