#He's here too!

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly Track 6: The Aftermath

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.,

warnings: ANGST, drinking, drug use, smut, oral and fingering f receiving, p in v sex, the Harringtons make an appearance.

a/n: It has been a while my loves! I really have no excuse but I am excited to get back into the swing of things! Originally, this was meant to be one chapter but I split it in two, hopefully you don't mind! Also, I kinda rushed towards the end so it's not as neat as the rest of it--I'm sorry! I just really wanted to get this! I'm kinda itching to get to the next installment!

wc: 5.8K

MASTERLIST🎸

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MURRAY: There were doubts about how well the tour would do, especially after all the scandals. But even despite assholes like Chris Palmer—or maybe because of them—the first tour had been way more of a success than anyone had ever imagined. Brenner and his team essentially had dollar signs for eyes by the end of it. They wanted the band to record the second album literally as soon as they got off the tour bus. 

Me and Hopper tried our best to advocate for the kids getting some time off, especially since tensions during the last half of the tour had run hot according to Hopper. The best we could get them was a month. 

Listen, we really, really tried our best for those kids. There were some really nasty fuckers at the label who saw them as nothing more than a product to push, a means to an end but we tried our best to keep them afloat. And sure, part of that is because they were our most lucrative artists, but we also genuinely cared for them and we wanted to help as much as we could. 

Sometimes, though, they made that really hard. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

JUNE 14th, 1984—LOS ANGELES, CA

You’re the last one at Starcourt studios. Everyone’s eyes turn at the sound of you rushing through the lobby door. Everyone looks equally as weary as you feel, having only been back in LA for effectively 48 hours. 

You’re sure you would all rather be anywhere but Starcourt except Murray and Hopper called an urgent meeting that apparently could not wait. 

As you approach the group sitting in the lobby you look around to the tired and anxious faces of your bandmates and eventually you end up meeting Steve’s eyes.

Poor Steve, who showed up at your door the day following his drunken, lovelorn, declaration full of shame and embarrassment that only hangover of an infinite caliber could accompany. He had begged you to forget the whole conversation had ever happened and you agreed readily although the damage had already been done.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

MURRAY: I chose to never have kids because I never wanted to deal with the responsibilities. So, tell me why I was out here parenting a bunch of 20 something’s who were hellbent on ruining their own lives and mine in the process? 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Here’s the deal,” Murray begins, once all the band members were settled into his office, “the label seems to want the album sooner than we thought. We can’t give you the three months off we had originally agreed on—” this announcement is met with the expected amount of jeers and complaints “—but Hopper and I fought for you all to get a month before we start recording again.”  Murray pauses expectantly but is met with silence. 

“Okay, well, you’re welcome for that, ungrateful little fucks. We will be back here in a month’s time to start,” his gaze focuses in on you and Eddie at this point, “except for the two of you. This dribble you decided to call lyrics is absolutely atrocious and I need new material. I’ve marked everything that is salvageable but the rest is scrap. “ 

Eddie immediately erupts into protests that eventually get cut off by Steve who argues for rewrites to happen together while the others take the opportunity to try to barter for more time off.

You’re far too stunned by Murray’s disparagement to weigh in. Sure, some of the pieces needed work but were they all really that bad? 

“This isn’t meant to be a team effort,” Murray says to Steve, “this is meant to be a punishment for these two for not doing a good enough job.”

“Wow these songs must be terrible,” Robin cuts in, “can we see them at least?” She asks as she makes a grab for the papers which Murray barely manages to dodge. This, once again, causes the room to descend into arguments and chaos, forcing Hopper to take over.  

“Enough!” He bellows, deep and authoritatively. “None of this is up for debate. We’re taking a month off and when we regroup, we’ll have an album’s worth of new material to record that hopefully isn’t terrible. Are we clear?” 

There were murmurs of agreement as the hand began gathering their things before your manager cut you off, “Sit your asses down, I have something else to talk to you about.” 

Hopper then spends twenty minutes reading off a list of every instance of property damage that happened over the tour and how much they cost while the rest of you squirm in your seats under his judgmental stare.  Eventually, mercifully, the meeting is ended, and you dash out of your seat in hopes of making it out without any further uncomfortable conversations but of course, luck is not on your side because before you can even stand, Murray has another request.  

“Minx, Munson, hang back for me while you?” 

You and Eddie awkwardly watch as the resort of the band file out and stand silently waiting and their voices grow more and more distant down the corridor. 

Finally, when it’s certain that it’s just the three of you, Murray speaks. 

“So how long have you two been a thing?” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

MURRAY: One look at the music they had sent in, and it was clear, there was something going on there. Listen, I don’t usually get involved in the personal lives of my artists but the was a unique circumstance.  For one, it was very obvious what and who the lyrics were about. Songs about edgy, mysterious lovers and wanting someone you can’t have don’t necessarily scream “Happy, functioning, long term relationship”. 

We couldn’t risk the press, or worse, Heart-Eyed Harrington getting wind of that. It would wreck our credibility and break the kid’s heart and that would’ve been curtains for the band. 

So, I pulled the two aside and told them they would have to rewrite their lyrics to be less transparent and also less bad.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Can you believe he said that?” You ask once the two of you are in the privacy of the studio’s parking lot. 

“Oh well, I dunno, we were definitely phoning it in towards the end. Plus, we could use more cohesion,” Eddie reasons, struggling to keep up with your angry strides. 

“No not that! I’m talking about all the other stuff,” you wave a hand fancifully in the air, “about us having feelings for one another. That’s crazy!” You let out a sharp exhale in place of a laugh. 

“Right,” Eddie trails off, “… and why would that be crazy, again?” 

“Well, for one, you hate everything I stand for, remember?” You laugh as you unlock the front door of your car. 

He peers at you from under his lashes, sunshine weaving through his hair, face stoic.

“You’re right,” he says finally, after consideration, “I do.” 

You nod in agreement and not even a little offended. 

“And that’s why it works so well,” you explain as you lower yourself into the driver's seat, “because we don’t like each other like that.  That’s what Murray doesn’t understand, it’s just sex.”  

“Right,” Eddie echoes, tersely, “it’s just sex.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

EDDIE: It wasn’t just sex for me. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

MURRAY: You would think that two Songwriters’ Hall of Fame recipients wouldn’t need to be babysat to, you know, write music but those two were an absolute nightmare to deal with. It was a struggle just to find them a place to get together to write. Her place was constantly getting hounded by paps and Munson refused even to tell HR where he lived. 

A week in, we realized they needed to get out of town which is why I ended up sending them to a property I owned in Ranch Cucamonga just so they could get out of my hair. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

JUNE 22nd, 1984—RANCHO CUCAMONGA, CA

“What is this place?” You wonder aloud as Eddie unlocks the front door of a very average-looking split-level suburban home. The house is sparse and humble, lacking all the opulence that Murray’s LA residence had in excess. 

“Probably where he meets up with his girlfriend,” Eddie shrugs.

“Murray has a wife.” 

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think we’re all the way in the Inland Empire?”

You open your mouth to argue but you’re stopped by the realization that Eddie is probably right and instead you grip your bag thingy against your body and with eyes darting around to every piece of furniture in sight, you say, “we should probably disinfect all the surfaces.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

EDDIE: It was the perfect spot: quiet, secluded. Plus, we were so grossed out at the idea of hooking up in Murray’s sex pad that we kept it PG and focused.  

MURRAY: It was not a sex pad.  

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“He has a waterbed, Nance,” you relay over the phone later that night, once you and Eddie had settled, “if that doesn’t say ‘sex pad’ I don’t know what does!” 

Nancy gags in response, “Ew, that’s disgusting!” 

You giggle at her exaggerated response, grateful that she answered the phone on the second ring. 

“How’s everything over there?” You inquire, pointer finger coiling around the telephone cord. “How’s…everyone doing?”

“By everyone, do you mean Steve?”

You kick your feet in the air from your perch on the kitchen counter. “Steve is part of everyone, isn’t he?” 

“Well, for starters, I don’t think he’s very happy that Murray sent you off with Eddie.” 

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I can see him in the pool right now. He’s doing laps—butterfly.” 

“Okay? Doesn’t he always swim though?” You were confused.  Back when you were on tour, it was not uncommon to find Steve at the hotel pool in the early mornings.

“He only swims butterfly when something is bothering him,” Nancy explains like it’s obvious. 

“Wow Nance, you sure remember a lot about your ex-boyfriend’s strokes,” you joke.

“And the two of you sure do care a lot about what the other is doing for being in a fake relationship,” she retorts.  “It is still fake, right?” 

“Yes, of course it is.” 

The front door clicks unlocked��Eddie’s back from picking up takeout and you rush to change the subject, “Speaking of relationships, how’s Jonathan?” 

Nancy, mercifully, doesn’t dwell on you and Steve and instead sighs at the mention of her boyfriend.

 “Not great.  Turns out Joyce downplayed Will’s condition while we were on tour. Jonathan’s livid, of course.” 

Even through the static, you can hear the strain in Nancy’s voice as she struggles to keep it steady. 

“Yesterday he got angry with me for trying to get him to talk to her.  Will’s about to go to surgery and it’s not for him to see the two of them fighting.

He’s just so moody and hard to be around. I’m starting to avoid him if I’m honest. Is that bad?” 

 For as long as you’ve known her, Nancy had always been like a well-shot arrow: sharp, steady, and sure of where she was going. It’s strange to hear her at a loss. 

“No, not at all,” you comfort, “things are tough right now and it sounds like you might need space. Maybe you can come by next week? Stay a few days and help us write. It’ll give you both some space.”

 Your eyes find Eddie’s across the kitchen counter where he’s unpacking steaming containers of Chinese food. You can tell he’s been listening in on your conversation because he nods along emphatically at your suggestion. 

“Are you sure?” Nancy asks.

“Yes,” you assure, “I’ve cleared it with Eddie, and he agrees.” 

“I agree!” Eddie shouts in the background and that gets a giggle out of Nancy. 

You bid goodbye to Nancy but not without asking her to seriously consider your offer. 

“Nancy might come and visit,” you announce as you start stacking your plate with food.

“Yeah, I heard,” Eddie responds, mid-noodle slurp. “But just so we’re clear, if Wheeler does come, she’s taking the waterbed.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Maybe it’s the change of scenery, or maybe it’s the above-average Chinese food (or maybe it’s the grade-A hydroponic hash that Argyle has passed along as a parting gift) but for the first time in months, you and Eddie are back in your songwriting groove.

The two of you work into the night, sifting through your existing work, parsing out what can be saved. 

You work until your eyes and fingertips burn and you have no choice but to call it a night before heading up to the guest room upstairs. 

“Night, Eds,” you call out over your shoulder as you stumble up the stairs. 

His response is muffled by your yawns. Exhausted, you cannot wait to get into your (non-water) bed and you flop belly-first onto the mattress, ready to succumb to the exhaustion of the day. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You can’t sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning for an hour and as hard as you will it, you can’t sleep. 

There’s an unfamiliar emptiness settling into the space that you can’t seem to cope with. There are no blaring police sirens or yelling partygoers around to indicate life. As far as you know, you could be the only person on the planet. You balk at the idea and decide to go downstairs in search of life. 

Eddie had decided pretty early on that he preferred sleeping on the couch than on the waterbed in Murray’s room. When he announced his decision earlier over dinner, he had paused, almost as if leaving space for you to invite him to share your bed in the guest room. There was room, after all. But you didn’t make that offer because why would you? The two of you might have been sleeping together on tour but even then, that rarely meant spending the night. Offering to share a bed with him now, with no promise of sex (which you refuse to have for a myriad of reasons including the fact that this was Murray’s sex pad), well, that would seem far too close to what Murray was accusing you of back at the studio and you would rather die than see him be right. 

That’s how Eddie ended up on the couch. He’s still awake when you descend down the stairs, strewn across the sofa joint in hand and bathed in synthetic blue light from the TV. He doesn’t see you at first but when he does, he smiles, slowly and waves a hand lazily. 

“Hey,” he greets as you land at the foot of the stairs. 

“Hey,” you greet back, padding into the kitchen and pouring yourself a glass of water. 

You linger in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, debating whether you should stay. Your initial plan was to just grab a drink and go back upstairs, but that was back when you thought Eddie was asleep.  You chew your lip in indecision. Eddie’s pretending not to watch you. 

“Can’t sleep,” you explain as you drop onto the opposite side of the couch after consideration.

 “Why not?” He asks his eyes completely removed from the TV, the old episode of “Million Dollar Man” he was watching forgotten. 

“Too quiet,” you explain, simply, “I’ve never slept in a place this quiet.” 

“Really?” 

“Well, yeah,” you grow shy under his gaze, pulling your knees to your chest and curling a throw pillow into your chest. 

“Not even when you lived in your fancy mansion on the hill?” You can tell by his tone that he doesn’t mean to poke fun with the question; he’s genuinely curious. 

“No. My parents were always having people over, there was always some party my mom would host or some actors staying with us while my dad filmed and even when there weren’t people over—which was rare—my parents would always be fighting. They would yell a lot.”

“What would they fight about? Who got to drive the Rolls Royce?” Eddie laughs nervously, he’s doing that thing where he makes jokes when he’s uncomfortable. 

“Let’s just say that my dad was not nearly as discreet as Murray is about his extra-curricular activities,” you scoot closer to reach for the joint in his hand. You refuse to be sober while sharing childhood details.  

Eddie leans closer and hands you the joint. Your fingers brush. 

“I get that,” he commiserates, “my pop wasn’t around much, but when he was, he and my ma would really get into it. Yelling, throwing plates, the whole thing.” 

“Shut up!” You exclaim, “my parents would throw plates too!” 

You’re not sure why but throws you into a fit of giggles. Eddie watches you tilting your head back as laughter rips through you.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, half laughing himself. 

“It’s just, that,” you struggle to say through the laughs, “for all the fuss you made about how opposite we are, we’re not that different after all. In the end, we’re just two kids who grew up watching their parents throw plates at one another.” 

He lets out a chuckle at this now, too, as he leans forward to place the joint on the coffee table, “Yeah, I guess you’re kinda right.” 

The two of you laugh a little longer, probably a result of your exhaustion and the joint you’ve now whittled to a nub and then you sink into a comfortable silence, full attention back on the television. 

After a while, during a commercial break, Eddie leans over and says softly, “You know, I don’t hate you, I just hate everything you stand for.” 

Your shoulders are touching as the two of you have gravitated towards the center of the and you’re so mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple moves as he speaks that it takes you a second to register what he’s said. 

“Thanks,” you respond sarcastically once his words have sunk in, “that makes me feel so good about myself.” 

His cheeks darken and he ducks his head towards his chest in embarrassment. 

“I meant that as a compliment, you know.”

“That’s a shit compliment, Eds,” you deadpan back.

He sighs, “Yeah, I know but I can never get my words out right when I’m talking to you. What I meant to say is that contrary to what you may think, I do like you and I think you’re very talented… and maybe… perhaps, I was wrong about you.” 

You lean forward as he says this, a gloating grin rising on your face. “Why, Edward, I believe that might be the kindest thing you’ve ever said about me.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The phone is ringing. 

The early morning sun is burning your closed eyelids, which is annoying but not nearly as annoying as the phone ringing. You know you should get up and answer the phone that simply won’t stop ringing but you can’t will your body to move. 

You nestle further into the warm cocoon you’ve found yourself in this morning and wait for whoever is on the other line to eventually give up. 

The phone does eventually stop ringing, just like you knew it would, but not even three seconds later, it picks up again.

You try to ignore it once more, but it is insistent. You realize you have no choice but to get up. 

You’re far too peeved to notice at first, but the warm cocoon you’ve been so hesitant to leave isn’t a nest of blankets like you had originally thought, but a pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders and a solid chest where your head once rested: Eddie. 

You blink wearily up at him. He’s completely unfazed by the ringing. Even though you know Eddie to be an annoyingly deep sleeper, you still try to gently extract yourself from his arms. 

You sit up halfway and catch a glimpse of Eddie’s expressionless face, and, in its peace, you’re reminded of his kind words last night. Suddenly, you lean down quickly and peck a kiss on his cheek. You recoil quickly in surprise scrambling off the couch and quickly pad over to the still-ringing phone. 

“Hello?” You snap. 

“Nice of you to finally pick up,” Murray replies.

“What is it, Murray?”

“I wanted to see how it was going.”

You sigh in response, letting him know exactly how little patience you have.  

“Fine. It’s going fine.”

“How’s the writing?”

 “Fine.”

“And the house?”

“Fine.”

“And the waterbed?”

“Gross and untouched. Is that all?”

“You’re no help. Get me Munson.”

You’re about to tell him that Eddie was asleep when a hand snakes around the back of your head and wraps around the receiver in your hand.

A bleary-eyed Eddie gently tugs the phone from your hand and brings it to his ear.

“You’ve got Munson,” Eddie greets through a yawn.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

EDDIE: The Rancho Cucamonga house was like a bubble where the outside world didn’t exist for us. We were finally able to focus on the songwriting without having to work around a tour or press appearances or the rest of the fucking band. We were finally just able to write, and we killed that shit.

 There was something else too, though. I’m not sure how it started… I guess that first night we bonded—shared trauma, you know? And the next morning when I woke up on the couch, she was in my arms. All that time we were fooling around, that had never happened. When I woke up and saw her asleep on my chest, I just closed my eyes and lay there, not wanting to get up. Corny, I know. Eventually, she woke up—Murray’s fault—and she kissed me, on my cheek. She probably thought I was still asleep.

After that, it was like all bets were off. We started being affectionate with each other all of a sudden. We didn’t have sex—somehow it felt like sex would ruin it. But it was like we had entered this alternate universe where we were just, I don’t know, two twenty-somethings that were in love and living together and making good fucking art.

She would do this thing when she wanted my attention and kiss me on the jaw. She would make me breakfast—Eggos, the woman has never been a chef—but it was the thought that counted. I would make her her tea every night, exactly how she liked it. I somehow knew how she liked her tea. I know it sounds so… mundane and small but all the little things added together is what makes something real.

We wouldn’t talk about it. It would’ve ruined it, we both knew.  It was like if we didn’t acknowledge it, we were giving the other person room to back out.

If you asked her how she’d describe that week we spent in the suburbs, I’m not really sure what she’d say, but if you ask me, right now, I would still say it was one of the best weeks of my life.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Nancy!” you yell across the driveway at the brunette.

The keyboardist turns and waves emphatically before handing her cab driver a few dollar bills for the fare.

You run out towards her, throwing your arms around her neck in delight.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you breathe out, as your eyes scan over her in assessment. She looked more haggard than before, the bags under her eyes were more prominent. Despite this, her smile is genuine.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she says as you lead her up the front steps while Eddie follows with her small luggage.

You immediately launch into a tour of the house while Eddie, generously, has made himself sparse to give the two of you some privacy and goes out for a smoke.

Nancy, being the gracious guest that she was, had no qualms with taking the waterbed and while you helped get her settled into her new space, she fills you in with what’s been happening in your absence.

“Robin went back home; her younger sister is about to start at Marquette. Argyle went back to Arizona for a few days and Steve went with him.”

Hearing Steve’s name was jarring but even more so was hearing that he had traveled to a whole other state without you knowing about it. That was a silly thought, you knew, after all, you hadn’t spoken to him once since you’d traveled inland. Plus, you had been living the last week in a watercolor haze with Eddie, something that only worked when you pushed Steve to the back of your mind.

“How are things with Jonathan?” You cut in, anxious to be rid of any mention of Steve from the conversation. It’s Nancy who then falters. and grows tense.

“He was very supportive of me coming here,” she divulges, lowly. “He seemed kind of guilty when I told him how this was affecting me. That’s Jonathan for you though, constantly carrying the weight of everyone’s problems on his shoulders.”

“Gee,” you let out a mirthless laugh, “I wonder who he has that in common with?”

Nancy rolls her eyes, but her shoulders relax, a tiny bit, and slowly, the information unspools out of her. She tells you about Jonathan’s family—his worrisome mother, his absent father, and his perpetually sick younger brother who was the reason behind anything he did—and about the nights spent in hospital waiting rooms, hopeful for miracle treatments to finally deliver (they never do).

You felt the weight of burden coming

Nancy rolls her eyes, but her shoulders relax, a tiny bit and slowly, she begins to unfurl.

She tells you about Jonathan’s family—his worrisome mother and his absent father and his perpetually sick younger brother that was the reason behind anything he did—and about the nights spent in hospital waiting rooms, hopeful for miracle treatments to finally deliver (they never do).

 She talks about her own family too, and the mounting pressure to be successful in the face of her parents’ disapproval after she had turned down her university full ride in favor of the band.

She also tells you about the growing tension in the band’s shared house and how she’s pretty sure everyone is sick of living with each other, but no one wants to be the first to admit it.

She’s being pulled taunt in every direction and as you listen to her unload her burdens, for the first time, you feel lucky to only have yourself to answer to.

Later, once Nancy’s heart has been borne, and you’re out on the deck with Eddie, you can’t help but share your discovery with him in between cigarette puffs.

“I dunno,” he shrugs stiffly, “I’d like to think that the right person would be worth any trouble they may bring to your life. She seems to think so too,” he motions towards the sliding glass kitchen doors towards Nancy who is currently on the phone with Jonathan, her brow once again furrowed in worry.

You tilt your head, unconvinced, “Maybe they see it that way, but for me, it just seems like a slippery slope to plate throwing.”

He laughs dryly at this, a quick exhale of smoke that frames him in a momentary halo. He’s leaning with his arms against the deck railing and the smoke mixes prettily with the spackling of stars in the night sky bringing out his fine, aristocratic features and making him look like a painting brought to life.

“Just because our folks were pieces of work that doesn’t mean you should give up on love altogether.”

The statement stuns you for a moment—you were sure that in Eddie you’d find a kindred spirit, a fellow love nihilist.

“I haven’t given up on love,” you backtrack, “ I’m just afraid, I guess.” The last part comes out small but you can’t help it.

This peaks Eddie’s interest, “Afraid? I’ve never seen you afraid of anything. What could you possibly be afraid of?”

You sigh, the conversation having veered out of your control but at this point you’re too caught up to stop it.

“I guess I’m scared that I’ll love someone so much I would lose sight of everything else I really want,” you explain. “Or worse, that I would give it all up if they asked me to,” you confide voice small, “that I would do anything they’d ask me to.”

“That’s kinda what love feels like though,” Eddie lights another cigarette, “like you’d let them do anything to you but trust them not to. Because if they really loved you, they wouldn’t make you give up something that was important to you.”

Then, before you can stop it, the question comes tumbling out, “have you ever been in love like that?”

He looks at you hard, like he’s willing you to know the answer. Finally, after what feels like an eternity he responds, “Yeah, once or twice.”

“How was that?” You croak out awkwardly. What you’re really asking is what did you let them do to you?

He laughs, a little softer this time, a little bird endeared and a little bit incredulous. “You’re asking me how it is to be in love?”

You nod, feeling a little silly.

Eddie takes another puff of his cigarette, mulling over the question carefully.

“It kinda sucks,” he eventually says, “you feel constantly exposed, like a wounded animal. And you hate everything that isn’t them. And you would do anything for them, which is terrifying. And you spend the whole time wondering how it will end—because of course, you never feel worthy of them—and then when it does, it’s like a dull knife. But that’s okay because it’s all worth it and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

You sit with his answer, rolling it back and forth in your mind like a marble on concrete. He watches you, expectantly, once again with that willing expression on his face. You’re trying to read his mind but you’re not sure you can.

Eventually, you say aloud the only thing you can think of, “You should put that in a song.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Having Nancy around is great.

For one, she’s a great songwriting collaborator. Her skill with the piano is unmatched and she has a propensity for ballads that neither you nor Eddie seem to possess.

Also, having her around helps curb whatever was happening with you and Eddie.  Things did not stop, however, they didn’t go further than where they were and you’re certain that if Nancy hadn’t With Nancy around to keep you focused, you’re churning out songs—good quality songs—faster than ever.

Murray asks to see what you have halfway through your stay and you fax him the best of what you’ve written. It’s a struggle between the three of you to get the ancient fax machine in Murray’s home office to actually work but the 30 minutes of cursing on the phone with ‘Murray’s secretary is worth it when later that evening the producers gives you a call to tell you that you’ve finally hit the mark.

“It was like pulling teeth, but you got there. Thank Wheeler for me,” he says over the line and it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a direct compliment from him. He mentions something about sharing the songs with a few others to help with the arrangements and then hangs up without saying a proper goodbye but you barely register that because you’re too relieved.

“He likes it!” you announce and the three of you whoop in celebration. Eddie picks you up and spins you around landing a kiss on your temple that you’re hoping Nancy, by some miracle, missed.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

NANCY: I saw when he kissed her that night, but that was nowhere near the first weird exchange I caught between them that week.

Nothing big, just little couple things, you know? The little minutia that two people in a relationship do like making each other coffee and gentle touches and talking soft and careful to each other.

The type of things Jonathan and I used to do before things got bad.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What’s going on between you and Eddie?”

Nancy’s tone isn’t accusatory when she asks, just curious.

It’s the night before you are slated to go back to LA and the two of you are on a sunset walk around the neighborhood, it was all very domestic, and you had been enjoying it immensely until Nancy’s curiosity got the best of her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you respond, airily, “nothing’s going on.”

She cuts you a look that says you know better than to lie to her and you deflate and come clean.

After she bore you all her troubles on the night of her arrival, you feel like you owe her some honesty in return.

So you tell her everything from the beginning.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

NANCY: Frankly, for the entirety of our first tour, I thought something was going on between her and Steve, so when she told me that she and Eddie had been sleeping together during the tour, well that totally took me by surprise.

The craziest part was that they had never talked about it. Well, maybe it’s not that crazy, neither of them is really known for being upfront about their feelings.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“So are you two in a relationship?”

“No, I don’t think so?”

“So what, you just sleep together and are affectionate with one another and take care of each other? That’s a relationship.” Before you can argue back, Nancy jumps into the next question, “What about Steve? I honestly thought you two had something going on.”

“Steve is great. He’s kind and easy to be around, and so is Steve. But he doesn’t see me for who I am. He expects too much from me, and I know I’m going to let him down. " You feel stupid and dramatic admitting this, but you want Nancy to understand.

“Eddie knows me, he knows what to expect of me. He’s not trying to convince me to buy into this…  fairytale relationship box Steve is trying to put me in. Eddie just kind of takes whatever I can spare when it comes to affection, and he doesn’t ask for more. It’s convenient with him.”

“You both deserve more than convenience and scraps of affection,” Nancy argues.

“Listen,” she pauses on the sidewalk to look at you, eyes as big as the moon under the light of the streetlamp, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but we both know this thing is a ticking time bomb.

“You need to spend some time figuring out how you really feel and have some honest conversations with both of them before someone gets hurt.”

That’s the last thing she says before walking away.  

PLAY NEXT TRACK🎤

Taglist:

@rexorangecouny , @persophonekarter @mystargirl-interlude @brinleighsstuff @thegaysaretired @nothing2-see @harrysvirgogf @Prior-antidote @stardustofyesterday @buckleyverse @leather-n-velvet @ivoryrebellionmess @Courts-x

@superas1an @promisewellbealright @primroseluna @stardustofyesterday @www-interludeshadow-com

[spaceraceart]

au where eggman is some egotistical unethical tech ceo that visits his local coffee shop everyday and harasses the customers and employees, but for some reason the owner is head-over-heels for him and keeps letting him get away with it

[spidertroupeart]

the jokes write themselves

[a-a-lost-munchkin]

I Can’t Help But Wonder

Odysseus, who just violently and mercilessly murdered 108 or so men, who claims in the next song that he’s no longer a kind or gentle man, actively listens to Telemachus and kindly and gently responds to everything his son’s expressed.

Telemachus asks, “Am I like you? Am I strong like you? Will you embrace me? Will you love and accept me as yours?” He says, “I’ve felt so alone.”

And Odysseus claims him in a heartbeat, answering, “My son. My boy. My sweetest joy I’ve ever known. I embraced you twenty years ago. I’d do the impossible for you. I’d die for you.” He says, “Seeing the men here today, I can only wonder what you’ve been through for twenty years. My son, you’re already strong. You’re my own. You’re not alone. I’m home.”

And then they fucking embrace.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Everyone loves FNAF music man.. even Michael

[time-woods]

dingdingding who wouldve guessed it ! its bill cipher ! wow !

before i settled on thewhole mask thinghe was gonna hav this bigass hat but it clashed with the fur too much so idecided against it

[bbbbbbbbatman]

Bruce keeping a tighter and tighter lid on his identity around the Justice League because with each new person to reveal their identity he realizes that he has fucked far too high a percentage of his co workers as Bruce Wayne and he has to take this secret to his grave

[wanologic]

reminder to take care of your loser human body

[kingzombear]

Can I Axe-ya a question *audience laughtrack*

Anyway she should've been given the axe, fuck the hypocratic oath

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[artkaninchenbau]

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus:

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly Masterlist

18+ mdni

Part 1 of Look At Us Now

Now: Everybody knows famous 80s pop rock band, The Downsides, but no one knows the reason behind their mysterious breakup at the height of their success. Rumors of love triangles, infidelity, drug addiction and more than one onstage fight have swirled around for years following the band’s split in 1989. Years later, one determined journalist is uncovering it all through a series of interviews that will finally reveal the truth.

Then: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, slow-burn, pining, ANGST, bad parents all around (this is going to be long and messy), smut in later chapters, slow burn, enemies to fwb to lovers, miscommunication trope

Each chapter will also have individual warnings per chapter.

Prologue

TRACKLIST🎸

Track 1: Before the Beginning

Track 2: The Beginning

Track 3: The Upside Down Tour

Track 4: The End of the Beginning

Track 5: The Beginning of the End

Track 6: The Aftermath

Track 7: Unintended Consequences (coming soon)

THE PLAYLIST 🎵

BREAKING NEWS! 📰

Saubrosa--October 9, 1983

The Upside Down Tour Poster—1984

Join the TAGLIST

[gongyussy]

deepthroating a gun without breaking eye contact...... he put his entire gongyussy into that | SQUID GAME 2

+ the video because the sound he makes when he puts the gun in his mouth? [redacted]

update: he improvised that. the man really said i'll go full slut.

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[tossawary]

This is petty fandom salt, BUT... I've been chewing on this phenomenon that I've been calling "Fandom's Darling". It is related to things like "Author's Darling" and "Mary Sue / Gary Stu" and "Protagonist Halo" and all that jazz, where one character gains a peculiar narrative weight in a story.

"Author's Darling" is when a writer has a favorite character, and the world and all other characters sort of get... warped to put the Darling in the spotlight. It's most noticeable in TV shows with multiple writers, when a character you personally like suddenly has their previous characterization destroyed to make another character look good somehow. Every other character might become weirdly incompetent. The Darling's feelings are treated as The Most Important Feelings in any given situation. The logic of the fictional world seems broken past suspension of disbelief in order to validate this one character's beliefs or skillset or some other fantasy. And so on.

"Fandom's Darling" is what I've been calling the pattern where a fandom essentially crowns a New Protagonist for their fanfiction stories (it's often a side character rather than the original protagonist, but it can also happen to protagonists). This character becomes the self-insert for all sorts of indulgent fantasies, gaining special powers or backstories, and/or becoming the focus of extreme whump, and/or hooking up with all the various hotties, starring in all sorts of tropey AUs, and so on. They're not always an obvious Mary Sue version of themselves, but the character's original personality and interpersonal relationships tend to get warped or dropped completely, and other characters tend to become a little flat around them. I call it "Fandom's Darling" because it's not just one self-indulgent fantasy fic (you do you! Have fun!) with characterization choices that I don't vibe with (I have neither the time nor the desire nor the authority to police anything, I am just venting), but rather a prolific mini-fandom of sorts revolving around this empty doll / fanon version of the chosen vessel character, so it becomes a little unavoidable.

I am salty about this (mildly frustrated) (imagine a soft sigh of disappointment before I just go do something else) because you are FUCKED if you actually liked the canonical version of this character and their interpersonal relationships. It's almost worse than liking an obscure character that no one cares about. There's about a thousand fics starring your fave, but maybe only about a dozen of them are actually rooted in any kind of recognisable canon.

[proxycrit]

Day 38– East Gerudo Chasm

“…You. I know you. You’re that zoran healer’s apprentice.”

(I known you. You healed my hands. I still wear ferns in my hair, because of you.)

Excerpt from Tauro’s Journal- “The Gerudo Kingdom, shattered under vicious attacks from the Malice infected, became a vassal state of the Hylian Kingdom around 20 BSE. Records have dissenting voices during that time— many argue that the Hylians took advantage of the chaos to enforce their policies upon the other races; more argued that vassaldom is a small price to pay for medical and monetary support, mandatory draft or taxation be damned. Either way, one thing remains clear: The Zonai were the first to fall to the Malice, but they were not the last. The Era of Alchemy is drawing to a close.

Interestingly enough, Sheikah records during this era did not explicitly mention Calamity Ganon until 100 SE. This implies Calamity Ganon the entity is not a direct correlation to the Malice infected.”

*BSE— Before Skyloft Era, SE— Skyloft Era

**Lifting of Skyloft 0 BSE, one of the few concrete dates available. See Ring Ruins and Tauro’s notes for more information.

(we’ve officially entered au territory! I mean, we already have with Familiar Familiar’s premise being a self indulgent totk au where zelda didn’t get whisked back in time, but now I’m going after the lore too. You’re welcome.)

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