#jesus shame on anyone who's making anyone feel bad for this?

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[imfinereallyy]

“Dad is going to be very angry,” El says with wide eyes taking in the scene before them.

“You think Hop will kill him?” Steve says as he leans against the doorway, eating a Twizzler.

El looks at Steve momentarily, sticking her hand out for some candy. Steve hands her one without hesitation. El rips a piece off before speaking. “Oh yes. He might ask you to help hide the body.”

Steve nods solemnly, “I’ll do what needs to be done. Mikes’s my least favorite child anyway.”

“Hey!” Mike yells, gaining the duo's attention. It brings them back to the scene they walked in on. Mike and Will, with the door closed (no three inches in sight) on top of each other, making out.

Steve doesn't think he’ll ever get that image out of his brain.

“Chill, Wheeler, I'm joking,” Steve says pointedly before turning to El and mouthing no, I'm not.

El giggles, and Steve can't help but feel like he won a prize at the sound.

“I'm sorry, El.” Will blushes with shame, like he is betraying his sister somehow.

El just shrugs, “I do not care. But Dad might. He hates Mike.”

Steve snorts, “That's the understatement of the century. I don't think Hop has ever hated someone’s partner like he has Mike. Honestly, I was surprised he liked Eddie. I mean like is a strong word. But he tolerates him.”

Will pipes up, “I think he does mostly because he knows you'll move out, and he only just got you to agree to stay here.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ll take what I can get. At least he doesn't walk on me having sex.”

“We weren't having sex!” Mike practically screams. Hands up exasperated. “And don't talk about you and Eddie; it's gross.”

Will blushes deeply with head in his hands, “Oh, God.” El pats him on the shoulder in sympathy.

“Also, this wouldn't have happened if you weren't an idiot and just knocked!” Mike stomps. Jesus, this kid is 15 acting 6.

“I was the one who walked in, Mike. I wanted to know if Will wanted to watch a movie.” El says coldly, getting defensive of her brother.

Mike clams up, Steve can't help but feel smug.

“Who’s having sex?!?” A distinct Hopper-like voice echoes through the house.

Will and Mike share a panicked look while Steve and El take more Twizzlers from the bag.

“Oh no. Mike! What are we going to do?”

Mike sputters, “He doesn't have to know it was us! And we weren't having sex!”

Will looks at him like Mike is the biggest moron he's ever met. Steve loves the kid (despite early protest) but has to agree. “Oh gee Mike, I wonder who he will think it was about. Steve? Who is dating a man who isn't here and keep in mind, it's Steve. Who is our brother, and five years older than us? And in a relationship? And let's not forget..is Steve?!”

“This is fair.” Steve agrees. If anyone but Baby Byers had attempted to say that, Steve would have been pissed. But it's Will, so it's coming from a good place.

“Also! Also! The other person here is El! Who is my sister! Not to mention your ex—”

“—well it could have been—”

“Micheal Steven Wheeler, if the next words out of your mouth are it could have been you and El, I will never be kissing you again.” Will uses a deathly tone. Steve isn't convinced he didn't get from El.

“Your middle name is Steven?” Steve fills giddy.

“Shut up Steve!”

Will pinches his brows, “And you idiot, if it were you and El, you would still he toast.”

Steve whistles, “Shit, Will. Next time I need to win an argument against Eddie. I'm coming to you.”

“How long does it take for dad to get upstairs?” El interrupts.

All of them look down the hall. “Huh, maybe we are in the clear,” Mike whispers.

“I said who is having sex?!?” Hopper comes thundering up the stairs.

“I think this is what Max calls a jinx.” El looks at Mike unphased.

Steve can't help but feel a little bad for Will. He looks panicked around the room, probably looking for a hiding place. Steve knows that it isn't that same fear Will once had of Lenny, Hop wouldn't hurt them ever, but he can't help but feel a little protective of him. Steve knows all too well how the fears of biological fathers can sneak up on you, even if you know you're safe. “Don’t worry, Will. I'll make sure Hop takes it easy.”

Will relaxes, “Thanks Steve.”

“What about me?” Mike asks, eyes wide.

El shares a look with Steve. Spending as much time as they have lately has allowed them to talk without speaking most of the time. It freaks everyone but Robin out (she gets it). Seconds go by before they both nod in agreement.

Steve and El both wip their heads towards Mike, and Steve says, “You were grossed out by my relationship and called me stupid. Suffer.”

Mike's outcry is in synch with Hop breaking through screaming, “There better be three inches!”

[enlitment]

The Voltaire-Rousseau Beef aka V v. JJ part III.

for @stars-in-the-night , @headsinsand and other great (and amazingly patient) readers

part 1 ; part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4

7. THE ORPHANAGE (to be read in Eliza Hamilton's voice)

The one thing from his personal life that Rousseau is probably best remembered for is the fact that he gave up all five children he had with his long-term partner, Thérèse, to a Parisian orphanage. One after the other, in what could be called a rapid succession, a simple case of salut and adieu.

The reasons he gave for his behaviour differ from ‘I have fallen with a bad crowd in Paris and this is just what people around me did’ and ‘I basically had no other option anyway’ (not true, he could have married Thérèse and try to make it work. Sure, money was tight, and someone could make a few snarky remarks about the first baby looking surprisingly big for a six-month old or whatever, but these things happened quite regularly. Also, Diderot married his working-class mistress despite his father’s stern disapproval. Just saying) to – now this comes up somewhat later in the Confessions and is significantly darker – ‘I really hated Thérèse’s family and thought it would be better to let my kids be raised by the state than be around them’.

If this was him trying to break a cycle of generational trauma though – perhaps one of the side of his own family as well –  I’d argue there were far better ways of going about it. There’s also potentially one even darker, quasi-psychoanalytical reason for this now infamous choice, but it’s probably best to steer clear of Freud. Nothing good usually comes out of it.

Of course, doing something like this would make anyone seem like a douchebag, but a guy famous for writing a treatise on how to best raise children?* Guy who repeatedly argued that the single purpose of a woman’s life is to be a mother? Now that’s a hypocrisy so deliciously juicy that one simply cannot resist sharing it with the world!

*interestingly enough, he insists in the Confessions that he wanted to reveal this information in his On Education (aka Emile), and that in one of the book's passages, he alluded to this episode in such a way that he ‘basically confessed to it already’. I haven’t found that part yet, and I remain somewhat sceptical about whether this is truly the case.

8. SECOND INTERMEZZO: VOLTAIRE THE AVID HATE-READER

V on Julie, or the New Heloise: „silly, middle-class, dirty-minded and boring“

V on Profession of Faith of a Savoyard Vicar: „I read his On Education. These are reasonings of a stupid nurse in four volumes, of which forty pages directed against Christianity. They are among the most daring that have ever been written, [but] by virtue of inconsistency worthy of this head without a brain and this Diogenes* with no heart, he uttered as much abuse against the philosophers, as against Jesus Christ.“ (letter to Damilaville, 1762)

*calling JJ ‘Diogenes’ was definitely a trend in the 1700s, and what seems like V’s go-to insult for him. Calling him a ‘lackey of Diogenes’ does potentially get a bit kink-shame-y though...

9. A MOUNTAIN AND AN AVALENCHE

The last post featured an earthquake in Portugal, now get ready for a distinctly Swiss natural disaster!

To be perfectly fair to Voltaire, although he was certainly not a person who was above spreading gossip, he did have a good reason to publish what he knew about Rousseau and let all hell break loose, since...

in Rousseau’s Letters Written from the Mountain published in 1763, JJ had exposed Voltaire as the author of the infamous Sermon of the Fifty, an anti-christian work that had the potential to get its author into serious trouble. Voltaire could not and would not let this slide – especially when he had the perfect weapon on his hands. Payback time!

Voltaire therefore went on to publish a short anonymous pamphlet titled Sentiments des Citoyens (aka How Citizens Feel – since JJ proudly called himself ‘citizen of Geneva’ in his works and he championed sentiments over reason – see, it’s all very clever!) in which he exposed details from Rousseau’s personal life. This of course included the most shocking, most hypocritical, and most memorable detail of all: Rousseau, Mr. Family First, Mr. Let’s-raise-precious-children-in-a-way-that-won’t-corrupt-their-natural-godness had dumped all of his offspring into a Parisian orphanage! Not so virtuous now, is it?

Interestingly, Rousseau never put two and two together and realised Voltaire was the real author of the fateful pamphlet. It would be interesting to see how he would react had he known.

That said, much like d’Alembert’s article on Geneva a couple of years earlier, the Sentiments des Citoyens led JJ to pick up a pen once again to do what he did best: to defend the poorest and most oppressed souls against the cruel and unjust world. Which usually just happened to be himself.

And thus, as Roger Pearson, an author of one of Voltaire's many biographies concludes:

“we have Voltaire to thank for (…) being the catalyst of Rousseau’s Confessions” which he calls “one of the world’s great autobiographies”

(no, not like that @chaotic-history. Though now I cannot unsee it every time I read the quote)

->

Tune in next time for the (mis)adventure in Britain which will feature:

another philosopher - David Hume - dragged into the mess

a fake letter from Frederick the Great (that was actually penned by the most messy gossip of a person in the 18th century)

a genuinely funny statue story with an appearance from d'Alembert

[cheshirebitch]

Hi :3 can you make a vox x reader but they have a love hate relationship?? Pls I will give you my soul

There you go :D

( Sooooo I went for a more angsty love hate relationship... hope this is what you wanted haha but very much was inspired by the song Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood! I appreciate the request and I seriously hope I did it justice <3)

Vox x Reader

𝔾𝕠 𝔸𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℂ𝕣𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

Val was screaming upstairs as Velvette and I were gathering plans together. She was working on something with her online status she has to maintain 24/7 while I was trying to work on the next big technology idea with Vox. The problem was, Vox was too busy upstairs babying Val. I have tried talking to him, more like yelling at him, to just get rid of Valentino. 

“Jesus, Vox! You sound more like his boyfriend than you do mine! Every fucking second you spend with him. What do I have to do to just get five fucking minutes with you?” I slammed the drawer shut. Vox groaned before yelling back. 

“Maybe if you were more understanding, I would be able to spend time with you being actually in love and, I don’t know, not yelling at you!” He was glaring at me from the doorway that he just had to duck through. I used my magic to slam the door behind him, locking it.

“Why’d you have to lock me in here?” He looked annoyed as he tried to pull the door open, only to be shocked with electricity. I was glaring at him from next to the bed, arms crossed.

“So we can actually have one fucking conversation before you go running to Val! You need to listen to me and just get rid of him!” I threw my bottoms at him as I slipped on my pj’s. I missed how he looked at me when I would change in front of him, but instead we fight every night before we go to sleep and wake up in love. But it always only lasted for maybe two hours before Valentino ruined it. 

He was a horrible person and reminded me a lot of my life. I have tried to have a sit down conversation with Vox about it so many times just to end up talking to Velvette about it. She must have sensed me getting more and more annoyed because she put her phone down and looked at me. It was rare to see her even glance over her phone at you.

“Hey, maybe it’s time to call it quits if he doesn’t even prioritize you yah know?” She shrugged with tight lips. The papers in my hand crumpled. Anger was all I could feel, anger and embarrassment. 

“Velvette.” My voice shook, selling out how bad I wanted to just talk to someone, anyone. Velvette glanced up, quickly disregarding her phone. She strode the distance between us and quickly grabbed my shoulders before whispering, “Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on?” I started bawling the second she asked. All this pent up hatred overwhelmed my heart that was still deeply in love with the man I was hating. 

“I tried talking to him about it all, Vel. I don’t know how much more I can take. It reminds me too much of-” 

“Shhhh, it’s okay. Try and calm down and then we can talk about it? Stay in my room tonight. Fuck Vox.”

“I have tried talking to him, yelling at him even! Velvette, I don’t know how much more I can take of this. One second he is the best man ever in my whole life, putting all my previous boyfriends to shame. But then he keeps babying the man who reminds me of all those abusive men I have dated. How can he even associate with someone like that?” I gestured wildly to the ceiling since they were both above us. I could hear another thing get smashed upstairs, followed by Valentino throwing some sort of hissy fit. I sunk back into my seat with my eyes brimming with tears. Velvette stood up, shuffling to the seat next to me. She draped an arm over my shoulders, hugging me, with her phone face down on the coffee table in front of us.

“Did you try telling him how you feel without any distractions? I know we can all be pretty distracting.” She trailed it out as her fingers swirled shapes on my shoulder. I leaned my head on her shoulder as I whispered back, “I have tried everything, Vel. Everything. All he does is focus on fucking Alastor or Valentino.”

“Here, I will take a turn with the sissy baby upstairs if you promise to try and talk to Vox, then let me know how it goes. We can go from there, girl. If he turns out to not be the shit, we can toss him out like the shit he is.” Gently, she slid off the couch and moved to go upstairs. I waited downstairs for what felt like almost an hour. Pressure was pushing harder and harder on my shoulders and back when I couldn’t hold it down anymore. I stood up and pushed all the papers off the table, flipping the table after shoving the papers didn’t satisfy anything. I was in the middle of picking up the couch when Vox opened the door and shut it behind him.

“Sorry about that doll, I was- What are you doing?” He stood at the door, his towering frame frozen there, pointing at me as I held the couch above me. I dropped it as I stared at him still, clearing my throat. I tried to shove those pent up emotions back down but they still remained on the edge of my tongue, ready to fire off. I could tell I was going to start the attitude this time.

“Nothing, just- nothing.” I looked at the couch and back at Vox. God did he always look so godly when he stared at me like that but fuck was I mad at him. Ditching all his work on me just to baby a grown ass disgusting-

“Yeah, sure. That looks like a lot of nothing.” Oh hell no.

“Really? If anything, you are doing nothing with this new project, again.” I snarled at him. He immediately narrowed his eyes at me before laughing dryly, holding his screen face with his hand before wildly talking with his hands.

“Seriously? You got Velvette to drag me away from calming down Val from embarrassing us for this? Get a grip, (Y/n)! There are more important things going on than you having to do a little extra work around here.” He waved his hands and rolled his eyes at me, about to leave the room. I hated him, I hated how he always brushes me off. I can’t even remember the last time we didn’t fight but instead actually talked to each other. I grabbed the lamp next to me and threw it at his head. It smashed over his head, of course with a bad aim. I was seething and he was too with how he whipped around, growling at me. He was taking long strides to be leaning down into my face. He grabbed my throat, dragging his blue claws across my neck as he hissed at me.

“You fucking bitch! You could’ve smashed my screen! Damaged my cords! Do you want me to not trust you anymore? To lock you away? I can just get rid of all the trust I have placed in you if that’s what this little episode is about.”  I was scrunching my face towards his before I reached behind his screen, unplugging one of his wires. I knew they were sensitive too as I unplugged his audio cord. His screen was still moving like he was talking but no words came out. A wide sadistic smile spread as I laughed at him.

“Finally! No more shots back and now you have to fucking listen to be you ignorant dick!” I grabbed his arms and shoved him down onto the couch, pinning his arms down as I sat on his lap. He was trapped underneath me as I glared into his furious face. I knew he was cussing me out but I really didn’t care. 

“You need to stop being at Valentino’s every call. He needs to be kicked out or I’m out.” Vox stopped lashing from underneath me, completely stilling and looking at me with shock and an underlining of fear. It pulled at my heart seeing him genuinely scared to lose me. I let go of his arms, knowing he was going to finally listen to me. Those blue claws drifted up my arm and traced shapes on my back before shifting to holding my face carefully. This was the tender and loving Vox I missed so much. I held his one hand over my cheek as the other held my hip, tightly. He was scared I was leaving anyway and I could see it in his eyes. 

“I have been trying to tell you this whole time we have been together, Vox. Val reminds me too much of the relationships I had alive. All the abuse, the violence, the-” My voice broke as I thought of everything all those men have stolen from me. The only satisfaction I have over those moments was how I killed them back before I died. Vox swiped a tear that started to slide down my face. His eyes bounced between mine. He didn’t bother to try and talk, just kept tracing those shapes on my hip now. 

“I just can’t do it anymore, baby. Please, choose me for once. Please.” My voice croaked at the last please. I plugged his audio in, desperate for that comforting and willing to kill anyone for me man that caught my attention my first week in hell. He immediately pulled me into a hug, cradling my body in his arms as he hushed my quiet cries. He was repeatedly apologizing.

“I’m so sorry, doll face. I promise he will be gone from this building by tomorrow. We can just sit in our room till he’s gone. I promise, I will have the crew remove him and everything that reminds you of him. Oh baby doll, I’m so sorry.” He was rocking me in his arms, nuzzling his staticy face onto mine. The room felt more sadly comforting as I remembered everything that happened when I was alive, finally crying it all out to Vox. He sat mostly silent, except for his occasional comforting words. I told him everything that happened when I was with each man, listing names with their actions as Vox was taking notes on their names. Then I got to my dad, which bothered Vox even more as he listened. His hands tightened on me, pulling me tighter into his cradling hold. His whole body was wrapped around mine at this point as he mumbled, “Go ahead and cry little girl. And if you were my little girl, I’d do whatever I could do.” He smiled gently at me as he held me. The room darkened slightly, only hearing the static sound of his heart beating where I laid my head on his chest. 

“Promise me one thing, baby?” I hummed back, sniffling also as I wiped my eyes.

“Promise me you won’t try to leave me again? I know it was just an ultimatum, but I could never deal with you leaving. It would ruin me faster than a magnet to my screen.” He chuckled at his hopeful attempt to make me smile, which succeeded. 

“I promise.”

(As always, characters belong to their owner and the story belongs to me. Been in a slight writers block and trying to get outta it lol. If you have any requests or ideas, send them over :)! I will gladly try to write things for my supporters! Thank you for the love and have a great day<3)

[liesinmyeyes]

hey, so I'm a new pagan witch and one who has barely practiced anything yet/ has only like 10 pages filled in their book of shadows

i am seeking advice on what to do with myself and my craft and practices, or just hoping someone has felt/currently feels the same way I do because I'm the only pagan witch I know irl and have no one to tell this to.

practicing witchcraft makes me anxious? I haven't really done anything aside from wearing crystal necklaces and sleeping with an amethyst below my pillow, but i'm lowkey afraid to do much more than that because whenever I do research across the internet (don't worry, I don't only take one pinterest source at face value, I make sure to look at other sources on the internet and always check with multiple witchy forums/threads or just simply history sources if the practice is closed/appropriated or should be done as a beginner) - but here is my issue. There's soooo many sources on the internet that tell you so many differing opinions. Some sources will say "NO WAY DON'T EVER DO THAT" while others will go "it's okay and totally safe". I haven't ever read a book abt witchcraft because I know how much TERF-y and culturally appropriate-y agendas they have and the amount of misinformation in a lot of them. I almost got radicalized once before and I told myself "never again", so i'm too afraid to pick up a book half the witches praise for being so good and accurate and half condemn for including TERF bs. I know I should form my own opinions on magic(k) and how I percieve witchcraft but i just get this BOUT of anxiety whenever I see a post anywhere on the internet saying "DONT EVER DO THAT AS A WITCH" or something along those lines... i can never tell what's just gatekeepy fear-mongering and what's an actual closed/dangerous practice anymore and it makes me too afraid to pursue anything because I fear bad things happening to me more than anything. I think it's a side effect of my neurodivergent self wanting to be told exactly what I can and can't do (considering my ethnic identity) and how and when to do it, what moral code to abide by, which is a tough ask in something like witchcraft.

i often feel swayed and get these bouts of guilt for NOT being christian. I grew up areligious in a very christian country with an added sprinkle of shaming people for being religious (which i dont agree with obvs). When I was agnostic and not giving any thought to religion at all, it was fine and dandy. But now that I identify myself as a pagan who worships the greek gods, I often feel, idk, ashamed of it? I'm friends with some very devout christian gals and whenever they talk about going to church or getting their sins forgiven I just feel so guilty and kind of like I'm sinning myself. I feel like I shouldn't be believing in the Gods and should be christian instead, even though SO many of my world views don't align with christianity's teachings and frankly, I don't want to be christian? I want the Gods to be real and I want to worship them. But I often doubt my faith in them and feel the guilt of not being christian like everyone else in my country. Is this a faith issue? On some days I won't doubt the Gods existing at all and feel all happy and uplifted and sure in my faith and on other days I'll be sitting around all day, questioning all my morals and beliefs and questioning whether I'm going to hell for praying to the greek gods. Maybe it's because of all my sorroundings (multiple churches in my town, Jesus statues everywhere, very christian friends) that I feel that way, but if anyone could tell me how to stop these thoughts I'd give ANYTHING to do that. (Not that there's anything wrong with christianity or finding comfort in it, its just that whenever I think about it I get anxious because the concept of eternal torture just for enjoying life on earth scares me. On the other hand, I DO find comfort in worshiping the greek gods. I feel more beautiful, inspired to write, so on and so forth...)

[allwormdiet]

Sentinel 9.2

Hey Flechette, glad to have you aboard, please mind the bloodthirsty coworker

Interesting way of greeting people, Sophia. At least she has the decency to apologize, eventually.

Also crazy good reflexes on Flechette, holy shit.

Somehow I doubt she's going to only be stuck here for a month

Also God, Sophia is such a tryhard, it's kinda funny when she's not trying to kill somebody about it

Fascinated by the idea that you can tell whether a cape is the type to run across rooftops by vibes.

More exposition, this one to explain Flechette's power and the associated power ratings. With this, I get how she was able to wreck Leviathan's shit better than basically anyone else, "borks physics on projectiles" is a massive benefit. Girl's busted.

Describing Brockton Bay as jerky, awkward, and demanding feels appropriate lmao

Also oh no why do the out of towners keep thinking they should connect with Shadow Stalker, she's like the least friendly one

"Gotta wait for them to obviously commit a crime so we can swing in and kick them in the teeth" - definitely not a cop

Oh yeah, no threat from tranquilizer bolts, except I guess the fucking broken glass that can get embedded in the flesh, Jesus Christ

This fight feels harsh, swift, these guys are going down fast and hard and there's already two nasty blows to the neck.

Speaking of harsh and brutal, Jesus. Sophia really likes to make people hurt, huh?

The restraint thing is cool, very Spider-Man, although hanging people upside-down for an extended period of time feels... dangerous.

Also yeah no kidding Sophia is too comfortable with violence

So, I'm going to sidestep the ethical dilemma of "should someone who was very nearly victimized be allowed to kick the shit out of the people who almost did awful things to them" because I think that's a pretty delicate and complicated topic

What I'm going to focus on instead is "should government-employed superheroes deliberately allow the above to happen," and I'm pretty sure the answer is no? This is an interesting glimmer of sympathy from Shadow Stalker but it's coming at the cost of the physical health of people she's responsible for taking down; even if they're shitheads, even if they were going to try to rape that woman, it doesn't look any better for Shadow Stalker that they're brutalized any further than what it took to incapacitate them

So how's it going trying to make a friend out of the girl that's your age

Shadow Stalker literally calls herself a cop! She says it! And then she throws on "judge, jury, and executioner" just to really drive the point home! Protectorate heroes and Wards have the room to treat themselves as goddamn Judge Dredd in times of emergency, either because of tacit approval by their superiors or because of insufficient oversight! Both options are bad!

Flechette is smart enough to distance herself at least

The only real rebuke against Shadow Stalker's whole deal is that nobody who knows her especially likes her

Let's not shame a man for knowing things about dolls, hmm? We can do better than that

The detail about what a parian doll is is kinda neat though

Also very neat that she's a fashion student using her superpowers to make herself stand apart from her peers

That could've gone really poorly, holy shit

Goddamn, Parian takes this seriously.

Well, glad she's finding someone to connect with at least, for all that Shadow Stalker was a bust.

Being a conflict-avoidant parahuman has to fucking suck, good lord. No wonder Parian's on edge, she's acting as muscle for an entire group of survivors and probably on call the entire day, and she hates every second of it.

And so a spark is struck.

Wonder why Parian is dressing up to look white. Further obfuscation of her identity? Makes as much sense as anything.

At least Flechette is wringing some kind of benefit out of this ass assignment

Current Thoughts

Nice to more officially meet the both of these characters. Flechette seems nice and has a neat power, Parian seems nice and has a neat power. Wild to me that they're gonna be like, the token wlw couple in this story, there's already so much tension involving Taylor and other girls.

Shadow Stalker basically told on herself this chapter and will continue to tell on herself for the rest of the arc

[skepsiss]

Modern problem, Modern solutions - pt4

This is the part where it hurts. I'm a sucker for miscommunication. Just teens being dumb and bad at talking. Having fun with what was pop-culture in 2015, god it made me feel old though.

TW: Underage drinking/drugs (weed), slight suggestion of sexual harassment (misstep that is corrected), suggested sexual language/intimacy.

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5

---

Eddie's frustration with himself had grown over the course of the last few weeks; they were well into October and Halloween was fast approaching–his favourite holiday. Despite it being his favourite, he never did much on Halloween and hadn't since he was 13. It sort of sucked actually. He had moved to Hawkins when he was 12 to live with Wayne and he hadn't known anyone to go out trick-or-treating with at the time so he had awkwardly stayed at the trailer and only half dressed up to go to school that day. Previously, when he lived with his dad he hadn't lived anywhere populated enough to make trick-or-treating worth it or been allowed to go. So, he had always missed out on walking door to door in costume–he hadn't even been able to afford a costume, and putting in the effort to make something was sneered at or condemned as a waste of time and money. He had only gotten 1 good year of trick-or-treating in when he was 13 and then that was it. After that, well... having fun on Halloween was pretty dependent on whether or not you got invited to a party. 

Beyond that, everything Halloween-related made him think about horror and then vampires and consequentially Steve. It was kind of frustrating actually. Everything he thought of led back to Steve and it was becoming harder and harder to be in his presence without acting like an idiot. Time spent together was still sparse and only really happened at Pride Club or when Steve popped in briefly at Hellfire. Still, every interaction was painted in anxiety for Eddie and at the end of the day he often flopped onto his bed and cringed at himself over what he had said or how he had acted. Steve was nice, but it was obvious that there was nothing deeper than that. He could see how Robin and Steve interacted and how different Steve was around people he actually considered his friends. He gave them a hard time, poked fun, joked, smiled, and scolded them like a sibling. He wasn't really like that at all with Eddie, or if he was it was short-lived and felt surface-level to Eddie. It was frustrating and Eddie wondered constantly why he was trying so hard. He just so badly wanted Steve to like him, as a friend or otherwise....

Otherwise.

Otherwise was the thing that was annoying Eddie more than anything. He was 17 and there was no way he was going to be able to ignore this forever: Steve was a handsome guy and he was friendly. Eddie was not immune to the effects a good-looking guy could have on him–a good-looking guy that was queer and talked to him, at that. So, he had let himself fantasize once or twice when he was home alone, blending the images of porn, celebrities, and people he found hot together to get relief. He had felt horribly awkward after the fact and that was only doubled when he had interacted with Steve the next day. He had been downright ashamed and couldn't even look him in the eye. Even now, he felt awkward when his brain reminded him that he'd done that–and then went and did it again half a week later. Shameful, really.

Eddie's tact to dealing with his awkwardness had been to act a bit aloof and put out when Steve and him had talked after that, masking his shame with quiet indifference. He still tried to be friendly, but he didn't want to tip Steve off to the fact that he found him attractive. Still, there was a small part of him that liked when Steve paid attention to him....

Eddie and everyone else in Hawkins–who was he? Jesus Christ.

That was why it had been surprising when Eddie had received a message from Steve on Instagram a few days leading up to Halloween. It had been simple, and though he and Steve had communicated sparingly, Eddie hadn't wanted to change his behaviour in order to use the app more often just because Steve was on it. The message had been simple and impossible to misinterpret.

Having a Halloween party Saturday, want to come?

Eddie had stared for a beat before the next message came through, not able to process all of that right away.

Robin said she'd come, costumes required.

Steve's texting was painfully bad: the message was riddled with vowel drops and squashed letters without a sign of punctuation in there; still, it was easy enough to get his meaning.

Where? Eddie messaged back, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as he realized what this meant. Was this a party-party? Or was it a hang-out-with-friends kind of party? What was he supposed to prepare for?

My place, Steve answered, 8 on Saturday. BYOB.

Oh, bring your own bottle, classy. So, it was probably a party-party. That meant there was likely to be a lot of people going–a lot of 16-year-olds. Well, at least then Eddie could stand out as a little cool for being an older guy who showed up... that or the lamest one there to be hanging out with people younger than him. Shit. He was overthinking it already.

I'll think about it, Eddie lied, already resigning himself to going as his heart beat out of his chest, nothing to wear.

What should he wear? How hard did you go for a costume party like this? He didn't want to be lame and not dress up at all, but if he went too hard that would make him a laughing-stock.

Girl problems, Steve messaged back, followed by a quick j/k. Eddie had been able to tell he was being sarcastic, but he vaguely appreciated the clarification. He forgot to reply either way.

Every girl there was going to be dressed as Harley Quinn–Eddie was sure–and everyone else was going to be some version of Captain America or Left-Shark. Eddie didn't want to be pedestrian about his costume choices, but if he did something too obscure–ugh. He was going to go insane if he thought too hard about it. He was already going insane, honestly.

Eventually, after much deliberation, Eddie decided to just go as a pirate. He had attempted to make something of a Captain Jack Sparrow costume but hadn't had access to the funds to buy anything new. His hair was long enough already though, and he opted not to knot it to make it more 'authentic' even if he had twisted yarn and tied trinkets to his hair like Jack had. White shirt, eyeliner, vest, belts, and simple black pants. It was passable and if people gave him a hard time he was just some pirate or whatever. He had quietly been bitter that he couldn't find a hat or a coat that would work.

Eddie had purposefully shown up late to Steve's party and had quietly stolen some of the beers Wayne kept in the fridge before going. It wasn't a secret, Wayne knew he took his alcohol sometimes, but they had never talked about it. Sometimes, quietly, Wayne had made a sideways attempt at reminding Eddie to be safe, but he had never really... put his foot down. Eddie appreciated that, and he silently recognized that he'd probably drink more if he was told not to.

Eddie arrived at Steve's place through his backyard: the Harrington property backed onto the forest that connected to the surrounding area of the trailer park. It was still a good 20-minute walk and it had been spooky as shit walking it in the dark, but it was easier than trekking out onto the road and taking an indirect path to get to Steve's. He knew where Steve lived–most people at school did–and Eddie had to admit that when he was younger he had scoffed openly at the Harrington house. It was ostentatious and too large for a family of three, but Eddie had reconsidered as of late. Sure, he could hate the house, but it wasn't like Steve chose it himself.

It had been impossible to mistake Steve's house from the back, too. Eddie had been able to hear the party before he broke the tree line and despite the party not being "out of control" the sound of teenage laughter and pop music were unmistakable.

Eddie slouched as he made his way up the lawn and tried not to make eye contact with anyone there. He was a good hour late, but that was to be expected. People here didn't seem that drunk yet at least, so Eddie walked to the house before just stepping in through one of the many open doors. He scanned the room for anyone he recognized, coming up empty. Most of the people here he knew were on the local sports teams Steve was a part of, some people Eddie himself only had a vague knowledge of. He couldn't see Steve or Robin anywhere–or anyone else that might have known that would have been invited to this. Great.

Eddie swallowed and mentally buckled in as he walked towards the kitchen to find a bottle opener. There were more than a few out of the counter and he helped himself as he cracked open one of his beers.

"Munson–" someone was saying as Eddie took his first sip of beer, the flavour neither here nor there for him.

Eddie turned, seeing some guy he was sure was part of the basketball team. Or he thought he was, whatever, he was dressed up in some kind of orange jumpsuit, probably meant to be a prisoner.

"You uh..." the guy asked, raising his hand to his lips and making a smoking gesture.

Eddie snorted, taking another drink from his beer. Cool, well, at least if he didn't know anyone here he could pass off his attendance as just the guy ready to sell weed.

It wasn't a secret that Eddie smoked and it wasn't exactly a secret that he smoked more than just cigarettes. A lot of the kids in the alternative program did and Eddie had spent a couple of years in those special classes. He had been bumped out to just needing a "teacher's aid" for grade 12, and he hadn't minded so much. A lot of the burnouts were worse to talk to than the jocks, only because if you pissed them off the grudge would be held for years. At least the jocks forgot you existed.

"Yeah," Eddie said, fishing in his pocket for his cigarette box. He had stashed some joints in there, not having actually prepared to sell tonight. He really didn't sell all that often, only when things were extra tight at home, and Wayne had been somewhat consistently working as of late.

"How much?" The guy was asking, his speech a little slurred. That was one thing too, jocks like this never knew what weed was worth.

"Thirty," Eddie said, plucking the joint out of the box and twirling it between his fingers.

"Thirty?" The guy asked incredulously, patting himself down for his wallet.

"Inflation," Eddie answered, taking another sip from his bottle, "supply and demand and all that."

He could tell his comment was going over this guy's head and he wasn't sure if it was the booze or just his brain.

"More people at the party. More people want it. It costs more," Eddie lied, only keen on keeping at least one of his pre-rolled joints for himself.

Jumpsuit nodded at him and fished money out of his pocket, only coming up with 23 dollars which Eddie shrugged and accepted if Jumpsuit was willing to get him a beer too. He wasn't sure if the guy was going to come back, but a surprise beer later tonight would be nice.

Eddie toted his own pack outside, still looking at the partygoers to see if he recognized anyone before eventually–finally–spotting Steve on the back patio. He must have missed him when he walked in, but he wasn't sure how. Steve sort of stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone was dressed in these store-bought, weird costumes, and Steve–from the best Eddie could tell–was dressed like Robin Hood. And not some cartoony version of him either; he looked almost like the Cary Elwes version of Robin Hood: white billowy shirt, a jerkin, tights, and a quiver slung over his shoulder. Either Steve had shelled out to get the goods, or someone very enthusiastic had hooked him up. The other thing that stood out was Steve had a... goddamn bottle taped to his hand like some kind of frat bro. Actually, now that Eddie looked, a few guys had bottles taped to their hands.

Steve noticed him and Eddie tensed as Steve touched the guy's shoulder by him and then excused himself. He was smiling, and he didn't look all that drunk, but as he got closer Eddie could see that Steve straight up had a bottle of 'On the Rocks' taped to his hand. Vodka and Triple Sec? Oh, Steve was planning to go hard.

"Hey, you been here long?" Steve asked, grinning as he made his way over to Eddie.

"Uh, not really," Eddie replied, fishing in his pocket for his cigarettes as he pointedly stared at Steve's hand. He seemed to notice and then waggled it a bit at Eddie, laughing.

"You know, have to finish it before I'm allowed a different drink," he explained. Eddie knew how that worked, but he wasn't sure how he felt about the bottle being an expensive pre-mixed cocktail.

"Uh-huh..." Eddie offered as a reply, taking a swig from his own beer and sticking a smoke between his lips.

"It wasn't full when I started," Steve explained, which was... kind of funny to hear. It sounded like he was defending himself from seeming 'too intense' or something. Or, it wasn't defensive, more apologetic.

"The guys thought it would be funny because it's a pink cocktail," he explained further which made Eddie snort and pinch his brows in. Fun. Just some casual homophobia at their queer teammate. Wear the pink thing, and drink the cocktail.

"Charming," Eddie retorted, half stepping away but not in an attempt to block Steve out. The irony of the whole thing seemed to be a bit lost on Steve, or maybe he didn't care enough.

"Munson," someone said and Eddie looked to see Jumpsuit coming back with a beer in hand. It was just a Blue Ribbon, but whatever.

"Here," Jumpsuit offered and Eddie lifted his case of beer for the guy to put it in the empty slot.

"Cheers," Eddie offered, flicking his lighter on and lighting his cigarette as the stranger trotted off. He glanced at Steve who was looking at him for some kind of explanation before Eddie took a drag and then motioned for Steve to follow him. He wasn't going to be that kind of ass that smoke in a heavily trafficked area. He knew most people hated the smell.

"What was that?" Steve asked anyway as Eddie leaned back against the pool house a few meters away from the action.

"Owed me," Eddie half explained, not sure why the fact that Steve was being a frat boy was making him feel less awkward. Probably because Eddie thought the behaviour was cringey and pathetic, so it made him feel a bit superior for once.

"I sold him some weed and he didn't have enough so he owed me a beer," Eddie explained in full, putting his cigarette and beer in the same hand so he could drink and smoke.

Steve made a knowing sound, leaning back against the wall beside Eddie and drinking from his own bottle.

"You selling drugs to people at my party?" He asked and Eddie felt his blood run cold. Oh. Maybe that wasn't cool. He hadn't thought about how that could affect Steve.

He looked at Steve only to have that worry melt away as he saw the smile on his face.

"Why, you want some?" Eddie retorted, his pride bruised just a little for thinking Steve was serious.

Steve half laughed, still smiling like some goddamn movie star.

"Sure, how much?"

Eddie wasn't really sure what to say to that as he swallowed a mouthful of smoke and then started coughing incessantly.

"You okay?" Steve asked as Eddie ducked to the side, coughing and trying to drink a mouthful of beer to help settle his lungs.

"Sorry–" Eddie wheezed, "inhaled weird–" He wasn't sure how that explanation was going to save face, but he straightened up anyways, nursing the small coughs that came afterward.

"On the–on the house man," Eddie explained, coughing some more as he waved Steve off a bit, "for hosting or whatever. Unless you're buying for everyone–I can spare 1 joint."

"You sure?" Steve asked, sounding a bit concerned as he reached over and patted Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie shook his head and rolled his shoulder to get Steve's hand off, pulling away to cough a bit more. His lungs were settling, but he sounded like an idiot gagging on his own smoke.

"Just gimme a second," Eddie offered, hands full as he took a healthy swig of his beer, "they're in my pack. Just lemme smoke this."

Great, he was already making an idiot of himself and he'd been here for like 20 minutes.

"I can grab it," Steve offered, not even waiting for a reply as he half gestured towards Eddie's pocket. He had moved with his taped hand at first and then corrected, shamelessly turning his back to the party so he could stick his hand into Eddie's pocket.

Eddie felt his blood run cold at that, rendered speechless as Steve squared their shoulders up and just started fishing in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Eddie felt a bit helpless, standing there with a case of beer in one hand and his bottle and smoke in the other, arms out to the side as he just watched Steve's fingers disappear into his jeans pocket.

"Woah uh..." Eddie started, swallowing again as he felt Steve get hold of the top of the pack, "you can just... wait a second."

Steve was already pulling the smokes out by the time he finished talking and he moved back to Eddie's side to lean against the wall.

"It's not a big deal," Steve shrugged, seeming to think the issue was that he had 'inconvenienced himself' doing a favour for Eddie, and not sticking his goddamn hands in Eddie's pants. Maybe Steve was a bit more drunk than Eddie realized.

Eddie took a deep swig of his beer before dragging so hard on his cigarette that he almost finished it in one pull. He watched as Steve tried to open the carton one-handed, awkwardly trying to push the flap open with his thumb. He was chuckling at himself a bit which made Eddie laugh in return, his nerves on fire as he watched Steve.

"Shit–" he was muttering in good humour, before putting the carton in his mouth and opening it with his teeth, "there."

Eddie snorted, needing to hide his delight and horror with humour in order to cope with whatever was happening right now.

"You really want to get high, huh?" Eddie asked, ashing his cigarette and watching as Steve mouthed at the top of his smokes before managing to get one of the blunts between his lips.

"Now what, genius?" Eddie asked, indicating towards both of Steve's hands being full without the ability to light the damn thing.

Steve snorted again, looking around and at his hands as he held the joint between his lips. That earned a proper laugh from Eddie as he put his own cigarette to his lips.

"Here–" Steve slurred as he tried to keep the joint steady. Eddie had no idea what he was doing, but Steve turned towards him again and leaned in, pressing the end of the joint against Eddie's cigarette.

He couldn't be certain, but Eddie swore he could feel his fucking soul escape his body as Steve stayed tucked in close, puffing on the joint to try and get it to light. Eddie's mind was drawing a complete blank as he stood there, pulling a little harder on his smoke and making it ember. He was staring intently at Steve, heart racing, while Steve's attention was purely on the smoke as he tried to get it to light.

It felt like it took ages, but eventually, he did get the damn thing to light and he pulled away, puffing once and then glancing at Eddie. He snorted and then fumbled to stick the carton back in Eddie's front pocket.

"Success," he said as he took the joint out of his mouth and exhaled. Eddie was still staring at him despite his hand having dropped from his own mouth so he was no longer smoking his cigarette.

"Professional," Eddie said finally, forcing himself to look away from Steve. He wasn't sure what to say or think of that but it felt like he needed to dive into the goddamn pool to cool off.

"You think?" Steve asked, taking a swig from his own bottle as he stood there.

"No," Eddie replied, finishing off his own cigarette and flicking it onto the ground to crush with his foot.

"Hmm," Steve hummed, taking another hit, "grab that, huh? My folks will be pissed to find butts out here."

Eddie glanced at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or not before bending down to pick up his smoke.

"Sure, sorry," he replied, holding the butt kind of awkwardly and looking around for somewhere to toss it.

"There's a trash can inside," Steve offered, nodding his head towards the pool house they were leaning up against.

"Right," Eddie swallowed, shifting a bit awkwardly as he tried to decide what to do before stepping away and looking at the door beside him. Steve laughed and walked over, holding the blunt between his lips again and then opening the door for Eddie. He bowed a bit foolishly, putting on a 'show.'

Eddie nodded his thanks and stepped in, letting the door close behind him. He sighed heavily now that he was alone, looking at the little room and noting that it was just a bathroom. There was a little shower and then a sink and a toilet, nothing fancy. It was probably just to wash the chlorine off yourself before going inside.

Eddie looked at himself in the mirror and frowned, unsatisfied with how he looked. He could hear the party raging outside still and he felt weird about ditching now. Maybe he should just go and try and find Robin who was supposed to be here too. How she was surviving this scene he had no idea, but he was barely holding on.

Eddie chucked what remained of his smoke and chugged his beer before stepping back out into the yard. Steve's company had multiplied and he was leaning against the wall with some other guys now as they shared the joint. Eddie felt himself tense, standing there awkwardly for a beat before Steve looked at him and offered him the joint. He hesitated and then put his empty bottle down, needing something to calm his nerves. He offered it back after a long hit and Steve gestured to one of his friends to take it.

Everyone seemed nonplused by Eddie's presence and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. It at least left Eddie's hands-free as he reached for a beer out of his case and then held it for a beat too long. How was he supposed to get this opened one-handed?

"Here," one of the guys said and Eddie glanced up to see him reaching for his bottle. He wasn't really sure what to do but didn't resist as the guy took the bottle from him and then fished his keys out of his pocket. He popped the cap off and flicked it at the guy beside him who cursed at him lightly before handing the bottle back over to Eddie.

He thanked him quietly, and the conversation around him continued, no one really paying that much attention to him. He wasn't a disruption in the flow of the conversation either, but Eddie felt too anxious to follow along with what was being said.

Eventually, the joint made its way back around to him and Eddie accepted the hit happily before passing it off. He worked his way through his beer slowly, chugging it a bit at times, and starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. He had drunk both his beers pretty quickly, and at this rate, he was going to be more than a little loose in the next hour.

"--more?" Eddie heard and he refocused his attention as he finished off the last of his beer.

"Do you have more?" The guy repeated and Eddie took a beat to realize what he was being asked.

"Oh, yeah," Eddie replied, putting his empty bottle down and fishing for his carton of cigarettes, "thirty."

He got much the same answer from this guy as he had the last and Steve laughed at him before giving Eddie a wry look. He wasn't exactly sure what that was for, but he'd take it.

"I only have forty," the guy said, grumbling. Eddie motioned to take it from him anyway only to have him reel back.

"I'm not overpaying," he retorted and Eddie chuckled at that, shrugging as he put the carton away. There was a small chorus of complaints before Steve chimed in.

"Okay, calm down, Lord," he sighed, holding his hand up in a 'wait a moment' gesture before chugging what was left of his drink. One of the guys whooped at Steve finishing his bottle and Steve stuck his tongue out in the most basic-bitch-way possible before finishing his sentence.

"I've got some change, I'll break your 20. Just give me the 40, and I'll give you 10 in a sec," Steve explained, sticking his hand out.

There was a half-begrudging agreement, but honestly, everyone sort of knew that the last thing Steve Harrington needed to do was steal money from you. So it was agreed on, and Eddie handed the joint over before falling in behind Steve and walking back towards the house when he gestured for him to follow.

"Don't walk away with my thirty," Eddie half threatened, weaving his way through people after Steve.

"Chill out," Steve snorted, walking towards the stairs. Eddie hesitated and watched as Steve toed his shoes off and ducked under the tape that had been pulled across the stairs.

Obviously, he didn't want people going this way, and Eddie could tell why. The stairs were carpeted and a pristine white, a bunch of teens barfing or trekking dirt all over the carpet probably wasn't going to bode well.

Eddie followed suit awkwardly kicking his shoes off and trailing after Steve.

"Where are we going?" He asked, hearing the hint of anxiety in his own voice.

"My room," Steve explained without turning around, "what? You think I can fit a wallet in these pants?"

He flashed Eddie a smile and Eddie laughed a bit forced at the joke. Really, his attention fell directly to Steve's ass and the tights he was wearing. Yeah... not fitting a wallet in those, too tight. Skin tight. Lord....

Steve turned down the hall as they got to the top of the stairs; Eddie felt meek as he followed, watching as Steve opened one of the doors and stepped in. Eddie lingered before going in after Steve, taking in the space. It wasn't a very big room, and the walls were a boring off white without much personality anywhere. The furniture was sleek and modern, and it was tidy despite it looking lived in. The only hint of Steve Eddie could see in the space were the trophies and ribbons displayed on one of the bookshelves in the corner.

Eddie felt his skin crawl as he stood there, watching Steve go to his desk and struggle with his drawer.

"Shit–" he muttered, the bottle in his hand bumping up against the desk. He lifted his hand to his mouth, biting at the tape until Eddie eventually snorted and walked over. Really, despite being such a cool guy, Steve was a dork sometimes. Maybe he was just drunk, but there was something unquestionably dorky about him.

"Here," Eddie offered, putting his case of beer down on the desk and taking Steve's hand. He struggled for a moment, trying to find the end of the tape before starting to unravel him.

"You guys are idiots for doing this, what if you have to piss?" Eddie joked, the sound of the ripping tape filling the room.

"Didn't think about it," Steve admitted, not struggling at all as Eddie pulled the tape off, "probably would have been a disaster."

"Yeah," Eddie replied sarcastically, getting to the bottom layer of tape and looking at it stuck to Steve's skin, "did you at least shave?"

"Shave?" Steve asked, confused by the question. Eddie tisked, and lifted Steve's hand up for him to see.

"Your arm, dumbass. Taking this tape off is going to hurt like a bitch. It's going to stick to your arm hair," he explained, shaking Steve's arm a bit and earning a laugh for the action. Steve was pretty drunk it seemed, but Eddie hadn't been able to tell how much alcohol was in that bottle when he had started.

"Just be careful," Steve explained, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

"Oh, just be careful," Eddie repeated in a mocking tone as he started to pull the tape off slowly, trying not to make it hurt too much.

Steve cringed, but stayed still, eventually hissing and causing Eddie to click his tongue at him.

"Baby," Eddie teased, his focus on Steve's arm as he peeled the last of the adhesive off.

He sighed as he wadded the tape a bit and stuck it to the bottle Steve was still holding before looking up at him.

Eddie's stomach dropped as he looked up at Steve who was just... staring at him. He looked a little distant, but he wasn't unfocused, drunk but not blasted. He also looked incredibly dashing with his perfectly quaffed hair and his stupid poet's shirt open just enough at the top that Eddie could see a hint of chest hair.

Eddie swallowed and then turned his head, laughing awkwardly and hoping Steve was drunk enough not to remember this. Eddie opened his mouth to speak, ready to say something stupid to make the conversation continue. _There, you're free, so about that thirty dollars, or I gotta go, I think my house is on fire, anything to make the moment end.

"I uh," Steve started saying as he shifted and put the bottle down on the desk beside Eddie's beers, "I think I prefer babe."

Eddie froze, confusion washing over him as he turned back to look at Steve who shifted to place his hands on either side of the desk behind Eddie, effectively boxing him in. He stared in wild shock and awe as Steve leaned towards him, close enough to touch but still respectfully distant.

I think I prefer babe. The line bounced around in Eddie's head as he tried to figure out what it meant and what the hell was going on. His brain wasn't working and he was just staring at Steve as if he had sprung a second head.

"W-what?" Eddie asked, swallowing as he put his hands on the desk as well, leaning back a bit to increase the distance between himself and Steve. He could feel his butt pressing into the lip of the desk, nowhere really to go, but not panicking from being 'trapped.' No, that wasn't bothering him at all. What was bothering him was how close Steve was and the expression on his face. He had dropped that charming, soft smile, the open friendliness he seemed to display with everyone, and instead, there was a gentle determination there. Not intimidating, but fixated, as if he was being serious.

"Babe," Steve repeated, close enough that Eddie could smell the Triple Sec on his breath. Oh, Steve was very drunk. He had to think Eddie was someone else right now.

"Alright, Steve..." Eddie replied, locking his feelings away once more as he reached up to pat Steve's shoulder. "You're drunk, man."

Steve seemed to waver before dropping his head to the side and looking down. He didn't move his hands away from the desk, still keeping Eddie where he was.

"Shit..." he mumbled and Eddie smiled a bit sympathetically. He'd seen a bathroom walking in here, maybe he'd grab Steve some water and make him sit down.

"It's okay, big guy–" Eddie started to say, patting Steve's shoulder again, wanting to keep this friendly. But Steve let out a bark of a laugh that caught Eddie off guard. He jumped a bit, watching as Steve stared at the floor. He looked almost... sad.

Silence drew out between them and Eddie tried to breathe even to help his heart from pounding out of his chest. Steve was drunk. He was drunk and high and probably past his limit. At least they were already in his room so Eddie could get him to lie down.

Slowly Steve pulled back, removing his hand and wiping his palm over his face. He was still pointedly not looking at Eddie and that made Eddie feel off.

"You... okay?" Eddie asked, wondering if Steve was far gone enough that he needed to go get a bin for him to puke into.

"Great–" Steve replied, his tone a bit clipped. Eddie swallowed thickly at that, feeling his hackles raise a bit. He had no idea what kind of drunk Steve was, and he quietly hoped he wasn't a mean drunk. What if Steve ended up wanting to pick a fight or something? Well, Eddie would leave his shoes behind if he had to run out of here....

Eddie watched as Steve put his hands on his hips and turned away from him, just breathing for a moment as the filtered sound of music came in from the hallway. Maybe Eddie should just leave. Maybe he should go find one of Steve's friends and tell them to check up on him. This wasn't really Eddie's realm of expertise.

"Okay, well..." Eddie started, pushing away from the desk, moving slowly as he started towards the door, "I guess I'll just... head out."

Steve turned and looked at him then, looking pained before he frowned deeply at Eddie.

"No, it's okay. Sorry, I'm sorry, it's alright. You don't have to leave."

The words had been rushed and they sounded extremely apologetic, but Eddie had no clue what he was apologizing for. He was a bit taken aback actually, offering a weak smile in response.

"It's okay, man..." Eddie tried, glancing at his beers on the desk and wondering if he should grab them, "everyone gets drunk sometimes. It's not a big deal."

Steve huffed at that, chewing his bottom lip and looking away again.

"No, I'm... I shouldn't have done that, sorry," he repeated and Eddie stared at him, his own alcohol and weed-riddled brain trying to make head or tails of this conversation. He didn't say anything which only seemed to spur Steve on to speak more.

"Sorry, man–God, that was super fucking creepy, huh? Shit, uh, I'm really sorry. Like... uh, trapping you like that," he sounded properly bothered, his voice wavering a little which didn't make sense to Eddie. For trapping him? For trapping him where? At the party?

"What?" Eddie asked, speaking quietly, swallowing again. Who did Steve think he was right now? Why hadn't he left yet?

"I just thought..." Steve offered, laughing bitterly in a way that sent a chill down Eddie's spine. It sounded so forlorn... it sounded like Steve was impossibly disappointed.

What did Steve think? Who did he think Eddie was? Eddie wanted to know, he wanted to know for maybe no other reason than to torture himself. What lucky bastard had Steve mistaken him for?

"Nothing, it's fine," Steve finished and Eddie frowned. He had done the same thing when Eddie had asked him about his parents. He had started to say something and then shut down when he started to communicate real emotions. Closing off and acting as if he was a bother.

"It's not a problem," Eddie offered after a long silence, not sure why he was still there. He really should go. "You can say what you need to say."

That weird calm was coming over him again, replacing his anxiety as he watched Steve. He didn't exactly feel superior this time, but he was disconnected. Something about this was letting Eddie bury his feelings for Steve and his need for him to like him. Steve was upset and the very least Eddie could do was listen to him. To let his drunk emotions out even if they hurt to hear.

Steve wavered though, finally looking at him again with those sad eyes. He laughed bitterly, this one much quieter than that last.

"That's kind of mean... Eddie," Steve replied, smiling but the motion was obviously fake. He didn't know what Steve meant though. How was he being mean? Was it really such a bad thing to let him talk?

"I don't mean it... meanly," Eddie tried, at the very least wanting to leave here with Steve knowing he hadn't intended to be cruel.

"What then?" Steve asked, his tone a bit tighter, but nonetheless sad, "how else am I supposed to take it? Making me... say it. For your amusement or something?"

Eddie felt his hackles go up again, shame pouring into him at being called out like that. He had been curious and this was Steve's business, he had just been asking out of morbid curiosity. What a shit thing to do.

Eddie flushed deeply, wrapping his arms around his torso and turning away. He felt horribly on the spot all of a sudden, ashamed to have asked and even come here.

"Whatever, man," Eddie mumbled in reply, walking over to the desk and grabbing the case of beer, "can I at least get my thirty bucks?"

He wasn't looking at Steve as he kept his head down, walking close enough to him so he could stick his hand out towards Steve. There was another long pause and Eddie looked up at Steve, making sure he looked annoyed instead of embarrassed. But Steve was just staring at him, brows pinched in as if the loose gears in his head were turning.

"What?" Eddie asked, his temper short as the shame roiled in him. Was he being made fun of now for asking for his money? For thinking he was going to get paid? He was just getting ripped off now or what? Or was he being teased for caring about 30 bucks?

"Eddie," Steve started, turning properly to look at Eddie which made Eddie shrink away a bit, "what are we talking about?"

The question wasn't funny or even hinting at faux disbelief, there was something genuine there that threw Eddie off a bit. What were they talking about? How was he supposed to answer that? What did that mean?

"I-I don't know, man," Eddie offered, taking half a step back, feeling that emotional whiplash plow into him as confusion roiled with his frustration and shame. "You're drunk and rambling about... I don't fucking know."

Eddie felt the flush enter his cheeks this time, looking away from Steve as he dropped his hand. Maybe he should just cut his losses and miss out on the 30 bucks... even if 30 bucks wasn't anything to sniff at in the Munson household.

"What..." Steve tried, sounding completely off his game, verbally puzzling through what was going on, "I was... I was apologizing to you."

"Yeah... I get that," Eddie replied, frowning deeply, still not following.

"Because I... because I came on to you," Steve continued, making Eddie flush deeper. He felt so lost and so emotional. Maybe it was the booze or the weed or something, but Steve saying it like that as if he was going to make a big joke of it all felt horrible. Like he was about to say because I thought you were this chick I like or something like that. Make Eddie hear the humorous disappointment of discovering he wasn't someone else.

"Okay..." Eddie replied defensively, looking away again, "so what?"

"So what...." Steve repeated slowly, sounding more than a little confused, "so what?"

Eddie didn't say anything to that, feeling annoyed more than anything now. He should just leave.

"So–Eddie, I–... do you not want an apology? I'd like to try and stay friends–”

It was Eddie's turn this time to laugh bitterly, gripping his hands into fists.

"Friends? Are we friends?"

It had been a harsh response, but Eddie couldn't help it as he looked back at Steve with fierce determination. What the hell was he doing here? Why had he come to this party? He didn't fit into this world, or Steve's perfectly clean bedroom, his jock life, friend group, Pride Club–those weren't Eddie's spaces. Who were they kidding? They weren't friends. The only thing they had in common was that they were both guys that liked dick.

Still, his response had Steve looking like he had just been slapped, which gave Eddie a sense of accomplishment. It was an ugly, bitter side of him that felt bad to dwell in despite how it swelled his courage right now.

Steve obviously didn't know what to say to that, his brows pinching in again as he stood up straighter, looking much more defensive all of a sudden.

"I guess not..." he replied cooly which made Eddie's throat close up a bit. He had never seen Steve act this way before and it felt bad to be on the receiving end of it.

"Sorry for assuming."

Eddie swallowed, hurt shaking his anger loose as he cruelly felt tears starting to prick his eyes. Fuck–why was he a cryer? Why when he got emotional in any way–anger or otherwise–did his body make him cry?

Eddie hastily wiped at his cheeks, seeing his hands coming away black from the eyeliner. Fuck. There was no way he was hiding the fact that he was crying.

"Yeah, me too," Eddie replied bitterly, still wiping his cheeks. What was the fastest way out of here? The best way to get out of Steve's place without a dozen people seeing that he had been crying?

Suddenly, that didn't matter anymore as Eddie's flight instinct kicked in and he stormed out of Steve's room. If he just moved fast enough, maybe he'd be fine.

He hustled down Steve's stairs to the front door, scooping his boots up without putting them on and running into his front yard. His socks instantly got wet from the moisture in the grass, but that didn't stop Eddie as he all but sprinted down the block. There were people out in the streets still, but it was dark enough Eddie hoped they couldn't really tell who he was.

He managed to stop and pull his boots on, the wet fabric feeling disguising against his feet but better than staying here. He didn't bother taking the long way home, instead ducking towards someone's house and gracelessly climbing over their fence into their yard. One of his beer bottles slipped out of the case and smashed on the ground, causing a racket. But Eddie didn't stop to even curse at his luck, he was already jogging through this person's yard towards the tree line so he could disappear into the night. All he wanted was to crawl into his shit bed, in his shit trailer, and drown in his shit life to try and forget about Steve Harrington's shit party.

PT5

[thatgentlewife]

The Lie of “Freedom” Through Promiscuity

Feminism often tells women that having sex freely and being promiscuous is empowering—that it’s a way to take control of our bodies and live liberated lives. But the truth is, this idea is a lie, one that leaves so many women empty, broken, and searching for something deeper.

I’m not saying this to shame anyone or make anyone feel bad about their past. I know firsthand how hard it is to carry that weight. I didn’t wait, and it’s one of my deepest regrets. I wish I could’ve given that part of myself—my full self—to my husband on our wedding night. I’ll never have the chance to experience that with him, and it’s a loss I feel.

What feminism calls “freedom” is often just bondage in disguise—bondage to shame, regret, and a piece of yourself that you can’t take back. The world says it’s empowering, but real empowerment is found in self-control, in honoring yourself, and in waiting for the one person who will love you for the rest of your life.

There’s something so beautiful about giving that part of yourself to one person, forever. It’s an intimacy, a bond, and a gift that goes beyond what words can describe. And for those who did wait—what an incredible treasure to share with your spouse.

To those who feel regret, like me, know that there is grace. Jesus restores, and His forgiveness brings healing and hope. To those still waiting, don’t let the world convince you that you’re missing out. There’s nothing more fulfilling than honoring God, your future spouse, and yourself in this way.

This isn’t a post of judgment—just truth and love. You’re worth so much more than what the world tries to sell you. You deserve a love that’s sacred, not cheapened. You deserve a forever kind of love.

thatgentlewife

[sharonisthebettercarter]

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*????

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

[senka-mesecine]

Can't believe I'm writing this but it could be hilarious- what would the boys think about all of these alpha male podcasts nowadays? 🤣🤣

Love ya!

---

― Chris Taylor isn't what you'd call a bad person but he is suspectable to bad messages nonetheless. And that's the whole thing, isn't it? People who have a generally healthy moral compass and positive ethics aren't immune to being influenced, fooled and guided by bad faith lessons in life...which Taylor would be the poster child of, whether he'd be aware of it or not --- an issue that hounds a great many young men even today. He might, initially, genuinely gel with something he read in some love advice related magazine, heard from some extremist radio host talking about women and how a fella should treat them or saw on TV, but he'd just as likely to be able to snap himself to reality and realize how much bullshit he's been fed, feeling a major dosage of shame, introspection and the need to soulsearch on the matter, meaning that his opinion on what would be a podcast could range anywhere from agreeing with it, disagreeing with and flat out rejecting the message at hand which is the direct scale of Taylor's maturity and character growth at play. At the end of this metamorphosis, undeniably, Chris doesn't like anyone who's a self proclaimed alpha, despot, top dog or head honcho because he views people like that as tyrants. Irony being, that in order to realize this, Taylor himself would've needed to harden so much he unwittingly becomes the very type of people who's advice he would never take at first.

― O'Neill doesn't think he needs advice because, you see, he knows all about women. Him and Bob Hope both. He's got it figured out. He could be a ladies man, he brags, it's just that he doesn't want to be. Of course. It's that famous Irish luck and innate O'Neill factor he's got that makes him keenly irresistible to the opposite sex even if they don't know it yet or don't want to admit it. See, one time, he and Patsey were in Hawaii and a group of suntanned women came over and...Tall tales and even more tall tales. Naturally, Red might be saying this while he's actively sitting huddled in front of the radio at base listening to said radio host with all the other men and commenting (more like talking over said broadcast and ruining everyone else's enjoyment) how much he doesn't need any asshole's who thinks they're Jesus Christ's help. Being a bit of a yes-man and a suck up brown-noser, his opinion of said radio show and advice giving love guru might very much depend on how receptive the other boys are in the first place. If they all seem to like it, he's there among them listening and if they all dislike it, he'll stand up and follow suit and go with the crowd. It's not hard to envision him downright looking to Barnes to catch a hint or two on the man's face concerning what he should do, being overly eager to please the actual alpha of the group. That being said, whatever the case, Red unsurprisingly ends up nervously yapping more than the actual radio does.

― Bunny would adore alpha male podcasts --- him seeing the sort they were downright designed for --- but since this is the mid-60's and they don't exist the way we know them today, kid would probably get hooked on some radio host giving advice on how to woo them broads (probably in all the wrong ways) and he'd get hooked on that whole nonsense like a fly gets stuck on crap, probably making people participate by proxy whether they want to or not. Just ask poor, long suffering Junior; he's heard all about it ad nauseum by now and he's just as likely to listen to this stuff with him in tandem, leading to infinite discourse and arguing between the two. Bunny, he'd listen to it all religiously, though, quote things he's heard, utilize it in practice, argue with the radio broadcast or the television show in question and throw in his own input like the people doing the talking can actually hear him and Bunny being Bunny, however godawful the advice he hears on there could be he himself is so unhinged that even the worst dating coach would undoubtedly almost mellow him out in a bizarre sense. Kid's so sadistic and coo-coo by default that it's hard to make him more toxic. One can only make him slightly less toxic. His manic nature gets balanced out in a sense and he might from 'Yeah, lets kill those bitches' in relation of a woman rejecting him to 'Your loss...bitch'. So, really? The whole world wins in a sense.

― If Bunny, in all his insanity, is made weirdly better by a podcast, Rhah actively gives out even more extreme advice than any radio host concerning women, love and romance could ever give. He thinks they're all Jezebels, beautiful snakes slithering in the garden of Eden, soulstealkers, bloodsuckers, vampires, succubus', the devil's own brood, demons, witches, bitches and that they're all out to get you one way or another. Bah, the more tempting they tend to be the worse they are down the line, don't you know! See, the boys in Elias's underground might as well shut down that radio because Vermucci has a thing or ten to say and he's like the group very own preacher on the matter, coming off as both misogynistic and simultaneously passionately obsessed with women as a group and as an idea, especially when riled the heck up to about elevent. He undoubtedly rants to the boys while gripping and caressing that one Grecian looking female form statuette the bunker has like he's holding sermon, giving these kids, as he sees it, the actual truth of the matter they can't hear on the radio or on the TV from some robot civilian detached from the real shit. As such, his opinion on anyone giving any counsel is pretty low and cynical because he mistrusts anyone from 'back in the world' giving supposed enlightenment on anything. Not when his own third eye is wide open on the matter instead.

― C'mon, Mark Wolfe could barely enact mild mannered dating advice given and shared in good faith, least of all the advice of someone spreading some sort of extreme message, and as such he might just smile awkwardly at the radio broadcast like he's somehow in on the truth of things and say something wannabe hard-ass and faux-dangerous to impress the men only to be met with a tense silence because nobody's buying that Lt. Wolfe can lead his platoon, pull women and especially not set down the law with said women...which is precisely why the guy wants his own boys to like him, if nothing else, through the guise of them being all mutually united in one thing: Being domineering towards the fairer sex. He doesn't cut it as a military leader, a compatriot, a soldier, a fighter, a strategist, so he can at least cut it as a man in comparison to women, which is another attempt that falls flat on its own face because it's obviously a cheap shot and low hanging fruit the men see through. In actuality, Wolfe doesn't want to be some sort of bad top dog heartbreaker. He just wants to fit in. He doesn't like any of the romantic advice given out on the radio. Not really. But, he can't say that without coming off as even more of a pansy among his peers. In reality, he might just wanna buy a lady a corsage and take her out to a dance after the war; that's the type of thing he actually wants to do...none of this crap.

― King thinks this is some white folk bull. As such, he legitimately listens to it all for the comedic factors no differently than someone watching a slapstick movie or something humoristic would, basically, to laugh at it and nothing else. Have something playing in the background while he smokes weed. And he does. He laughs at it so hard he needs to hold his stomach as he does it, with his eyes practically watering in entertainment. 'Y'all realize if y'all did half of this shit you'd get slapped and get nowhere near that pussy, 'aight? Y'all be here talkin' yourselves out of that poontang with this bullshit.' He might tell the likes of Taylor, Crawford, Lerner and all the younger, more impressionable members of the platoon and in equal measure, King might think that there's something to be said about these civilians back in the world having no clue how to hook up what with their unburdened minds, zero problems and clear consciousness and here these boys in the bush are probably with a more stable grip on shit than they back home do. 'Y'all ever think how these rich folks be psy-oping these radio fools to break us up from each other?' He could comment, getting weirdly philosophical and insightful about it all after his fit of laughter's done. 'Ain' nobody hookin' up, lovin' each other or fuckin' because everyone's too rancid to get along with anyone and that's exactly what the rich man wants.'

― His 'Feeling good is good enough' stance on life taken into consideration, Elias might think that anything vaguely harmless that raises the morale of the men or puts them in a positive disposition in a world of darkness and despair can be admirable in ways and he views the communal act of gathering, say, around a radio to listen to the 60's equivalent of a podcast as a plus less so for the message it conveys and more so due to the fact his boys are in a good mood, laughing, chipper, elated, and that he, yes, laughs along with them and plays into it all. Life's good, right now, this very moment and that's all that matters. Naturally, he doesn't buy the propaganda bullshit spewed his way and for all his personal disappointments in life he is still idealistic, spiritual and empathic enough to believe in something far greater than himself. Something nice. Something like love. Sometime. Somewhere out there. For some people. Maybe not for him, per se, but yeah. Someone. If he sees one of his men getting way too dyed in the bone on the notion of something that could considered extremism he won't exactly take kindly to it and he might paternalistically pull aside someone like Taylor and inquire whether they really believe all that nonsense and explain that in their hearts of hearts they don't really vibe with what they've heard back there and one day...a person will come along and they'll remember this then. That day comes, Elias might say with a cryptic smile, you'll just wanna love her.

― What are this advice giver's credentials? How many chevrons does he have? How many medals? What wars did he serve in, if any? That's what Barnes wants to know, fundamentally, because he isn't about to take any sort of advice from some greenhorn who doesn't know their elbow from their asshole from his point of view and his amount of respect towards anyone is based solely off of that even though he doesn't say it. Be it advice on military strategy, fighting, drinking, life itself or women, Barnes is extremely disdainful towards any cocksucker who didn't earn his stripes and goes around thinking they could play a preacher and act smart from the safe distance of some radio or television booth back in the world. 'Be more useful out here' he might comment bluntly, at best, because yeah, in Barnes's opinion, that's what a man ought to be doing instead of talkin' 'bout skirts and tail. Of course, he lets the boys have their dumbass fun and listen to this shit because when any day might be your last, reality is, you need your distractions and it's certainly better than pot. Not him, though. He might very well be sitting there with them, having a booze or a smoke, playing poker, and occasionally be entertained (best case scenario), but point is that he's tuned out. He listens or half-listens, but its message doesn't reach him. He's already singularly focused and his mind is set on most things as is. Barnes is a bit like a brick wall in that regard. He knows what he should be doing most days. Ain' nobody need to be tellin' him.

[cheerfullycatholic]

Hi — sorry to dump this on you, but I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this. I’ve been away from the church for a few months now, and have struggled to come back because in all honesty, I’ve never felt like I fit. I feel like there’s this certain mould young Catholics have to fit (extremely devout, extremely conservative, very openly Catholic). My faith has always been a very private part of my life; I don’t feel a need to flaunt it to others. But I feel like that lack of zeal makes me an outcast among other young Catholics. I’ve tried youth groups and things, but never really fit it. I’ve seen some downright horrible opinions from other Catholics online, and it makes me wonder if I’m really Catholic at all if I don’t share those opinions.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love the Church and its beliefs, but have had a lot of negative experiences with people in the Church, and don’t really feel like I belong.

Thank you for listening. I’ve always enjoyed your blog, and would appreciate prayers.

I've felt that way, too. I thought for so long that there was only one way to be Catholic, but I realized within the last year or so that there's more options than people talk about. You don't have to be extremely conservative to be Catholic, you don't have to be very outwardly expressive. Living a quiet life, focusing more on prayer than evangelism, isn't contrary to the Church. Religious brothers and sisters have been doing it for years, and you don't even have to be a religious brother or sister to do it. Your life can be as private as you want, though I do think it's important to make sure that your desire for privacy doesn't stem from something like shame or fear of judgement. Those things are scary, but we shouldn't fear being Catholic.

I wish that people in the Church were more open to accepting everyone and every way that a person can live their life while still being a devout, practicing Catholic, but unfortunately right now some of these people treat it like a club that you can only fully enter if you do say and believe certain things, when those things aren't necessary to be Catholic or don't even align with Catholic teaching (I see the problem the most with politics, like being judged for not supporting certain candidates or not hating someone who's done bad things). It's silly and it's wrong. But it's important to remember that we're not Catholic for the people in the Church, we're Catholic for Jesus. Just because people may misrepresent him and make you feel unwelcome, doesn't mean you don't have a place here

And yes, of course I'll pray 🖤

[a-trick-or-two-with-lepers]

Religion in Relation to Jesus Christ Superstar

(CW: Religious trauma, slight stream-of-consciousness, imposter syndrome)

It's no secret now that I love Jesus Christ Superstar. The music, the way the story is presented, the history of the musical, and the talented actors are what drew me to it and kept me interested. Hell, it even made me download TUMBLR just so I could interact with others who enjoy the show (which is lovely, you're all lovely and I'm having such a good time).

Sometimes when I'm doing my wholely unnecessary research on JCS, I find a bad review from a devout Christian, claiming it to be blasphemy of the highest degree. This doesn't particularly bother me, as I am no longer a religious person, and I can easily brush these reviews off as extremists finding things to complain about.

I've found myself researching the book the rock opera was based on. You know the one. It's a fascinating story; I don't think many people disagree with that regardless of what religion they align themselves with. However, as with most things on the internet, it's hard to find information that is unbiased (unless I choose to read the full Bible, which I'm not interested in doing at the moment). I see how passionate these people are about their faith, and how many use that as an excuse to belittle and isolate others. This is something I've always been aware of, and it's something that's affected me personally.

When I come across these kinds of things online, I start to feel a pit of anxiety growing in my chest. I respect anyone of any religion so long as they do not use it as a means to harm others (physically, mentally, psychologically - in any way). But when I am presented with a Christian explaining why everything I believe in and stand for is inherently wrong, I begin to feel as if I'm still a young girl being berated for going against the Lord. To make matters worse, I am queer, though I am well aware that any accusations that this is a shortcoming are without truth.

Part of what drew me into JCS is what I and some others believe to be queer undertones. The intense relationship between Judas and Jesus is captivating to me, and I find it healing to examine the story of Christ this way. I had been avoidant of all Christian-related media for such a long time after I decided to detach myself from the religion. Any mention of it brought back years of shame and fear that, in my opinion, do not align with the morals the Bible depicts. If that is not what I am meant to feel when presented with the power of the Christ, then why should I subject myself to it? But when I found this musical, I was so intrigued that my inhibitions became insignificant. I only notice now how unprepared I was for the feelings that arose within me when re-introduced to my experience with religion.

I think the main issue comes with Christians believing they are entitled to the words and story of the Bible. Against my better judgment, and due to my past, I feel sometimes as if I'm intruding on an aspect of human culture that was not meant for me. In reality, I recognize that all I'm really doing is enjoying a story that I relate to and that inspires me to create and live my life as I want to live it. My learned instinct is to feel repentant when any person says I am wrong, especially when it comes to my experience as a queer woman. I read the relationship between Jesus and Judas in JCS as romantic. I have seldom seen such an intense portrayal of homosexually-charged angst, even if that is not how it was meant to be read. And I relate to it. And it heals a part of me. And I may be reading way too far into this, but I'm already devoting so much of my time to this property, so I may as well get something useful out of it.

I wonder if any other fans of JCS have felt this way. Like we are not allowed to enjoy something simply because it is not a story that is meant to be heard as we are hearing it.

My mother wonders why I haven't since converted back to Christianity after watching Jesus Christ Superstar. But this is the furthest from Christianity I have ever felt. And it the most at peace with Christianty I have ever felt.

[prettiest-grrrl-inthemorgue]

Fix my problems with a blade

Pairing: Jake x johnnie

Summary: johnnie is going through it and jake doesn't really realize how bad it is until he sees johnnie doing something jake thought he stopped long ago.

Genre: angst/fluff

TW: self harm, eating disorder kinda, depression, disasosiating

Word count: 1386

No ones pov

Johnnie was having a shitty day, no a shitty week or maybe two. He couldn't remember how long it had been, he hasn't really left his bed, only to eat or use the bathroom. Not to mention when he ate he didn't eat much, it didn't matter though he couldn't keep it down anyway. Why was he feeling this way? Well there's a few reasons, one being his so called "fans” being assholes. They body shame him, tell him he's immature, make fun of every little thing he does, it's like people don't realize that he's a person too, and it shouldn't bother him, he knows that, but it hurts. No matter how hard he trys to ignore the hate it fucking hurts. 

Another reason he's been feeling this way is because Jake has been filming with Tara or Carrington or anyone other than him a lot lately. Jake is basically Johnnie's only true friend, so it's sad to see him with other people. Johnnie knows Jake has his own life though so he doesn't mention it to him. 

Johnnie has also just been really depressed in general for no particular reason, he simply just is. Johnnie is a mess right now, laying on his bed in his dark room, wearing the same clothes he's had on for days, hair messed up and makeup smeared on his face. The worst part is Jake hasn't even checked on him, hasn't asked him what's wrong or why he's been in his room all this time. He probably doesn't care, Johnnie thinks.

 

Johnnie's pov

I'm just laying here my mind going a mile a minute, I overthink one thing then immediately another thing. I wish my brain would just stop sometimes. It's so fucking loud.

 I don't think Jake likes me, he probably just has pity for me, he doesn't wanna be my friend, why would he? I mean look at me, fucking look at me. I wish I could be better. For him. Wait. My mind wanders somewhere else then I come to a realization. I like Jake. No, I love Jake. I would do anything for Jake. Fuck there goes my mind again, Jesus I wish my thoughts would shut up. I'm not fucking gay what am I thinking? But maybe I am...

I think a little more then I start crying. Why am I crying? I'm in love with my best friend who probably hates me that's why. I'm such an idiot. He would never like me back. Even if he wasn't straight he wouldn't like me. 

Jake's pov

I'm filming with Tara right now, but I can't help but think about Johnnie. He hasn't been doing good recently. I'm worried about him. I haven't asked him what's wrong because I don't wanna push him to talk about anything. But It's been too long. I'm gonna try and talk to him today, I miss my best friend. When I finish filming with Tara I make my way back home to mine and Johnnie's shared house. I stopped on the way home to get Wingstop for him and I.

 I unlock the door and yell out "honey I'm home" in my mama bear accent. No response. I lay the food in the kitchen "Johnnie? I got food for us" I yell out, still no response. I walk over to his door and as I'm about to knock I hear sobs. I decide to knock anyway "Johnnie? You ok?"

"Uh, yeah I'm fine go away, I'm busy" he says and I can hear the tremble in his voice. "Johnnie, are you sure you're ok?" I ask genuinely worried 

"Yes I'm fine Jake now go" he snaps at me, I walk away from his door and go eat my food, I wait for Johnnie to come out of his room but he doesn't.

Johnnie's pov

I get up from my bed to do the only thing I have the energy left to do. I know it's not a good idea but I need it. I go to my dresser and take out my razor blade. I look at it in my hand for a moment. Should I do it? No I shouldn't. But I need to. But I shouldn't. 

Fuck it.

I start dragging the blade along the skin of  my wrists and thighs, I leave more cuts then I plan to. Before i know it I'm bleeding all over my floor. I finally zone back into reality and realize what I did. Fuck. I start to panic a little but then I just stay sitting on the floor. I'll clean it up later. I'm too tired right now. As I'm about to fall asleep (or pass out from the blood loss) I hear a knock on my bedroom door it's Jake. I tell him to go away, he eventually does. I stay sitting on my floor in my blood thinking about everything and nothing, I don't know how much time has passed when I hear the door open. I've been in and out of consciousness the whole time. I didn't even realize he knocked. I look up at Jake and he looks mortified

"Fuck" he says before kneeling down next to me. I'm dissociating. I can't move.  He wasn't supposed to see me like this. 

Jake's pov

I walk into Johnnie's room after a little while, I'm not expecting what I see. My heart drops, and my eyes widen and I start to panic. Johnnie is sitting on his floor in a puddle of blood, he looks up at me and I drop to my knees beside him. 

"Johnnie I'm so sorry I should have talked to you sooner" I apologize as I hold his hand. He looks like he's frozen in time. He's not moving, If it wasn't for his rapid breathing I'd think he was dead. He's still actively bleeding so I take my shirt off and press it against some of his wounds. I start to cry. 

"I thought you were clean Johnnie, what happened?" He doesn't answer, it's like he's not all there. I clean him up, put him in some of my clothes and lay him in his bed. He looks at me.

Johnnie's pov

I look up at Jake as I come back to reality, I was wearing different clothes and I was in my bed, he must have moved me. How did I not notice? Jake sits next to me on my bed, he's crying. He's fucking crying. My heart breaks at the fact that I made him cry. He's crying because of me. 

"Jake..." I say softly

"Yeah?" He replies numbly. I lean closer to him "I'm really sorry, I feel like such a burden...and I need to tell you something" I talk softly. He lays next to me and looks in my eyes ready to listen, I take a deep breath. "I love you Jake...not just as a friend" I admit. 

He looks confused and shocked. Fuck he doesn't like me back why did I tell him. Fuck he hates me. What do I do? He's gonna kick me ou- 

My thoughts get cut off by Jake saying

"I love you too" 

Wait what? He must notice my confusion because he adds "what? You didn't think I felt the same? Johnnie we've literally kissed so many times and I've initiated all of them, and told you I enjoyed them" he says honestly. I listen to what he says, he has a point. I smile slightly and wrap my arms around him.

 

Jake's pov

I'm surprised as johnnie hugs me, he's not much of a physical touch person. I'm not complaining though, in fact it feels so good to hug johnnie. I wrap my own arms around him as well and I hold him close to my chest, I look down at him and he looks up at me, his eyes filled with love. I place a soft kiss on his lips. It's just a peck but it means so much more than any of our previous kisses. We lay in each other's arms as I pull the blanket over our intertwined bodies. I lean down and kiss johnnie once more before watching him doze off in my arms. I can't help but admire how beautiful he is. If only he could see how perfect he is inside and out. 

Title from "everything ends" by slipknot

[ms-cartoon]

New HB Episode! (Jesus...)

Alright... So I seen the new episode - can't say this show gradually gets any better. I can fairly say there was only one decent thing about this episode, and that was the backstory with Moxxie and why he has daddy issues. Seriously though, why does almost EVERYBODY in this goddamn show have daddy issues??? And why are all these dads a**holes?? And yes, I'm going to include Millie's father. Of course, he's no abusive dad, but he (nor his wife) wasn't kind to Moxxie at all, and all because he was considered a weakling who uses guns as a choice for weapons. Which sounds like a pretty stupid reason. There are people who are scared to even pick up a gun, let alone pull a trigger.

I couldn't tell if I was skimming through this episode, or if the episode was just skimming itself and I just couldn't keep up. I think it's mostly the latter, cuz MY GOD, this was so rushed! I had to watch this twice to process whatever was going on. Everything just feels so crammed into this episode There's also Moxxie's ex-boyfriend, but I'll get to that in a minute.

⦁ So the first start of the episode, we start with Moxxie and Loona in the room. I just love how Loona is just there, lol!! She's just sitting at the table on her phone and has no speaking lines whatsoever. She might as well have not even appeared in this episode, for real. What's bad about this is that she was only there for another "Moxxie is fat!" joke. I really don't get what's so funny about this gag. Why is it even a gag? Moxxie is not fat! He don't even look it. I highly doubt he's even heavy. Loona and Blitzo are just being d*cks to him. It doesn't even help that he mentions he lost a few pounds just so they stop making fun of him. Now it's just sad!!! They body-shamed Moxxie so much, he felt he had to lose a few pounds so they would leave him alone about it. They did not make this funny, they just made it worse. PLZ STOP with the unfunny fat jokes!!

⦁ This seems to be the most try-hard horniest episode compared to the ones that have Stolas in it. Seriously, what in the gracious hell is with these dildos popping up from chairs and walls!!!??? 

Then there's Blitzo who has photos of porn in the drawers in his office (why would he even put those where people can open it up and take stuff out anyway??)!!! And then you got this perverted fish (who's the most annoying out of everybody in this episode) tryna bang everybody in IMP! He's literally just another Stolas, Blitzo, and Angel Dust character put in one: an LGBT horny mess who just wants to get his mack on anyone around him or just certain people, sexually harassing them in the process. Plus, anything that comes out of his mouth is a literal sex joke and it's just uncomforting.

⦁ So Moxxie's family is in the mafia and they're rich...... But why??? I thought Imps were of lower class and practically poor compared to the other species of demons.

  ⦁ You mean to tell me Millie and Moxxie dated the same guy at one point in their lifetime before getting together? Okay, but it seems to be too much of a coincidence. Idk, it just comes off as odd.

⦁ So Moxxie and Chaz had a thing going on before he met up with Millie. But when they were together, their relationship seemed to be more centered around lust than there was genuine love. Obviously considering when Chaz was quick to take the money and abandoned Moxxie when he needed help during the heist. Now this, amongst other parts of this series, just keeps up the stereotypical nonsense that all gay dudes are horny for each other and want nothing but to get it on. I don't understand what Moxxie even sees in his perverted a**. What makes no sense about this is that Moxxie isn't the type of guy that just get's horny like that. He's not perverted and doesn't get turned on over the slightest of things, yet he's shown stroking a gun while cleaning it while at the same time feeling pleasure. Chaz is more vulgar than Blitzo, and Moxxie barely tolerates him! So, wtf??

⦁ So in hell, you can pretty much get away with anything illegal with no consequences. Whether it'd be robbing a bank, murdering someone, sexual harassment, etc. So why in THE HELL is there a prison???!!

⦁ Blitzo and Moxxie's meeting makes no sense to me. So #1, I was under the assumption Moxxie met Blitzo after he met and married Millie, but now they're telling us they met in jail right after Chaz abandoned Moxxie. #2, Why is Blitzo quick to let Moxxie join IMP after only saying a few words to him? He didn't even ask him for his name or let him speak or anything - he was just like, "Hey let's bust outta here and you can join my company!" #3 Why is Moxxie even smiling? What has Blitzo said to make him feel better so quickly after basically being dumped?? Does he feel like he's being accepted or something? Like bro, you just met this dude and you didn't even say a word to him.

⦁ Millie's more pissed at Chaz for abandoning Moxxie at one point. Why is Millie getting so angry and quick to kill Chaz over something that happened she wasn't even present for!? She never even met Moxxie around that time. Plus, it's not like that situation is bothering Moxxie now. There was no need for her to get so triggered here. Not saying she's not right to get upset about it, but the sudden rage was a little extra.

  ⦁ If Blitzo and Moxxie were considered friends when they met, then why is Blitzo such an ass to him all the time?? Are we supposed to give Blitzo props for acknowledging or being nice to Moxxie?

⦁ Crimson seems to make a better villain than any other antagonist introduced in this series. Mainly because he has motivation. From what I can gather from this, from Crim's perspective, Moxxie was turning soft because of his wife. It seems that he was extremely pissed off that the mother disagreed with how he raised Moxxie, going as far as to kill her. Granted it was too far and for a petty reason, but it's better than just doing things and having no motivation for them, unlike Stella.

⦁ A priest.... in hell...?

⦁ They only have Moxxie stand up for himself ONCE in this episode, and it's not even enough. His whole life from when he was a kid, he was pushed around by his father and put up with his abuse. The second he meets him after a long time, he's still afraid of him. The only time he puts his foot down is when he says he's not gonna go along with whatever his father plans for him and refuses his commands.... and that was it. It seemed like he was threatening his dad initially, saying how good he was at his job, and not even a second later he gets tased and knocked out, becoming a damsel in distress. That was the most brave we get out of him. If anything, his freakin WIFE was doing the most out of him once more, becoming the man of the relationship as always!! Wouldn't it have been better if Moxxie tried to get out of the knot and fought his dad or Chaz? Maybe he could have helped out Millie and they could make it to where Millie was having difficulties fighting all those gang members.

⦁ Speaking of that; Millie is only useful in battle only when the plot deems it necessary. It kinda seems like she's falling in and out of being a talented fighter. She gets taken down at one point and then the next she'll beat everybody's ass with no sweat! Sure - defeat an entire mob whether it be a mafia or a bunch of agents and take down a whole damn sea monster, but get knocked out by a freakin glass bottle and your leg ruptured by a bear trap...Yeah, I can totally buy that. I feel like they were being a little extra with Millie taking down all those gang members anyway. As I said, she could've had some difficulty fighting all those dudes and Moxxie could've helped her.

⦁ I swear- the women in this show get no respect not just in the show itself, but from the writers. Millie is once again only existing to be just a woman who's married to Moxxie and only gets angry and violent just for Moxxie. There's at least one episode that should've been about her, but it was mostly about her husband and she was just there as his moral support. Literally, the only thing we get outta her in this episode is her extremely hot temper, and all because of Chaz, who she dated at one point. Why is she so upset with Chaz? Why did she hate him so much before she knew about his relationship with Moxxie? What did he do to make her dump him? Or did he dump her? How did she even end up with a guy like him?? We don't know!! We only get to know about Moxxie's past relationship with him and how it faltered, and that is such a letdown! This could've been our chance to explore Millie as a character, even if it's a little flashback of her love life.

  ⦁ I'm not gonna disclude Moxxie's mother in this. Honestly, I don't think it was necessary for her to get killed off just so we could feel more sympathy for Moxxie. We can already see how his father treats him. Can't forget Loona or Blitzo. Not even Millie's parents liked him.

⦁ I'm I the only one who feels like Millie and Moxxie as a couple is boring? Yeah they love each other and would probably die for each other and that's nice n all, but wouldn't it be interesting to have Millie and Moxxie have a slight argument at least once? We all know these two love each other to death. They're sweeter and more loving towards each other than anybody else around them, and that's why it would be interesting to see a quarrel. Sometimes, you can't be a married couple without having an argument or two at one point. Millie clearly felt upset that she was kept in the dark about Moxxie's family. She kept on questioning Moxxie; "Why haven't I met dad before? Are you okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?" And Moxxie would just continuously dodge the questions and not tell her anything. This actually could've been another opportunity for Millie's character. Not that she has to lash out at him, but maybe she could've told him how she felt about him not saying anything about Crimson, his ex, his mother, or how he feeling in general while also having an upset attitude y'know. Maybe Moxxie could've argued back and said he just didn't wanna worry her or something.

  ⦁ I don't think Moxxie and Chaz necessarily have to marry just so Chaz could be a part of the family. If this is just about financial issues then why can't Crim and Chaz come to an agreement or something? How did Crim not know that Chaz was actually not rich?

⦁ I just know people are triggered over the fact that Blitzo slept Chaz and are like "BLITZO NO!! YOU BELONG TO STOLAS!!" or some whiny sh*t like that, even though Stolas and Blitzo aren't even an official couple. When did Blitzo suddenly become an imp version of Stolas? Why was he so quick to get horny and sleep with Chaz and he JUST MET HIM! This might as well be the same situation he had with Stolas, except he's Stolas and Chaz is Blitzo. Not to mention Blitzo ended up sneaking around and snooping through his stuff.

⦁ Why is Blitzo the one to get suspicious of Chaz anyway? He is mostly just there for comic relief and mostly seems more goofy and lovable compared to his behavior in the latest episode. It's kinda a good thing I guess, but I'm not gonna hope for the better of him. I wouldn't say he changed completely since there was a moment he lashed out at Moxxie for a split second. I don't even think he has any motive for trying to get him caught in a lie cuz he doesn't even know him, other than the fact that he wants to be the only one who ruptures Moxxie and Millie's relationship (I'm sorry... are we supposed to be rooting for him still?) If anything, I think it makes more sense if Millie was the one to figure out was Chaz was up to considering her history with him (if there was any. We don't know.... it was never shown!)

⦁ I can't believe Crimson easily let Millie walk away with Moxxie scott free without putting up a fight! Bro killed dozens of people!! He wasn't even afraid to kill his own wife. He even threatened to harm Moxxie and Millie! Why is he backing down so easily!?

Uh, yeah... this certainly wasn't the greatest episode. I think the only thing good about it was Moxxie's childhood. That was certainly interesting (and dark). Apart from that, I was expecting something outta nothing. We could've seen some potential from Millie, but we didn't. This show just can't exist without sex jokes. It's alright if they wanna be funny like that, but at this point, it's just uncomforting. Wondering how they're gonna screw up the next episode.

[logankisseswade]

10 Things I've Learned in 33 Years(shortened version, the original will be 33 things I've learned in 33 years)

1.) Life is unpredictable, this is both a very good and a very bad thing and that's okay, Life is basically a rollercoaster, and rollercoasters go up and down and then they stop but when they end, they also start all over again, life in general is cyclical, if you can't swallow this red pill, then dealing with life won't be easy, if you do accept this truth, then life will begin to feel a lot easier

2.) Generalizing a group of people is one of the most stupid things you could ever do, at times because of trauma, it's understandable, but if you decide to heal/go through a healing journey, then you will begin to see just how stupid it is and even downright evil it is to assume that a group of people are "all bad" or "all good", this world is full of kind-hearted people, it's also full of assholes and sometimes, there are people that are even in between, this is just how chaotic is it to be Human, we all have our damages, but we also have our chances to heal/etc

3.) hating yourself won't make you a better person, hating yourself is one of the worst sins you could ever take part in, hating yourself will eventually lead to killing yourself and that's not good for yourself or anyone, you need to begin a Healing Journey so you can learn to Love Yourself, only when you Love Yourself, can you truly begin to Love Others properly, correctly

4.) Focus on the things that bring you joy and love and happiness, this is all you really need to do in life

5.) Cute Warning(lol) Giving Your Life Over To Jesus Christ has incredible results, you'll not only know who God is as a person but you will begin to see the world through different eyes, let's just say that when you know "The Man without sin", your life will never be the same again, things will begin to make sense, it's like watching a puzzle get put together

6.) we are all born innocent and sinless beings(well most of us are for that matter lol), no one is born evil or a sinner, we don't know what hateisms are until we're taught to be sinful people

7.) we have been here before and we will be here again, this isn't our first rodeo, we are not Human Beings having a Spiritual Experience(s), we are Souls having Human Experiences

8.) Humans are not "on top of the food chain", even though we aren't Animals, we are still on the same level as Animals, no species on Earth is supreme over the other, God views all sentient beings on the same level, we all have souls and we all have an evolution to go through

9.) shaming people is just as bad as traumatizing others and a lot of the times, both shame and trauma are one and the same, go hand in hand

10.) Healing people Heal people, hurting people hurt people

[docholligay]

Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi

I really struggled to connect with this book. Not because it's a bad book. It's not! It's really intriguingly written, and I think there are people it would connect with deeply, but for a handful of reasons--most of which are spoilery and go under the cut, but one of which doesn't and I will mention in a moment--I just couldn't connect with most of the novel. I don't think it's bad but I definitely do not like it.

I read two books while trying to finish it ahahaha, and I hardly ever do that. I did finish it though!

Non-spoilery reason I got turned off that is not even the fault of the narrative: There's a pull quote on the back from another author calling it, "A clarion call to those of us who find that our minds are more haunted and complex than the status quo." vomit vomit vomit girl please.

As a person who is fucking weird and crazy, I utterly reject the notion that to be out of your goddamn mind is to have access to some secret depth. That's the kind of bizarre cope we all fed ourselves at around 18 to 22, but I have news: having a fucked-up brain does not make you more passionate, or interesting, or cool, than anyone else, it just makes you fucked up. And that's fine! That's okay! Whenever I say this shit, someone is invariably like, "I choose to accept the wholeness of my being" honey I have zero percent shame about being a weirdo. I do not care. I don't care! I get by, i have people who love me both in spite of and because of being a weird little creature, it's fine. I don't think I would change myself, given the opportunity. But i'll be good goddamned before I manage to cook up and feed myself the idea that I'm somehow special, get fuckin real. More complex than other people, Jesus fuckin Christ.

This is not the narrative's fault! This is not the author saying this! It's some annoying bitch on the back cover! But it turned me off SO HARD that I turned on the book, which is why I put it down and went and read The Buried Giant (great) in between. To cleanse the palate.

Anyway, really intriguing writing, i do think it is in fact good, but it wasn't for me. My mom is reading it, I'll let you know what she thinks. (Oh tht reminds me--i need to update everyone about her reading Gideon the Ninth)

SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT

The gods writing the story did such a good job of feeling inhuman and unattached that at a point I was like, 'Well, you got me there, I don't care either." I think this is the narrative's intention, to feel like you're interacting with something inhuman, disconnected from humanity, and it works! It just makes me not care at all. The We, especially, I felt very tuned out, and since they take up so much of the first third of the novel I could not get into whatever Ada was getting up to.

I found the whole central thing of, "Ada was molested as a child so she split into pieces" really very satisfying. From the beginning, we're told that she is born to go crazy, that it's like trying to shovel the sun into a bag of flesh, and then...at the very end, the We is like, "Oh yeah, the neighbor boy came and molested her and so we sectioned her off, and she became a broken mind and we decided what she did and didn't need to remember" and that paired with Asughara coming out when she's being raped, I just...I don't think it is a bad thing to write, at all. i think this could be emotionally compelling for someone else. But I am le tired. It's not that a woman can't be raped in a book or anything, but being fucked with is the underpinning of all of Ada's problems.

And then she's 'pulled out into the light" by another man, Leshi, though i suppose notably he does not sleep with her and I just...everything she does is defined by her relationship to men. Mostly sexually. Her mother and sister are barely in the thing. I just cannot with it.

So, I think a really interesting book, I love the effort of how it is written even if it doesn't connect with me personally, but man...I did not like this book.