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sharonisthebettercarter · 3 days

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billy butcher and addiction--

felt there's a need for a good and proper analysis for this fucker (as well as i can manage, maybe throw in a bit of a rant on poor fandom etiquette, 'three laws of fandom' are an oldie but a goodie lol) so here we go i guess--

i wanna start by saying this is a full scope character deep dive (sortaish?? best i can do take it or leave it--lol i might go further in depth on specific scenes or whatnot later, i'm longwinded but i'm tryin' to condense as best i can for this, aaaaaaaaaaand long long post ahead--) that def includes elements solidly confirmed in dear becky and probably leans more on comics billy overall, but def does intertwine and interlock with show billy (as they are essentially the same, garth ennis' own words went something like 'he's a perfect billy butcher' lol)

i'll try to avoid spoilers (??) for the most part like dear becky, but there are some things that may need more context (there is quite a bit of in the show that works well enough to represent anyway but i guess we'll see how this goes, i may end up talking more about the show elements and how they parallel with comics billy anyway)

i also think it's worth mentioning that there's a lot to billy (especially in the comic) i feel fandom either ignores, dismisses or doesn't want to acknowledge, or just doesn't notice.

whether from personal bias/prejudice, desire (fitting billy into that 'alpha's alpha' toxic masculinity 'dom top' fever dream 'mold' so to speak, probably--no, definitely the *worst* way to interpret and easiest way bungle up his character, it completely misses the fact that billy has built *that* 'daddy approved' version of himself as a *facade* to *hide* his own shame and insecurity, and he is *so* much more complex than that nonsense (and genuinely uncomfortable and unhappy being that way-beyond the subtle guilt of a constant high). can we talk about the ways in which fandoms promote and perpetuate toxic masculinity--what, no time we'll be here all week?? oh, okay. jesus fucking christ that is exactly as bad if not worse than the maga chud interpretation and unironic worship of homelander--), lack of personal experience/familiarity, understanding--fuck it, even lack of education in media analysis or reading comprehension (if not both), and *especially* being pro-censorship/americentric/*stuck* with purity culture blinders (or even some part of them lingering)

all of those can def make media (and characters like billy) that isn't 'cookie cutter america-approved' fairly difficult to understand or accept (i guess??)

i've seen so much listed to hell and back in attempts to describe comics billy. 'he's a piece of shit' *YES*. 'he's just wish fulfillment for the author's hatred of superheroes' *no*??? let me not get into the complete hypocrisy of someone who writes or enjoys fanfic--the epitome of *wish fulfilment*--unironically complaining about other authors doing this and thinking it's a legit complaint. how does *anyone* read the entire story and come to *that* conclusion???

did you even bother reading the comic? no, i don't mean glossing over it with a completely closed mind while actively ignoring and dismissing everything important put in front of you and designed to make you think because the blood and guts or other is too distracting apparently, i mean *actually* reading it thoroughly and making an effort to think about what's being presented and why, waiting for the drop *instead* of jumping to judge (as is the american way)

and to some degree, i get it. i wouldn't say this comic is the easiest to digest (especially if completely unfamiliar with many of the themes presented, even the show has sparked some ass takes and interpretations) there's also plenty of common misconceptions, one in particular about garth ennis 'hating' superheroes. this is actually not true, what he hates is how the superhero *genre* has bottlenecked the comics industry and what is more likely to see success in it (and as a fellow creative, i completely understand how frustrating that would be, his main interest is actually war stories)

it's def one thing to say, 'nah, i don't vibe with the style' or 'it's not really for me/my taste but it's fine if others like it', i get that, satire and horror aren't for everyone. honest critique is fair even.

but it is a whole 'nother thing entirely to pretend your own personal tastes are *the only 'correct' creative law* and then *vehemently* oppose or hate something an artist created and denounce, harass, or fuck--dehumanize the people who enjoy it, if not the artists who work(ed) on it.

i'm sorry, this is a tangent cause it's def not limited to the hate the boys comics or ennis gets *at all*, it's especially prevalent in *literal* kids media like teen titans go where the thing in question is simply put--*NOT MADE FOR THE SHITHEADS NONSTOP COMPLAINING ABOUT IT* when they can literally, *LITERALLY* just *accept* that they weren't the *target audience* and move the fuck on with their day, happy as can be. *instead* of shitting on something *or the people who like it* to make literal *children* or other people feel bad about liking it.

it's one thing to try and educate people or have discourse and discussion, it is another entirely to *bully* them over something so *stupid* as *fiction*.

i especially have a problem with this shit when i have *several* artists tell me that they don't feel *safe* or *welcome* being themselves, liking or creating what *they* want to make in a fandom *because* of the fandom attitude and normalization of *hate* within that fandom.

i *thought* fandoms were supposed to be about *love* so what the fuck is this human tribalist false dichotomy bullshit??

and of course, that's not always the case. there is also an unbelievable level of respect that is given to fanartists and fanfiction writers, and that is *beautiful*. 'don't like, don't read'. *PERFECT*. curate your own content, complain or rant in your own spaces--you're entitled to an opinion, but *accept* that it still has a right to exist and other people still have a right to love it (and aren't wrong for that, opinions cannot be objective), *even if you don't like it*. just don't engage then, it's that simple.

now extend that level of courtesy to the people, artists and writers in the industry.

no, i'm not trying to shut down criticism of media, proper critique is how we learn and grow and understand better and in turn *create* better. yes, they can fumble the fucking bag too, especially when adapting something from a source material and--like *some* fanfic writers out there--think they can do it 'way better'.

but the people in the industry? who bend over backwards, going on strike in some cases, breaking their necks to work on and create the things that we *love* and latch onto?

they're people too. and whether the thing they make goes *exactly* how we want or not, however you feel about the money in the entertainment industry (which they see barely a dime of if those fucking strikes and constant mistreatment are any indication), they don't deserve to be treated like scabs.

that mentality of 'not my personal taste = universally bad' and 'anyone who disagrees with my opinion is wrong' is fucking gross and *extremely elitist*, just straight up announcing how pretentious, obtuse, willfully arrogant and ignorant, and *lacking in self awareness*--the number one easiest way to be the *shittiest* kind of artist/writer/critic--you are. it is *exactly* like cishet white men complaining about something being 'bad' because it's 'woke' or has anything *besides* a cishet white man for the protagonist.

*god forbid something isn't tailor made specifically for them.*

swear to gawd, i got a list of different bullshit and circle jerking i've seen all across different fandoms for different reasons. no i'm not mad at any one person in particular, just a little salty from recurring problems and gatekeeping (ghoulfucking-GHOULFUCKING OF ALL THINGS I--I CANNOT) if not straight up bullying (does it really make a bitch feel *so* much better to try and hurt other people for liking what they, and let's be honest, are not willing to give the time of day?) in fandoms. (the complete audacity of people to complain about a media being 'childish' or 'bad' because 'insert nonsensical trivial bullshit here that holds no weight because it's personal taste if not flat out wrong and not actual critique' and then turn around and throw the biggest fucking tantrums about it--let me not get into the whole sharon carter debacle jesus christ--)

same shit. different pile.

also, fuck me. i keep *forgetting* that genuinely valid critique (*not* personal taste/opinion, proper critique pertains to things like techniques used, composition, narrative consistency and plot holes, goals of the artist/writer, accomplishments of those goals, etc.) is something that needs proper education and understanding all on its own which not a whole ton of people get or even know, which just goes to show--i'm a dumbass too. (but i won't deny that plenty of 'critics' are full of shit and *know* this but use their 'personal taste' as 'critique' *anyway* because... they enjoy being complete assholes and discouraging other artists i guess.)

y'all, take a class or two in art critique and literature analysis. you'll learn all the cool lingo (to later forget if you're like me~), and maybe (hopefully) walk out with a bit more of an open mind wanting to encourage more art in the world, even if you don't personally like it. take a moment to *listen* to differing opinions in their *entirety* and you might even gain a new perspective.

*no one* should be ashamed to ask questions or admit they don't know or understand something and fuck the people that would make you feel that way. *we can and should help each other.*

but stagnant or hostile fandoms with no self awareness and perpetuated elitism circle jerks? *really* fucking shameful, regardless of the form or where they are.

ANYWHO--

ugh, fuck. okay. i think i'm done with that tangent, back on topic--

BILLY BEAN~<3

and i want to reiterate that *again*, dear becky *does* confirm pretty much everything i'm going to discuss here tho technically speaking, nothing is spoiled here as it's just reiterating what is implicit (if not stated outright) throughout the series.

as far as dear becky goes, it's a good final gut-wrenching piece to the series and i loved it, but it definitely leaned on more of 'tell' instead of 'show, don't tell' (no duh in context, but probably because the rest of the comic did the 'show'--very well imo but it still flew over peoples' heads and made them misplace their brains--i'm sorry, i've just lost so much patience for the lack of reading comprehension and media literacy, but honestly? ennis is genuinely too good at knowing how to spark a strong emotional reaction in readers. and can we talk about the dense mofos that *make* authors have to 'tell' just to confirm something that is heavily implied--what, no time? oh, fuck, fine.)

OKAY--

addiction.

what about it, and why am i mentioning it. well. because if it's not clear by now, william butcher is an addict.

and it is one of, if not the core element that drives him to do what he does.

not becky or becca. not justice.

addiction.

and i don't mean traditional substance abuse (though he admits there has been as much in his life, especially with alcohol, his drug of choice is a bit more complex and maybe not so easy to spot on the surface for those unfamiliar with addiction).

in the show, we even see him mention that he's 'done 'em all' and there's *nothing* like temp v--and it's because temp v *amplifies* his *addiction* to the highest level it could exist on.

something else to note, there's a ton of stigma and widespread (ableist) misconception surrounding addiction still (which may be part of why people may not want to recognize it in billy), but it is absolutely a clinical mental disorder and people who suffer from it should be treated as *medical patients*, not reduced to violent criminals and scumbags. (fuck you drug war and prohibition, you are the root of organized crime and you're racist as shit.) it's also possible to become addicted to *anything*. and i mean *anything*.

if you can repeat a behavior and your brain no longer cares whether or not that behavior is causing you harm because there is a *compulsive* urge for that *repetition* or a specific result from it? that is addiction. money, anger, pain, violence, self harm, attention, love...

you'd think the last one might be okay, but it's not. it's an easy way to get caught in the infinite loop of an abusive relationship, just with promise of it. no delivery necessary.

but it doesn't have to be drugs that cause addiction. hell, gambling addiction is a thing all it's own that can get *incredibly* severe.

and listen, too much of *anything* can be horrible for you. fucking coconut will give you the runs if you eat too much that shit is *not* fun pun intended--

i digress.

in billy's case? he's actually addicted to two i just listed.

violence. and self harm.

i mentioned before that what drives billy has next to nothing to do with what happened to becky or becca.

there's a common misconception that, at the end of the day, billy does have some level of good intent behind his actions, and to a degree this is true in the *complete reverse* of what people often assume, and this is proven repeatedly in both the show (with just what we have seen) and comic (where its laid out too heavily to ignore).

setting aside the fact that there's *never* a good 'rEaSoN' to commit or even attempt *genocide* (EVER. i have ZERO patience for the constant apologism of this bullshit, SWEAR TO GAWD FANDUMB--) and billy's genocidal tendencies on their own, the idea that 'he goes after homelander for becca' or 'justice' has been completely debunked.

'justice is not vengeance'

something to always keep in mind.

but... in the first season? hughie called him out on this.

butcher calls him a 'disgrace to robin's memory', and hughie--bless his little heart, responds with 'i think i'm doing this *for* her.'

it's an interesting response, because hughie is essentially saying--

'you'll *die* for this woman, but that's not what she would have wanted. i'm going to *live* for robin, and for *annie*, because *that's* what she would have wanted.'

and he's absolutely right. billy loved becca, would have died for her. but he refuses to listen and *live* for her.

the group therapist too even before hughie. she literally laid it all out, front and center in the clearest way possible, 'it's a defense mechanism', and then butcher had his little meltdown just before telling hughie about becca, everything he can, including *using* other peoples tragedies and his own *specifically* to manipulate hughie and try and make sure *starlight* can't *save* him from what butcher is trying to turn him into.

*so that hughie stays stuck on his reason to die, instead of finding one to live.*

in the second season, *becca* herself calls him out on this, multiple times.

'you put me on this pedestal but i never knew how to save you'.

'--i didn't come to you, i went to vought--.'

and that's just it, becca (and becky in the comic) is *intimately* familiar with billy's *addiction* and the underlying mental health issues he *wouldn't address*. she didn't tell him what happened even after the shock of it because she *knew* that it would just become a reason for billy to *give in* and be his worst self to a degree where she would *lose him* regardless of what she felt or asked for from him.

she felt she had to *suffer in silence* to *protect him* from *himself*, something that ends up *destroying* her.

becca wanted to *save* billy, but more importantly, she wanted *him* to *save himself* because she *believed in him*, *so much*.

'i never wanted that for you.'

she doesn't want billy to drown and suffer or cause harm in his own hatred and addictions. she *loved* him so much so, that she was willing to *drown herself* if it meant she could save *him*. she loved him *too much*.

billy's mum too, even tries to help in her own way. (she is much less aware of billy's activity in the comic, but we'll come back to her. for the show, this was likely in response to seeing the news about *stillwell*, something his dad fucking *praised* him for)

'--that he wouldn't have this hold on you--'

billy's actions are almost entirely driven by the *addiction* his father forced on him. on doing the things that would make his 'daddy' *proud*. and the thing is, he's *fully aware* of this.

he constantly *says* that *becca* is his 'reason', that she was his *cure*, but she's the *excuse*. his *new addiction* and *self medication* (also billy, you fucking cunt you *know* what you do and have no leg to stand on when it comes to self medicating--)

both in the worst of what he does and his rejection of addressing his own traumas, and she is *unwilling* in this endeavor. she never wanted this hate to consume him, she never wanted all of this death with her name as the signature, *she never wanted billy to be his father*, much less be something much worse.

he even admits as much in the third season when he hallucinates lenny who tells him his actions would 'break becca's heart'

billy responds something along the lines of 'becca's dead, it doesn't matter what she thinks'. (a line presented in the comic even more harshly, but it drives the point home perfectly.)

when he sees lenny again in his nightmare--

'i'm not that bastard--.'

'come off it billy, you always have been. cause anyone who's ever loved you, you end up gettin' 'em killed, don't ya--.'

'--the last person on god's green earth tryin' to stop you from bein' a monster, and what do you do? drag him down to your level... when he dies... and he will... then no can stop you.'

OOF OUCH OWIE--. the lenny stuff hits so damn hard but it represents *perfectly* what butcher's own *internalized beliefs* are.

mallory calls him out on it literally every season.

'--but billy! not the others!'

'it's like asking a cockroach to not be a cockroach--'

'--because it wouldn't stop with just homelander--'

'this was never about ryan or becca, it was always selfish. the hate inside that you want to let loose on the world.'

'--i was wrong... you are your father, always have been...'

and then there's billy's subsequent impulsive reaction to push ryan away, and *be his father*.

but hell, even in gen v when mallory is speaking to shetty.

and truthfully, billy was even showing *withdrawal* symptoms at the beginning of the third season.

billy himself, even *self punishes*, picking fights he knows he *won't* win as a way to counterbalance *and* satisfy his own addiction, infinite loop. vicious cycle.. (ooh i will def be coming back to the big one here--), and we see this in one *HUGE* way, and in many many smaller ways, but even in the more literal sense of going to bars, starting trouble, and laughing or smiling when he's getting beat the fuck up or *losing*.

it's even highlighted in the show, billy *seeking out violence* and conflict whether he should or not, *especially* when unnecessary. getting his own face busted up and smiling because of it is something that happens multiple times in the comic (even on accident in one instance), and is def given a place in the show. it's easy to pass off as billy simply being a masochist (which is def true lmao he does admit as much), but there's also more to it than that and it goes hand in hand with his *addiction* and--

what he thinks he deserves.

billy *hates himself* so *severely* that he actually *does not believe* that he is capable of the *good* that others, such as lenny, becca, his mum, and hughie are willing to *see* in him. he *completely* believes it when others say that 'he is his father' (internalizes it, struggles with it, and frequently acts on it).

he puts on a show. bravado, posture, and 'confidence'. and he's so good at putting on that front, that he can fool himself, even for a moment. and those that believe it will even *enable* him. and the people he feels *nothing* for? again, he maintains the front. he lives his life *masking*, *faking it*--so fucking hard. homelander could never--

and it's not even necessarily the result of toxic masculinity. don't get me wrong, he def has some issues with that lingering (y'all, if you have *say* you're an 'alpha' and posture out your sweet little ass off 24/7, you're def *not* an 'alpha' lmfao), but it's more so his own *trauma* that forces him to *cling* to that.

but when he *loves*, and he loves *deeply*, he completely rolls over and shows his belly like a kitten<3... when he was with becky, he was happy and comfortable, and all of that *ridiculousness* just melted away completely... he didn't feel any need for it because he felt *safe*, because this constant *insecurity* and feeling of being *threatened* all the damn time looming overhead had suddenly cleared up with becky there.

it's not even so much that billy doesn't feel fear. he might not traditionally (at all if his amygdala is damaged), but considering the fight or flight response, billy's *default* setting literally *is* that *fight* response. he's the way he is because he is *always* afraid and he's been conditioned for it to manifest itself as *rage*.

we see bits of his love come through in a few moments he has with people he has genuine care for. (the way he loves his mum and she instantly calms him down is genuinely so sweet.)

but it's always gonna come back down to 'daddy dearest'.

because of him, *billy is afraid of living*.

and--

his father. *is proud of him*.

billy is *just like him* or *everything he wanted to be* as a *man*, or at least is compelled to *project* this on the surface. and everything in *billy* that *is* his father, *just like him*, is *everything* that billy *hates*. so it manifests into an *intense* self loathing and spiraled addiction that magnifies the worst of what his father *forced* on him.

he *doesn't want* to be *his father*, but he feels, and fully believes that *he already is*. his self hatred is another form of *hating his father*, because *he is that man's legacy*.

so *billy* doesn't *believe* that he deserves love or goodness or care from other people (a parallel we see in homelander, presented a bit differently.) so he 'doesn't care'. makes excuses to not care (about people in general, if not just the very *prominent* antisocial tendencies), or leave, or push them away, lashing out to give *them* the excuse to leave him, because he is *afraid* and in his own mind, *unworthy*.

he's *afraid* of being loved, of *losing* that love, of *hurting* those he loves. he is *afraid* of being his own father.

but it's all he's ever known, all he's ever been *conditioned* to be. intoxicated, ever present, it's this terrible thing that destroys him but he *can't* stop. *addiction*.

and what better way to protect those he loves than to keep himself as *far* away from them as possible? than to *make* them hate him. than to do the *wrong* thing, to *disappoint* them. self sabotage. self punishment.

he can't stop himself. he deserves it.

lather, rinse, repeat.

so what does that mean for homelander, or even the reason he goes after homelander? the *real* reason.

'there must be *some* good in him because homelander 'must be' this 'ultimate evil that *must* be stopped', right?

not really. he's a symptom of a much greater evil, but he was never the root of it. if billy really wanted to solve the problems at hand and get *justice*, he'd go after *vought*, NOT homelander.

homelander is not even the real villain in *billy's* mind, in all actuality.

what homelander *is*?

temptation.

he is... the *ultimate* final high for billy. in terms of addiction to both *violence* and *self punishment*.

he doesn't actually go after homelander because he wants to 'stop him' or even kill him. not really. there are times billy starts a fight *expecting* to *lose*, *wanting* it. homelander *is* one of those times to the most intense degree that billy could find. and he even senses this when they first meet--unnecessarily, privately insulting the man because why?

because he feels *threatened*. because he feels *insecure*. because if homelander is *truly good*, even with *all that power*--

then billy has no fucking excuse--

it is, in essence, the same exact reaction that lex luthor has to superman. forcing himself to *challenge* him because of a *constant* sense of *fear*. (except lex *is* afraid of dying, so 1000% a huge coward lmao--)

but~, when he finds out homelander is *bad*?

homelander is billy's *failsafe*

to stop the person he feels is the most terrible evil of all *and* to set the world on fire in the process. a way for billy to kill two birds with one stone. compelled by his addiction to *chase* this ideation relentlessly.

homelander is to billy--his ultimate end, self punishment, a death wish, a *suicide attempt*.

and a way to *unleash his hatred onto the rest of the world*, *to make it burn*, even after his death. (this would be why despite many many MANY warnings to *not* push homelander *because of the catastrophe this will ultimately instigate and the loss of life this is bound to result in*--billy does not give a shit about the potential consequences. he welcomes them--)

if homelander were a *nuke*, billy would want to *launch* him. right now, homie is more like the *demon core*, incredibly dangerous and in some instances lethal, but not *yet* explosive.

billy *wants* the *warhead*.

it was why he got *so excited* at the *chance* of homelander offering him 'scorched earth'.

the man read billy like an open fucking book, and set the bait--

y'all, in other words, homie straight up went to billy's house and offered *crack* to the *crack addict*--fuck yeah he's gonna take that offer!

homelander never actually perceives billy as a real threat *at all* (safe to say, this is the main reason he doesn't kill him. there's a bit of personal complex combined with the deals/blackmail/request involved, but this would also be why he doesn't *hesitate* to 'kill' billy at herogasm. he genuinely gives no fucks about this poor man or his many anal complexes and daddy issues beyond the mild entertainment he gets from him and just how *easy* it is to read billy or rile him up. maybe a *dash* of novelty being found in billy's obsession with him. i'll go into the homie side of things in depth maybe someday soon lol but for now--)

and here's the thing, homelander isn't the *only* failsafe. he is simply the *ultimate failsafe*

included in all the possible bad habits billy has is pawning off his *responsibility* and personal accountability, even his *will to do good* onto others.

i mentioned before that becca (becky) was like a new addiction for him. and she was. in a sense, billy was using her to self medicate. she loved him, gave him love and made him feel good, no pain, no shame--but also no pause to think about that pain, self hatred and self doubt and actively address it. she was a way to not worry about his own *goodness* because she was an *easy* reason for him to *want* to be good.

and something important to note?

billy feels that he has *cheated* on becca/becky *since* the day she left/died. (there's a whole ass deliciously intricate story there but i'm trying to avoid the spoilers lmao. kind of a freebie hint i guess.)

lenny and hughie similarly make an effort to *hold butcher back* and reach out to him. (everyone does honestly, but not everyone is so successful with it). and butcher lets them, but *also* removes the agency of his own choice in the matter.

he doesn't just *let them* make him *good*, he doesn't believe he's capable of stopping himself on his own--but he believes in *them* because they *are* good, *truly good*.

hughie all on his own is *another kind of failsafe* and lo and behold, even calls butcher out on this by the end of the third season (theme is prevalent in the comic a lil different but again spoilers lol):

'i don't think you want to do this. i think you want me to stop you.'

*ding*ding*ding*!

nail on the head, hughie... butcher does not believe he can stop himself. so he sets up *failsafes* to do as much.

and let me just say, it is *unbelievably* shitty of him to do that, to pawn off the responsibility of his own behavior, whether good or pure evil onto other people. but i get it. and it fucking breaks my heart for him.

because *that* is addiction. it feels like mind control. aggressive compulsion. you feel ashamed, and hate yourself, and don't care if you hurt yourself or even others. but you keep *hoping*, *wishing*, *leaving a breadcrumb trail* so that *someone*, *anyone*, will come along and--

*save you. from you.*

and when you stop believing in yourself, in your own willpower to fight against this *thing* that just completely *destroys* you from the inside out... without *anyone* on your side, what else is left to do but to numb the pain?

i was able to recognize billy's addiction right off the bat because i've *been* to a lot of the places he has been. including the addiction. and he makes me so *fucking* mad because it's like seeing a version of myself *still stuck*, *still lost*, *still trapped* by my own issues and self loathing, and all of the abuse i've gone through--

and the biggest fuck up, the biggest *abuser* is me.

i can't *escape* me. *no one* can escape *themself*.

that fucker breaks my heart to pieces because *i have been there*, and i know just how fucking hard it is to *be* there, just how much harder it is to *get out* and start to *learn*--*who is it you really wanna be? who are you without this drug?*

and something he even says in the comics on a few occasions is--

'i'm not really here, i'm somewhere else watching this happen'

asserting that he *truly* believes that he has *no control* over *what* he is. (in contrast with homelander, who feels the weight of something similar but more literally in some regard, and in relation to so many other aspects in his life with the world around him.)

billy butcher *is* the *true villain* of *his own story*

of his own making.

he's not after homelander or even vought. he doesn't blame society or even his father at this point. he blames himself. and he's *given up* entirely on fighting himself. he's looking for his *overdose*.

*that's homelander*

ain't that a kick in the head...

it's part of what makes their relationship and dynamic so incredibly electric and titillating. it's got nothing to do with becca or becky.

butcher sees homelander as an easy way out. as a way to control the narrative, *maintain his own*, and *stop the bad guy* without bringing someone *good*, like *hughie*, down to his level.

he *sees* the parallels, a kindred spirit. he *knows* the potential. and he wants to be the *spark* to light all that *gasoline*.

because then it won't be his fault anymore. his *guilt*. he'll have passed on his *curse*.

likewise, he actually goes after supes in general for a similar enough reason, and it ties in with why he *doesn't* go after vought directly.

billy actually *likes* the status quo. to a degree, *needs* it, *needs vought*

because *vought* is the *creator* of his *supply*, feeding this addiction. and we hear billy say this in both the comic and show--

'with great power comes the absolute certainty that you'll turn into a right cunt.'

and billy actually believes this--about himself.

when he says it about other supes and even his intense hatred of them, it is a *projection* of his own issues and what he believes to be true for himself (that he would do the absolute worst thing imaginable given the opportunity). and in a way, going after them is in some ways a metaphor for stopping and destroying himself, hating himself, as much as it is a way to maintain his addiction.

and--

maintain the narrative he has built--that he is the true villain.

and if that's the case, well... it takes a *hero* to stop a *villain*, right?

but also--y'all remember that scene in the suicide squad where polkadot man imagines everyone as his mum? how he imagines starro as his mum?

yeah, that.

that's basically billy. every fucking supe, including starlight, and kimiko, and let's *really* not talk about what this means about him sleeping with maeve in context with his 'supe=daddy' issues, but even the person he sees in the mirror. *all of them* are *his father*.

listen, i'm not kidding. billy's daddy issues are seriously severe, so fucking bad, i--

his actions aren't for becca or becky or ryan or justice. even he *knows* that's bullshit and admits as much (which just makes fandom denying it that much more fucked). but they're not even *just because* or because he's genocidal, antisocial, or anything else. he *does* want someone to stop him. he's sane enough to recognize his actions for what they truly are *behind* the mask.

billy's actions are a volatile and violent *cry for help*, because he never learned how to *ask*, or even how to *believe in himself*.

he never truly learned that *he never had to be his father*, and he didn't *need* becky or becca, lenny or hughie to *be good*.

i actually think billy's greatest magic trick is convincing even the audience and readers that he is a *total*, complete piece of shit. and don't get me wrong, he is *def* a huge, massive, incredibly rank and ripe piece of shit--.

and y'all, i'm sorry if you believed him and got played like a damn fiddle, him and homie def throwin' in some hard balls--

but he's also still human. he also still needs just as much if, honestly? maybe even more, fucking *help* than homelander. which kind of draws back into their parallels. the tomfoolery of fandom might have you believe that billy is less complex or more put together than homelander, but their situations go hand in hand and the evidence suggests (if not confirms) something quite different.

billy's plight and even goal in some sense is *convincing the rest of his world that he is a monster*. driven by the addiction his father gave him. enabled by the world around him.

homelander's? it's actually the complete opposite. his struggle is with *his world convincing him that he is a monster*, and in turn, against his own instincts, *growing* into that role. when in reality, he never got the chance to decide for himself, it was decided *for* him a long long time ago.

'i think, therefore i am.'

'i can, therefore i must.'

however, *our actions cannot define who we are, because we can choose our actions*. good or bad are not something you inherently *are*, they are something you *choose to do*.

it paints what in turn becomes quite the brutal and tragic picture when these two forces meet. homelander and billy are both of the mindset that they *don't have a choice*.

and this bit is a bit more of a personal thought, but regarding billy's mum, she was *becky*. she was sweet, and kind, and cared for her family more than anything. *it didn't matter what she suffered, she was willing to drown if it meant saving the people she loved*.

as much as i adore how cute becca and billy were, i don't think she would have saved him.

i think the implication is that she would have either 'drowned' trying and become his mum, history repeating itself in a vicious cycle as billy spread his disease to any child they could have.

or that she would have lost her mind. and in turn *become* the person billy spread his disease to, if not another enabler for him. if not billy's choice of drug, maybe she would have taken up something else and eventually overdosed. i would even say the show implies this outcome with both becca and hughie, as the more butcher pushes--the more worn down they get.

if you put enough pressure on someone--they break.

becca was *good* for him. but billy was so, so fucking *bad* for her.

it begs the question of whether or not billy *is* right, if he really is this monster, *fated* to become his father in the worse of ways. of whether or not it's too late for him.

he's certainly not 'normal' or 'right' or 'good' or even an 'anti-hero'. at best, you could maybe call him an 'anti-villain', he is meant to be the deuterantagonist.

it def doesn't help that every time he has the *chance* to do the right thing, *someone* goes and enables him, gives him a reason to do the *wrong* thing.

fucking maeve in that last episode of the third season. but she's def not the only one, and def not the only time. (and yes, if it wasn't clear enough, being completely fucking indifferent to killing *thousands* of people to go after *one* fucking guy is in fact, the *wrong* thing to do.)

butt.

rewatching the scenes with lenny and billy's reaction, and even the final fight, showed something of a *possible* silver lining.

billy *enjoys* rejecting his father. actually pretty fucking greatly if we're being honest. generally speaking, it's when he *rejects* his father and everything that man represents that billy is at his *happiest* (lmao the epitome of an unfulfilled submissive sweetheart and bratty bossy bottom~<3<3<3)

there's a moment, where soldier boy says something along the lines of--

'--fuck you. you're weaker than he is.'

in regards to homelander. it's sort of glossed over, but this is billy's reaction to essentially being called a 'disgrace' so to speak by a toxic 'alpha male'.

y'all see that? it's a smile. lmao a smirk.

this is a moment where billy is protecting *ryan* and keeping his promise to becca. it's a moment where billy is *doing the right thing*, all on *his own* (mostly lol i'm sure there's a roundabout way to justify it in his head). and i think that's key.

it's not just a moment he's proud of himself and has a legitimate fucking reason to be proud of himself, (oh btw, we shoulda *all* been proud of billy in this moment), it's a moment he's *breaking through what his father made him* and his own *addiction*.

and he's doing it *selflessly* and--*without setting that responsibility on another person*.

so we *know* he has it in him, he always has. even becky *in the comic* kept trying to convince billy that *he is capable of good without her*. and again, we actually saw this in the second season when becca and ryan were reunited and billy *changed* his plans, *for becca*, instead of doing the selfish thing and selling ryan back to vought.

but if billy doesn't believe it himself...

i don't think billy is right about himself. but it is very *very* difficult for someone to *correct course* so to speak, once they have their *core beliefs*, lay out their own destiny and start along a *self fulfilling prophecy*, something him and homelander *both* do.

enter ryan.

and suddenly (lol probably in part due to reading dear becky lol), there was a bit of... not so much new, as *confirmed* perspective in play after that rewatch, something to *look* for and ponder in regards to *why* ryan may have been added for this story, a question in mind--

'would it be wrong of *ryan* to want to save his father?'

was it wrong of becca or becky, hughie or lenny, even his mum, to want to save billy?

how would *billy* even begin to answer such questions?

a different answer for the two would be a clear hypocritical bias (which lol i would not put past billy, but i also wouldn't be surprised if he maintained consistent thinking by answering *yes* to both)

. . .

y'all...

i still can't say i'm particularly optimistic about things turning out alright for either gent or ryan, butt~<3

garth ennis literally made the saddest, most pathetic, deliciously sweet, perfectly precious, extra emo tsun tsun baby boi ever, and put him right under our noses.

some a y'all fucking sneezing all over him, straight up sleepin' on all his *best* bits. how are we not utilizing billy butcher *properly~<3<3<3*????

;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

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spaceistheplaceart · 2 years

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I just think its very sweet that mob was the motivation reigen needed to quit smoking <3 so I made a comic about it

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #comic #op art #long post #tw smoking #tw addiction

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clownpalette · 5 months

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☆ Candy addict ★

Don't do crack, have a snack 💫

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darkgreenandbloodred · 2 months

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LET GRANTAIRE BE UGLY, and not just some watered down version of what you think is conventionally physically unattractive. Stop treating Grantaire’s alcoholism like a punchline. I want to see Grantaire broken down, ashamed, and sick. I want there to be representation of what alcoholism actually does to people. Give me the Grantaire that pisses himself, and throws up. Give me the Grantaire that says “if I drink tonight then I just won’t drink this weekend” and ends up drinking on the weekend anyway. Give me the Grantaire that hides his alcohol in crumbled up water bottles and hollowed out jello cups and aspirin bottles. Give me the Grantaire that attempts to drink hand sanitizer because he’s so desperate. Dare I say give me the Grantaire that drives while drunk and has the nerve to joke about it saying things like “I actually drive better when I’m drunk” and give me the Grantaire where that’s actually TRUE because that’s his most calm state. Give me the Grantaire that can’t paint without alcohol because his hands get too shaky, give me the Grantaire who tells himself he can’t quit because of that. Give me the Grantaire who Enjolras is actually disgusted by and not for the simple fact that he hurts his pride. Give me the Grantaire that has a red nose and sallow puffy skin and yellow eyes from what the years of alcohol abuse has done to his fucking liver and body. Give me a Grantaire that is such wasted potential, that could be an artist, a boxer, etc. but alcohol and his own cynicism holds him back. Give me Grantaire with mental health issues and trauma and flaws and not the soft misunderstood kind. LET GRANTAIRE BE UGLY!

#Ok that’s my rant #les mis #les miserables #les amis de l'abc #grantaire #tw alcohol #tw addiction #tw alcoholism

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metalhoops · 1 year

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The place was Chicago. The year was 1990.

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters.

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment.

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by.

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there.

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe.

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums.

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting.

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two.

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms.

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated.

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago.

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal.

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another.

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers.

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might.

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now.

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be.

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore.

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him.

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you.

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag.

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket.

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones.

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn��t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear.

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene.

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable.

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell.

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf.

It was almost six. Shit.

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie.

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face.

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked.

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation.

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected.

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson.

Then Eddie remembered.

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve.

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose.

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly.

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself.

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer.

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair.

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak.

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied.

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered.

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention.

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely.

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive.

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves.

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself.

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly.

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears.

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began.

Eddie screwed up his nose in response.

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort.

“Stevie, you didn’t.”

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush.

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches.

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned.

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck.

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands.

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.”

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living.

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath.

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead.

“Do you want to get a drink?”

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans.

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze.

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.”

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself.

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone.

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy.

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt.

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention.

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular.

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth.

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve.

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie.

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table.

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve.

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject.

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless.

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on.

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways.

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak.

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up.

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth.

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin.

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed.

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan.

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively.

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit.

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand.

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy.

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke.

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking.

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

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sandswirls · 7 months

Text

A small comic about Spamton’s alcoholism

A bright future ahead

Got to the top and lost it all

But he still has one “friend” left

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wheatnoodle · 9 months

Text

TW//

substance abuse, addiction, self medicating

eddie munson does not trust steve harrington.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“steve.”

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

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

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

#stranger things #stranger things au #steve harrington #steve harrington au #eddie munson #eddie munson au #steddie au #drug abuse #drug dealer eddie munson #substance abuse tw #tw addiction #steddie #steddie ficlet

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toxicanonymity · 10 months

Text

menace

4k / (your) creep!Joel x f!Reader / night walks AU

Thank you @serenaxpedro for the pic and gif 🖤

Thank you @missannwinchester for a great smut prompt. 🖤

✨A/N: you can skip to the 🚬🚬🚬 divider to get to Joel faster and skip the plot with her aunt talking about joel.

WARNINGS: creepy!Joel, some angst (read Q&A Qs 1 & 2 if you don't want it), alcohol, public groping, fingering, and humping, references to addiction, Jack getting the jack treatment, somnophilia, grinding and dry humping, thigh fucking, unsafe P in V sex, reader POV for most of it, followed by Joel POV smut. There's a floor plan at the bottom of the post.

“Following you? This is my spot, pumpkin.” He nods to the women’s room and lowers his voice to add, “C’mon, you know that.” You voice the question you’ve been asking yourself ever you saw him in that booth. “Would it bother you if I was out with another guy?” He offers a little smirk and steps closer until you’re almost up against the opposite wall. He lowers his voice more.

“I got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, baby.” He tilts his head and gazes into your eyes. “Go ‘head, know ya want it.” He holds out his hand and you hesitantly give him yours. His thumb draws light circles on your palm. “Can’t stand it, can ya? Bein’ this close, and not close enough.”

(Night Walks 8)

After seeing a topless picture of yourself in your brand new text conversation, you reply, “omg DELETE.”

Joel replies, “what’s it worth to ya?”

You don’t answer.

“Door’s unlocked,” he says.

You don’t respond. Your aunt has planted a seed of doubt and shame, and the last thing you wanna do is rush back over to his place. If he showed up at your basement door, it’d be a different story.

You don’t expect to like the guy your uncle introduces you to, but you agree to it in order to get your aunt off your back. Just in case what your aunt says about Joel is true, you figure it also won’t hurt to get your mind off Joel. Diversify your investment. Because after spending all night and all day with him for the first time, you realize you’re more invested than you want to be.

Your aunt is relieved when you once again agree to be set up on the date. She’s making dinner and you’re sitting at the kitchen table watching. “So, that’ll give you someone new to spend time with. A real looker, too.” She smiles over her shoulder, then stirs the boiling pasta to keep it from sticking. “I know there aren’t that many people your age in the neighborhood,” she says louder since she’s facing away. As if that must be why you’d resort to Joel.

“He’s a little older than you, but not more than 10 years. Definitely not as old as. . . “ She puts the utensil down on the spoon rest and her face falls, then she turns around to face you. She crosses her arms and her brows knit together. “I’m sorry,” She opens her mouth to say something, closes it, then changes her mind again. “What do you and Joel do when you ‘hang out’?” She squints at you and uses air quotes.

You swallow, then look around. “Watch tv, listen to music.”

“That’s all? I wasn’t born yesterday, honey.”

You shrug. “I don’t get it. You heard rumors, so what. What am I missing?”

“Not just rumors, honey.” She looks down and away and swallows. A pit opens in your stomach.

You’re not sure you want the answer, but you ask, “Did you. . . sleep with him?”

She laughs loudly, then covers her mouth with her eyes wide.

You study her face in anticipation.

“No, no. God, no.” She laughs more quietly. “Sleep with him? No, of course not.”

“What, then? What’s not a rumor” Your heart is racing.

“It was a long time ago.” She returns her attention to the pasta.

“What was??”

She turns the stove off and turns around, crossing her arms again. “I mean, years ago.” She approaches the table and sits down across from you. “. . . there was a cook-out at his next-door neighbor’s house. He showed up and he was all by himself. The other men weren’t including him. I felt kinda bad and went up and talked to him. He had a fancy drink. I asked him what it was, and he said he’d make me one really quick if I came to his bar. I had a bad feeling, but I still went to his basement.” She pauses and looks at you. Your face feels stone cold.

"What happened?"

“He tried to get me to, um-”

“To what.”

She sighs. “Smoke reefer with him.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

You suppress a laugh. "And you said no?"

"Of course I said no! If I was gonna try it, it wouldn't be with him."

"Did he take no for an answer?"

"Oh, yeah.”

“So what, then?”

“I just got this terrible feeling about him.” She shakes her head. “So, I left.”

“That’s all?”

“And I was so embarrassed to go back to the barbecue smelling like that.” She pinches her eyes shut at the memory, then opens them. “I mean, not like that, I don’t really mind smelling it. But smelling like him.” She holds her head with her palms on her temples for a moment, then lets them down. “Your uncle wasn't happy either. And I got pulled into the rumor mill, too, until I told people what really happened. You’ve gotta trust your gut, honey.”

Your brain might know better, but you’re pretty sure your guts want that cock all up in them. "Did he try to touch you or anything?"

"No, nothing like that."

“Did he ever make you the drink?”

“Oh yeah, that was the first thing he did.”

"Why do you think he invited you?"

She sighs. "I dunno. Maybe he was bummed after the guys at the grill wouldn’t really talk to him. When I went over to say hello, maybe he thought I wanted to hang out."

"Where were you sitting in his basement?"

"At the bar, watching him make the drink. These are a lot of questions, honey. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

You ignore the question and think for a moment. "I guess I don't get it. You say he has girls coming and going at all hours as if that means he's sleeping with anyone who goes in his basement. But he didn't even make a pass at you?"

She sighs. "Okay, you don’t have to believe that. But he’s still bad news. You know he's an ex con, right?"

Your eyes go wide. You're not put off by it, but it's never come up. If it’s true, you shouldn't be surprised, given you don't do a lot of talking, much less share your life stories. So it’s not like he's hiding it.

🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬

For the next few days, you and Joel don’t text each other, but you think about him every day and wish he would say something. You think about your aunt’s concerns, too. You feel a little better when you reflect on how this all started. How fixated Joel has been on you. How fixated he is? You get nervous that he hasn’t texted. You look him up. No criminal record in the last 10 years and you'd have to go to the courthouse to go back further. You wouldn’t put it past the rumor mill to be wrong about this.

One night, Joel texts “Walk?”

When you don’t respond, an hour later, he says, “swim?” which makes you smile.

“Not tonight, I have a headache.”

He replies, “Feel better 💐🍆.” It makes you laugh but also turns you on. You wonder why he doesn’t just show up one night.

You go out with Jack and he’s surprisingly hot, nice to talk to, and funny. He's a welder with a nice physique. He obviously works with his hands. His black hair is just beginning to gray. On the first date, You tell him what brought you to the suburbs. The need to save money and get some space from your immediate family. Jack says he wishes he felt like he could get that space. He shares that his father is a recovering addict, and he checks in on his parents a lot. He worries that his dad is going to slip. You have some common interests and you like him enough to want to see him again. The two of you text casually throughout the week.

For your second date, he picks you up for a drink at your favorite restaurant. It was Jack’s choice, but there aren’t exactly a lot of restaurants close by. When you walk into the restaurant, your face heats up. The last time you were there, you ran into Joel and he gave you head in the bathroom. You’ve known this, but once you’re there, something about physically being in the space again makes you feel exposed, like the staff must somehow know.

You sit at the bar and have a couple of drinks. The bar is a big square island in the middle of the restaurant. The main restaurant space is behind you. The front door is straight ahead, and the other two walls in the bar area are lined with booths. You’re in the middle of telling Jack about movies you’d like to see when you lose his attention. His eyes fixate on a corner booth and his face falls.

You follow his line of sight and your heart skips a beat when you see Joel. He’s facing away from you, but you can see his profile and you’d recognize it anywhere. You can see his pinstripe PJ pants, too, and a blazer which he's surely wearing over a very low-cut t-shirt. He’s sitting across from another attractive man Joel's age or older. More gray.

You realize your hand is covering your mouth and your eyes are wide.

Jack notices too and does a double take, then asks, "You know him??"

"Uh, no, I don't think so, why? Do you?"

“That’s my father.” Your heart almost beats out of your chest for a few seconds until you realize he’s obviously talking about the man facing y’all. “And I’m pretty sure that other guy is a dealer.”

You nod slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Jack’s eyes are welling up as he tries to call his dad and his dad ignores it. Jack’s dad gets up and slaps hands horizontally with Joel, punctuated by a finger grip, and his dad leaves. Joel starts to turn around and in the corner of your eye you see him head toward the restrooms.

“I’m gonna go to the ladies room,” you say and affectionately squeeze his shoulder.

The restrooms are around the corner out of view. Just before Joel opens the door to the men’s room, you ask, "Are you selling drugs to addicts?"

He turns around with a confused expression, which turns to bemused when he sees your angry face. You glance to his exposed chest and the subtle dip between his hard pecs. He looks you up and down and says, “Lookin’ good tonight, pumpkin.” You try to remember if he’s seen you in a dress or skirt before. Yeah. . . the gas station, and the last time you were here.

“Well are you?”

“Not sellin’ to anyone these days. Just an old friend sayin’ hey. Who’s he to you?”

“A friend’s dad.” You squint and try to read his eyes. You doubt he’d lie about something like this, only because he doesn’t seem to have any shame. “Then what are you doing here? Are you following me?”

“Followin' you? This is my spot, pumpkin.” He nods to the women’s room and lowers his voice to add, “C’mon, you know that.”

You decide to voice the question you’ve been asking yourself in your head ever since the moment you saw him in that booth. “Would it bother you if I was out with another guy?”

He offers a little smirk and steps toward you. You step back until you’re almost up against the opposite wall of the hall. He lowers his voice more. “I got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, baby.” He tilts his head and gazes into your eyes. “Go ‘head, know ya want it.” He holds out his hand and you hesitantly give him yours. His thumb draws light circles on your palm. “Can’t stand it, can ya? Bein’ this close, and not close enough.”

He gently, slowly lowers your hand with plenty of time for you to pull it away, but you don’t. He puts your palm against the front of his soft pants and takes a deep breath as he cups your hand around his cock. He’s barely hard, but still big. He uses your hand to slowly massage himself for a few seconds, breathing heavier as he hardens into your hand and a stab of need shoots through you.

He takes his hand away and yours lingers on his crotch for a moment, pressing into him one more time before you drop your hand to your side. He puts his hands on the wall on either side of your shoulders and leans into you, pressing his pelvis up against your body. He gets harder and leans in to nearly whisper in your ear, “feel that? your favorite drug?”

His lips linger at your ear, his hot breath teasing you until he closes his mouth and really presses himself into you with an, “mmm.” His scruff brushes against your cheek as he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, your bodies still in contact, your panties getting wetter and wetter. “It’s all over your face, baby.”

He takes a deep breath, and his warm package further stiffens against you. “Have your fun,” he murmurs. His face drifts closer to yours again. He uses two fingers to tilt your chin up and your lips part. “You’ll be back, pumpkin.” Then he closes his lips around yours and thrusts his tongue into your mouth. He moans, “Mmm,” as his lips knead yours and he sucks your mouth. His hardness swells against you as you kiss, and your chest fills with butterflies.

He steps back and adjusts himself with a raise of his eyebrows. “It’ll be here for ya.” He winks then goes into the men’s room.

You go back to the bar and awkwardly sip your drink as Jack texts his Mom and dad.

“Are you sure he wasn’t just saying hi?” you ask.

“I dunno,” Jack says and puts his head in his hands. He looks up again. “He didn’t look like he’s been using, but it scares me.”

You’re startled by Joel’s voice on the other side of you ordering a drink at the bar.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

“You know this guy?” Jack asks quietly as if Joel isn’t there.

"We’re neighbors.”

“Neighbors, sure,” Joel says with a fakely contemplative frown, then mutters, “pillow neighbors.” You hope it isn’t too obvious when you elbow him.

Jack must be too distracted to hear the comment.

“What time is it?” Joel asks, then holds his phone so you can see it and presses a button to turn the screen on.

The blood drains from your face–Joel’s lock screen is the topless photo of you. The one you told him to delete. You shift your body to try to block it.

Jack’s phone rings and the screen says Mom. “I’m gonna take this,” he says and goes outside.

Joel lingers next to you and sits at the bar after he gets his drink while Jack is still outside. He swivels his stool to face you and you swivel yours to slightly face him.

“What’s on the menu tonight?” he asks and lightly lays his hand on your knee. “Hmm?” Your legs part all on their own as he slowly slides his hand up your thigh. He squeezes your thigh when his middle finger brushes the cotton finish line. ‘Member havin’ somethin’ juicy before.” He slides his ring and middle fingers under your panties. His lips form a small ‘o’ as he exhales upon feeling how wet you are. Soaked. “Hell yeah,” he murmurs.

You scoot to the edge of the stool, you can’t help yourself. You keep glancing up at the door. He slides his fingers along your cunt and teases your entrance, watching you squirm. He stands up to get closer and insert two fingers. He brings his mouth to your ear and whispers, “filthy, baby. bet ya'd take it right here” He pulls back to watch your face and murmurs, “right on this stool, wrappin’ your legs around me. bet ya’d like that.” When he can see your breathing and eyelids both getting heavier, he slowly pulls his hand away with a smile and a quiet, self-satisfied laugh.

He sits back down on his stool and orders four tequila shots. One is for Jack, and there’s an extra one for you when Jack gets back. Joel licks your hand and holds his dry hand out palm-up for margarita salt. The bartender squints at him but obliges. He sprinkles some of it on your hand and it sticks to his saliva. Then, he taps his glistening fingers in the salt. Your eyes go wide at the use of your slick for this purpose. After taking the shot, he obscenely licks the salt and your juices off his fingers, sucks them clean, and winks at you. The door opens and Jack comes back in.

“Night, pumpkin,” Joel says as he gets up to leave. “Have a good time.” On his way out, he gives Jack a friendly salute.

Instead of driving, Jack orders an Uber for both of you together. On the ride to your house, Jack is mostly quiet. His mom doesn’t think his dad is using. Jack asks you if you do any drugs, and you tell him you smoke. He doesn’t say anything judgmental but he nods pensively. You tell him you’ve never bought anything from Joel and just know him from the neighborhood. You try to comfort him about his dad and reassure him it’s probably nothing, and to trust his gut about how his dad looked. He kisses you good night as the Uber pulls up to your house. It’s a long kiss, but melancholy on his end. You ask if he wants to come in, but he declines and leaves in the Uber.

The next day, Jack texts you that he doesn’t think he’s ready to be with someone who does any drugs at all, as much as he likes you. He thinks it would be easier to stop seeing each other now before it gets more serious. You’re hurt, but also a little relieved. You won’t have to feel guilty about what happened with Joel at the restaurant. And at least you gave it a shot.

That evening, you take a walk but don’t run into Joel. You decide to text him. After typing and erasing multiple things, several of which invite him over or ask if you can come over, you simply send, “hey”.

He doesn’t respond. You go to sleep pining for him, very turned on, but too sad and lazy to even bother with a toy.

Joel is napping when you send the text, but he’s not surprised you do. You can try to stay away all you want, but Joel knows it's always just a matter of time until you need his cock inside you. That's where he belongs - inside you.

When Joel wakes up, he showers and moseys over to your backyard instead of responding to your text. Looks like you've gone to sleep early for once. All the better. He lets himself into your basement and slinks into your room as easily as he did the first time. You remain fast asleep as he just barely lifts up the blanket and sheets for a moment. He sees you're naked and his breath hitches. "Yeahhh," he says under his breath, then starts to undress.

He gets fully nude, then slides under the sheets and drapes his arm gently over you. His warm chest presses against your back, and his hardening cock lays against your ass. You stir and softly moan in your sleep as he presses himself up against you.

He cups your breast and bends his knees to nestle in behind you, your body entirely cradled by his. He can't help but rock his hips into you. "Mmm," you sigh, still asleep. He slides his hand down your torso and dips his finger between your legs just to check. You're wet.

"Fuck yeah," he whispers to himself.

He holds his hand there for leverage and slowly humps against you. He grinds against you rock hard and returns to groping your breast. He presses his lips against the nape of your neck. Then you make the sweetest sound.

"Joel," you sigh, making his cock swell harder against you.

"Shhhh," he whispers into your neck. "It’s okay, baby." You push your ass back into him. He's so hard, he's leaning precum and the head of his cock slides wetly against your warm skin. "Shhhh," he repeats. “Go back to sleep.”

You sigh and settle into his body as he grinds against you nice and slow. “Good girl. Fuck ya real good in the mornin’." He slowly, carefully wedges his cock between your thighs for warmth and friction, and is met with all your wetness. He slides his cock along your slippery seam and cups your crotch from the front. He fucks your thighs until he can't contain himself anymore, and comes into his hand with the softest moan. He cleans it off with a tissue from your nightstand and uses your hand sanitizer to haphazardly make his hand a little less sticky.

Then he settles in as close as possible again, his eyelids heavy from the orgasm. He cups your breast and falls asleep with his body cradling yours, his warm, softening dick pressed against your back.

In the morning, his cock is rock-hard and nestled between your thighs again. When he wakes up, his hips are already moving, and you're pushing your ass back into him. You interlace your fingers with his and place his hand on your breast. You moan softly as he wakes up and his movements become more deliberate.

"Fuck, baby," he whispers into the crown of your head. "Want it bad, don't ya?" His hips thrust gracefully and powerfully, sliding his stiff cock along your dripping cunt again. You lift your top leg enough to wedge your hand between your thighs and your fingers meet the head of his cock.

"Fuck me," you whisper.

He continues to thrust into your thighs, grunting silently.

"Do it, Joel." His breath hitches at the sound of his name.

You tilt your hips just right and your fingertips gently nudge the firm, sensitive cock-head into your entrance. You press your ass back into him and your body practically sucks him in, sealing your tight, wet little hole around his tip.

He moans, then replies, "yes ma'am." He wraps his arm over you for leverage and shoves his thick cock into you with a soft grunt. He moans as he feels your insides make way. He repeats the motion and you both sigh as he bottoms out. He stays there all the way inside you for a moment.

"Feel so good, baby," he whispers as he pulls you back on his cock and rocks his hips, nudging a little further into you. You're so tight around him. Your cunt is so needy for him. He slowly backs out most of the way and pauses. You whine at the loss and your cunt grabs at him. Then he rails into you again and you push your ass back to meet his pelvis. “Ohhh,” he groans.

"Fuck," you whisper. "Joel," you sigh and his cock twitches inside you at the sound of his name. You push your ass back harder and he grabs your hip for leverage.

"That’s right, baby," he murmurs hoarsely. He nibbles at your neck your nipples pucker

The firm tip of his cock nudges your g-spot and you moan, "Mmmmm." Your head tilts back and he lifts his head up from the pillow to kiss the side of your neck as he thrusts into you at a perfect beat and hungrily palms your breast. You fuck like this for a few minutes, and he can sense your climax building.

"Fuck," you whisper, pushing your ass back harder, fucking yourself on his cock as he pounds you. "Close," you manage to spit out. You harshly swallow and it sounds like you almost choke on your own saliva. "Oh god, Joel," you say in a loud whisper.

He feels you twitching around him and sighs "Ohh, baby." His hips snap into you and his fingertips circle your clit. He buries his length to the hilt each time with a soft grunt. "That's it, baby. come on."

You whine, "yeah," and he pounds into you."Just like that," you say.

"All yours, baby," he pants. "Come on it."

You whimper, "fuck," and he pounds you harder. "So good," you whine and arch your back.

"That's it baby."

You unravel with a moan and begin to clench around him. "Yeah," he breathes as he fucks you through it. "Ohhh, that's it, baby." His sweaty chest glides against your back. He loves feeling your back against him.

You moan, "J-joel," as your cunt flutters and pulses tightly.

He buries his mouth in your hair and slows down, then slams into you to the hilt with a grunt. He knows he's there. He nudges further and groans as he erupts inside you, muffling himself with his mouth against your head as huge pulses fill you up with his warm load.

He inhales your hair and kisses you on the head as you both recover.

It's still dark out. Your bodies are sticky with each other's sweat.

"Mornin', beautiful" he says, voice hoarse and low, cock still inside you. "Miss it?" He asks with one last subtle thrust that makes you shudder.

"Mmm," you answer faintly and fucked out. He holds you and you fall back asleep with him inside you. Its where he belongs.

Q&A for this one.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! It really means a lot to me, motivates me, and helps me know what worked. It also helps me recognize you if I see you in the wild. I love y'all, you're the best.

NW: @tehweeana @ele-meno-p @swedishscumfuck

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #dark!joel miller #night walks!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#nightwalks☠️#joel miller x you #creepy!joel miller #pervy!joel miller #tw addiction #joel pov #somnophilia

815 notes · View notes

neonghostlights · 10 months

Note

I saw you got your first request! That’s so sweet and lovely I love your writing :)

I was wondering if maybe I could request something pretty please? Angstyyyy and fluff

what if eddie has substance abuse problems like rockstar!eddie or Eddie needed something to cope with the events of s4 but it’s wrecking him and your relationship and you love him and have tried to help him but is basically like it’s me or the drugs

My second request ever! Thank you so much (: I went with Eddie coping after the events of season four and tried to leave it open to him using either drugs or alcohol. I've watched someone struggle with addiction before so I based it a little off of that.

Warnings: Substance Abuse, Addiction, Rehab, Established Relationship, Intervention, Angst, Fighting, Sad Uncle Wayne, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, 18+ only

Wordcount: 2.2k

Pick And Choose

It started with him being late to everything and then he stopped showing up completely. Phone calls became few and far between. He didn’t even play DnD anymore. Then it was the fighting, the lying, and the stealing.

It all came to a head last weekend when you drove around town looking for Eddie, who had fought with Wayne over his behavior and disappeared without a trace. Steve eventually found him passed out in someone's basement at a party with no memory of how he got there. The fight that took place between the two of you the next morning was the worst you had ever gotten into.

You hadn’t talked to him since then. A week of complete silence on your part. Eddie had called you a few times and left you some unintelligible voicemails that you didn’t respond to.

You had watched Eddie slowly wither into himself. At first, you didn’t allow yourself to believe what you were seeing. The happy and healthy man you knew was decaying right in front of you.

The last six months had been hard on Eddie. From watching Chrissy die, to almost dying in the upside down and then waking up to a town that wanted to lock him away forever.

The charges were dropped and the physical wounds healed but Eddie still wasn’t okay. You knew it, Wayne knew it and your friends knew it too.

You made excuses for Eddie whenever Dustin, Mike or Lucas wanted to see him and he wasn’t answering the phone. But they were starting to pick up that something was wrong. They were smart kids and you couldn’t lie to them forever.

Wayne opened the trailer door for you when you knocked, letting you in silently. He nodded his head towards Eddie’s room, the new one since the old trailer had been destroyed.

“Has he been up at all today?” You asked quietly, not wanting to risk Eddie knowing you were there yet.

Wayne shook his head with a pained look on his face.

You let out a deep sigh, setting your things on the counter.

“Maybe we should call that Harrington boy up here too. Just in case he tries to fight,” Wayne suggested.

You thought for a second. Steve was able to be some of a voice of reason when Eddie went too far but there had also been times when Steve sported a black eye after Eddie lashed out. Steve had already been hit far too many times over the years and had such extreme headaches that you didn't want to risk it.

“I-I think we should just do it. Just us. I don’t want him to feel cornered,” you finally said. “If it goes too far we’ll back off and try again another day.” The thought of having another day with Eddie was wishful. You woke up everyday terrified that you would get a phone call informing you of the inevitable. He could only go on this way for so long.

You grabbed the pamphlets out of your bag and handed one to Wayne. He stared down at it, not opening or reading it, just observing.

A loud bump and crash could be heard coming from Eddie’s room. You looked at Wayne who was still staring at the pamphlet. It was show time.

You sat down on the couch alone. “Wayne?” You asked, breaking him out of his trance.

The man slowly sank down in the recliner across from you.

Eddie’s bedroom door crashed open, hitting the wall and surely adding to the dent that was already there. You watched as he stumbled into the kitchen, sweatpants and t-shirt baggy on his thinning form. When he noticed you on the couch he paused suddenly, swaying slightly.

“What are you doing here?” He croaked, eyes squinted like he couldn’t see you.

“I’m here to talk,” you said, keeping your voice light.

“Come sit down with us, Eddie,” Wayne spoke up, craning his neck to turn and look at his nephew. You could see the slight wince when he took in Eddie’s shape.

“Okay?” Eddie said, dropping down on the couch beside you.

Up close you could see just how bad he had gotten in a week. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed red. His hair hung in lifeless strands surrounding his face. His cheeks were hollow and pale. You just wanted to wrap him up in your arms and heal him with everything you had. But you weren’t a superhero. You didn’t have the powers to fix this.

Eddie looked away when he noticed the look on your face.

“What’s up?” He asked, like this was some sort of friendly neighborhood chit chat. At least he was in a good mood for now.

You took a shaky breath. “I love you, Eddie.”

His eyes softened slightly at this. “ If this is about our fight I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” he said, gesturing towards his uncle who sat with a stoic look on his face.

“We need to talk about it though. I’m worried about you,” you said.

Eddie let out a humorless chuckle. He leaned his head up against the back of the couch. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Everyone is fine,” he muttered.

“No. Everyone is not fine. I think you should go get some help,” you informed him in a soft voice.

Eddie’s head snapped up to look at you. “If you’re here because you think you can tell me what to do then you can just leave. I don’t want you here anyways.” His mood changed in a heartbeat when he was like this. The second he felt like he was being criticized he snapped.

You swallowed, trying to fight the harsh sting of his words. You had to remind yourself it wasn’t him talking. He didn’t mean it.

Eddie used to be so full of life. He never would have spoken to you like that before this. Sometimes you wished you could crawl into a time machine just so you can have old Eddie comfort you the way you needed. You’d give anything to hear him tell you everything would be okay again.

You pulled the pamphlet out from under your leg and handed it to him with a shaking hand. “Um, I got you a bed here. They’re ready to take you tonight if you’ll go.”

Eddie snatched the papers out of your hand and ripped them in half without even looking at them. He stood up now, his form trembling with the effort. You wanted to ask him when the last time he ate or drank anything was but now wasn’t the time.

He pointed a finger into your face. “You think you can just show up here after abandoning me for a week and tell me what to do. You just think you are so goddamn perfect all the time. Everything would be fine if you would just shut up and let me do what I want to do.”

You clenched your hands into tight fists, fighting the anger and hurt. The counselor at the facility had told you this might happen. It was very important not to engage in this behavior.

“Eddie,” you said softly, a stark contrast to the tone he had used to speak to you. “We can’t keep doing this. You have to choose either me or the way you’re living. You can’t have both. I can’t sit here and watch you die.” You started to cry then at the thought of this killing him. You turned your head, quickly wiping the tears off of your cheeks.

You could hear Eddie take a trembling breath. “If that’s what you want then go. Get the hell out,” he demanded.

You looked up to him to see his eyes wide, nostrils flared and hands balled up at his side. You weren’t going to get through to him. You weren’t going to be able to save Eddie like you thought.

You stood slowly, giving him the chance to change his mind. He just stood there, staring at you as you went to walk out of his life for good.

A few sniffles had you pausing your journey to the front door. You turned to see Wayne with his head in his hand and his shoulders shaking violently. You had been so caught up in talking to Eddie that you had forgotten that he was even there.

Eddie’s expression crumbled as he watched his uncle sob.

“Wayne,” he stammered, placing a hand on his uncle's shoulder. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I can’t do it anymore, Eddie. I can’t sit here and watch you end up just like your father.”

Eddie winced like he had been struck. “But I’m not like him.”

Wayne looked up at him with red swollen eyes. “You are though. This is exactly like he was. I can't sit here any longer and watch history repeat itself. And watching the way you just spoke to someone you’re supposed to love. That’s exactly how your father spoke to your mother.”

You watched silently, waiting for Eddie to snap back at his uncle or lash out but he never did. He collapsed onto the couch, folding into himself as he wrapped his arms around his waist. He slowly started to rock his body back and forth.

“No,” he denied, looking at you now. “You know I didn’t mean it right. You know I love you. I just don’t feel good.”

Eddie was crying now too. His uncle's words making some sort of breakthrough. It was now or never.

“Then go get help, Eddie.” You approached him slowly, sitting down beside him carefully. “It’s already all set up for you. You just have to go.”

“And how are we going to afford that? I can just get clean here,” he argued.

You shook your head. “No. Don’t worry about the money it’s already taken care of.”

He would blow a fuse if he found out Steve had given you a significant loan to fund Eddie’s treatment. Steve insisted you wouldn’t have to pay him back but you were going to work the rest of your life to make sure he got every penny.

Eddie chewed on his already chapped lips before he took another look at his uncle's tear streaked face and started to nod.

Ninety days came and went in a blur.

Eddie’s room had been cleaned out prior to his arrival home. Anything that wasn’t good for him was tossed out.

You leaned against the side of Wayne’s truck while he went inside to collect Eddie. The warm breeze swept through, warming your skin. It was a beautiful day for Eddie to be free again.

You and Eddie didn’t speak for the first thirty days of his treatment. He was in worse shape than you thought when he first got there. There had been a few times when he almost left. Around day thirty five he called you to let you know that he was okay and that he would be sending you a letter he wrote.

It was a letter of apologies for everything he had done and said since he started using. With promises to get better. He told you that he loved you and he never stopped loving you even when things got rocky. That the addiction made him act that way and he would do anything possible to never hurt you again. You sobbed when you read it. You kept it folded up in your nightstand for when the nights got really lonely and you needed a reminder that Eddie was going to get better. And that he still loved you despite the way things were left.

The glass doors to the facility opened to reveal Wayne with a tall figure following closely behind him. You pushed off the truck to get a better look when he started speed walking towards you.

You didn’t have time to react before you were being lifted off the ground in a tight hug. You melted into his arms, savoring the feeling of him.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Wayne called out as he approached.

Eddie put you down, holding you out at arms length so he could get a good look at you. His skin was no longer sunken in but healthy with a glow. His hair shined in the sunlight. Two brown eyes full of life stared back at you.

Words escaped you. Part of you didn’t expect him to look better. You had expected to still see the sick and crying Eddie you had dropped off three months ago, not the one grinning at you now. The counselors had told you that this wasn’t a cure and he had to work hard for the rest of his life but it was a start to being better.

“Holy shit,” you blurted out.

Eddie's smile turned shy, his hands reaching up to cup your face. He looked at you for a second, making sure what he was about to do was okay. You nodded slightly, leaning in for your lips to meet. Eddie kissed you like he had been away for ninety years and not ninety days.

When you finally broke apart, he whispered into your ear the words you wanted to hear. “Thank you for saving me.”

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