#cw alcohol abuse

[devilboycomic]

The prettiest sinner 🌼

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Pride | Word Count: 1031 | Rating: M | CW: Alcohol/drug abuse, driving under the influence, car accident | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth Stranger Things, past Steddie, Eddie is a very bad boy, possibly downright unlikeable, ambiguous ending

“Eddie, don’t.”

“Come on, man.” 

“Don’t be stupid, Eddie!”

He’s not listening, not tonight. Tonight he has a calling from on high. Tonight he has places to be, a person to see. A person to touch.

Tonight he’s driving

He climbs into the car, his beautiful Ferrari bought with the spoils of fame. There are three cars in his garage, but this is the fastest. This is the one he wants to be in tonight. It’s a racer, meant for speed, a rocket ship of possibilities. 

There are voices behind him, the band arguing amongst themselves. Maybe they’re shouting at him, but he’s not listening. He’s only had a two or three vodkas, and coke doesn’t have the same effect on him as it used to, back when he was a kid and all this was new to them. The pills were nothing, just something to keep him awake, something to chill him out. But he’s older now and those things aren’t new anymore. Booze and drugs are supplements, part of the regime, part of his five a day. It’s fine. It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s Gareth that follows him, climbing in beside him a second before Eddie turns the key in the ignition and the car roars to life.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing, man? Come back inside.”

“Get out.”

“I’m not—”

“Get out!”

Gareth buckles his seat belt tight and glares at him.

“Fine,” Eddie spits at him. “Fuck you then.”

He revs the engine repeatedly, the vibration like electricity through his body. It only goads him on. He slams his foot to the pedal and the car streaks out of his garage and onto the streets.

The city is magical at night, blinding lights, a stratospheric glimmer of colour. He knows if he was walking out on the road it would be quiet, there’d be no sound, just the occasional car speeding past on the empty streets, just like he is now. There’s music in the car, a blasting thump of drums and bass and he feels his foot drop on the accelerator; he doesn’t look at the speedometer because he doesn’t care. Part of him wishes he’d taken the bike, his black Yamaha that barely gets ridden anymore, then Gareth would still be back at the house with Jeff and Matt and their girlfriends, and not with him shouting for him to slow down. 

“—wait till tomorrow. Nothing will have changed. Let’s just go back, you can talk to him tomorrow, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t like to be ignored, doesn’t like his calls going unanswered. So no, actually, it won’t wait. He wants him tonight. Deserves to have Steve tonight.

“Eddie, slow down.”

“No.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie! It’s red!”

It’s a challenge, him against the stop light, him against the cross traffic. The road is empty, he knows it will be fine, Gareth just worries too much. He always has. Cocky until he’s not, that’s Gareth. If nothing else it will be a good lesson for him. Eddie didn’t want him here so he can consider this his punishment. 

Eddie floors the gas pedal, the engine butter smooth as it gives him the speed he wants, and he howls out of the open window as he flies through the stop light, laughing into the hot summer night.

Gareth is heaving in deep breaths beside him and it only makes him laugh more, he can barely hear himself over the sound of the engine and the music. 

The Ferrari speeds over the freeway and he feels like he’s flying. He feels like he’s free, and when the fuck was the last time he felt like that? His face is everywhere, his every second accounted for, every moment of his life planned. Stand here, wear this, do what we tell you, say what we tell you. He just needs a moment to fly.

Gareth is on the phone, but the engine noise and music drown out whatever he’s saying. Eddie doesn’t really care. He can call Jeff, he can call Wayne, fuck, call the cops for all he cares. What are they going to do? He’s Eddie fucking Munson.

He lifts his foot of the gas just a little, just enough so that when he floors it again he can feel it. It’s like warp speed, he’s Han Solo and Gareth is Chewbacca and the laughter fires through him again, the utter absurdity of it all. He loves his life.

He hates everything.

When he checks on Gareth he looks like he’s going to be sick, and there’s no fucking way he’s going to be sick in his Ferrari, so he lays off the gas. Gareth hangs his head out of his own window, the wind blowing his hair back. It’s warm out tonight, it just makes everything headier. Makes his need feel deeper.

He needs Steve. It’s in his head now, can’t sleep, can’t sleep, can’t sleep, can’t be without Steve. That there, that’s the heart of it, he doesn’t know how to be without him. Can’t get his head around him leaving, can’t comprehend why he’d walk out on this. They had everything, Eddie gave him everything, and he threw it back at him. Like, how fucking dare he work, go out on the road, make money for them? They were fine, they had a system, it worked for him, it worked for Steve, he’d have said if didn’t. It was Robin getting in Steve’s head again, telling him this wasn’t normal, ‘it’s not a relationship if you’re never together, Steve’, and when did she become such a meddling cunt? 

He drops his foot on the accelerator.

It’s not instant. The streaks of light are lining the road, leading him to heaven, and then it’s the light polluted sky he sees, the distant glimmer of weak stars filling the windscreen. He thinks Gareth is screaming beside him, but Eddie’s not scared. He feels like he’s floating, feels the hot night air whip around him, feels the dizzying spin of the car, his own fairground ride in the sky. The strips of white lining the asphalt rise up to meet him. 

He never feels the hit.

Yes it's essentially Blinding Lights by The Weeknd, but this prompt was fighting me so hard and I've spent days trying to make another story work and it just wasn't. Then this came on, and yes I may have looped it for half an hour while I wrote, but I competed the prompt!

@the-unforgivenn

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

Ever since the Upside-down and Vecna and the world going to shit, Steve’s spent a lot of time roaming the bars inside and out of Hawkins. Once he’d finished with his dad’s liquor cabinet and the only liquor store in town stopped selling to him, he started being a regular at multiple establishments.

It was hard, after losing Max and El and Will and others Steve couldn’t think about without ripping open the wounds again. The portals were all closed, but at what cost? The world was technically saved, but Steve’s was a wreck. The metaphorical wounds were still ripped up and bleeding, fresh holes that would never quite stitch themselves over and heal.

His parents never came back, and he couldn’t even blame them, it’s not like he expected to be worth it to them. He was an adult now, on his own, there was no need for them to come back and pick him up. Honestly, he never wanted to see them again, didn’t really even know who they were. Steve had lived with practical strangers his whole life, made a semblance of family from skin and bone, and had it all ripped away from him.

Steve Harrington was always meant to be alone.

So he drank, went back to King Steve’s routes, used the alcohol to ground him while his mind drifted away to heaven or hell or wherever. It didn’t matter, because Steve never remembered the night before. The nightmares melted with the sunrise, the tremors and gasps, and flooding eyes gave way to cotton mouth and hunger in the daylight, and the blinding sun made it easier to forget all the bad things. Easier, but altogether impossible none the less.

So Steve didn’t quite remember how he ended up in the woods behind his house, dead leaves tangled in his hair and a particularly sharp twig shoved into his spine. He groaned against the sunlight blinding him through the branches and dug the stick out from under him, standing up on wobbling legs to trudge back inside. It wasn’t uncommon to find himself on his porch or lying in an old and tattered lounge chair, or even on a park bench some times. He wandered a lot. There was nothing else to do.

He still had money in his trust fund, still had his parents house to stay in, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on his door to put him back together. Eddie was somewhere, in another state or wherever he ran off to. Again, Steve couldn’t blame him, either. Wayne wasn’t here anymore, there was no reason for Eddie to stay after everything. There wasn’t any reason for Steve to stay, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, either.

So he stayed. So he drank. So he blacked out and woke up outside sometimes.

He rested against a tree for a minute, trying to gain his bearings and see past the blinding sunlight, rubbing circles into his eyes until he saw sparks of white behind his eyelids. He was probably a mess, probably looked half dead, hadn’t been able to look into a mirror in months.

Blinking out into his backyard, he could see a bit better now but the world still wobbled on its axis just a bit. It would probably be another half hour until he was sober enough to see straight, but he wasn’t going to stay in the burning sun for that. He trekked across the dead grass of his yard, using passing lawn chairs and tables as crutches to make the distance more bearable, ignored the memories pressing at the edges of his mind and embraced the pain in his head to push the thoughts away.

The house seemed a bit cleaner on the inside than he last remembered, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned, but he couldn’t remember much of anything these days. That was the point, after all.

Steve rounded the hallway into the open arch of the kitchen entry — hoping he had some cereal left in the pantry somewhere, not brave enough to handle the stares and whispers he’d get at the diner or grocery store — when he was roughly slammed against the kitchen wall. His head swam with the abrupt movement, stomach churning uncomfortably. He blinked against the sudden impact, feeling one of his own kitchen knives at his throat; pressing, but not digging, a warning. The knife wobbled slightly before the grip righted, pressing just a bit stronger than before, a threat.

Steve opened his eyes, trying to get his brain back online in his hazy state. Putting the pieces together slowly. Brown hair. Curly. Angry eyes. A set grimace on his lips. Eddie Munson. The last time Eddie Munson had a sharp object to his neck, Steve was pinned to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boat house. Now, pinned to the wall of his own kitchen, Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away, couldn’t fathom what Eddie would be doing here, either.

“Eddie? What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He asked, pushing through the uncomfortable cotton mouth and stale alcohol taste on his tongue.

Eddie just stared at him, the hand fisted into Steve’s shirt tightening. He winced.

“Seriously dude, what are you doing?” Was he still asleep outside? Was he ever outside? What the hell did he drink last night?

Eddie kept staring, glaring, like Steve did something wrong again. Steve always did something wrong, he just couldn’t figure out what. The grip on his shirt tightened again, pinching Steve’s chest and clearing his head just a bit more. Definitely not a dream.

“Who are you?” Eddie growled out, shoving Steve harder into the wall.

Steve blinked. What? That was not the question Steve was expecting. Not that he was expecting any of this, really.

“Who. Are. You?” Eddie repeated.

“Steve. Harring-ton?” Steve replied, following the other man’s cadence, words dripping with confusion.

Eddie’s glare tightened like his grip, knife digging into his throat just a bit more. He was sure his brain should be screaming danger, danger, danger, but the fact that it was Eddie standing in front of him was throwing him way off kilter.

“Seriously, Eddie, what’s going on?” Steve begged, unsure if the confusion muddling his brain was because of the alcohol, lack of any decent nutrition for the past few months, or something else. Did he seriously miss something so big that had Eddie up in arms like this? He couldn’t possibly look so bad he was unrecognizable.

“Is this some kind of trick from Vecna? Hm? What are you?”

“Eddie, man, I seriously have no clue what you’re talking about!” Steve’s voice was gaining a more hysterical edge at this point, but it had no effect on Eddie what-so-ever. “I am so not sober enough for this, just tell me what’s going on!”

“Steve Harrington is dead!” Eddie yelled in his face, “Steve Harrington is dead, so what the fuck are you?”

—

If y’all have world building questions pls ask in the replies because maybe it’ll get me somewhere near a plot. Anyway, please enjoy sad lonely Steve

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

cw abuse of an adult child / cw referenced child abuse / cw gaslighting cw / cw alcohol abuse / cw abuse

The words shouldn’t hurt Jamie as much as they do; they shouldn’t sting the same as a slap, leaving his soul tingling the same way his flesh does. A look into James and Jamie’s relationship after his loan is canceled.

For @augusnippets day 1 - gaslighting

Read on ao3

[crowtaclysm]

Last random art dump of the day I promise--

Anyways meet Lobby! Been rotatin the idea of a lobster OC for about 2 years and I finally went with it!

First image is with the glow of his eyes and second without, third is just a buncha interactions I've had over at @aquaticshopkeep (yes that's right I'm -🦞 !!! Haha I'm so nervous byeeee)

I'm horrendous with sizin stuff but uh, currently Lobby in full lobster form is big enough to have at least two people ride on his back no issue.

Uhh lore under the cut or smth????

So long story short he was a regular lobster who got yoinked off the water by a buncha scientists that painfully experimented on him and gave him complex thought against his own will. He has a buncha DNA mixed in into a horrendous cocktail of death but some of the highlights are human and octopus, he is able to control to a degree which is the more dominant string in terms of appearance so that's why he has a more humanoid form too, however switchin between forms is painful as his body is undergoin rapid mutations to a molecular level(think Shin Godzilla or smth).

The sketch at the bottom of the third drawin is actually part of his lore as the lead scientist in charge of him and his experimentation was sadistic and derived joy from messin with poor Lobby by pourin bottles of various kinds of alcohol into the water of Lobby's tank which resulted on him gettin drunk and escapin, grabbin anythin along the way and swingin it around(most of the times it was the shock sticks that security held tryin to shock him into submission). Lobby always ended up badly hurt whenever this happened as back then he couldn't speak yet so they didn't exactly know he was drunk. This continued for a long while and Lobby developed an alcohol addiction, which proved to be horrendously timed as once he got the hability to speak and the others heard his slurred painfully drunken speech they checked security footage, realized the situation and fired the scientist responsible for it all, effectively forcin Lobby to go cold turkey which ended up bein a bad idea as he grew aggressive and sickly without the alcohol. The new protocol was to keep givin him a calculated intake of the stuff and later on try to take it away slowly, however before they could begin to take it away another development stuck and Lobby slowly begun to build an immunity to alcohol, up until he became unable to get drunk or be drugged anymore. As it had been slow and bit by bit he didn't go through too bad of a whithdrawal.

Experiments performed on Lobby included shootin, stabbin and cuttin him, he proved to have a bulletproof shell with his joints bein the weak spots, he can regrow limbs to a degree but it'll take him weeks and required the bleedin to be stopped and wound be treated first. They also attempted to both boil and freeze him alive, provin that he has a higher tolerance for heat than cold but still is resistent to extreme temperatures. They discovered that Lobby has three stomachs and decided to force feed him a bunch of stuff, he has a high tolerance of poisons and such and it's been determined it would take way more poison to kill him than is practical, therefore it's been determined that the best method of elimination is to aim at the joints and attempt to peel off his shell, then pierce his heart.

Lobby can eat almost anythin, edible or otherwise, his pincers are known to go on par with some industrial strength machinery. He does not posess any teeth.

Despite the torture he went through he does not resent humanity as a whole and his wide-eyed happy spirit remains untamed.

He misses Merlin the octopus as he was Lobby's only friend in the facility.

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 6 - Relapse - Ted Lasso

cw - domestic violence, abuse of an adult child, restraints, alcohol abuse

Jamie will always stumble back into the open jaws of his father. It's like gravity pulling him back into the toxic orbit. He can take whatever abuse his dad throws at him but when it corrupts, hurts his friends. That is the worst part.

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

Jamie didn’t know why he was here. Somehow he always ended up back here. Richmond were in town to play Man United and so of course his dad hadn’t wanted tickets for that one. Richmond had come out on top but he had been down at the pub to watch Man City in a surprising draw to Brentford. When Jamie had got the call that his dad was pissed out of his mind and had stumbled his way home, Jamie found himself stumbling to the house he had bought.

“Junior!” James slurred as he pulled the door open. Jamie’s hands were firmly pressed into his pockets, shoulders up to his ears as he stepped into the lions den.

“Dad,” Jamie sighed, scanning the open plan living room. “I thought you were avoiding drinking at the football?”

“Wasn’t at the football was I? My son being a little baby and leaving City lost me my chances at a season ticket,” James barked, slowly turning to fall back towards Jamie in the doorway.

“This place doesn’t smell like someone trying to get sober,” Jamie muttered. He truly hadn’t wanted his dad to hear him. He was just frustrated that he was missing time celebrating with his team to hurry across Manchester and make sure his dad wasn’t choking on his own vomit. But he either said it too loud or James was too close. His dad froze.

“What was that? You ungrateful little cretin,” James gripped onto the front of Jamie’s jacket before he could even think about moving out of reach. “This is my house. I can do what I want with it. You don’t get to come in here,” he ranted pushing Jamie backwards with stumbling steps as Jamie hunched to his dad’s height. Of course. Of course this was going to happen. He shouldn’t have come. He should have just let his dad choke on his own vomit. His dad had relapsed into drinking. Jamie had relapsed into being at James Tartt Sr’s beck and call. This was his own fault. "Well if it's not to your posh twat standards then you might as well stay outside. Actually yeah, night in the doghouse might do you some good to remember what you have,” James rambled, and Jamie’s stomach sank. Suddenly the pressure on his chest eased but not from relief, from his dad pushing him backwards to fall and thump into the rail at the side of the front door steps. “You better not fucking move.”

Jamie didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to. There was nothing stopping Jamie from getting up from the cold stone floor and running. He could outrun his dad. Jamie Tartt could outrun anyone when properly motivated. But he didn’t. He sat there, dazed, with his back pressing into the cool metal barrier.

“What the fuck,” now Jamie started to struggle away.

“I said don’t fucking move,” James snarled, standing on Jamie’s more fragile ankle until the weight started to strain.

“What are you doing?”

“You don’t question me!” James yelled, the handcuff clicking shut around Jamie’s wrist and the other end ringing out as it latched onto the top of the railing. Jamie was stuck. His dad had handcuffed him to the front stairs. Where did his dad even get handcuffs? “You’ll stay out here until I think you’ve learnt your lesson. Don’t make me have to come out here or you will regret it,” James threatened. His grib latched onto Jamie’s unbounded wrist but there was no threat of Jamie moving now. He was stunned into a good impression of a lawn ornament. His dad had kicked him out of the house before, that was nothing new, but never like this. He had never been left, restrained, vulnerable like this. His dad’s fingers latched onto Jamie’s phone in his jacket pocket and Jamie regained his ability to struggle too late.

“Don’t make me come out here Jamie,” he threated again, Jamie’s only lifeline clasped in his hand and then he was gone.

The door thumping closed behind him, leaving Jamie literally out in the cold.

[pomefiore-visitor]

Another Sunday emeto drabble cw for hsr spoilers, emeto, & piss making this man puke in his wings is my everything.

i do not consent to minor interaction

For a man at his age, Sunday was a lightweight. Painfully lightweight. He had only ever drank on very special occasions, holidays, celebrations, communion. He had found drinking, in any capacity, to be vile, an affront to his body. And then he lost Robin. He found himself lost, weak to any sort of temptation and sin that crossed his path. A path that led him towards a beautiful bottle of ceremonial wine. It was a simple little thing. The cork had been dipped in decorative wax with ornate designs across the seal at the head. A seal that found itself broken and tattered on the floor, bottle following not soon after. Sunday, after grasps weakly at the wall, flexing his fingers as his other hand covers his mouth. A mixture of the violent waves of grief that hit him every time he thought about his baby sister and the quick movement of him attempting to get up in order to relieve himself caused him to stumble over his feet. His head spins, warm from the wine and dizzy from vertigo. He dry heaves, sweat beading on his upper lip and temple and he feels the overwhelming urge to piss sit weighty like a rock in his gut. He groans softly, thighs pressed together as he stumbles to the bathroom.

Every movement applies more pressure to his overworked bladder, his body working overtime in response to the alcohol in his sensitive system. The nausea isn’t helping much either. Drool pooling at the base of his jaw in preparation for the vomit. He shakes, drunkenly taking each agonizing step to the bathroom.

His stomach gurgles and he vocalizes once more, the heat in his face made him feel like he was on fire and he huddles over his stomach. The halovian heaves once more, drool slipping from his lips into a glistening little puddle on the polished floor. Another wet gurgle. He panics, he clearly wasn't going to make the bathroom at all. In a quick moment, he cups his mouth the wings that framed his face, hands grasping at his abdomen as he stays hunched over to stop himself from making a further mess with his own urine. He gags one final time before wet, hot vomit heaves its way up his throat, coating his esophagus with stinging acidic bile. Sickly wine red spew coats the delicate feathers of his wings, dripping onto the floor with the rest of his sick.  He swallows, saliva soothing the burn that stomach acid left in its wake and clenches his thighs, heaving a shuddering breath. He falls to his knees, a kneel ever so reminiscent of the form of worship he took to. The pressure on his poor body from vomiting and kneeling caused him to finally release, piss streaming down his thighs in waves.

He sobs once, twice, as his full bladder lets itself relieve. Sunday shuts his eyes. Dark golden stains on his trousers, deep red stains on his wings.

[ekholocationn]

drinking myself dizzy

[pileofpawns]

Thinking about domestic PC style where they’re trying to cook and a recipe calls for alcohol and both of them get a huge feeling of dread in their stomachs because Stan has been strictly avoiding having alcohol in the house for a while now and he doesn’t know if he can handle it

[sanguine-salvation]

❣!!

[ send me ❣ for 3 pros & 3 cons of dating my muse! - ACCEPTING ]

✨ Pros ✨

Do you like dancing? Because if you do, Viktor is an eager and very excellent dancer. And despite their skill, they don't mind beginners or those of the two-left-feet syndrome. They're just happy to dance with their partner.

They can be surprisingly sweet and genuine about the things they enjoy, you might even see a side of them that no one else gets to anymore. Let them infodump about sharks to you, it's great. In turn, they always listen closely. Might be a little creepy with how well they listen and remember things, but hey!

Can do really sick tricks with knives. Great at parties. Well, parties that are cool with an unhinged little murder freak, which is limited but not impossible.

😑 Cons! 😑

Does not have an off-button for drinking alcohol once they get going. You will have to take it from them, or take them away from it. Probably by picking them up. It's okay, they're practically snack-sized by Gotham standards.

Good luck getting them to wear pants. I mean, that might be a pro for some people, but you will just see their ass out more often than not.

Will just fucking steal food while you are cooking it. And they had wooden spoon grandma training, they are FAST. Asshole.

[inky-evergreen]

I think that HE thinks he's a bad friend but idk

[rhondafromhr]

Nerds corruption au chapter 6 is up on ao3!!

Featuring a brief Swedish barbecue cameo and the fallout from the gang’s scheme. Enjoy!

[dreamwatch]

You Know, This Used To Be Fun

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #13 - Prompt: Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: drug abuse, alcohol abuse, mention of rehab, mentioned overdose | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Angst, hurt/no comfort (sorry!), a whistle stop tour of the Sunset Strip through the eyes of someone who has never been there, stream of consciousness, run on sentences, Eddie's head is a whirlwind.

I SWEAR I will write something fun for tomorrow, I promise you!

Title from Success Story by The Who

****

They make it to LA in Eddie’s piece of shit van and Jeff’s slightly less piece of shit station wagon, and it’s… well. It’s something.

They find a motel to hole up in before they plan their next move, because they have no idea what they’re doing, nothing is planned, they just said goodbye to everyone in Hawkins and ran, and now here they are.

They need gigs so they go hunting, and hair metal is still fucking hanging on by its polished finger nails, but it’s not just hair metal on The Strip, fuck Metallica played here. So they head there and. Jesus Christ.

Jeff gets a job at Tower Records, Gareth is waiting tables in some restaurant, and Matty works in a gas station. And Eddie, well he asked about bar work but the thing is… the thing is he’s not comfortable with people yet. He gets in his head now since Hawkins. But he finds a job as a janitor and it’s solitary enough to suit him. 

It’s 1989 and they’re going to be rock stars

****

They get a gig at The Whisky. They’re the opening, opening, opening act, the doors have barely opened, it’s Thursday and Matt and Gareth had to call out sick (and they’re praying no one from their jobs like metal enough to come to The Whisky on a Thursday). It’s 7pm. and there’s barely anyone there, a couple of blonde girls and blond boys and a fuck-ton of Aqua-net; this isn’t them. This isn’t their scene. But the crowd comes later and now there’s Metallica and Judas Priest T-shirts wandering around and they slot into place.

When they play The Whisky again they’re the opening, opening act and it’s 8pm and people are coming to see them.

After the show they wander up to the Rainbow and they drink away the last of their money, and watch girls making out with guys whose faces they’ve seen in Metal Edge.

And they play their gigs and they work their jobs and it’s 1990 and one day that’s going to be them.

****

They travel up to San Francisco for some shows, getting on the bill with some other thrash bands. It blows their minds.

They get on a tour to the East Coast; they have to give up their jobs but that’s fine, because Jeff is a step away from becoming the manager and staying there, and Gareth hates his fucking job, and Matty got held up in a robbery a few months back and it scared the shit out of all of them, so fuck it. And it’s amazing, what he remembers of it, the shows are amazing, but the after was amazing too? He thinks? His memory is spotty.

And then, and then, well fuck if they haven’t been signed. Well fuck if they’re not in a studio recording an actual album, not like that shitty demo they did in Indy. Well fuck if it’s not being released.

The drugs in LA are better somehow. Like, Hawkins had baby drugs, like junior training wheels drugs, but the drugs in LA are for the grown ups. When they play shows now they’re the main attraction and now people are giving them booze and coke and pills, whatever they want, they don’t even to ask. Then they’re drinking in the Rainbow and girls are climbing on their laps, and he’s not uncomfortable but he’s not strictly comfortable either. But Jeff leaves, and Gareth walks away with some girl attached to him and Matty’s next to him with one on his lap and one nuzzled up beside him, and Eddie pushes his one off and says ‘rain check’ like he’s ever going to see her again.

The album is released and it sells, it’s in that Tower Records where Jeff nearly became a manager, and they go in there every day moving it to the front of the ‘C’s. And there’s less copies every day because people are buying it.

It’s 1991 and they’re about to be rock stars.

****

The album takes off and they get support slots on bigger tours, bands they know, whose albums are sitting in Eddie’s trailer back in Hawkins. They’re playing five thousand seat venues, and one day he sees a Corroded Coffin banner in the crowd, and fuck, it’s emotional you know? It’s what they always dreamed about.

There’s another album, and money, and then they have a headline tour across the states, Jesus Christ, and people buy them drinks, and they give them drugs, and even though they have money now they don’t have to pay for a goddamn thing. 

There are girls, but Eddie finds guys on the road, guys at truck stops, and they’re famous but they’re not, you know? So it’s cool. It’s safe.

There’s a video and it’s on Headbangers Ball.

It’s 1992 and they’re rock stars.

****

Things get fuzzy after that.

There's another album. There’s festivals in Europe, and bigger tours, arenas, more guys but none of them are him, and then another album, and the drugs are good in LA, you know, but actually it’s the drink he prefers, who knew? But that’s good because Gareth and Matty prefer coke so more for them. Jeff dabbles for a while, but he gets married. She cleans him up. Eddie hates her.

There’s another album, another award, another tour, and they travel all over the world and Steve Harrington finally comes to LA, after years of Eddie asking, just as friends, you know? And Eddie drinks, because he can, and there’s another album but he doesn’t look for guys anymore because he belongs to Steve now, and there’s another tour, and Gareth ODs, but fucking shit he’s ok, and Matty cleans up, and Eddie drinks and he drinks and he drinks until Steve says “I love you but you need to stop”.

It’s 1998.

He’s thirty-two, he's an alcoholic and he’s about to go to rehab.

But hey, he’s a rock star, right?

[tavtime]

I got two scenes fairly back-to-back in my game last night, and I have had no peace since it happened.

- scene one: Shadowheart's memory of being taken by Sharrans, the one she shares with you via tadpole. There's this moment where she starts to walk off with Viconia, but turns her head to look back at the wolf/her father, and Viconia raises her hand to block Shadowheart's view, a correction that Shadowheart seems to implicitly accept. But in the last three seconds or so of the scene, she turns her head to look back one last time, though she's just been tacitly reprimanded for doing the same thing.

- scene two: Shadowheart's romance scene by the cliff/the share-a-bottle-of-wine scene.

At least in a good ending/high approval playthrough, the game doesn't really make much of how much Shadowheart leans on wine to cope with her trauma, but it's... quite a bit. And I've just been turning over in my head why she does this. Where would she have picked it up, as a habit? Are Sharrans as a whole given to drinking? Doesn't feel like the kind of thing a group as invested in discretion as they are would really pursue. Which makes me wonder if the truth is sadder: that maybe she understands what too much wine will do her memory, but prefers that kind of memory loss to the kind she experiences for her religion. Why? The familiarity of it? Or more out of a sense of control, that at least this way she's choosing what she does to herself, rather than having that choice made for her?

I'm just haunted by that moment she looks back as a girl. All Shadowheart seems to want to do is look back, as a person, and when she's prevented from doing that... I don't know. She leans into this form of oblivion that she feels like she has some control over.

[skylitcreations]

I need Alan to remember that the Anderson moonshine helped with his amnesia in the first game, and then I need him to go on a frantic run to try and gather as much of it as he can during one of his drafts so he can try to remember everything the Dark Place made him forget and then he goes on a bender but since he hasn't actually been consuming any alcohol for the last 13 years, he gets sick as a dog and hates every moment.

Please see my vision.

[m0e-ru]

she had leftover paint from the last show, one minute, and a dream