Drug-overdose

Waking Without You

just over 1700 words, a continuation of this. Trigger warning for unintentional drug overdose. 
[AO3]

Even hates waking up without Isak.

Since they moved in together it hadn’t really been an issue.  Sure there are the odd night when Even visits his parents and ends up staying the night, or Isak parties too hard with the boys and ends up passed out at Jonas’, but Even is lucky enough now to be able to say he wakes up almost every day tangled up with Isak.

This is why when he stirred in the middle of the night and found himself severely lacking a sleepy snugly boyfriend his lips pushed into a pout.  Was it too much to ask for to just have one night where he got to cuddle his boyfriend for the night before they had to deal with a new day’s bullshit?

His annoyance, however, flew out the window when he heard retching coming from their bathroom.  It wouldn’t have been a surprise to Even if Isak had caught some bug going around; Isak had hardly slept the past couple of weeks and his immune system was probably through the floor.  It didn’t help that he ate like shit.

Even was beginning to realise that it was a miracle Isak wasn’t sick more often.

He took a breath and rolled himself out of his duvet cocoon, ready to go comfort his boyfriend.  He grabbed a hoody off the floor and pulled it on to keep the chilly night air from biting at his sleep warm skin and crossed the flat.

“Baby?” He croaked out, too tired to be embarrassed by his sleep roughened voice. He could still hear retching when he knocked on the bathroom door.  He figured Isak hadn’t heard him and pushed the door open, unaware that his world was about to turn on its axis.

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Do you ever sit there and wonder why you’re still alive? After all the attempted overdoses on painkillers, the amount you smoke, all the alcohol you’ve consumed, the experiments with drugs..You do all this self destructive shit and you’re still alive and you don’t know why?
  • Friend: Hey man, you alright?
  • Me: *thinking about how Layne Staley's first single with Alice in Chains was called 'We Die Young' and he ended up dying at 32 from a drug overdose, and how there is a line where Layne says 'take another hit, and bury your brother' and he had to bury his friend Andrew Wood who also died because of an overdose, and how Wood was also roommates with Chris Cornell, who just committed suicide, just like Kurt Cobain did back in '94, and how the musicians I grew up adoring are no longer with us and how gutted I feel to know that this world lost such talented souls too soon*
  • Me: Yeah, I'm alright.
The Eternal Problem: A Meditation on Mortality in Sherlock S4

When asked about S4 during the promotional lead-up, Moftiss repeatedly said this new series would be about one thing: consequences.  Now that we stand on the other side of S4, what do we think they meant?  It obviously wasn’t legal consequences for shooting Magnussen, or physical consequences of overdosing on drugs.   

In this meta, I argue that TAB and S4 are above all about the moral, metaphysical, and narrative consequences of Sherlock faking his death during the Reichenbach Fall—an act which continues to reverberate through the story two series later, both for the characters and, significantly, for the writers.

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You once said that a step towards recovery means I’ll need to break myself into pieces, darling I’ve been trying to put my heart back together. I like to step on myself sometimes, I don’t take compliments well because I don’t think too highly of myself. When you step on the same lego piece everyday even your ego starts to melt a little. You once said that if I find someone to hold my thoughts before I hold their heart– then maybe she’s the one. Or maybe there’s no one out there, who knows, right? We can circle around this a little longer than always, but I’ll always run back to the why. Why do I want to conquer my memories? Each city that I’ve built for them inside of my head is still bright and I’ve not let a single light bulb blow out, I’m so out of it– while thoughtlessly I’ve been reaching out of my head, my heart likes to beat me to it. It says that love can only be achieved if I chase after it. You once said that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Do you still believe in those words? Because if I’m not cruel to myself, I could be cruel to someone else. If I read enough books, do you think I’d finally own a chapter in my own life? If I open up some more, will I close off opportunities for myself to the prospect of loving myself? And what about them? Vanity is my master and I’m a slave. It’s okay to be a little vain sometimes, right? I’ve got it in my veins, maybe I’m the only honest one. You once said that if I trip over the same rock and stub my toe a million times within a week, you’d still say it’s okay. Like falling requires gravity to bend to my whispers. Like drowning demands my lies to swim back to shore. Like dying seeps through my eyes, how can I love if all I’ve got is missing pieces? You once said that a river flows like time and if I’m out of seconds– you’ll just record your voice saying I love you until I finally get it. I remember everything that love has to offer, but never the person. I remember the feeling of infection that is affection. And if I walk alone and get hit by a car, maybe it’s just another story that I won’t write. Some words live in between the lines, I’ve been seeing dualities. Life and death is just a kiss and hug. Black and white, storms and clouds are just pears and apples. Poetry and prose likes to sound sweet, but it’s the bitter bits of me that’s suicidal. Love and hate was born from strangers, so you never knew the difference between the moon and the sun– the lightness of tomorrow likes to coat the darkness of past days. Cigarettes and lung cancer, a dance of smoke that disguises itself as stress free, do you think I’ll die healthy? Drugs and my body, which one will make me feel better if I’ve been sweating for a week? You once said that we’re spinning around in a circle just waiting for someone to stop by– grab my attention and you can have my voice, steal from my hands and you can have my poems, which hurts more to have loved or to not have loved at all? An empty silence that’s so full of itself– I can’t hear myself think inside of my own head. I’ve got file cabinets tagged under read later, but I’m a sucker for love– so I feed into it. You once said if the sky breaks into a brighter day, you’ll be there. That is wishful thinking, my favorite kind. Words can’t give meaning to our story, but we still write. You once said that it has to mean something. Every statement paused long enough for several lifetimes to become real again. It feels like such a long time, but we’re still in love with them in there somewhere. It’s buried. It’s in a coffin, but it’s there and we know it. We can hear it. We can hear it. Fuck, we can hear it. That little beating that isn’t ours, it’s always theirs. And that’s my fear, you once said that maybe that’s my fate– I’m supposed to cling onto that strand of innocence, of who I used to be, to remember what it feels like to feel, it has to mean something. Giving meaning to nothing, my favorite pastime. Giving something to someone, the only way that I’ve been living. You once said that until I learn to keep more for myself, I’ll always end up in square one– alone, but as long as I’ve got you, it’s not true, right? Some thoughts like to sleep alone, that’s not one of them. Hold onto that piece of us, the poetic storm that is joy. Keep your kindness to a burn, a stretched out sunrise screaming your name is my simmer. I know about nothing and that’s my one redeeming quality. I know that I don’t know shit, and that’s why I write like this. I know that I don’t love like I used to, and that’s why I love like this. I know that I’m not the same person from last year, and that’s why my guilt likes to trip up. I know that I’m no longer in love with her, but I can’t seem to explain the empty feeling unless I spell her name backwards under a star somewhere that I can’t touch. I know that I’m still messed up, but I’m just taking advantage of my youth. You once said some people will get over you in a week, but it’ll take you a lifetime to get over someone. If forever is a drug then I’ve overdosed. If always is a lie then I’ll take the beautiful. If never is more and a secret is sore– then I’m sorry about the words that didn’t stop, I am trying. I am always trying. You once said that if we kiss the ocean long enough, the mountains will answer. I’ve buried my love letters on the highest mountain and emptied my heart into my art. If I live long enough to spread my wings, do you think I’d still be condemned? Life is too short to live in the past, but I can’t stop asking about my what ifs. Love is too long to just be over, but I’ll just keep painting over it with a new layer of red. If you’re still reading, then I’m still writing. This yin and yang battle of ours has no meaning. Tortured souls live in the canvas and I’ve seen enough chains– I shall be unbound someday. You once said I love you– darling, that’s the only fucking truth that I believe in. You once said that soulmates aren’t always lovers– I guess it’s just you. You once said that flowers don’t just bloom, they wilt– so I guess I’m just withered. You once said that if you had your way, I’d own the universe. You don’t get it. When you became my best friend, I got it.
—  You once said

Murder Suicide
Branson Ellery and Shelsea Schilling

In November 2016 in Australia, the bodies of 24 year old Branson Ellery and his 20 year old ex girlfriend Shelsea Schilling were found at his apartment. At first authorities believed it to be a murder due to Ellery’s gang affiliation however, a sordid love story developed.  

Beautician Schilling fell hard for Ellery, the former “Bandidos Biker Gang” member left the gang to focus on his music career. The heavily tattooed ex gangster known as the “lizard man” by the press wasn’t all as he seemed. Ellery had a severe drug habit and often beat Schilling leading her to file many domestic abuse reports.

Days before the murder Schilling went missing, her family filed a missing person report when they couldn’t get hold of her.

On the 11th of November, Ellery knocked Schilling unconscious and suffocated her to death with a pillow. Afterwards, he put on is favourite music, slipped into a suit and took a drugs overdose laying next to Schilling’s body.  

The deaths were rules murder/suicide

Originally posted by buttercupbarnes

Prompt:  Are request still open? I would Like to request another Tj one, this is one of the only places I can fin them. If they are open can you write one where the reader finds Tj after he OD?

Word Count: 400

Warnings: ODing, drug use

Authors Note: We talk about TJ as a character but there are plenty of real people struggling with the same addiction. PLEASE, if you are feeling depressed or like you can’t go on without using, call someone. There’s no shame in getting help.

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