mollymawkwrites

[mollymawkwrites]

This is a repost of something I worked on earlier in the year. It's one of my favorite concepts but it didn't get much traction so I thought I'd give her one more try!

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There is something so beautiful and melancholy about the idea of failed rockstar Eddie who was on the verge of being a major hit but ended up giving up his dreams because he didn't like who he was turning into.

Eddie who leaves Hawkins behind as quickly as he can and dedicates his entire life, every waking moment, to building up his music career. He sleeps on couches for years, staying with whoever will take him in for a night or two in exchange for a bump of coke or joint from the remains of his sizeable Reefer Kick stash. He carries everything he owns in the back of his trunk. Amp, wires, guitars, clothes, etc and basically converts it into a portable practice studio.

He plays every gig he can get his hands on. Playing as a last-minute substitute guitar or base for any band that calls, playing for pop bands and punk bands alike until he convinces enough people to join up with him and start a new metal band.

With the band comes more stability, for a while. They share a cramped two-bedroom among the five of them. Writing and jamming every day, going home to smoke up and decompress.

Just over four years after Eddie lands in the city, they play their first real show. A show at a respectable, if small, bar venue with people in the audience there to see them. People sing their songs and dance to their music. It's not sold out, not even close really, but it's the start of something big, they can all feel it. That night they go out to the club around the block with a couple of people who came to the show and party harder than Eddie ever has before. He wakes up with that distinctly fuzzy feeling the next morning that tells him he dipped into the harder drugs the night before, something he hasn't done since he learned his dad passed three years ago.

It scares him. He can't remember anything past walking into the club last night. He doesn't remember anything he did or said and desperately hopes he didn't do anything weird with a fan, but he brushes it off. Tells himself it was a one-time thing, a celebration of their success. They deserved to let loose, right?

Except it wasn't a one-time thing. In fact, it turns into an almost every night kind of thing, and as their fan base grows what feels like overnight, the parties grow in intensity with them. They play their hearts out on stage, eventually selling out all of the smaller local venues and moving on to the larger, more serious ones. The occasional disagreement over music between the band members turns into larger, more personal arguments. Eventually, they reach Fleetwood Mac Rumors Era levels of drama. Everyone is sleeping around, the drugs are out of control, and they can't hardly stand to be in the same room together anymore, only pulling it together enough to go on stage at the end of the day.

Eddie lives that handful of years in a daze. It can mostly be attributed to the copious amounts of alcohol he's turned to to cope with the stress, but he uses his fair share of snow to keep himself in the creative spirit too. It feels inevitable when he reaches a kind of low he doesn't know if he can come back from.

Eddie wasn't a saint, but he has always sworn off meth. It was the thing that killed his mom. He remembers the way she'd wasted away, the days when she seemed crazed, and how sorry she was to him when she stabilized. The regret in her eyes when she looked at him. But when he's asked if he wants a needle all he can think about is the prospect of spending the rest of his life stuck with this band full of people he can't stand and people who can't stand him if the record deal they've been negotiating goes through, and it feels like it will.

Thinks of what all his hard work will mean if it doesn't.

He says yes.

Wakes up the next day starfished in the alley of an apartment he doesn't recognize staring up at the little sliver of blue sky he can see between the fire escapes and weeps. He's become exactly the kind of person he never wanted to be, some asshole almost rich guy laying in a damp alleyway all alone with no real friends.

Eddie lies there for an hour just thinking. Trying to remember when the last time he called Wayne was. Thinking of all the girls he slept with when he probably shouldn't have, when they were both too fucked up to make the right choice. Thinks of his mom and dad.

Tries to remember the last time he made the world a better place to live in instead of contributing to the filth.

He gets up and leaves. Leaves it all behind. Gets in a taxi to take him to where his van is parked by the venue from last night. Frantically takes everything out of the back and leaves it on the street. The only things that remain are the few keepsakes he brought with him to the city and his acoustic, the one his mom left him and Wayne helped him paint. The amps, his sweetheart, and the performance wear all get dumped on the side of the road and then he's jumping into the front seat.

Hours of driving leads him back home to Hawkins Indiana, the one place he promised never to return. Hawkins has seen a boom in the last few years, it seems. More shops, a bigger main street. He even spots a proper cafe. It all feels less haunted than he remembers. More people, fewer familiar faces. The trailer park, though, looks almost the same as it did the day he left, right down to the sight of his uncle lounging on the porch, waiting patiently for whatever comes next the way he always has.

Wayne doesn't ask any questions, not right away. He just scoops his nephew up in his arms and holds him in the cool morning air. He always knew his nephew better than anyone else, never needed words to know when he needed his uncle to help hold up the weight of the world.

And that's how Eddie finds his way back home. It takes a while for him to feel well enough to face the world again. A mixture of detoxing and coming to terms with the feeling of starting back at the beginning, like the last six years of his life didn't even happen leaves him licking his wounds in his partially empty childhood bed. It looks the same way it did when he walked out the front door.

When he does come back to the world, he starts small. Stepping out on the porch to share a cup of coffee with his uncle feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done. Maybe the most important.

He's proven right when he steps out to find he's not the only guest his uncle is entertaining this morning. Another resident of the park has already claimed the second chair as his own.

Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who never made it out of Hawkins but also never regretted it. Who's made a small, happy life for himself here in the trailer park after his parents kicked him out for good when he turned 20. Who works part-time under the table at Miller's Mechanic and collects disability checks for the lost leg and minor brain damage he got from a car accident at 21. Steve Harrington who keeps his uncle company and makes sure he has everything he needs, taking care of the other residents in the park to the best of his ability doing easy car maintenance, babysitting, or just offering company to the more lonely residents.

Steve is so different from the guy Eddie vaguely knew in high school that he might as well be a stranger. They all sit and talk together for the entire morning, laughing and sharing stories. Steve never asks about where he's been or why he's back and Eddie wishes he could tell Steve how much he appreciates it.

Before Steve heads back he asks if Eddie would like to come over after he gets back from his shift. Asks if he wants to drink a beer and watch a movie. Eddie is quick, maybe too quick judging by the sympathetic look Steve sends his way, to turn down the beer and scoop up the movie invitation like the precious thing it is. There's something about Steve that soothes his soul. An easy connection between them that Eddie hopes they both feel.

Steve kisses him that night, slow and easy like they've been doing it their whole lives. Like they didn't basically meet for the first time this morning. Like Eddie hasn't been in denial about his sexuality for his entire life. Eddie cries at the warmth it fills him with. Steve just cradles him by the cheeks and lets him. That night Eddie doesn't go back to Wayne's. He lets Steve drag him to bed and hold him close. Lets him tangle their legs together and breathe warm air into the crown of his head until morning.

Steve shows Eddie how to live a life without big dreams, a life without ambition but full of love and comfort. A life without plans but with the knowledge that every day, someone who loves you will kiss you when you wake up and hold you through the night.

[mollymawkwrites]

😔

[mollymawkwrites]

one thing about me i’m the leaver. i will leave

[mollymawkwrites]

GOG is taking a stand against payment processors caving to fundamentalist religious groups and is offering a bunch of "banned" games for free. (via Ashley Lynch on bsky)

[mollymawkwrites]

sometimes i struggle to use the word ‘bootlicker’ in a negative sense because of sexual desires i will not disclose here

[mollymawkwrites]

They’re gonna have sesbian lex

[mollymawkwrites]

Based off of events from last session. Morgan isn't good at choosing...

Also yeah, all his boyfriends are way taller than him, what of it???

Toulouse belongs to @mmothmanners

Archon belongs to @enjolieblue

[mollymawkwrites]

hey i know i'm preaching to the choir mostly here, buuut here's a reminder that the enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend - elon musk is literally an unapologetic fascist and has moved well beyond the dog-whistle, plausible deniability phase into "white women are shapeshifters who have forgotten they are white" territory

he is at best a misguided incel who has become a lost cause. he is at worst one of the most powerful and influential enemies of humanity alive today. take your pick, the outcome is the same.

[mollymawkwrites]

if things have felt a little light (as if anyone but me Really notices when i'm light) it is because it's pretty damn hard to focus on and enjoy making porn when there's the looming threat of payment processors hanging over my head. if you're on bluesky, you've probably seen a lot of talk about visa and mastercard being pressured, and that's GOOD! it's good that they're being pressured.

but it can't just be them! paypal and stripe are just as guilty of censoring sellers, and i haven't seen nearly as much energy put toward them. unfortunately, artists are at higher risk of retaliation if they call in themselves, but YOU, as customers, can make a huge difference putting pressure on them for us! please consider making a call today, tomorrow, and however long it takes until something changes! i want to live in a world where i can post atra menta's nipples and just not worry about it!

PayPal (US): +1 (888)-221-1161 PayPal (UK): +44 (0203)-901-7000 PayPal Customer Service: +1 (877)-569-1116

[mollymawkwrites]

Do you not see why people believe astrology tho??

so i'm a custodian.

whenever someone does something cool like shit on the bathroom floor or get blood all over a toilet, i have to close the bathroom down by blocking the doorway with a CLOSED sign.

this sign is big and bright. it says CLOSED in four languages and has a do not enter symbol. it completely blocks the doorway. the only way to enter is to look directly at the sign and either move it or climb over it.

almost every single time i shut down a bathroom so i can suit up and clean a biohazard, someone will enter the bathroom with a dead-eyed, slack-jawed expression and try to wordlessly walk past me to use a stall.

and every single time, i have to block their path and say, "this bathroom is closed. there is one directly down the hall, marked by signs. please leave," and they either try to argue that THEY specifically should be allowed to use this one, as if they are god's most special little guy, or express shock even though they, again, had to contend with the CLOSED sign to enter.

often, i am standing there in the middle of cleaning up bodily fluids having to firmly repeat myself. they always leave angry or confused.

anyways, you clicked this button to send me an ask about astrology:

[mollymawkwrites]

best advice i ever got as a writer was to pick a hobby that i hated more than writing and stick with it. i’m a runner now and it’s miserable and i Hate It and writing is so lovely in comparison. bonus: i’m in excellent shape and running gives you a lot of time to think about writing. i’ve solved a lot of plot complications while running.

This is such funny advice. Writing is so excruciating, you gotta take up Self Torture so that writing feels like a fun little break 😭

[mollymawkwrites]

pride 2025

[mollymawkwrites]

[mollymawkwrites]

a dream

[mollymawkwrites]

In need of an erotically dark yet sweet fairy tale? Care for one about a beast ready to devour a lost maiden—until she asks for a kiss as a final wish?

Pre-order TO WALLOW WITH TONGUES, out August 1st in DRM-free epub and PDF on itch 🐊👅✨

LINK: https://emrynbird.itch.io/to-wallow-with-tongues

[mollymawkwrites]

I know we are all used to hear bad news from the USA or UK when it comes to trans rights but this time Germany wants to play in the same league.

Our idiots at home ministry came up with the fucking idea to start a register for all transgender and nonbinary people which would mean every person working at some public position could always at any given time see your assigned gender at birth, your deadname, your address and who knows what else.

We had been there in the past. Hitler Germany called it the "Travestite Law" back then. Our politicians didn't learn.

We all know this is unacceptable.

Please, if you are German, sign it. If you are not, spread it wide and far.

This had been stopped once a few years ago. It needs to be stopped again.

[mollymawkwrites]

(In the cuck chair)(starts booing)