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feralwritings · 4 months ago

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dissonance

part one

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word count: 2.8k

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re fucking kidding.” There is no way. There is absolutely no way. “I’m not kidding. You’re going on this tour, you have to.” She narrows her eyes, “And it just has to be with them, doesn’t it?” “Yeah,” Robin supplies, leaning forward in her chair towards Stacy, “You could literally choose like any other band.”

reader is referred to as 'reader', because in fan fictions with multiple women present, it can be hard to determine who is being written about when using the pronoun 'she' for multiple people, so therefore, reader is being used in place of a name.

Laughter echoes around the studio, being pressed into the podcast mics so that it’s a little too loud and a little too tinny, harsh on the ears.

She clicks the volume down a couple ticks.

“So, I mean-” The host chuckles, “I mean, what’s your least favorite band? Come on, you’ve gotta have one.”

There’s a silence that follows this question, a contemplative hum.

“Pssshh, I dunno,” Eddie says, the characteristic rasp of his voice moving through her headphones, “There’s like, lots of shitty music out there. But, other artists could say the same thing about our band, ya know? It’s all subjective.”

“I know,” The host presses, and there’s a hunger in his voice, “But, just throw one out.”

“There’s that one chick band,” Gareth says, and she can hear the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of him spinning his drumstick, “God, what was their name again? They’re like, literally on our label.”

“Daisy Chain,” Eddie supplies, “Yeah.”

Cold rage spreads throughout her body, frostbiting every nerve she possesses. The string she’s winding on her guitar snaps due to the pressure, flying into the meat of her palm.

There’s a breakout of laughter again, and she hears the host wheezing into the mic, “Daisy Chain? God, who’d Reader have to blow at your label to get signed?”

She rips off her headphones after that, throwing them in no particular direction. There’s still noise coming from them, but she can’t understand what they’re saying.

She doesn’t need to understand what they’re saying. She’s heard it all before, from sweaty interviewers at music festivals, to label executives, to booth technicians who call them all sweetheart and honey before insulting them.

She doesn’t need to wonder how bad this is. Her phone is already buzzing with notifications, from Chrissy, Nancy and Robin, from their manager, from Instagram and Twitter and Tik Tok, and it’s all so much, it’s all too much.

Through the flurry of notifications that are rendering her phone unusable, one pops up that makes her fucking nauseous.

from @.BandCast: hey @.dc_reader, we had a little chat about you with the Corroded Coffin boys on this weeks #BandCast, be sure to tune in! #daisychain #corrodedcoffin

She sinks onto the floor, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Great. Just fucking great. The most popular band at Upside Down Records, the label she and her bandmates had fought tooth and nail to get signed to just destroyed Daisy Chain’s reputation, all of their hard work with a few words said into some mics on an overlit, overproduced and overrated podcast that just about everyone she knows and hopes to know listens to.

Another text pops up on her phone.

Manager

Don’t say anything.

She doesn’t.

***

18 months later

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re fucking kidding.”

There is no way. There is absolutely no way.

“I’m not kidding. You’re going on this tour, you have to.”

She narrows her eyes, “And it just has to be with them, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Robin supplies, leaning forward in her chair towards Stacy, “You could literally choose like any other band.”

“I don’t have any control over that,” Stacy, VP at UDR says, which is a bold-faced lie, everyone knows that she has influence at the tour agency, not only that but most people in and out of this the building are scared of her, “That’s up to the tour agency that we work with.”

“And you can’t tell them to, oh, I dunno, choose literally any other band?” Nancy is picking at her nails, barely contained rage etched into the pressed line of her lips.

Stacy’s expression changes, and she leans forward with her messy bun and her oversaturated tan and her stupid white crop top and her acid washed jeans and her fucking-

“Listen, girls,” She begins, and they all raise an eyebrow at the patronizing tone, “To be frank, Corroded Coffin is a much more lucrative band than Daisy Chain. They’re more popular, better liked and easy on the eyes-” she blushes, staring fondly at the 24x36 poster of Eddie that sits on the opposite wall, tongue out, one hand around the neck of his guitar and the other flipping off the camera, Reader wants to use it for dart practice, “and riding their coattails may be just the thing that keeps you from getting dropped from UDR. Simply put, this tour is your last chance to prove to us that signing you wasn’t a mistake. We’ve poured so many resources in getting you out of your mommy’s garage-”

“We practiced at my house that I own-” Chrissy interjects softly.

“getting your albums made and getting you on tour, and it’s high time that we see a return on our investment, don’t you think? So, you either go on this tour, or you’re done at Upside Down Records. For good. Capiche?”

“That’s like, seven discrimination lawsuits all rolled into one,” Robin muses, though she doesn’t sound shocked that Stacy is speaking to them this way. Stacy says that this is how she speaks to everyone, that there is no time for ‘flowery language’ in this industry, which is another load of bullshit, considering that she’s plenty flowery when she’s giggling and batting her eyelashes at the Corroded Coffin guys. She has favorites, that’s for sure, and another thing that’s for sure is that Daisy Chain is not one of them.

“It’d never see the inside of a courtroom, honey,” Stacy says, searching through her desk for a stack of papers, “Sign here.”

She taps her bony finger on a tour contract, and Reader stares at it, feeling an insatiable urge to set it on fire.

“Opening for a band that hates us,” Nancy says, eyes flying over the contract, reading it carefully as she can, “Awesome. So cool.”

“Oh,” Stacy says, “I forgot to mention-” she snatches the stack of papers away from Nancy before producing a seemingly identical set, “You’re both openers.”

“Wait,” Reader says, “We’re both openers? Who’s the headliner?”

Stacy’s face breaks into a grin, and all four girls lean forward in their chairs, scared yet terrified of the answer.

“Steve Harrington.”

***

When they walk out into the Los Angeles sunshine, they all exchange a look.

“So,” Reader begins, leaning up against the wall of the building, “Pros and cons. Stacy said we had a week to sign.”

“Pro,” Robin holds up a finger, “Steve. Everyone loves him, he’s on a much bigger label, everyone says that he’s so nice and touring with him could be really good.”

“Con,” Chrissy says, “Corroded Coffin.”

“When I thought we were opening for them,” Reader adjusts her sunglasses, “I was way more apprehensive. There’s an inherent power imbalance there. but since we’re both opening, we’re on more equal footing, which might make it tolerable? I mean, at least it’s not just us and them.”

“Pro,” Nancy supplies, “It might get Stacy off of our backs. Plus, it’s not like they would pull any of that shit again, right?”

“True,” Chrissy concedes, “As far as anyone knows, we’re on good terms with CC, so it’s not like there would be any open animosity in the audience.”

Which, in a sense, was true. After the podcast had aired, UDR put out statements on both bands' socials, affirming that they were on good terms and Corroded Coffin doesn’t condone sexism and that all ties with UDR and BandCast had been dissolved. Daisy Chain and Corroded Coffin had never actually spoken, exchanged fighting words or even so much as a pleasantry, only really seeing each other across the room at company parties, on separate stages at festivals, walking past the other recording in various studios.

“Okay,” Robin said slowly, her gaze shifting to Reader, “But… the podcast. They went after you specifically, are you sure that you’re okay being on the road with them?”

Reader shrugs noncommittally, “I can deal. Plus, if any of them says anything like that again I know that you’ll stab them with your drumstick, so I’ll be fine.”

Robin flashes a small smile at that, “Yeah, especially that little short one.”

“I think as long as we have as little interaction with them as possible, things will be fine,” Chrissy reasons, running a hand through her hair, “They’ve already signed on, and like Stacy said, if we don’t go on this tour…”

“Then we get dropped.” Nancy, Robin and Reader say together.

“Let’s think about it a bit more,” Reader suggests, “We have a week. Let’s try to come to a decision in a few days.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nancy says, pulling out her phone, “Lunch?”

They all murmured in agreement, setting off towards the parking lot, shoulders tight and heads full of what ifs.

***

The conference room is a touch too cold.

Robin is rocking her spinny chair back and forth, fingers drumming anxiously on the table. Nancy is stock still, staring at the opposite wall, muscles taut as piano wire. Chrissy is picking at her cuticles, glancing at the door every thirty seconds.

Reader is tugging on her earring idly, staring at nothing in particular. They’ve only been waiting for about ten minutes, but it feels like ten years.

God, she just wants to get this over with. Signing the contract, going home and beginning to prepare to leave. Packing, calling the electric company and the water company and having her mail put in a PO Box. All the things you do when you’re leaving for six months.

They’re waiting for Corroded Coffin to show up so they can sign the new contract. Stacy sits at the head of the conference table, typing away on her laptop, eyes following Chrissy’s. Her anxious energy is something entirely different, excitable. She keeps preening her hair, twisting little hairs around her face to keep them curly.

The door clicks open, and five pairs of eyes whip towards it.

There they are.

Eddie files in first, and Gareth, Jeff and Joey follow suit, all walking into the room with a certain swagger, a certain pompous sort of energy that makes Reader’s saliva turn sour. To her chagrin, her heartbeat kicks up a notch, and she takes a discreet, deep breath, willing the rage to stop spiking in her blood.

They’d only seen each other a couple times since the podcast aired, always parallel and never fully interacting, burning sort of gazes across rooms and terse smiles through gritted teeth.

Stacy got up to greet them, hugging them each individually, Eddie the longest, before inviting them to sit down.

By sheer coincidence, or by a sense of order, or organization, the four chairs across from the girls are occupied by their counterparts.

Drummers, Robin and Gareth.

Bassists, Nancy and Joey.

Lead guitarists, Chrissy and Jeff.

Vocals and rhythm guitarists, Reader and Eddie.

“Alright!” Stacy claps her hands together, drawing a thick manilla folder out, letting it fall open. She slides eight contracts across the table, inviting everyone to grab one at their leisure, “Everyone take one and look it over while we wait for the lawyers to get here.”

They all peruse the contracts, the room filled with the sound of flipping paper as they all silently read.

Reader feels a pair of eyes on her, and she slides her own away from her contract and across the table, catching Eddie looking with a politely curious look on his face.

She cocks an eyebrow at him, and he flashes a sarcastic smile at her before leaning back over his contract, wild hair falling around his face, all curls and frizz.

Once the lawyers arrive, it’s pretty cut and dry. Both bands ask their questions, get their answers, and by the time the hour is up, pens are out, poised to sign.

“So, to summarize,” one of the lawyers says, pushing his horn rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Corroded Coffin and Daisy Chain will embark on a six month tour, serving as openers for solo act Steve Harrington. The tour will begin in August and conclude in January, going from the west coast to the east, playing one to two shows in each, resulting in about fifty-two shows in twenty-six cities across the United States. In January, additional cities and dates will be discussed.”

“Wait,” Eddie said, holding up a hand, “Why would we talk about more dates in January when we’re only signing a six month contract?”

The lawyers exchange a meaningful look.

“Extension of the tour depends on certain factors.”

“Like what?”

“Factors that we are not at liberty to discuss without certain permissions from Mr. Harrington’s representation.”

That doesn’t sound good, and in spite of themselves, both bands exchange worried looks with each other.

“What does that even mean?” Reader asks, leaning towards the lawyers, brow furrowed.

“We are not at liberty to discuss it at this time. If this causes an issue that impedes you from signing the contracts, we may have to revisit this at a later time, which is unadvisable considering that tentative promotion has begun, so his fans and yours know that something is coming in the future.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Reader began, running a hand through her hair, “I just think if there’s something we need to know that could affect this tour, we deserve to be fully informed.”

“It won’t impact your performances in any way, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The younger lawyer said tersely, pressing her lips into a fine line.

“Fine, fine,” Eddie says, pulling his contract towards him and scribbling a messy signature.

Everyone follows suit after that, handing their contracts to Stacy. As they prepare to take their leave, someone else rushes into the room.

Alex, one of the guys who works in the promotional department. He’s got his camera slung around his neck, eager expression on his face. He catches Joey’s eye and blushes.

“Wait! Before you all go home we need to get a couple pictures. We can post them when the tour is officially announced!”

“Wait,” Reader says, alarm bells instantly going off in her head, “Like, pictures of all of us? Together?”

Alex nods, “Just some candid sorta stuff, nothing too special or flashy, just like. You all together, at the table and maybe some with you guys standing next to each other.”

Everyone reluctantly takes their seats again, posing for the camera with their stupid little pens and their contracts, and once that’s done, they’re instructed to stand against the wall for a wide, group photo.

“Can you guys like, squish in more together? And Reader, can you switch places with Robin so you’re next to Eddie? It’ll be cool if the lineup is the same on both sides.”

Reader and Robin exchange a dark look before shimmying around each other.

“I don’t bite,” Eddie says softly, so that only she can hear, leaning down the tiniest bit.

“Mmm,” Reader hums through her teeth, keeping her eyes locked on the lens, sporting the most excited smile she can muster, hoping that her eyes don’t look too dead, “Just smile and look pretty so we can get through this, please.”

She can see Eddie in her periphery tilt his head with a little grin, before turning his attention back to the camera.

“Okay, squish in a bit more,” Alex instructs, holding his camera to snap a picture, “Can you guys act like you like each other please? Can we put our arms around each other's shoulders or something?”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

She feels his arm slink around her shoulders, light pressure as his fingers dangle over her collarbone. She’s got one arm around Robin, and reluctantly, she winds her other around Eddie’s waist, hovering it over the leather of his jacket.

There’s a thrum of energy that courses through her then, and after the third or so flash of Alex’s camera, a chill shoots through her shoulder where his hand rests, and she involuntary shivers, rolling his arm off of her shoulder.

He huffs then, snatching his arm away from her entirely, and they all move away from each other, the air in the room turning cold and oppressive.

They’re all staring each other down, sizing each other up, each band wondering how the next six months are going to play out.

Daisy Chain is the first to leave, awkwardly sidling past the boys and heading down the hall, passing framed gold records, a few of which belong to Corroded Coffin, none of which belong to them.

As they burst through the doors and into the sizzling Los Angeles sun, there’s a definite stiffness in the way they bid farewell, taking their leaves individually.

Reader heads home, sitting with her car idling in the driveway for a few moments before walking in, feeling numb.

As she prepares to leave for the tour, packing, calling various people, she can’t help but feel like she’s getting herself, and her band, into something that they can’t come back from. Whatever is to happen on this tour, good or bad, there’s this inexplicable feeling coursing through her veins that the next six months might just change everything.

She packs her guitar into its case, running a hand down the strings pensively.

Whatever happens happens, she reasons. And all she can do is be a good girl, perform, and take it on the chin.

#my fic: dissonance #dissonance #my fic #band fic #bandfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #enemies to lovers #bandfic reader and eddie

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