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celtic-crossbow · 3 months

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Whumpuary Day 25-26 & 29-31

Prompts: Can’t stay awake | “You’re safe.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drugging, Overdose, Allusions to past child abuse

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You shouted, keeping your eyes on Daryl while Tomi loudly rummaged through cabinets and drawers behind you. “Daryl. Daryl, stay awake.”

“M’tired.” The archer mumbled, eyelids heavy, breaths slowing before your eyes.

“Tomi!” You snapped again.

“They injected him with some sort of opioid. I need narcan.” Things were flying around, hitting the floor as the surgeon continued his frantic search. “How’s his breathing?”

“Too slow.” You shook Daryl again. Each time he responded, you felt a short lived relief but it never lasted long. “Daryl, stay with me. Look at me.”

“Y/N…tired…”

“I know but you can’t sleep.” Those normally sharp blues were dull, his pupils contracted to barely there black dots inside the pale cerulean. His eyes closed, head lolling forward. “Daryl? Daryl!” He inhaled sharply, giving you hope that he might regain a normal breathing pattern.

He didn’t.

“Can’t…can’t stay…”

“You have to. Just for a few more minutes okay?” You hadn’t seen when the man had used the syringe, only catching Daryl yanking it from his neck to angrily toss it aside before plunging his knife through the attacker’s skull. It wasn’t even a minute before the archer staggered back against the wall and slid down to where he still sat. “Tomi!” When Daryl’s eyes closed this time, he didn’t reopen them.

“I’m trying!”

“Daryl!” His breaths were further and further apart, agonizing torture to know that one would eventually be his last.

“If he stops breathing, you need to breathe for him.”

“Al-alright.” You could do that. You placed two fingers to his neck, counting the beats over and over, witnessing that number fall each time. “Please, please.”

“Got it!” Tomi dropped down beside the archer, foregoing any measure of sterilizing to just jab the needle into the muscle of Daryl’s bicep.

“What now?”

“We wait. He never stopped breathing. The narcan should level him out enough to move him safely.” The nod you gave was curt and unbidden, your sole focus was the rise and fall of Daryl’s chest. “Okay. Okay, good. It’s picking up. I’ll get a stretcher. Keep watching his breathing.” Another nod.

“Daryl, can you hear me?” Unresponsive. At least each breath was coming in at a slow, but steady pace. You could work with that for now. The wheels of the stretcher were loud in the otherwise empty hospital.

“Vitals are stable for now. I grabbed all the narcan but we need to have access to intubation supplies and IV fluids.” At your confused expression, he added, “I’ll need to insert a tube to help him breathe for a while if he struggles to on his own.”

You nodded calmly before the two of you struggled and fumbled to get Daryl onto the stretcher. Truthfully, the thought of Daryl needing a machine to keep breathing was horrifying. For that moment, you just continued to watch his chest, breaths remaining steady and unlabored.

It took only moments for an IV to be inserted and fluids to begin running into the archer’s hand. His breathing slowed only once more and one last dose of narcan was administered.

Hours later, Tomi concluded that Daryl was out of danger and would likely wake up at any moment. So you waited, instinctively listening for danger as employees returned to the hospital, the walkers having been cleared as well as the living threats, thanks in part to the man on the bed in front of you.

You couldn’t wait to get him home and sleep for at least a day, snug against his side with your head over his heart, able to hear each beat and feel each breath.

Finally, his fingers twitched in your hold, his head rolling back and forth on the pillow, face scrunching.

“Daryl?” You stood, leaning over him. He hated hospitals. The memories of so many visits when he was a child, broken bones and open wounds at the hands of his father. You wanted to be the first person he saw and heard, in hopes of easing that anxiety.

His eyes were clouded, tired and unfocused, when they finally landed on you. “Where ‘m I?” He slurred, still appearing to be exhausted and slightly influenced by the drug working its way through his system.

“You’re in the hospital. You’re safe and you’re gonna be okay.” You squeezed his hand, smiling when he weakly reciprocated.

“Tell me what happened?” His eyes were already trying to close, most likely without his permission but leaving him with no choice.

“When you wake up. I’ll tell you everything when you wake up.”

Daryl hummed and inhaled deeply before settling into a peaceful sleep; one you didn’t fear and from which you knew he would wake. For now, though, you’d rest your head on the hand holding his and count his breaths like counting sheep until you joined him in blissful unawareness.

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sacredwhores · 1 month

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Eloy de la Iglesia - El pico (1983)

#film #eloy de la iglesia #el pico #overdose #josé luis manzano #1983

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cevansbrat0007 · 6 months

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Lemme Tell Ya Bout Some Stuff

I've been a little quiet lately. And here's why - if only because it's cathartic to write about these things. I moved out of my sober living house just shy of two months ago.

The apartment in which I live still encourages maintaining that sobriety. But unfortunately, it doesn't stop life from doing whatever the fuck it does.

Which means that a week ago today I found my roommate overdosed. Thankfully, we were able to save him. But it was terrifying. And traumatizing. And at the time, all I could think was that at least I know how to use Narcan.

I administered the spray. I rubbed his chest. I tried to guide him back. Meanwhile my other roommate called 911, she called out orders, she moved quick to open doors - she's a fucking badass superhero.

And because of that he's okay.

He's moving out and going to get some help. But he's alive and breathing. He gets another fucking chance and believe you me we have talked about how he is quickly running out of lives.

He's overdosed multiple times. He's double digits. And when we spoke finally I did everything short of punch him.

He fucked me up. He fucked my roommate up. And that shit hits in waves. But enough about that - seriously.

My fucking bright spot, is that for months my Tumblr Bestie and I have been planning a little vacay. Tomorrow, @curls-and-eyeliner and are gonna meet for the first time. I'm flying all the way down to Virginia to hang out with my girl.

And we're gonna have some serious fucking fun! We talk damn near every day, her and I. And she is hands down one of the most supportive people I have in my life.

I'm blessed to know her.

No different than how I've been blessed to know ya'll. I'm gonna finish packing my suitcase now. I love you.

Britt

#britt's notes #tumblr love story #trigger warning #overdose #drug overdose #but he survived #moots love and support #feeling grateful for friends #I love my bestie

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doe-eyed-fool · 18 days

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Fallen {Chapter Twenty Two}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

Warning(s): Mentions Of Past Abuse, Abusive Ex, Confrontation, Drug Overdose Mention

Knocking at my door caused me to stir out of my sleep, I groan and sit up in bed. "Yes?" I call. "Morning, Y/n! Hurry can get dress please. We have a new guest staying at the hotel!" I could hear Charlie from the other side of my door, voice filled with excitement.

I raise an eyebrow. A new guest? Huh...Well, alright. I tell her I'll be down in a second before getting dressed. I leave my room and make my way through the halls. Angel had caught up with me, and joined me on the way down.

"What do you think of the new guest?" I ask him as we step into the elevator. He shrugs. "No idea, haven't met em' yet. But, I hope it's a new hottie." He says with a smirk, I laugh lightly.

We get out of the elevator after a few seconds and walk into the lobby. Everyone was gather to greet the new sinner looking for redemption. I didn't get a good look at them, as they were being blocked by Charlie. Who, by the way, was over the moon to see them.

"Alright, who's the new guy?" Angel asks, crossing his arms. Charlie looks back at us with a wide smile. "Guys, I want you to meet Liam, our newest addition to the hotel! Yay!" She cheers as she steps aside, given us a better view of him.

Liam was a average sized wolf demon, his jet black fur looked an almost deep blue under the lights of the hotel, his red eyes scanned the room, ears flicking slightly. When his eyes landed on me, he grinned. But, for some reason...

His grin was not a friendly one.

I furrow my eyes in confusion, and then, he spoke.

"Thanks for having me. It's a pleasure to be here."

My heart sank into the pit of my stomach.

That voice...I may have lost a bit of my memory, but I could never forget that voice. The voice that one minute, would be so loud it'd send me into a frozen shock.

Then the next, be so soothing and loving, that it'd make me forgive everything he's done for a while. I could never forget. Never ever forget that voice, his voice.

Angel seemed to be the only one who noticed my distress, he placed a hand on my shoulder. Only to take it away when I flinched under his touch. "Y/n?" He says quietly, voice filled with concern. I open my mouth to speak, but I couldn't find the words.

There was nothing I could say, even if I wanted to. My mind raced, everything became so loud so fast. My heart was beating like crazy, and I felt sick. "Y/n-" Angel didn't get my name out before I took off back to my room.

He watched me for a second before turning back to look at Liam, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 'Something ain't right...' He thought.

And he wasn't the only one who thought it. Alastor had thought anyone who'd come to this hotel for redemption, wasn't all the way there in the head. But...Liam seemed to be a whole new case. But, he kept his false welcoming persona as he spoke to Liam.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, my good man. But, I have important matters to attend to, so, you'll have to excuse me." Alastor says to him. Liam nods. "Sure thing." Alastor excuses himself from the group and walks away. Angel said nothing as he passed him by, but secretly hoped Alastor could help...

I paced in my room, arms clutched and wrapped around my body in a weak attempt of comfort. What the hell was going on!? Why was he here!? I mean, I'm not surprised he went to hell, but. Why here of all places!? Tears pooled in my eyes, my heart beating so fast it hurt. What am I going to do now?

I let out a sharp gasp as my door was open, I quickly turned to see Alastor. A wave a of relief washed over me at the sigh of him. "Alastor..." My voice cracked.

Alastor shut the door behind him and approached me, he didn't touch me right away, which I was grateful for. For now at least. "I take it, that was your ex?" He asked gently. I nod my head, tears streaming down my face. "W-What is he doing here? How the fuck did he find me?" I sob.

"I'm wondering the same thing." Alastor muttered. "Y/n, just give me the word, I'll go down there right now and have him taken care of."

"No!" I quickly say. "N-No...I...I don't want anyone to know by drawing attention."

"I can do it discreetly, it'll look like a bloody accident." Alastor tells me. "But...Charlie was so happy that there's someone new." I sigh. "Does that matter? Out there in that lobby is the reason your life was misery and why it was cut short." Said Alastor, almost in disbelief that I wouldn't let him get rid of that man.

"It doesn't...But, I think..." I exhale shakily. "I think I need to say my peace before I agree to anything." Alastor raises an eyebrow. "You want to speak to him?" He asks.

I nod my head. "There is so much I want to say to him...I want him to answer for all the pain he's caused me." Alastor was silent for a moment before speaking. "If that's what you want." He says softly. "Would you like me to come with you?"

"I think I should do this on my own. I might not get the answers I want, if it's not just the two of us." I tell him. "If you insist...But, the moment you feel that you're unsafe, just call for me. I will hear you." Alastor says firmly. "Understand?"

"I will, I promise."

Hours later, after Liam had gotten accustomed to the hotel, and when I was sure he'd be alone, was when I decided to finally speak with him. Wave after wave of anxiety washed over me, though I tried to stay calm. It would do me no good to run away. I've endured so much of his shit for so long, he will answer for it.

I will say what needs to be said, what should have been said a very long time ago. I found him right outside of the hotel, cigarette in hand. A puff of smoke left his lips, along with a deep exhale. His ears flickered towards my direction as I closed the hotel doors behind me.

He turned, and another rush of anxiety shot through me. "Hey there." He greets me. "Liam, can we speak?" Liam stares at me for a moment. "Do I know you?" He asks with a grin. "You do." I mutter. "I may not look like I use to, but I'm still the same. And I know it's you under that new form as well. Let's not pretend."

Liam's grin remained the same. "Yeah. I figured it was you, based on your reaction when you first saw me." He says before taking another drag.

He exhaled the smoke and casually asks me. "How have you been?" I clench my fists tightly at my side. "I'm surprised to see you here." He continues. "You were always so nice. What did you do? Hm? You do some terrible things I didn't know about or something?"

"Why did you do it?" I ask, ignoring his questions. "Hm? Do what?" He asks. "Don't act like you don't know! Why!? How could you do that to me!?" My emotions began to take over. And his stupid fucking grin was only upsetting me further.

Liam flicks the cigarette away before taking a step towards me. "I was good to you." I kept on. "I tried to be a good girlfriend, a good fiancé. I would have been a good wife. But you...all you've ever done was hurt me. You never appreciated me, you lied to me, you made me feel like less than a person. And for what? I would blame myself, but I've done nothing wrong. I stayed with you because it meant so much to my family, as well as yours. I did it for their sake, but most of all, I did it for you."

I continue. "I know how your family was. They were so insistent that we marry, or else you'd get the shit end of the stick for it. And I loved you...so why wouldn't I agree?"

"Why Liam? Just why?" Tears filled my eyes. "Why did you kill me?"

Liam was but a step away from me. "I didn't want to kill you." He starts. "You know how much shit, I went through because you died? My parents had to pull so many strings, get through to the right people, just to make sure no one found out. They hated me for it...Said I was a fucking disappointment. Didn't want me to get the shit end of the stick, huh? If only you didn't fucking mouth off to me that day. Maybe I wouldn't have gotten so angry. But you always had to test me, even now...you don't know when to quit."

"You have no one to blame but yourself Liam." I said firmly. "I didn't make you push me down those stairs. God, I feel so stupid. I don't know why I couldn't see it sooner. You were a bad person then, and I see nothing has changed now. Liam, I wanted to stay with you because I really did love you. At one point I did. I wish things could have been different, but, I see now that we were doomed from the start. I can't help you, I don't know how to, and I can't suffer by trying. I wish I were brave enough to say all this while I was still alive. But better late than never, I guess."

I turn to leave. "That's all I wanted to say. I don't think you're serious about this hotel, so I don't expect you to stay long. But while you're here...I hope you'll stay away from me. Because, I want nothing to do with you ever again."

"I don't think you really understand, Y/n."

I stop walking. "You ruined my life when you died. My parents pretty much disowned me. Cut me off, and I was left on my own. I struggled to keep employment, I turned to drugs, and I eventually died trying to forget that fucking night when you died. It's your fault you died, it's your fault I became an addict, and it's your fault I died. I'm suffering, and I will continue to suffer forever, because of you!"

I couldn't believe what he was saying. I was right, he really isn't capable of change. I turn to give him a piece of my mind, but it was then in that moment, he lunged at me...

And everything went dark...

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #abusive ex #abuse mention #past abuse #drugs #overdose

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allthecanadianpolitics · 3 months

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A study conducted by the B.C. Centre for Disease Control has found that prescribing medical-grade opioids dramatically reduced the rates of deaths and overdoses for drug users living in B.C. The study, published in the British Medical Journal, is described as "the first known instance of a North American province or state providing clinical guidance to physicians and nurse practitioners for prescribing pharmaceutical alternatives to patients at risk of death from the toxic drug supply." Researchers looked at anonymized health-care data of 5,882 people between March 2020 and August 2021, all of whom had opioid or stimulant use disorder. Those individuals filled a prescription under the B.C. Risk Mitigation Guide — clinical guidance developed in March 2020 to allow for physical distancing during the COVID-19 pandemic, and to reduce deaths through harm reduction.

Tagging @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #canada #canadian politics #canadian news #british columbia #public health #harm reduction #drug usage #harm reduction works #overdose #research

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macgyvermedical · 9 months

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In follow up to my previous post about acetaminophen/paracetamol, I would like to add that while it is very dangerous in overdose, it is actually pretty safe for long-term use (at least as far as we know). So as long as you're taking less than 4g per day, you could do so indefinitely without problems.

Ibuprofen, on the other hand, is statistically not going to kill you from overdose. There's a limit above which it stops working any better (about 800mg, or 4 OTC tablets), but even if you were taking like 6 things with ibuprofen in them, you wouldn't die of overdose. BUT. Long term use of ibuprofen can seriously mess you up. It can cause gastric ulcers, GI bleeding (which can be very dangerous), and double your risk of heart attack.

So TL;DR: if you're taking it for something short term, use ibuprofen, and if you're taking it for something long term, use acetaminophen/paracetamol.

#ibuprofen #acetaminophen #paracetamol #adulting #overdose

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hexiewrites · 1 year

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It’s not the first time Steve has to call an ambulance that does it.

The first time he’s fucking terrified, coming home from a long shift at the new Blockbuster down the street and dinner after with a coworker only to find his boyfriend, passed out on the floor of their shared apartment. He panics, at first, because what the fuck is he supposed to do, and then he gets it together and calls 911. The paramedics won’t let him in the ambulance so he follows behind in the beamer, white knuckles the steering wheel, all the way to the hospital. They won’t let him go all the way in and he paces for hours in the waiting room, drinking shitty hospital cafeteria coffee, before the nurse finally tells him where to go.

And the thing is. The thing is it makes sense. Eddie’s been struggling since the Upside Down. So has Steve, to be honest. They’ve both been crashing, different vices, different issues. So the first time he has to call the ambulance, he gets it. It makes sense, even though it hurts. Sometimes things happen, and Steve can’t fault Eddie for one night of too many goddamn whiskeys. Hell, he’s come pretty close to that point himself, more times than he can count lately. He makes a promise to himself to be better, to be there when Eddie needs him.

To be enough.

It’s not the second time he calls the ambulance that does it either, because as much as that one hurts, it still makes sense. Eddie on the ground gives his brain Eddie in the Upside Down, broken and bleeding and almost fucking dead and Steve calls the ambulance but he chugs a beer back before he follows in the beamer. And fuck, they’ve been through it, haven’t they? Eddie’s been trying but of course it’s going to be hard. People make mistakes and god knows Steve’s made his own, so who is he to do anything but try. Try harder to make Eddie see he doesn’t need this shit. To make him see that Steve loves him so much, loves him enough for both of them, loves him enough to get them through it. So that’s what he does.

He tries, even though he’s failing too. There’s beer in the house and he gets it, now. How much it helps to keep the noise down.

They’ve been fighting about it, even though they don’t have much else they fight about.

So of course he gets it.

The third time he has to call hurts even more. Of course it does, it screams Eddie’s failing and you’re failing and why can’t you be good enough, why can’t you love him enough to fix it. But the hurt is washed over by anger because how can he keep doing this after everything they’ve been through? Hours of meetings together. Weeks of Eddie off in rehab. Whispered promises that it’s done, it’s over. You can’t beat addiction but you can control it. They can focus on them. Maybe start that family they keep talking about. It’s behind them now. It was supposed to be behind them.

But it’s not even the third time, because the third time when Eddie wakes up he looks devastated but he still manages a smile. Still manages to say, voice rough because of the intubation, third time’s the charm, right baby? And- the average addict relapses four times, but I’ve always been below average, huh? I can feel it. This is gonna be my year.

And Steve’s not perfect either. He’s doing better, yeah, he’s putting in the work, but he’s not perfect. He’s better though. He’s been better because he’s been trying. He’s still trying because he keeps picturing Eddie, baby on his hip, cooing and giggling. Picturing them curled up at forty, at fifty, at eighty. Looking back and saying wow, we were fucked up then but we had each other. We got through it together like we always did. So the third time hurts. It pisses him off. But he’s still holding that picture in his mind, despite it fraying at the edges just a bit.

But the fourth time, when it should all be behind them because it had been better, they’d been better, when he comes home and finds Eddie on the floor, broken bottle next to him, needle still in his arm…

Well. Fourth time’s the fucking charm for him.

He calls the ambulance, watches Eddie get loaded in, feels the tears drying onto his cheeks. One of the paramedics knows him from the last time and gives him this sad smile. Says “we got him soon enough, think he’s gonna be okay. He’s lucky, your boy, but even cats only get nine lives.” Steve shuts the ambulance door and doesn’t get in his car to follow. He heads back up the stairs, cleans up the vomit, and starts to pack.

He puts his most important things in the beamer, leaves the rest. Doesn’t leave a note because he doesn’t know what to say. Calls the hospital before he goes because he has to know—Eddie’s awake and asking for him.

He drives to a liquor store instead. Drives until he can’t anymore and checks into a motel halfway between Chicago and Hawkins.

Thinks about his blue two year chip (sitting on his nightstand in the apartment, one of the things not precious enough to bring) as he twists open the bottle, and finally finally finally lets the sweet relief of whiskey burn through his throat.

He’ll regret it tomorrow, but tonight? It’s the only thing he has left.

Steve doesn’t go back to Chicago for nearly four years. He thought about it. Thinks about it. Constantly. He knows that Eddie’s alive because Dustin kept in touch, will give him a little knowing nod every time they see each other (rare, these days, as Steve barrels towards thirty and the kids finish university, get jobs across the country, try to make it home for Christmas and don’t always succeed). He never asks for more because it’s too hard to hear. Dustin tells him, one day, that Eddie’s doing really well now. Steve doesn’t know if he can believe it. He doesn’t want to believe it, because if Eddie’s doing well now without him it means he’s the problem he’s the reason he—he calls his therapist and puts in the fucking work.

He stays in Hawkins. Faces his demons, mostly metaphorical now. Spends a lot of time with Hopper, who gets it more than almost anyone but still wants better for him. Spends hours on the phone with Robin, who begs him to go back into the real world but he can’t, because it hurts too much. Takes enough correspondence classes to get an associate’s degree. Starts driving to the community college a few towns over for classes and upgrades to a Bachelors of Psychology, and starts to understand himself and Eddie and trauma, and things start to hurt a little less. He doesn't drink anymore, goes to meetings with as much regularity as he can, and when he’s finally got a new two year chip in his hands he thinks he might be ready. It hurts like an old wound, twinging in the rain but mostly fine, and he thinks he could maybe handle Chicago again.

He still doesn’t go.

At the end of the day, it’s the acceptance letter into the Masters of Educational Counselling program at the University of Illinois that does it. He honestly hadn’t been expecting to get in, it’s a competitive program and Steve Harrington who barely graduated high school doesn’t exactly scream school counsellor material. But his essay was good, he knows it was. And he knows he’s going to be good at this.

So he packs up the beamer, again. Pulls over to sleep in a tent on the side of the road and calls Hopper from a payphone, sobbing because he can’t do it.

He does it anyway.

He gets to Chicago and his apartment’s on the opposite side of town now but the first time he drives past the hospital again he has a breakdown so bad he almost goes home. But he’s been putting in the work, and he’s doing more than trying now. He’s solid, he’s stable, and he pulls himself together. He calls Hopper and Robin, he goes to meetings, he’s doing well.

He’s studying in a coffee shop, down the street from his apartment, when the open mic starts.

“Hi everyone,” says a voice that Steve would recognize from a hundred miles away. He forces himself to look and Eddie’s on the little stage, an acoustic guitar in hand. "Thanks for being here with me today. I've got some new stuff for y'all that I think you're going to like."

And then he plays. Steve gives up on his work, leans back in the chair, and watches. Eddie looks... he looks good. Better than he had when Steve was around. His hair's still long but it's curly and bouncy, and his skin is bright and alive in the way an addict's never is. His fingers skip, sure and strong, over the frets and his voice is that same melody Steve has never let himself forget, with this almost bluegrass twang that makes Steve's heart ache. He’s playing different music, and he’s shining like he’s made of gold in the late afternoon sun.

There's something about it, about watching Eddie, that feels a bit like healing. Eddie had always loved to play, but the music scene he was in had broken him before, not fixed him. He'd always wanted to make more of his own music, and here it is and it's good. The songs are catchy, straddling his blues/folk upbringing and his rock/metal lifestyle.

And then Eddie finishes a song, maybe his sixth, and his eyes scan the crowd and Steve feels when they land on him. He feels the way the whole room runs out of air, all at once, and Eddie is totally frozen for a full minute. Steve's heart is beating a million miles an hour-he wants to get up, he wants to run, but he's frozen to the seat. Pinned by Eddie's gaze.

And he knows he's been doing better, he has, but nothing was ever as good as it could have been because this is what he was missing.

"I've got," Eddie finally says, and has to stop and clear his throat. "I've got one more song for you." He's talking to the audience, but he never looks away from Steve, and the room has narrowed so much it might as well only be only the two of them there. "This one's about the one I chased away."

Steve pays attention to the lyrics and his heart breaks half a dozen times. Eddie sings about hating himself, about Steve hating him, about how the thing that tore them apart is the thing Eddie will never touch again, how the hatred is what drove him to be better. He sings about forgiveness and healing and when he finishes the coffee shop claps, Eddie waves, and the spotlight cuts.

It isn't even a conscious decision, but Steve finds himself walking up to the stage. Eddie turns away from where he's put the guitar away, their eyes meet again and it feels like coming home.

"I don't hate you," Steve whispers, because he's forgotten how to speak. "I never could."

"I'd understand if you would," Eddie says, and he's stepping closer. They're a foot apart now, eyes locked, and Steve's hands are shaking.

"I've been, uh, working really hard on myself." Steve admits, and he can't help himself. He lifts a hand and tucks a curl behind one of Eddie's ears. "I... I think about you all the time."

Eddie grins, and leans into his touch. "Me too," he murmurs, and drags his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. "I've been putting in the fuckin' work, Steve. And it's not easy, and I'm not perfect. I can't ever promise you perfect. But I'm three years sober, and I think I'm worth it, now. I think you're worth my love and I think I'm worth yours."

"I put in the fuckin work too," Steve mumbles, and he tips his head forwards so their foreheads hit.

When they're forty, they look back on this moment and grin at how little they knew. How much they believed their love would be enough, because the first time it wasn't. But this time, now that they've grown, that they've put in the fucking work?

This time, it's enough.

Eddie looks good with babies on his hips. Steve loves him more every day. They look back at forty, at fifty, at eighty, and they know their love could only have existed because they broke it, and learned by themselves how to fix it. It still hurts sometimes, aches like an old wound, but all Steve needs to do is to squeeze Eddie's hand, to feel his heart beating, and he knows:

He wouldn't trade what they have for the world.

(click here to read Eddie’s version, by the incredibly talented @riality-check !)

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