#nancy downs from the craft

[discoidal]

zoe adrien character moodboard

tagging: @dogelovespizza @figtreeification @thegoldencasket @pearblossomtree @charlestrask @worm-bus @treasureteamtango @constellationof0rion @eyegutz @taxidermychrist

#i have no urge to explain #anyways OCs definitely count as Characters In My Head but i dont have good pics for any of mine 😔😔😔 #thats me in the middle btw like thats not a character thats just Me babey!! #edit: wait ok so clockwise the characters are jennifer check from jennifers body #nancy downs from the craft #jobu tupaki from everything everywhere all at once #Thee castiel of supernatural #brigitte fitzgerald from ginger snaps #bella swan from twilight #sidney prescott from scream #and patrick bateman from american psycho :)))

[raging-himboifcation13]

@queermystic here's your unhinged gals

#resident evil #rain ocampo #nancy downs #the craft #aliens #alien #ellen ripley #janet weiss #rocky horror picture show #ginger snaps #ginger fitzgerald #agent dana scully #the x files #sarah connor #terminator 2 #sydney prescott #scream #katherine mc michaels #from beyond #from beyond 1986 #barbara crampton #elvira #elvira mistress of the dark #cassandra peterson #lydsposting

[gh0st-city]

Im rewatching The Craft and man I forgot how good this movie is

#nancy downs my beloved maniac #babbles #one thing about me is that i love dark teen drama movies from the 80s and 90s #they are one of my favourite types of movies #heathers and the craft are absolute masterpieces

[emchant3d]

modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington

Stevie Harrington is not having a good day.

By all accounts, she should be. Robin woke her right on time by pressing a perfectly made brown sugar shaken espresso into her hand. Nancy and Chrissy got to the venue earlier than expected. The hair and makeup people were on schedule. Their boozy charcuterie brunch during their prep time was perfectly served, the mimosas delicious and the food fresh and light enough to put on her nervous stomach. 

Everything’s gone off without a hitch. She looks gorgeous. She’s got her something old, her something new, her something borrowed, and even her something blue. Her hair’s done in a soft blowout, framing her face but out of the way, ready for the combs of her veil to slip into. Her makeup is elegant, not too showy and not too dramatic, neutral and warm and sweet. And her dress. It’s what she always dreamed of, clingy and silky with a dramatic leg slit and a long train, off the shoulders, perfectly white. She’s staring at herself in the mirror knowing that in forty-five minutes, she’s going to hold the world’s most beautiful wedding bouquet and walk down the most perfectly decorated aisle in the quaintest, sweetest church she could find, and she’ll stand across from her fiancé and take his hands and say “I do” and all of her dreams will come true.

So she should be having a good day.

Because it’s her wedding day, and Stevie Harrington is about to become Stefania Hagan.

Maybe that brunch wasn’t so perfect after all, because she thinks she’s about to puke.

“I can’t do this,” she says, but her voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper and the girls don’t even glance at her. “I can’t do this,” she repeats, and Robin - bless her, her favorite person in the world, her soulmate, her other half, her maid of honor - glances up. 

“What’s that, Evie?” she asks, and the others look over at her, and Stevie stands there beneath their gazes and knows if she just says it again, says I can’t do this, don’t make me marry him, get me out of here, all three of them would drag her to an exit and get her the fuck out.

They don’t even like Tommy. Robin actively hates him, actually, and that should have been enough for Stevie to never look at him twice.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

She thinks back to a few days ago, drunk in a bar with a white sash wrapped around her torso, a tiara on her head, and mascara running down her face as she desperately sobbed on Robin’s shoulder during her bachelorette party. That little meltdown wasn’t enough. And she thinks back further, to when Tommy proposed - in public, at a fucking baseball game, on the goddamn jumbotron. Dread had settled in her chest at the sight of the ring (huge, gaudy, she hated it on sight) even as she pasted on a smile and said yes. That hadn’t been enough.

But somehow standing here done up head to toe, about to walk down the aisle in her absolute dream wedding - that’s enough. Because everything about today is right. Everything’s in place. Everything’s gorgeous and going to plan and she should be so, so happy - but it’s the wrong man waiting for her at the end of all of it.

She can’t do this. 

She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes and forces a smile. “I said I need to get my veil,” she lies, and she slips into her shoes (red bottoms, a gift from Tommy’s mother, perfectly white and pointed and it’s her dream day, how can she be throwing this away?) and walks into the other room where her garment bag is hanging, and her veil is there with its delicate detail and it’s scalloped edges and it’s all so fucking perfect she’s going to scream, she wants to rip it to pieces and she wants to tear this dress off and she wants to sob, she doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to get married - not to him. Not to Tommy. 

She could ask for help. Robin would have her out of here in five minutes flat, Nancy would craft an excuse to tell everyone, and Chrissy would cause a distraction. But even that’s too long of a wait. Even that’s too much attention, too much suspicion. She needs to move faster than that. She needs out now.

She quickens her pace as she crosses the room, dress dragging along the carpet, and she snags her phone where it’s sitting on the end table next to an overstuffed love seat, and in three long strides she’s out the door and in the hall and the church has been busy and packed all day but somehow, miraculously, there’s no one here.

No one sees Stevie as she gathers up the fabric of her dress in her hands and starts to walk towards the exit. No one sees as her walk speeds to a jog, and then a run, and then she slams out of a side door and she’s on the sidewalk and she’s sprinting, her heels are going to get scuffed by the pavement but she can’t care, she’s running as fast as she can and dodging people on the sidewalk as they turn and gawk at her and she cannot give them a thought, cannot focus on them even a little bit because she has to get away, escape is the only thought on her mind as she gasps for air, her dress is so heavy and it’s not made for running that’s for goddamn sure, and the last few years with Tommy flash through her mind - every time he’s undermined her or given her a backhanded compliment or policed her, told her she wasn’t feminine enough, told her she wasn’t trying hard enough to pass, told her to just keep it all to herself so no one would know she wasn’t cis, wouldn’t embarrass him by making a scene, all the times that come together to a glaringly obvious conclusion that he doesn’t really love her and she kind of hates him a little actually, and obviously she can’t fucking marry him and–

There. 

A beat-up four-door with an Uber sticker in the window. 

That’ll do, she thinks, and she changes course, shoulder-checking a man and not apologizing for it as she makes a beeline for the car. She pops off an acrylic wrenching the door open and tossing herself into the backseat, and she yells “DRIVE!” at the top of her lungs and somehow, through some miracle, they listen, swerving into traffic with a loud curse and a myriad of honking horns and a quaint, sweet little church growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

She’s gasping for breath, chest heaving, staring out the back window like she’s waiting for someone to follow her - and maybe she is, maybe Tommy is hot on her trail, or maybe Robin is coming to kill her for not including her in her mad dash to freedom and instead jumping in a stranger’s car going God knows where.

“So uh,” a voice says, and she whips around, staring wide-eyed at the brown eyes fixed on her in the mirror, and no, no fucking way– “where to, ma’am?” 

“Um,” she says, and her voice is shaky, cracking a little, she brushes her hair out of her face and stares and– wait.

There’s a beat. The driver’s eyes widen. Recognition flashes over his face at the same time it registers for Stevie. 

“Stevie?” Eddie Munson, her ex-boyfriend of several years, the man she hasn’t spoken to since that fateful night they went their separate ways, is staring at her in shock, not even looking at the road, and the only thing she can think is how he’s just as averse to road safety now as he’d been way back when.

“Eddie,” she croaks out. 

Too many emotions are overwhelming her at once and it feels like the biggest cliché in the world, but honestly, Stevie feels like she’s entitled to some dramatics. It’s her goddamn wedding day, after all.

Her failed wedding day.

Where she just left her fiancé at the altar.

“Oh god,” she manages. Her lower lip wobbles. Her vision blurs.

“Stevie,” Eddie says again, like a warning, and that’s enough to push her over.

She bursts into tears in his backseat.

“Hey hey hey!” he says like she’s a fucking spooked horse or something, which only makes her cry more, ugly sobs that shake her shoulders and drip tear drops onto her dress. “Stevie, honey–”

“Do NOT call me honey right now!” she manages, and he raises a hand in surrender before flipping on a turn signal and finding a parking lot to pull over in. 

“Okay, okay! No comforting pet names, you got it,” he agrees, and he shuts the car off, turning in his seat to look at her, concern painted all over his face and that’s just really not fair, she thinks, that he still looks so earnest and sweet and fucking worried about her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, urgent and serious, and she shakes her head quickly.

“No! No, I’m - I’m fine, really,” she insists and he proves that he is a gentleman after all, because he doesn’t call her out on the blatant lie.

“Okay,” he says, level, his hand hovering in the space between them like he wants to touch her. “What do you need?” he asks, and she wipes at her face with her hands, swallowing down yet another sob.

“Get me out of here,” she pleads, and he searches her face for - something, she doesn’t know what, because she’s sure all she’s showing him is how much of a fucking mess she is, but he must find whatever he’s looking for.

He gives her a sharp nod. “Anywhere in particular, sweetheart?” he asks, turning to start the car again. She doesn’t call him out on the pet name this time.

“Anywhere but here,” she says, and he puts the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road.

“You got it,” he says, and some of that old charm must kick in - he winks at her in the rearview. She resolutely ignores the spike of emotion it gives her. 

Then she takes a deep, shuddery breath, and opens the group chat to break the news to her wedding party.

part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #trans steve harrington #transfeminine steve harrington #stevie harrington #runaway bride stevie #my fic #apologies in advance but i don't do tag lists <3

[upsidedownwithsteve]

CH10. Cheque, Please! | The Menu [2.2K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

ONE YEAR LATER

The diner was packed. 

Tables were full, the large room a buzz of chatter and music, the speakers playing an old sixties bop. It was a familiar sight, one that happened more often than not since Jim sold the diner. The new owner ripped the place apart, down to its old bones before he put his life savings into it. 

New floors, new tables and chairs, artwork on the walls that were signed by Argyle, a photo of the whole staff taken and framed by Jonathan, Jim Hopper at the forefront, a wide smile on his face on the last day before his retirement. The bulbs in the neon sign outside had been replaced so it no longer flickered, the green and blue glow of it now announcing the diner’s new name, proud and bright for everyone to see. 

Eddie’s Slice Of Chicago. 

“Door! Behind!” You yelled out as you entered the kitchen empty plates piled high in your arms and Jonathan took them from you with practised ease. 

Steve was on the grill, still hesitant and not as fast as Argyle, but he was flipping burgers quicker than he had last week. His chef whites were brand new, his name badge shiny and his front of house position taken over by Nancy. Everyone was in new uniforms, freshly pressed and a sage green, aprons still without stains and a pocketful of pens that didn’t run out of ink too quickly. Robin was taking orders, laughing with a family from out of town, letting their toddler grab at her finger as she promised them to return soon with their pizzas and shakes. Dustin was helping Max run a large order to a table of backpackers, a border collie under the table at their feet, getting its ears scratched by the new start, Mike. 

There was a sign on the staff notice board, up beside the employee of the month, a piece of ripped paper with the words “SIXTY FOUR DAYS SINCE THE LAST FREEZER BREAKDOWN.” The rest of the space was filled with staff photos, polaroids and prints of the group at a fourth of July picnic, a barbecue at Jim’s in the summer, huddled around the kitchens countertops in the winter, drinking from mugs filled with Argyle’s homemade horchata, the frame that held Billy’s scrawled termination letter, an old napkin that held a small conversation in pen. 

It felt more like home than ever. Even when Eddie wasn’t there. 

Everyone answered to you in his absence, unofficially in charge when the boss wasn’t here. It had taken some getting used to, hell, you’d even tried to pawn off the responsibility to Nancy, or Steve, anyone who’d been at the grill longer than you had. But Nancy was part time, back at college during the week, taking Robin on dates in the evenings and Steve was too busy being trained as a new prep chef to worry about invoices and deliveries. 

So you stepped into the role cautiously, softening to the idea when Eddie kissed you something fierce and told you that there wasn’t anyone else he trusted to do the job. His acceptance letter had come the month after taking over the diner. A thick, white envelope that lay heavy on your doormat because he’d finally moved in, sharing your small apartment with you like he did everything else. 

Clothes. Jewellery. Books. Records. Food. Kisses. 

Vincennes University offered Eddie the chance to do what he hadn’t been able to before. Refining his craft, learning new skills, working in a state of the art kitchen with equipment he’d come home and gush to you about. The diner was doing well enough that tuition wasn’t a worry anymore and suddenly, the long commute into Indianapolis for classes four days a week seemed worth it. Eddie was passing with flying colours, receiving accolades and opportunities at every given moment and when he came home, exhausted but happy, he came home to you. 

Bone tired, he’d slip into the apartment, socked feet padding gently over the floorboards, Tupperware full of something delicious to be stacked in the fridge. He’d find you curled up somewhere, a black cat called Basil in the nook of your bent legs. He’d kiss you sweet, he’d kiss you soft, warming you up to a simmer until you forgot how much you’d missed him that day. 

It was all worth it. 

“Table eighteen wants extra hash browns and booth six needs two pepperoni’s and the Hawkins special, chefs,” you called to Steve as you slapped the orders onto the bar. 

“Got it,” Steve and Argyle called back, one a little more nervously than the other but it was okay, ‘cause Eddie was home soon. 

Eddie was home soon. 

He’d called from a pay phone outside of the school, voice buzzing with excitement, with pride, and yours mirrored his back. He’d be on the train soon, he’d meet you at the apartment, if you could get away early. So you handed your keys to Nancy and she grinned, knowing there was a cause for celebration waiting at home for you. You drove Eddie’s van back along the road, coming into town on the familiar stretch, passing Wayne’s, the trailer park you both visited every Sunday for dinner. 

The apartment door was unlocked, dimly lit in the early fall gloom, already smelling like garlic and tomatoes, like fresh bread and the scent of Eddie cologne that lingered on his jacket that hung in the hallway. Eddie’s records were in the shelves by your books, his guitar hanging from a hook in the tiny office room, his shoes on the bench by the door. He’d transformed your kitchen when he’d moved in, a decision that had been all too easy to make. There were  pots and pans hanging from the rack, shiny, sharp knives that he was scared of you using without him there, jars and tubs of ingredients stacked high in the fridge and the pantry. There were fresh herbs in planters on the window sill. The radio always played. 

The kitchen always felt like the heart of the home. 

That’s where you found Eddie, sweater sleeves rolled up and grinning at you from the stove top, a large spoon in hand as he mixed in some fresh rosemary to the pot of sauce. He greeted you with a glass of wine, the cheap stuff that you liked best, catching you in a kiss before you could bring the cup to your lips. 

He kissed you soft, kissed you sweet, humming when you laughed into his mouth, his free hand slipping inside of your shirt to ghost his fingers over your ribs. 

“Hi,” you whispered. You’d never tire of this. This warmth, this kind of greeting, this feeling of coming home. “Good day?”

Eddie nodded, stealing another kiss, catching the corner of your mouth. He gazed at you, eyes shining with excitement and you could practically feel the buzz in his bones for what he was about to say. 

“I got it.”

You blinked, once, before your smile turned into a grin and it stretched wide. You barely had the common sense to place your wine on the countertop before you launched yourself at the boy, your arms wound round his neck as your crushed your face into his curls. Eddie whooped, a joyful thing as he lifted you off your feet and grinned against your throat. 

“You got it,” you whispered back to him, everything in you frilled with awe and pride. 

“I got it,” he repeated again. His voice sounded thick. 

The internship with Chef Emmelie was something that everyone in Eddie’s class was vying for. Eddie had spent an insane amount of time on his application, using you as his own personal taste tester in both work and home. New recipes were concocted, old dishes were reworked and it had all paid off. Eddie had been hand picked to work alongside one of the country’s greats, assisting in setting up a new restaurant, a fine dining establishment that promised to deliver nothing but the best cuisine to the masses. Eddie would help create the menu, and hopefully, maybe, eventually, take over as head chef. 

It was another level of surreal. 

“I knew you would,” you mumbled into his neck, pulling back only to crush Eddie’s cheeks in the palms of your hands and give him a kiss that ducked his breath away. His lips tasted salty, but perhaps that was your own tears you could taste. Eddie just held onto you tighter, his stew mix bubbling away without any attention. “Where is it? Have they told you where you’re setting up?”

You’d held Eddie’s hand as he clutched his application letter and promised him that no matter where they sent him, you’d follow. The only thing that tied you to Hawkins, was the boy and Basil was easy enough to smuggle into a cat carrier, once you could catch him. Wayne had squashed any hesitancy from Eddie immediately, waving him off and saying that there would be private jets for each of you once he hit the big time as the new celebrity chef. And of course, there was the diner. 

Eddie laughed then, a breathy, disbelieving thing and he finally shuffled to settle you onto the small dining table that sat in the corner of the kitchen. He nudged his way in between your legs, sniffling when Basil appeared to wind around his own ankles and the only sounds were the purring of the cat and the simmering of dinner. You held your breath, brows raised, expectant. 

London? Dubai? Paris? Los Angeles?

“They wanna set up in Chicago.”

—————

Going back to the city you left was a lot less daunting with Eddie by your side. 

Wayne moved out of the trailer park and into your apartment, something that made leaving a little easier for Eddie. He still owned the diner, and promised to stop by at least a few times a month if scheduling around the new restaurant would allow. He’d found a new manager, a woman from town called Joyce who loved to bake and knew enough about taxes and accounting that she didn’t fuck up order and invoices. She loved the place like Eddie did, promised she’d do it proud. 

(She met Jim on Sunday in summer and after she served him her famous cherry cheesecake, one date in the park had turned into three, into five and now they were inseparable. They spent most of their time walking around town, visiting farmers and Jim enjoyed his retirement by helping Joyce create new desserts for the diner.)

Eddie’s internship came with an apartment in the suburbs, a small townhouse that was far enough from the hustle of the city that you felt more at home than before. It was less bright, less loud and Basil had a garden to roam in, a bench beside a vegetable patch he could bathe in the sun from. 

It had a pantry and old oak floors, a huge window that looked out onto the street that was lined with cherry trees, and a nook in the living room that you liked to read in. You found a job, pretty easily, a vintage bookstore on the edge of town that smelled like coffee and cinnamon, old pages and older stories. It was owned by an old man who let his dog sleep under the front desk, who brought in pastries for breakfast and made you sweet tea in the summer. 

The restaurant opened in the spring. Hit headlines the following day, praising the special on the menu made by newcomer chef, Edward Munson. By the summer, the heat was climbing and so was Eddie’s popularity. He was running the restaurant, got to create a new menu every six weeks and the waitlist was booked out until Christmas. He told you he loved you every time you paid him a visit, on your lunch break, a whisper between a kiss hello and goodbye in the kitchen, coy whistles from his staff that he burned pink at. 

And when you both drove back to Hawkins for long weekends and holiday stays, you crammed yourselves and Basil into your old apartment with Wayne, packed his freezer full of food and tried to convince him to take in one (maybe two) of the strays from the trailer park to keep him company. 

You spent the Fourth of July with the diner crew, in the backyard of Jim and Joyce’s new home, sharing Polaroids and newspaper clippings of the restaurant, of your new home, Eddie’s menu. Steve was in awe but nothing could beat the look of pride on your boyfriend’s face when Steve told him he’d mastered a French omelette. Argyle was running the kitchen, Nancy had been promoted to assistant manager, part time or not, and Robin had helped Jonathan in running a Sunday morning coffee club, where Hawkins residents got to taste test new bean flavours over a pastry breakfast and some town gossip. 

Eddie didn’t scowl much, not anymore. 

And when you next bumped into Chrissy, you waved at her from under the tuck of Eddie’s arm, diamond ring glinting on your left hand in the sun. She didn’t have much to say to you, not after that. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff

[fliphimthebird]

Eden is in the show for all of maybe 2 minutes but I love her and would do anything for her.

—Domi

#Mun Rambles #the goth looking girl in chapter six #she’s giving Nancy Downs vibes from The Craft

[spookydeetz]

nancy downs from the craft if she was from an animated 1980′s series

[mayfieldss]

ok idk who this could be with, but fic idea: fake dating trope inspired by the song 'hate to be lame' by lizzy mcalpine and finneas... it has POTENTIAL.!!

Hate to be lame, but I might love you | Steve Harrington

BABE THIS CONCEPT IS SO </3 POTENTIAL INDEED!!! I'm gonna admit I went wayyy off track from the song and kind of just went feral with the concept of fake dating Steve.

"You're hands are sweaty."

"Yeah, well, so are yours."

"That's because my hand is covered in the sweat from your sweaty hand." your voice comes as a sharp whisper that only Steve can hear as you walk toward your friends not two days after your little agreement.

"Oh shut up."

"Why do we have to hold hands anyway?"

"Because that's what couples do, trust me I'm the expert." Steve nudges your side with his elbow, and you push back harder, making him flinch.

"Yeah, because you've had such successful past relationships." You're grumbling and acting more like a child as the regret sinks in. Why you'd agreed to this even to assist the romance between your two friends was beyond you. There were far easier ways to get the same result.

"That was a low blow." Steve sounds only slightly deflated but his energy returns as the rest of your friends begin to notice the intertwined fingers and the smiles you're sending them, that while fake, are convincing enough.

"Hey, this is new!" It's Dustin, always the first to voice an opinion, and he's eyeing the both of you as though he's Sherlock Holmes inspecting a fresh crime scene. "Is this a cute thing or a friend thing?" he's frowning, and you offer up an answer.

"Can't a friend thing be a cute thing also?"

"So it's a friend thing?" Dustin raises a brow and looks to Steve. For a second you swear they have some sort of silent and private conversation before Steve interjects with words that seem to startle the entire group surrounding you.

"No, it's not a friend thing." He moves his hand from yours, opting to drape his arm over your shoulder, making a show whilst you wipe your hand discreetly on your shorts.

"Surprise..??" the word comes strained from your lips and you are thankful for the fact that Steve is such a charmer. Whilst he's been more than a bad liar in the past he seems like a professional actor now, award-winning even as he sells your relationship to the group.

Your first kiss in his car one day after work, and first date at the small bakery down the street from your house. The way he'd been crushing on you since he saw you beat the hell out of some Demogorgons to defend the kids, and just how happy you were together. How he was so convincing you didn't know, but you almost found yourself believing him for parts of it, as if you didn't already know the truth. It was all fake, a ruse put together so that Steve could convince Robin and Nancy that he had in fact moved on. A perfectly crafted fake relationship so that Robin and Nancy could finally get together and feel guilt free.

"Well, I can't say I didn't see it coming." It's Dustin again, forever the speechmaker, and the smile on his lips is unbearably sweet. He's oblivious, it seems, and it occurs to you then that the little scheme you and Steve put together might have some negative impacts. Dustin cared about Steve in the way a little brother looks up to the older sibling, or perhaps the way a son looked up to a father, and maybe it wasn't so good for the boy to get attached to the idea of Steve finally finding some romantic peace. After all, it was nothing romantic of the sort, and whilst the game you had going wouldn't affect Dustin directly, it did seem that he was excited over the concept of you and Steve together.

Despite these thoughts, you find yourself moving an arm around Steve's waist, leaning into him as if it were real, because if you were doing this, you were sure as hell gonna do it right. Dustin smiles, somehow wider than before, before moving off to meet the other younger members of the group. Robin eyes the two of you from a distance, with something of a confused yet proud expression, and you hope that for whatever reason, she believes the show you're putting on.

When you feel Steve's breath against your ear, the shivers that run down your spine are barely controlled. "Good job." it's a whisper as he squeezes your shoulder, "I'm gonna go get us some drinks."

And with that, he walks away, leaving you to wonder how exactly this is going to work.

It goes well for the most part and soon you start to see changes in Robin and Nancy's behavior toward each other. They seem closer, more interested now that Robin's not afraid to make a move on the girl Steve had once been so hung up on.

But you can't deny that in private it has become somewhat awkward between you and Steve. Something changed over the past few weeks of pretending and you're not quite sure where it all went wrong, but the teasing relationship you'd once had was now evaporating before your eyes.

Steve currently had an arm over your shoulder as he sat beside you in the old bakery café where he had claimed you'd had your first kiss to the rest of the group. The old leather booth was supposedly filled with the fondest of memories for the both of you, though in truth you had never entered the place until today.

"You two really do make a hot couple." It's Robin leaning her elbows on the table from the booth across from you and Steve, Nancy at her side though they sit further apart.

"I second this," Nancy smiles, a wide and sweet expression that makes you really believe her. And suddenly you feel bad for lying to them both.

"Here," Before you can dwell on the feeling, Nancy's pulled out an old camera, one she was gifted by Jonathan back when they were something of a pair themselves. She still keeps it close, and she'd planned to use it for some journalism work later in the day, but it seems she's willing to waste some of the camera's potential now.

"Smile you two." She's peering into the camera, and instinctively you lean into Steve, smiling for the shot. But that doesn't seem to appease either Robin or the eldest Wheeler sibling, both of them scheming to create the best memories for you both.

"C'mon Steve," Robin instructs, "Give her a kiss for the camera." Steve does so hesitantly, pressing a short peck to your cheek and waiting for the camera to click, but nothing happens.

When he looks up he finds both Nancy and Robin chuckling before Nancy herself begins to speak. "Look, Steve, I know you're trying to be polite because, well, we used to be something—but I really don't mind if you two kiss. I'm happy for you both, and I assure you I've moved on." She spares a glance to Robin and it would have been sweet if you weren't panicking deep inside. You had yet to kiss Steve at all and the plan had been that you would never have to but now that your excuse seemed to be up in flames you weren't sure what to do, or say.

Steve didn't seem at all bothered, and maybe that should have concerned you more than it did, but honestly, you were grateful for the confidence he held when yours was nowhere to be found.

"Yeah, you're right. We didn't want to cause any drama with, you know," Steve gestures between himself and you, "Us."

"But that's the thing!" Nancy exclaims in a rather Robin-like fashion. (Perhaps the girl was rubbing off on her a little too much.) "I'm happy for you, and I really don't mind." She raises the camera again, a smile tugging at her lips as Robin shuffles a little closer to peak through the lens with her. "Do some cute couple shit for the camera. You may kiss your girlfriend." Robin says, and a nervous laugh escapes you as Steve locks his eyes with yours. it's a look that speaks,'You really wanna do this?' and 'We can back out now if you want.' all at once, but there's something else there that you can't quite decode.

You nod in response to his silent question, however, and it takes a moment before either of you can get up the guts to do anything at all. Steve leans in first, slow and steady, and you know he notices the breath that catches in your throat. His lips so close, his hair just barely brushing your forehead as he moves downward, his face inching ever closer to yours. But he stops, and it seems as if time itself does too, when Mike Wheeler bursts into the bakery, tall frame and skinny limps carrying him through the door and toward the booth at which the four of you sit.

"Nancy, god it took forever to find you! Mom's going crazy over dinner tonight and—" It all seems to fade off. Mike is still talking but you block him out, a ringing in your ears replacing his words as you wonder what could have happened had a few more seconds passed before the boys' arrival.

Either way, it would have meant nothing, because you don't like Steve like that, and you never will. Right?

Steve is sitting, brows furrowed beside you, staring at your figure as you watch Mike Wheeler ramble on about something Nancy needs to come home for. You don't seem to be listening and he doesn't blame you because honestly, he doesn't know if he is either, but he wonders what you are thinking about.

He's certainly thinking about things he shouldn't be.

But soon Nancy stands, and Robin follows suit and they say something that the both of you ignore. And they leave, as you wave them goodbye, and they say they'll be in touch. All of a sudden you're sat next to Steve, alone with a chocolate chip muffin between you.

"That was a close one don't you think?" It's you who says it and your voice startles Steve. You see him jump, and then adjust himself to sit like the cool high school heartthrob he had once been.

"Real close, sorry." the apology is genuine, and Steve pauses, looking around the bakery. "You wanna get out of here?"

You manage a nod, shuffling from the booth awkwardly. "Let's go."

"Did you want me to drop you home?" Steve's leaning on the side of his car as he watches you, waiting. He looks so different somehow, changed from the teenager you would sit next to in the chemistry lab. He hadn't spoken to you much at all back then, and you would do all the hard work for the passing grades, but now he seems....lost.

You suppose fighting interdimensional monsters can do that to a person. That kind of thing changes a perspective for sure, and the look in his eyes can be thrown down to such a concept.

"Sure," you go to say more, but decide against it as Steve moves around the car to open the passenger side door for you. The kind of thing you had yet to experience for a long time. When he gets behind the wheel he's focused, staring out the windshield.

"So, I'll drop you home." it's awkward, unsure and it's hard to find a response.

"Well, I don't know what else we're supposed to do."

Steve clears his throat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "We could go to work—your work I mean, show off a little to the kid at the checkout. The one you have a crush on."

"He's literally the same age as us Steve. Stop calling him a kid." with your arms folded over your chest you watch Steve for a reaction, and he gives you one. His nose wrinkles up, turning to face you.

"He looks like a kid."

"He does not!" there's a laugh hidden behind your words, and Steve smiles, just a little. It's a nice thing to see.

"He has a babyface, he's got the smooth face of a baby."

"Like you're one to talk Harrington," you reach over, running a hand across his cheek. "You've got nothing on this face of yours."

Steve isn't nervous. He's not. The feeling of your skin on his, the warmth of your hand on his face has no effect on his heart rate. His heart beats this fast all the time. "I'll have you know that I've got a moustache coming in."

You pull back, buckling yourself into your seat. "That stubble on your upper lip doesn't count for shit Steve, don't give yourself a big head."

"Alright, well am I taking you home or what?" He wants to hide the grin on his lips, though he can't seem to put it away. It's stuck, the expression seemingly permanent. You're smiling too, and when you look over at him, his hands on the wheel and yours in your lap, it's all over.

"Let's go give babyface a run for his money."

-

It doesn't work out like it's supposed to, and as you walk into the store, out of uniform and entirely out of character, your confidence fades. "This was a bad idea." you mumble the words to Steve, who stands beside you, waiting to make a minor scene.

He looks down at you, peculiar frown pulling at his brows. "It's a great idea. Just making a little chaos, that's all." he doesn't sound like himself either, and in truth, his eyes are now scanning around the store, waiting for your target to show.

"Let's just go, Steve. It's dumb—this is dumb." before you can say anything more Steve's got his arm sliding softly around your waist, pulling you just that bit closer to his side. You don't flinch at the touch, the touch of a friend acting as though they're more. You should think more of it, feel more uncomfortable than you do, but you don't. You see your coworker approaching, apron over his regular uniform. You don't think you'd ever had a crush on him in the first place, despite what Steve had persisted, and even though the guy is cute, it doesn't seem to mean anything. Looking up at Steve is a struggle, and when you do you find his eyes still locked on the fated supermarket employee.

"Steve," muttering his name brings his eyes back to yours, and his gaze looks slightly different than it did before. "Let's get out of here."

"You sure?" the question hangs in the words, but something in him sounds relieved at the concept, as if all of a sudden this doesn't matter to him either. But he doesn't have a second to lead you away from the store before something else seems to enter the equation. Someone else.

"Hey, didn't expect to see you here." it's your coworker 'crush' standing before you with a strained grin. "It's your day off." He's says it in a way that suggests he's reminding you, in case you've forgotten. You don't miss the way his eyes flicker to Steve, and in particular, Steve's arm, still around your waist, his hand placed so convincingly as his fingers press affectionately into your side.

"Yeah, just came in to get some things." you smile back at the boy genuinely, as Steve buts into the conversation.

"Just some snacks...for date night." he's playing his part still, you realize, even if you weren't.

"Date night? You two are—I didn't see that coming." you think you must have imagined it, the deflated falter in your friends words. He didn't like you, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He was hardly a friend anyway, just the guy behind the checkout that you would wave and smile to during the work day. You couldn't possibly be hurting him with this, could you?

Steve squeezes you closer to his side, and it seems to be going a little too far. You're not sure if he does it just to get under the skin of the guy in front of you, or if he's trying to tell you something along the lines of "it's working."

You hope it's none of the above.

"Well, we should get going." diffusing the situation is all you can think to do, but now leaving isn't an option. If you don't exit the store with the so called 'snacks' you came in for, it might just mix things up further. You grab Steve by the hand, pulling him toward the candy aisle, sending your seemingly heartbroken coworker a sympathetic goodbye smile.

Once out of sight and snooping range, you give up the act. "Steve, this has to stop."

"What no, Nancy and Robin—they've just started connecting." Steve sounds disappointed, grasping for something to hold on to.

"There are other ways we can play matchmaker with them, but this...it's going too far. I can't do it." the way your eyes plead with Steve to end things, sends shivers across his spine. He feels the sting of your words as if it's all real, but of course it never was.

"So, we're breaking up?" he mumbles, trying not to let the words remind him of the familiar heartbreaks he's had before.

"Don't say it like that," there's a gentle laugh from your lips, soft, calmer than you were before. "That makes it sound like we were really a thing."

That cuts Steve deep. He can't help it, and his mind wanders to the feeling of your hand still holding his. He doesn't think you know that you're still doing it, so he squeezes your hand with his own, testing the waters. You let go.

You'd been Steve's fake girlfriend for over a month, and now suddenly, standing amongst bags of chocolate and sweets, you weren't anymore.

"So, just friends again?" You extend a hand as if to shake on the deal, and Steve accepts, though this time there is no affection in the way his hand holds yours.

"Friends." He confirms, and it really is over.

You don't let on to your friends directly that you'd split apart. Maybe due to the hopes that Robin and Nancy could make their own way a little faster whilst they were still under the impression of you and Steve in love. But you no longer hold hands in public, and you don't follow each other around like lost dogs.

It's weird, knowing that Steve isn't trailing behind you like he used to, and it's odd not having his car pull up in your driveway every day. You were so used to him surrounding you after the few months of being his partner in crime, that the distance from him has set up an ache in your heart.

Steve feels similarly, and the way the man goes about his days now are less interesting, and far less fun. Dustin caught on almost immediately, and despite the deal Steve made with you to never tell a soul in the group about your little agreement, he can't help but tell the young boy everything.

"So what you're saying is you never dated in the first place?" Dustin questions, Steve nodding.

"Yeah."

"But you think you might have fallen in love with her for real?"

Hearing Dustin say it out loud sends a pang of longing through Steve and he knows then that he most definitely has fallen head over heels for someone he was never supposed to love in the first place.

"Yeah. That sounds about right."

"Dude," Dustin has a grin on his lips and Steve can tell he's about to made fun of before it happens. "You are so lame. Honestly, can you just admit to yourself that you had a crush on her from the start? It was never fake to you, was it?" The kid is smart, and can see right through his older friend. He held no surprise when Steve told him the truth, because he found it quite obvious how Steve truly felt. It was why Steve's stories about how he fell in love with you felt so real to the group in the first place. Because they were the furthest thing from fake.

Steve doesn't respond, thinking it over. Dustin is right he realizes, and it's not surprising at all.

"You gotta tell her, man." Dustin speaks again, and Steve nods.

"Yeah. I know."

Two days later and Mike has invited everyone over, including the older kids, to spend the day together. It gives you Deja vu as you enter the house, having been to a similar hangout with Steve months before when you first introduced yourselves as a couple. Now you walk in alone, no sweaty hand to hold.

Steve's heart skips a beat when he sees you, and Dustin nudges him hard with his shoulder, as if Steve hasn't already been alerted of your presence. He thinks you look beautiful, but he always does. He realizes these things now. Now that he knows how he feels.

"Hey," Steve stands to greet you and you offer him a friendly smile back.

"Hey, Steve." It's still awkward between you, and has been ever since the fake breakup. Perhaps that's due to the fact you've both been avoiding each other like the plague since it happened.

"I need to talk to you about something later, is that okay?" He keeps his voice low, not wanting the others to hear about the private matters he wants to discuss. He can tell he's confusing you, but you agree thanks to his puppy dog eyes.

"Yeah, okay." Despite your agreeance, you plan to avoid Steve for the rest of the day, solely due to the fact you've begun to feel things that you shouldn't be. You were so used to being his friend, and seeing him as one, but now your thoughts have begun to linger on him more than they should, as do your eyes.

You can't help but admire the way he is with the kids, and the way his hands comb through his hair casually as if he doesn't know just how appealing it makes him. You focus a little too much on whether he's looking at you or not, and the sound of his laugh is too familiar now.

He was your friend, and whilst you'd promised he would stay that way, you weren't so sure you could keep it.

"Hey," Steve has caught you in the kitchen, going to get more soda for the party after a long day of avoidance. You'd hoped to spend a few minutes alone, and most of all, had hoped to keep evading him, but Steve had other plans.

You place the sodas on the counter, closing the fridge with caution. "It sure is hot today." You mumble in the hopes of keeping the conversation light. You know he's here to confront you about the distance you've been keeping from him. It can't be anything else.

"Yeah, it's summer." He feels bad about cornering you in the kitchen, but he knows this might be one of the only chances he has at asking you how you feel. Even with what Dustin had said, Steve doesn't know if he can bring himself to tell you what's been going on inside his head over the past couple of months, but he hopes you'll be willing to tell him what's been happening in yours.

"Are you okay?" even though you saw it coming, Steve's question still startles you.

You nod, though your voice involuntarily raises an octave. "Yeah, I'm fine. How are you?" You're not fine, and the lie is clear, but Steve is more than honest with you.

"I'm tired of us acting like we haven't fucked up our relationship." He leans against the counter in a kind of defeated gesture, weakening your resolve. "I don't want to keep fighting to be around you. I want you to feel comfortable around me again. Call me an idiot, a loser or something, like you used to."

"I can't." your whisper seems so loud in your own ears.

"I promise I'll call you pretentious and dramatic right back, just say it. Call me a name, make it how it used to be." there's a kind of desperation hidden within Steve's words, one you haven't heard before. One you doubt anyone has heard before. It stands in the silence, for your ears alone.

"You really want me to list all the shit I hate about you?" There's a shake to your voice, as if you're close to screaming or crying, but you're not sure which will come first.

"Well, I didn't say that—"

"I hate your stupid hair. Your teeth are too straight, and I don't like the way you talk to me, how your voice gets all soft and sweet. It's irritating when you smile because it makes me smile too, and you're laugh just—it just pisses me off." You stop for breath, sucking in the air as you focus on the boy in front of you. You've taken a few steps toward him with your words spoken, slow, and steady. "And I hate the fact you made me like you. I hate the way you're so unhateable to everyone around you, including me."

There's a small twitch of Steve's lips, and you can tell they want to pull upwards into the smile you just claimed to despise. He doesn't let them though, pushing himself back from the counter. "You wanna know what I hate about you?"

Your heart leaps into your throat but you don't show any sign of response, staring at him with as much blankness as you can muster.

"Absolutely everything, and nothing at all." He says it quietly. He doesn't need volume to get his point across. He's taken the steps needed to close the gap between you, and he's waiting for your approval. "In fact, I think I could love you, if you'll let me."

You let out a breath, somewhere between relief and excitement. "You're so lame, Harrington."

"You know you love it." he leans in closer, and you do the same, lips brushing against his.

"You know, I think I could love you too, if you'll let me of course." you allow yourself a grin at the sight of one on Steve's own lips, contagious as always.

"I think we could come to an arrangement." He's fucking with you, but you're too impatient to respond with anything but a kiss, gentle and sweet to his lips. You're not the first person to kiss Steve Harrington, but Steve thinks you might be the best.

"Come on, the others are waiting." You pick up the sodas left on the counter and push past Steve with the widest smile you've held in weeks, and Steve follows close behind.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @caplanreadss @hiya-itsamber @s00buwu

STRANGER THINGS TAGLIST: @buckys2thicc @browneyes528

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington drabbles #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x femreader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader insert #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington story #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington series #steve harrington season 4 #steve harrington headcannons

[scaryfaiiry]

nancy downs from the craft if she was from an animated 1980′s series ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

#nancy downs #the craft #horror #spooky #witches #witchcraft #horror blog #halloween #spooky aesthetic #goth #scaryfaiiry

[pathetic-gamer]

Pentiment's Complete Bibliography, with links to some hard-to-find items:

I've seen some people post screenshots of the game's bibliography, but I hadn't found a plain text version (which would be much easier to work from), so I put together a complete typed version - citation style irregularities included lol. I checked through the full list and found that only four of the forty sources can't be found easily through a search engine. One has no English translation and I'm not even close to fluent enough in German to be able to actually translate an academic article, so I can't help there. For the other three (a museum exhibit book, a master's thesis, and portions of a primary source that has not been entirely translated into English), I tracked down links to them, which are included with their entries on the list.

If you want to read one of the journal articles but can't access it due to paywalls, try out 12ft.io or the unpaywall browser extension (works on Firefox and most chromium browsers). If there's something you have interest in reading but can't track down, let me know, and I can try to help! I'm pretty good at finding things lmao

Okay, happy reading, love you bye

Beach, Alison I. Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century Bavaria. Cambridge Univeristy Press, 2004.

Berger, Jutta Maria. Die Geschichterder Gastfreundschaft im hochmittel alterlichen Monchtum: die Cistercienser. Akademie Verlag GmbH, 1999. [No translation found.]

Blickle, Peter. The Revolution of 1525. Translated by Thomas A. Brady, Jr. and H.C. Erik Midelfort. The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985.

Brady, Thomas A., Jr. “Imperial Destinies: A New Biography of the Emperor Maximilian I.” The Journal of Modern History, vol 62, no. 2., 1990. pp.298-314.

Brandl, Rainer. “Art or Craft: Art and the Artist in Medieval Nuremberg.” Gothic and Renaissance Art in Nuremberg 1300-1550. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1986. [LINK]

Byars, Jana L., “Prostitutes and Prostitution in Late Medieval Bercelona.” Masters Theses. Western Michigan University, 1997. [LINK]

Cashion, Debra Taylor. “The Art of Nikolaus Glockendon: Imitation and Originality in the Art of Renaissance Germany.” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art, vol 2, no. 1-2, 2010.

de Hamel, Christopher. A History of Illuminated Manuscripts. Phaidon Press Limited, 1986.

Eco, Umberto. The Name of the Rose. Translated by William Weaver. Mariner Books, 2014.

Eco, Umberto. Baudolino. Translated by William Weaver. Mariner Books, 2003.

Fournier, Jacques. “The Inquisition Records of Jacques Fournier.” Translated by Nancy P. Stork. Jan Jose Univeristy, 2020. [LINK]

Geary, Patrick. “Humiliation of Saints.” In Saints and their cults: studies in religious sociology, folklore, and history. Edited by Stephen Wilson. Cambridge University Press, 1985. pp. 123-140

Harrington, Joel F. The Faithrul Executioner: Life and Death, Honor and Shame in the Turbulent Sixteenth Century. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2013.

Hertzka, Gottfired and Wighard Strehlow. Grosse Hildegard-Apotheke. Christiana-Verlag, 2017.

Hildegard von Bingen. Physica. Edited by Reiner Hildebrandt and Thomas Gloning. De Gruyter, 2010.

Julian of Norwich. Revelations of Divine Love. Translated by Barry Windeatt. Oxford Univeristy Press, 2015.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others. Routledge, 2017.

Kerr, Julie. Monastic Hospitality: The Benedictines in England, c.1070-c.1250. Boudell Press, 2007.

Kieckhefer, Richard. Forbidden rites: a necromancer’s manual of the fifteenth century. Sutton, 1997.

Kuemin, Beat and B. Ann Tlusty, The World of the Tavern: Public Houses in Early Modern Europe. Routledge, 2017.

Ilner, Thomas, et al. The Economy of Duerrnberg-Bei-Hallein: An Iron Age Salt-mining Center in the Austrian Alps. The Antiquaries Journal, vol 83, 2003. pp. 123-194

Lang, Benedek. Unlocked Books: Manuscripts of Learned Magic in the Medieval Libraries of Central Europe. The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008

Lindeman, Mary. Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge University Press, 2019.

Lowe, Kate. “’Representing’ Africa: Ambassadors and Princes from Christian Africa to Renaissance Italy and Portugal, 1402-1608.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Sixth Series, vol 17, 2007. pp. 101-128

Meyers, David. “Ritual, Confession, and Religion in Sixteenth-Century Germany.” Archiv fuer Reformationsgenshichte, vol. 89, 1998. pp. 125-143.

Murat, Zuleika. “Wall paintings through the ages: the medieval period (Italy, twelfth to fifteenth century).” Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences, vol 23, no. 191. Springer, October 2021. pp. 1-27.

Overty, Joanne Filippone. “The Cost of Doing Scribal Business: Prices of Manuscript Books in England, 1300-1483.” Book History 11, 2008. pp. 1-32.

Page, Sophie. Magic in the Cloister: Pious Motives, Illicit Interests, and Occullt Approaches to the Medieval Universe. The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2013.

Park, Katharine. “The Criminal and the Saintly Body: Autopsy and Dissectionin Renaissance Italy.” Renaissance Quarterly, vol 47, no. 1, Spring 1994. pp. 1-33.

Rebel, Hermann. Peasant Classes: The Bureaucratization of Property and Family Relations under Early Habsburg Absolutism, 1511-1636. Princeton University Press, 1983.

Rublack, Ulinka. “Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Female Body in Early Modern Germany.” Past & Present,vol. 150, no. 1, February 1996.

Salvador, Matteo. “The Ethiopian Age of Exploration: Prester John’s Discovery of Europe, 1306-1458.” Journal of World History, vol. 21, no. 4, 2011. pp.593-627.

Sangster, Alan. “The Earliest Known Treatise on Double Entry Bookkeeping by Marino de Raphaeli.” The Accounting Historians Journal, vol. 42, no. 2, 2015. pp. 1-33.

Throop, Priscilla. Hildegarde von Bingen’s Physica: The Complete English Translation of Her Classic Work on Health and Healing. Healing Arts Press, 1998.

Usher, Abbott Payson. “The Origins of Banking: The Brimitive Bank of Deposit, 1200-1600.” The Economic History Review, vol. 4, no. 4. 1934. pp.399-428.

Waldman, Louis A. “Commissioning Art in Florence for Matthias Corvinus: The Painter and Agent Alexander Formoser and his Sons, Jacopo and Raffaello del Tedesco.” Italy and Hungary: Humanism and Art in the Early Renaissance. Edited by Peter Farbaky and Louis A. Waldman, Villa I Tatti, 2011. pp.427-501.

Wendt, Ulrich. Kultur and Jagd: ein Birschgang durch die Geschichte. G. Reimer, 1907.

Whelan, Mark. “Taxes, Wagenburgs and a Nightingale: The Imperial Abbey of Ellwangen and the Hussite Wars, 1427-1435.” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History, vol. 72, no. 4, 2021, pp.751-777.

Wiesner-Hanks, Merry E. Women and Gender in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge University Press, 2008.

Yardeni, Ada. The Book of Hebrew Script: History, Palaeography, Script Styles, Calligraphy & Design. Tyndale House Publishers, 2010.

#pentiment #early modern history

[faiiryteethh]

༺ 𝖌𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 ༻

Wednesday Addams - Addams Family Values (1993)

Kim Diamond - Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 (2000)

Nancy Downs - The Craft (1996)

Elvira - Elvira: Mistress of the Dark (1988)

Lydia Deetz - Beetlejuice (1988)

Eric Draven - The Crow (1994)

Vampira (Vampire Girl) - Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959)

Morticia Addams - The Addams Family (1991)

Edward - Edward Scissorhands (1990)

Angela Franklin - Night of the Demons (1988)

#goth characters #goth #gothic #goth aesthetic #gothic aesthetic #my edits #horror #༺♡༻ #horror gifs #wednesday addams #kim diamond #nancy downs #elvira #lydia deetz #eric draven #vampira #morticia addams #edward scissorhands #angela franklin #the addams family #the craft #the crow #beetlejuice #elvira mistress of the dark #blair witch 2 #book of shadows: blair witch 2 #night of the demons #tim burton #tim burton movies #spooky

[everythingunderthesky]

Which Witch? 

This moment in "Donnie vs. Witch Town" has repeatedly caught my notice, and I’ve now recovered enough to break it down! 

First off, here’s the list verbatim:

Visitors  Suzy Bannion Heather Donahue Nancy Downs Minnie Castevet Katia Vajda Miss Anjelica Ernst Samantha Stephens April O’Neil

Unfamiliar names plus cursive plus a lack of high-quality stills meant decoding this took a little longer than expected.

I have attempted to minimize spoilers for the mentioned horror movies when possible, but in pursuing two contradictory goals, I have accomplished both imperfectly. C'est la vie!

Please note: I am by no means a film buff, so feel free to add any relevant context! 

Oh, the Horror . . . [films]!

"Suzy Bannion" would be a reference to the 1977 film Suspiria in which Suzy, a ballet student, finds herself investigating a supernatural coven of witches.

"Heather Donahue" is a homage to the 1999 "found footage" movie The Blair Witch Project*, wherein three student filmmakers investigate a legend of a witch in the woods.

"Nancy Downs", from the 1996 R-rated film The Craft, is one of a trio of students rumored to be dabbling in witchcraft.

"Minnie Castevet", on the other hand, hails from the dark 1968 film Rosemary’s Baby (based on the book by Ira Levin), wherein Minnie’s character is suspected of being a member of a coven. 

"Katia Vajda", originates from the 1960 film Black Sunday, (loosely based on Nikolai Gogol’s short story "Viy"). Katia was accused of being a vampiric witch and executed by her brother—but that isn’t the end of her story.

"Miss Anjelica Ernst" simultaneously references Roald Dahl’s 1973 novel The Witches and its 1990 film adaptation of the same name. One member of the notorious child-hating coven is the Grand High Witch, Eva Ernst, who was portrayed by Anjelica Huston on the big screen.

"Samantha Stephens" lives the life of a "good witch" in the 1964 television series Bewitched.

Special Bonus!

"Abigail the Good", founder of Witch Town, may be an allusion to the character "Abigail Pershing" from the 2015 television show Good Witch. 

I’ll go ahead and credit my dad as my research assistant; he described these references as "deep cuts".

And really, what higher praise is there? 

*For more about Heather Donahue, the producer and writer of the sitcom The High Country, check out this article by GQ's Scott Meslow, The Blair Witch Project's Heather Donahue Is Alive and Well!

#Donnie vs. Witch Town #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt April #April O'Neil #rottmnt meta #rottmnt #rottmnt analysis #unpause rottmnt #TMNT #rottmnt witch town #witches in media #TMNT 2018 #Major kudos to the team members responsible! #This rabbit hole went WAY DEEPER than I anticipated #And now I have all these fun articles to read! Yay! #save rise of the tmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

[bingbongsupremacy]

Camp Hawkins AU

Pairing: Steve Harrington x plus sized reader

Warnings: Use of Y/N. This is my first time writing a plus size reader oneshot. As a plus sized person myself, I wanted to try it. I'm a little nervous tho. I know some people don't like it when ppl write insecure plus sized reader stories. I just feel like when I write, I put my emotions and my insecurities into the character as a way to work through them. I'm working on my confidence and some time I will write x confident!plus size reader oneshots, just not right now. Anyways, I hope you can understand that, and if you don't maybe try another story. Thank you.

P.S. I don't know how tf to flirt.

The story doesn't mention a lot about being plus sized but it is there.

Summary: It's your third year being a camp counselor at Camp Hawkins and your 7th year knowing Steve. Every year your crush seems to grow stronger and stronger.

*Not Proof Read*

ABC List Stranger Things Masterlist

*****

" Bunk 23. " Eddie, one of the head counselors grins while handing me a set of keys.

I groan. " The bunk with the bats? Eds, are you serious. "

Last year a bat nest was found in the corner of one of the old wooden beds. Nobody had checked the cabin before letting campers and counselors inside, resulting in a nasty surprise halfway through the first week.

Eddie shrugs. " Sorry, kid. I don't assign the bunks, I just tell people where to go. " Eddie's eyes shift over my shoulder. " Steve! There ya are, my boy. Long time no see. What's going on? "

I feel my annoyance begin to melt away as the sound of boots makes its way towards us. It's quickly replaced with a flutter type feeling in my stomach, a feeling that's been stuck with me for the past seven years.

I turn to look at the cause of my emotions.

Steve grins at the man behind me. A large leather duffle bag hangs off of his left shoulder. In his right hand, a small rolling suitcase, the same grayish color as his coat, squeaks along. The same two bags he's used since I met him. Steve pulls off his glasses, sending a dazzling smile towards Eddie and I. " Same old, same old, Ed. Hi, Y/N. "

His grin sends waves of happiness flooding through my body. I love the way he says my name.

I do my best to keep my composure. I return the smile, adding in a small wave as well. " Hey, Steve. "

" So what's this I hear about you and Nancy? A little birdy tells me you're back together again. " Eddie asks, leaning against the desk in front of him.

Nancy and Steve. The always on and off high school sweethearts.

I have no shot with Steve. I mean, he's obviously still head over heels for her if he keeps going back to her. I guess deep down I hope he'll finally see me as someone other than his chubby fellow camp counselor.

Picking up my heavy bags, I excuse myself from the conversation. " Hey, I'll catch you guys later. I'm gonna go check out the cabin, make sure no bats are hanging around. "

" Do you need help with your bags? They look a little heavy. " Steve offers, moving to set his stuff down on the ground.

He's so sweet. He always have been. No wonder I have a huge crush on him.

" No, " I shake my head. " I've got it. It's not to far. " I smile.

" But Bunk 23's on the other side of the-" Eddie begins.

I interrupt him. " I'm probably going to stop at the dining hall and see if Robin's there yet anyways. I'll be okay. " I reassure them.

" Oh, okay. " Steve nods, glancing down at the heaviest duffle bag I have.

I'm definitely regretting packing extra crafts. I just didn't want any of the kids to get bored during free time.

" Cya guys. " I shuffle towards the door. The floor creaks beneath me as I walk out onto the main cabins' porch.

Maybe some day I'll mean more to Steve Harrington.

_____

" He literally offered to help you. Why didn't you take him up on that? " Robin groans in frustration. Strands of hair that slipped out of her hat frame her flour splotched face. Bits of dough and other mysterious stains cover the front of her apron, making it look like a doughy murder scene.

She leans on the serving window counter, her arms cradling her head.

" He was just being nice. I mean, if I saw you carrying heavy bags of flour, I'd offer to help you. It's something everyone does- be nice to the people you know. It doesn't mean they like you. " I argue. I fidget with the lid of my water bottle.

" That's different. "

I narrow my eyes at the woman. " How is that different? "

Robin lets out an annoyed grunt. " You and me, " She points to the two of us. " have no chemistry. You and Steve on the other hand..." She waggles her eyebrows, sending a warm feeling climbing up my face.

I roll my eyes.

" Have a fuck ton of chemistry. Like sometimes I feel like it's choking me. " She makes a pretend choking sound. " Please! Y/N! Steve! Just make out already. Please, for the love of god! Save me! Save humanity from the horrors of watching you two interact while denying your feelings! "

I gently hit her forearm. " Shut up. That's not true, literally shut the fuck up. " I mutter.

Robin laughs. " It's so true. Ask literally anyone that hangs around you guys. Why do you think Nancy and Steve keep breaking up? "

That can't be true. Relationships have issues. There's no way in hell Steve and Nancy keep breaking up because he likes me. That's...insane.

" Your a catch, y/n. You need to start realizing that. People-they have crushes on you too. "

I turn my head to meet Robins gaze.

" You're not the only person in the world who doesn't have someone attracted to them. I mean, if fucking Mike Wheeler can have a girl crushing on him, so can you. "

It's just hard for me to believe someone like Steve, Ex Captain of the Hawkins basketball team, could like someone like me. I'm pretty sure he's only ever seen me as a friend. All these years, transitioning from campers to counselors, he's never made a move on me. In all fairness, I haven't exactly made a move on him either...in my defense, Steve and Nancy are on and off so much, a flickering light bulb has more predictability.

This is all so confusing.

-----

" Welcome campers! " A loud voice booms from on the old cement stage.

Slowly chatter from the excited campers begin to die down.

Jim Hopper, a retired sheriff and the new owner of Camp Hawkins, begins to speak again. " We're so excited to have you here. Each of you have been assigned a bunk and a counselor... " Jim's voice begins to fade from my mind. The same words have been repeated year after year, not that I mind. It's a familiar introductory speech, something I know will never change.

I look behind the older man. The gorgeous quarry shines from the sunlight. Post card worthy.

" You're bunk 23, right? " Steve's voice asks from next to me.

I was so lost in thought I hadn't noticed he took a seat next to me.

I send him a smile. " Yeah, The bat bunk. " I mumble.

Steve grins. " I'm bunk 24. "

" Oh nice, I guess we'll be seeing each other a lot then. Well, " Stupid, the kids do basically everything together. You're going to see him a ton anyways. " More than usual I guess. "

Steve chuckles slightly. A sound that sends waves tumbling through my insides. " I don't mind. You're good company. "

I feel a familiar warmth sprawl across my face. " You're not so bad yourself, Harrington. "

A look of amusement finds its' way onto Steve's face. " Hey, I know you're not a huge fan of bats...or other flying creatures, " He references my first year here as a camper.

I let out a groan at the embarrassing memory. " That was so long ago. The bird literally came out of nowhere. " I vividly remember that morning. It was still dark when Steve and our friends got the bright idea to go check out the quarry. A bird flew out of one of the nearby bushes, nearly smacking into my face.

Steve laughs, his milky brown eyes glinting from the sunlight. " Hey, birds can be terrifying. I'm not judging you. " He holds up his hands in a playful surrender. " I was just saying, if you want, I can come over to your bunk and check it out. Make sure no flying surprises are hidden anywhere. " He offers, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

My heart flutters. God, he's so sweet. " I don't want to inconvenience you, I mean, it's probably fine. I doubt the bats returned. "

" Really, I don't mind. It's not an inconvenience, if anything, I'm doing this for my bunk. I mean, I don't really feel like waking up to a bunch of people screaming at 3 in the morning. "

My eyebrow raises. " Oh? So you're doing this for you then...for your interests. "

Steve tilts his head slightly. " I guess you could say that. "

The campers around us begin to gather up their bags, making their way towards Eddie and Jonathan who have lists of where everyone's supposed to go.

Steve stands up, extending a hand towards me. " So what do you say, Y/N. Do you want Pest Control Steve to come take a look at your bunk? "

I cringe at his stupid name, causing him to laugh.

" Only if you never call yourself that again. " I accept his hand, standing up from the cement row.

Steve's hand firmly holds onto mine for a few seconds longer after we've stood up.

From over his shoulder Robin catches my eye. Her eyes flicker between our hands and back to my eyes. She mouths a silent ' He fucking likes you ', which I ignore.

I release Steve's hand, shoving mine into my pocket.

For a moment, a flicker of confusion? Maybe disappointment flashes across Steve's features. He obviously ignores it, moving to fold his arms across his chest. " Deal. "

I smile at the man. " Deal. "

I look at him for a second longer before I'm quickly swept away by the campers in my bunk.

My mind analyzes our conversation over and over again, completely ignoring whatever Eleven is telling me while we walk back to our bunk.

He couldn't like me. Right?

_______

" I think you guys are clear. " Steve says, poking his head back out from under the last bunk. He glances up at the top of the bunk, making sure there's nothing hidden in the corners.

" Thank you so much, Pest Control Steve, what would I ever do without you? " I cringe slightly at my words, shaking my head. " You know what, never mind. I thought it would be funny but no. "

Steve laughs at my attempt at mockery. " You'd live in uncertainty. " He makes his way towards me, leaning against the open door frame.

Outside the kids are running around playing capture the flag, their yells echoing slightly around the bunk.

" Sure...I'd probably just get Eddie or Jim to look around. You know how much they love me. "

Steve slightly leans towards me. " They wouldn't check as well as I do. I do have a five star rating in customer service. " His voice is soft but teasing.

My eyes flicker down to his lips.

He's so close. Just a few inches away. If I wanted to, I could kiss him.

I do want to...

But I can't.

What if him and Nancy are still dating?

Fuck, I should've stuck around and waited to hear what he had to say about their relationship.

" Y/n! El got another bloody nose! " Dustin's voice suddenly shouts.

My head snaps towards the direction of the boy. His face goes from worried to grinning in a matter of seconds.

" Wait, " He looks between Steve and I.

Without waiting for him to finish, I snatch a roll of paper towels from the desk near the door. I hurry out of the bunk, leaving the two guys behind.

" Oh my god, Dustin... " Steve's voice groans.

" Were you guys about to..." Dustins' voice fades away as I make my ways towards a group of kids. I push past them, kneeling in front of El.

Perfect timing.

-----

The dining hall is bursting with noise. Kids sit together, eagerly talking about their first day back at camp.

I grab a plate and nervously head into the kitchen.

Food. My least favorite part of the day. I don't know if it's just the fear or people watching me eat or the possibility of someone making fun of me for eating too much. I should be used to it by now, I've eating around people for my entire life, but I'm not.

Every meal time still brings unnecessary anxiety.

Robin leans against one of the walls, a iced drink in her left hand. As she raises the glass to take a sip, droplets of condensation run down her arm. " About time you showed up. I basically had to threaten Eddie with a knife for him to back away from your portion of chicken tenders. He does not go down without a fight, I'll tell you that. " She chuckles.

" Thanks. " I begin putting some food onto my plate.

There's a moment of silence. " So. " Robin looks at me expectantly.

" So? " I ask, confused. I lean against the counter across from her. The counter hidden from the view of the dining hall.

Robin rolls her eyes. " Aren't you going to tell me about it? "

" What are you talking about, Robin? "

Robin lets out a sigh of annoyance. " Oh my god, Y/N. The kiss! "

Still lost, I set my food down. " What kiss? "

Finally, Robin blurts it out. " Dustin told me he saw you and Steve making out in your bunk. "

My eyes widen. " What? No. Robin, we weren't making out, that little..." I shake my head. " Steve and I were talking. Just talking. "

Robin raises an eyebrow. " Are you sure, Y/N, I'm your best friend. You can literally tell me anything-you literally have told me basically everything. "

" Robin, I swear. If anything were to happen, you'd be the first to know. Steve and I didn't do anything. "

" Doesn't mean something won't happen in the future though. " Robin smirks.

I roll my eyes. " He has a girlfriend, Robin. I'm not making a move on a taken guy. "

" They'll probably be on break by the end of the month. "

I pick up my plate again. " I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't get myself wrapped up into that. I mean, they'll probably eventually get back together. I don't want to be a rebound or something. "

Robin hops onto the counter, taking a seat in the empty space. " Steve's not like that. "

Yeah, he doesn't seem like the type of guy to do that. But, hey, maybe I don't know him as well as I think I do.

" So Dustin's going around telling everyone? " I say in discomfort. Even if we had kissed, I don't want everyone to know.

Robin shakes her head. Her hair is finally free from her hat. " Fuck no. I was the first person he saw and the first person he told. I told him I'd feed him to everyone for dinner if he says anything to anyone. " She lets out a small laugh. " Scared him shitless. "

I shake my head. " Of course you did, Rob. "

_____

The moon reflects off the quarry beautifully. Finally, there's bit of quiet. All of the campers are huddled together in the dining hall, playing random board games.

Their voices and music fade away as I walk closer to the water. I love being a counselor, but it definitely gets overwhelming at time. I look forward to going down to the Quarry every night, just for a little bit to clear my head.

As I get closer to the waters' edge, hear a twig snap. I snap towards my right side, the direction the sound came from.

A familiar jacket catches my eye.

Hanging over a nearby log, the sleeve of Steve's jacket shines in in the moonlight.

" Fuck, I'm sorry. " I blurt out as soon as I see the pair. On top of the jacket sits Steve. On his lap is Nancy, her arms wrapped around Steve's white t-shirt clad shirt. Nancy's legs are wrapped around his hips, pulling him into her embrace.

The pair pull apart, obviously surprised by my intrusion.

Nancy looks slightly embarrassed. " Oh I'm sorry. We didn't think anyone would be out here this late. " She apologizes, quickly getting off of her boyfriend.

I don't bother to look at Steve, knowing anything I see will send a pang of even more embarrassment and jealousy through my heart.

Don't be jealous.

Don't be jealous.

He doesn't like you. He never will. He's with fucking Nancy. It'd be wrong if he liked you.

Plus, Nancy is so sweet. How could I hurt her by dating Steve?

I turn around quickly, hurrying back down the path towards the dining hall.

Steve will never like someone like me.

#fanfiction #fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x plus size reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #stranger things x y/n #stranger things #st4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x yn #plus size reader #x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader #fat reader #x fat reader #x steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #eleven stranger things #mike wheeler #dustin henderson

[marsberryart]

Sirius Black in her Nancy Downs (from The Craft) era

Because Nancy is one of my favorite Sirius variants…. Like cmon

#marauders #marauders era #fanart #marauders fanart #sirius black #sirius black fanart

[spicycinnabun]

pt. 1 2 3 4 5 6 💐

When Steve got home, Robin had soup waiting for him. He was beyond grateful for a nice warm meal at the end of the day. He had been short with her during their shift—Steve could be a real grump when he was sick—so he apologized for being a dingus.

While they ate, Steve put on their favorite show: Head of the Class. Robin told him he'd make a good teacher every time they watched it. Maybe he would've considered becoming one if he had gotten into college.

The next day was Sunday, and the store was closed. Finally, a much-needed day off. Steve’s plan was to stay in and help Robin pack up her entire life—again. He’d helped her move into his apartment after she’d graduated in the spring.

They both knew living together was temporary, but that hadn’t stopped Steve from getting used to how things were and not wanting them to change.

Robin had spent most of the time they were living and working together trying to convince him to come with her. Instead of living in the dorms, she suggested they get an apartment in the city together. That way, they’d still be there to support each other and could afford it by continuing to split the rent.

If only Steve wasn’t running his mother’s dream business. He couldn’t bring himself to commit to Robin’s plan. He wanted to, but mostly because it would feel even more like hell in Hawkins without her. Besides her, all Steve had left were the kids, and they would eventually go off to college, too.

When it was official that he wasn’t going to go, Steve put up a flier to find another roommate.

He’d been relying on Robin too much. With her and Nancy gone that fall, maybe he could get a life of his own. As much as he’d miss them, he was in too deep to abandon the shop and his mom.

He’d come to love his job. He never thought he’d love anything about working, but he’d found something he was good at—something that most days didn't even feel like work. He was helping people and bringing joy to others. He liked taking care of flowers, too; seeing them grow and bloom and then go off to finish their purpose.

Back in Robin’s room, she was going through her bookshelf, contemplating every single book she had and throwing most of them in a box that would go with her. Steve didn’t know how he was going to lift it to his car on moving day.

“Robs, I’m pretty sure you won’t need any of your books. You’re going to a big school full of nerdy, smart people just like you. Of course the place is gonna have a library. Although… I’m not sure that they’re going to have this book.” Steve looked at it, brows raising suspiciously. There was a muscular man standing proudly on the cover. Kinda feminine, with long flowing hair. He was embracing a woman with a very ample bosom.

Robin snatched the book from him, face flushing, and dropped it in the box. Steve didn’t get an explanation, but they continued to chit-chat.

Random objects kept triggering Robin’s memory, sparking tales that Steve listened to intently. He laughed when she read out loud from her diary the passage about her massive crush on Tammy Thompson.

Steve sang like a muppet, interrupting her just to get her to laugh with him while he arranged her clothes so neatly it was like they were the most complicated flower arrangement he’d ever crafted. Getting every piece of clothing into her suitcase almost felt like Tetris. It was satisfying when he got it closed. Luckily, Robin wasn’t a stereotypical girl with a lot of clothing anyway.

When she went to pack up the bathroom, Steve was so focused that he nearly missed the phone ringing. There was one in his bedroom that was closer than the one in the kitchen, so he got up and ran into his room to catch the call.

Still being sick, Steve was breathless by the time he was able to grab the phone. He sat down on his bed and took a deep breath before he answered. He wasn’t sure who it could be, but his eyes widened as he listened to the person on the other end. The name made him pause: Eddie. Oh.

That was familiar, wasn’t it?

He was about to speak when a sneeze snuck up on him. He pulled out the hanky he’d been favoring ever since it had been given to him. He blocked the receiver, cursed softly, and blotted his nose as it hit him: it was the hanky giver himself on the other end.

“Hey, Eddie! Yes, this is Steve from Harrington Floral,” he replied, smiling a bit. He was chomping at the bit to find out if Eddie’s uncle had gotten engaged. “Did your uncle pop the question last night?”

Forget that Eddie was calling him to find out about his roommate vacancy—he had to know if there was any good news. Steve laughed excitedly when Eddie confirmed that it did indeed happen and that his uncle had visited the flower shop that morning.

“Oh! Your uncle is Wayne? He is the sweetest guy! I didn’t know he was going to propose. He damn near cleared us out of roses! At least now I know it was for a very good reason!”

If Eddie had a nickel for every time he’d heard someone call his uncle sweet, he would’ve been broke. Most people judged Wayne by his surly exterior, just like they judged Eddie by his style and taste in music.

It made Eddie like Steve more, and he could feel a genuine smile stretch across his face. “His fiancée loved them, man. I can pretty much guarantee they’ll choose you to flowerise their wedding. And he’ll be back to buy another bouquet from you as soon as those roses wilt.”

He’d seen the determination in his uncle’s eyes. Wayne wasn’t the type to back down from his words. Kathleen was going to be getting bouquets for the rest of her life. They wouldn’t all be as extravagant as the first one, sure, but she would be spoiled as much as Wayne was able.

“I really appreciate the business,” Steve said, “and because you came on the same day, it just shows that you’re both equally sweet and thoughtful. Happy to hear that he’ll be a repeat customer. Maybe you will be, too?”

Eddie ducked his head. If he had a nickel for every time someone had called him sweet, he would be double broke. It was likely just a salesman’s tactic, but the flattery was pleasurable regardless.

He wondered if Steve would be put off by him if he knew Eddie hadn’t given the flowers to anyone and had kept them for himself like a loser.

“I’ll be back,” he confirmed. And not just because he had a quickly escalating crush on the man in charge. Those Black-eyed Susans on his mother’s grave still looked as fresh as the day he’d bought them. Eddie coiled the phone cord around his finger. “So, turns out I really didn’t need that free bouquet.”

“Guess you didn’t.” Steve was giddy about the news. He loved that the shop's flowers were a big part of the proposal. “Even better that you didn’t pay for them.”

Steve wondered if Eddie had given them to the bride. Given how impressive the ones his uncle bought were, probably not. Maybe Eddie had someone else to give them to.

Steve had nearly forgotten why Eddie had called until Robin appeared in his doorway. He gave her a glum look at the reminder. “You called about the room, though, right?”

Despite having the flier up for almost two weeks, Steve hadn’t had a prospect for a roommate until then. It was kind of a relief to get an inquiry from someone he’d at least seen in person.

“Yeah. I live with Wayne right now, so I’m going to be cramping his style pretty soon if I don’t skedaddle, what with his new bride and all.” Eddie laughed quietly, tapping his fingers on the table.

Steve made a noise of understanding. “My roommate is moving out next weekend. She’s going off to college... You’re the first person who’s called me about it, so if you’re free today, you can come see the place?”

Eddie’s fingers tapped harder. The prospect of being in constant close quarters with a guy he was into was somewhat dangerous. It would either be fun or complete torture.

Or both. Probably both. Eddie had to go for it.

“I can come see it today. What time and where?”

He remembered what area the apartment was located in from the ad, but he couldn’t remember the street name.

Eddie stood up, spinning in a circle to try and find a pen and paper. Of course, there was nothing close by, and he ended up getting tangled in the phone cord instead and had to spin in the opposite direction to unwind himself. Idiot. “Hang on, just let me grab something to write down the address.”

“No problem.” Steve waited patiently, chuckling a little when he heard noises on the other end of the line. Sounded kinda chaotic.

It took way too long, but Eddie eventually found a ballpoint pen in one of Wayne’s jackets. He rushed to grab the phone again. “Sorry, sorry, I’m ready now.” He uncapped the pen with his teeth, using his arm as a notepad to scribble the address down. “Alright, got it. I’ll see you soon.”

🌷🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

#fic #wybmb #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie au #florist au #florist!steve harrington #and then they were roommates #🚪 #❤️

[eddiesghxst]

ALL I WANTED

part one | part two | part three

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader

summary: your band, Daughters of Vampira, and Corroded Coffin hate each other and are struggling to keep a clean image in the media; so, in an attempt to solve the issue, your managers try to come up with a solution.

contains: enemies to lovers trope, alcohol consumption, smoking, cheating (reader is cheated on by her fiancé), themes of misogyny/sexism, and eddie being a dick <3

word count: 12.9k

| Daughters of Vampira setlist | Corroded Coffin setlist |

-story masterlist- | -main masterlist-

You were a musician. A rockstar. On your way to being one of the greats. Your band, Daughters of Vampira, was a small, feminist rock band out of Hawkins, Indiana. You created this band with your friends, Robin, Nancy, and Max, an outlet the four of you used to sing and write your little hearts out. You hit it big when you all moved to Los Angeles, playing at some lame bar when a producer walked up to you after the show, saying she wanted to see more, handing you a business card. 

Then boom. 

Everything was up from there. You got signed onto a record deal– played shows, signed autographs, walked carpets, and did interviews. Your wallet was a bottomless pit. En route to being wed, you got engaged to your production assistant turned bassist, and all was well— until about five minutes ago.

You came home from a day at the studio with your band, crafting a new song, playing with guitar riffs, and imagining lyrics. This track was going to be big; a song about your love for your fiance, a tale of how magnetic and beautiful every second was and will be.

You unlocked the door to your shared apartment, kicking off your sneakers, when you noticed a pair of red heels, which is weird because you hate heels. Maybe they were your friend Angie’s shoes; she knows where you hide your spare key and sometimes sneaks in when you’re not home. Furrowing a brow, you cautiously set your bag and keys down, looking around you for any more clues— her bag or her keys, anything. Your socked feet softly pad across your cold, wooden floors as you walk into the apartment's threshold, glancing into the kitchen. Nothing. You turned to the living room, unknowingly holding your breath—still nothing. Suspicion itches in your mind as you take in the space around you. You turn the corner to your bedroom and see the door left ajar. 

You almost think nothing of it; you wouldn’t be mad at Angie taking a nap in your room; she’s your childhood best friend, but then you hear it— the two voices. The first voice is your fiance, Scott, and the second is an unknown woman.

They’re laughing. They’re whispering about something you can’t hear either because they’re either speaking too quietly or your sudden rage is filling out the space in your ears; you’re not sure which it is. You quickly glance back towards the door, eyeing the heels for the second time— your heart drops.

It was Angie. Those were her heels; you helped her pick them out, for fucks sake. You storm up to the door and swing it open without a second thought, and your eyes widen at the sight before you. You had so badly wished your mind was playing some sick trick on you, and you were just hearing things. You were wrong.

Your fiance and childhood best friend, Angie, are sprawled out in your white-sheeted bed, heads laid on your pillows tousled, under your roof— and both incredibly naked. 

Despite the anger, your eyes quickly fill with tears, salty pools of resentment and betrayal threatening to spill over. Scott sees you in the doorway and scrambles out of bed, hastily grabbing a pair of boxers to pull over his bare hips. You can hear him sputtering out excuses, apologies, and reasons through the fog— so many words that sound like nothing but white noise to you. 

He stumbles his way over to you, hands reaching out to grasp you and raising in surrender when you yank away from him. You can hardly think; a cloudy moment where you feel as if the floor has been wiped from below you and you’re free-falling in some shitty excuse of a dream. 

“Sweetheart, please just listen–” He didn’t get to finish his sentence; the palm of your hand cracked down against his cheek to stop whatever bullshit excuse was coming. Angie shrieked, jumping out of bed, still with no clothes on, as she hurried to his side, an obvious two-against-one— that’s clarified when she shoots you a pointed look, fire building up in her eyes— and you can’t believe the audacity. 

Scott looks back at you, cheek red with the sting of your rage as he points a finger at you, “Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” he scolds as if you were a child, warning you to leave the cookie jar alone. You scoff, your mouth falling agape as you laugh humorlessly. “Me? Touch her?” You point to the naked girl. Your neck heats in fury as you shake your head, “That is rich, Scott.” 

You step back, eyeing both of them and ignoring the lump in your throat as you speak, “So, how long has this been going on?” They stare at you like they’re fucking clueless, and it ticks you off to no end, “In my own fucking bed? With my best friend?” Your tears are hot as they begin streaming down your cheeks, and the harsh swipe of your wrist to wipe them away stings, but you refuse to let them see you cry. Your mind is cluttered with questions, but they come out like bullets, firing round after round. 

Angie takes to answering you, saying your name to halt your questions, “We– we’re in love, and… and he doesn’t..” She looks to Scott for guidance, her eyes pleading for him to help her. Your fingers shake in anger.

“I want to call the wedding off,” Scott says, looking you in the eyes while he and your best friend link fingers. They look fucking stupid, standing there naked and feigning unity– you almost want to laugh. You scoff again, folding your arms over your chest like that would hide your pain from them, despite the evident ghost of tears still clinging to your skin. 

You glance around the room, around at the life you had planned for yourself, for him. Pictures of your engagement day, the closet you two shared, the fucking bed you shared, the life the two of you shared. More tears fall, and you don’t bother brushing them away this time. You nod, defeated.  “Yeah, that’s– yeah, we can… we can do that.” You wipe at your tears, fingers shaking with agony as you swallow the words. 

Your ex-fiance reaches out for your arm, and you back away, like he’s contagious– like his touch carries the heat of the sun. “Don’t touch me,” you snarled, watery gaze boring into his brown eyes. 

“The wedding’s off, so… Take your shit and,” you look at your childhood best friend— your ex-childhood best friend, and your heart aches. This fucking hurts. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you dismissively wave your hand towards the clothes strewn across the floor, “And take her shit and get the fuck out.” You turn to leave but stop when Scott speaks, “I can’t just do that; I–” He stutters at the stab of your glare, “I need to call a truck so I can carry everything.” 

You laugh, tilting your head, “Nah, don’t worry, I can help you with that.”

You pace to your apartment window, swinging it open and ignoring the confused voices behind you when you start picking up various items. Scott’s eyes widen as he watches you storm over to the window, a heap of his things in your arms. He scrambles to you, yelling as you toss his stuff out the window. He’s looking out the window, watching them fall, “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” You shriek after every item you throw: his computer, acoustic guitar, books on Logistics, and How To Save Money Like A Businessman. 

You flutter about the room, shaking Angie off when she tries to grab you, ignoring her when she falls to the floor in a heap of naked limbs. You pick up a pricey statue that was Scott’s, ignoring his protests, courteously tossing it out the window to join his items. 

You storm out of the room, glancing around for any of Scott’s stuff. Yes, this was your apartment, but you were working on sharing it— sharing it with him. Your fiance. Ex-fiance. You skirt out to the living room, the two lovebirds hot on your tail and begging you to stop. You walk over to the balcony doors, pushing them open and ignoring the sound of the doors cracking against the wall, some picture frames falling to the floor. 

Pictures of you and him. 

You pick them up and toss them over the balcony, looking around for any other fallen pieces. You thoroughly sweep your apartment— as thoroughly as you can through your tears of rage, gathering jackets, shirts, and shoes and carelessly tossing them over the balcony. You ignore them as they hastily put on their clothes, brushing past them to pace to the door.

Your gaze is hot and heavy on Angie’s heels. Those shiny, blood-red, smooth pumps. They oozed sex appeal and smirked at you, asking, daring, challenging you. Angie scrambles to you, yelling for you to put them down, yelling that they were Jimmy Choos, that they were expensive— like you would care. 

You shrug her off as you walk back to the balcony, hanging them over the ledge and turning to gaze at her as she watches with tears brimming. Pathetic. You look into her eyes and drop them— one by one, “Fetch,” you whisper hoarsely.

Angie begins to cry, turning and running to Scott, who points an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a fucking crazy bitch. You couldn’t just end things like a civilized human fucking being?” He exclaims, “You are fucking insane!” He grits out, holding Angie by the waist. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and you better have my shit,” he says scathingly.

When they both have an appropriate amount of clothes on— Angie settling for one of his oversized shirts and panties, him with sweats— Scott hastily searches for his keys. You watch them both, numb and unmoving, and it feels like your body is vibrating in a storm of emotions. Scott finds his keys and wallet, yanking Angie by the hand and hauling her out the door, but not before he shoots you a glare— a look that tells you it’s over. Completely done with no room for redemption— you don’t care either way.

The door slams shut, and silence fills the space. You stand there for what seems like eons, basking in the fizzling heat of your emotions before shuffling towards your bag near the door and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. You search for your lighter, growing irritated when it seems to be missing. You toss your bag to the floor with a curse and walk to the gas stove, turning the knob until a rim of flames arises. You slip the cigarette between your snot-slick lips, ducking your head towards the stove top and watching the cancerous stick catch fire. 

You stand upright, inhaling and puffing out the smoke. You grab your flip phone, shuffling towards the balcony for fresh air while you make a call, but to your dismay, a crowd is gathered below your building, watching and taking pictures. At closer glance, you realize these people are none other than paparazzi— the very bane of your existence. They’re already recording; you can hear them chattering about what they suspect is happening, making up stories for the cameras and soon-to-come tabloids. 

Then, to make matters worse, Scott and Angie skirt out from the building entrance and start picking some items up, the paparazzi asking various intruding questions. Scott has enough grace and respect for you to deny a comment, opting for catching a taxi with Angie instead. With a roll of your eyes, you walk back into your apartment and busy yourself doing a shitty job clearing the mess you’d made. However, like clockwork, your phone rings.

You know it’s Miss Sinclair; well, Erica, as she always corrects you. Your music manager, a firecracker, that one, but overall a good friend on your side. 

You answer, taking a drag from the cigarette as you step onto your terrace again, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “What?” You ask snappily into the phone, glancing down at the crowd of people taking pictures of you. Assholes.

”What? What do you mean, what?” Erica hisses through the speaker. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tiger?” A nickname she has for you that originated from God knows where. “Yeah, like… what’s up?” You play dumb, smiling sarcastically and waving innocently to the cameras below you.

“Why the hell do I have people blowing my line asking me why you’re tossing shit onto the streets of Los Angeles like it’s a goddamn Goodwill?” She impatiently asks.

You shrug, even though she can’t see you, “Dunno. See you tomorrow at the studio.” You pull the phone away from your ear, hearing her shriek and yell at you, commanding you not to hang up. You slap the flip phone closed, ending the call; her words cut off. You take another drag of the cigarette before flicking the bud off the balcony at the intruders, watching them back away to glare at you, yelling a few curses. You flip them two middle fingers in response before turning to walk back into your apartment, closing the doors behind you. 

You’re going to write a song. A kickass song.

“And then I threw all his shit out the fucking window,” you chuckle, retelling the story to your drinking companion, Robin Buckley, the drummer of your band. She smirks and downs another shot of vodka, “Yeah.. you uh,” she grimaces and smacks her lips at the bitter drink, “you created quite the stir earlier today,” She points at you and winks, picking up her forgotten glass of whiskey beside her and holding it out to you, in cheers. 

You sigh and smile, and inevitably you clink your whiskey-filled glass against hers as she says, “To shitty men and new beginnings— preferably with women,” she winks again, laughing along with you as you lighten up from her joke. You down the rest of your drink and put your glass down, sucking your teeth before rolling your lips inward as you stare thoughtlessly, the whiskey leaving burning kisses in your throat. 

The loud, underground celebrity-only bar drowns out behind you. What were you going to do? You had so much planned with Scott, an entire fucking wedding, a home, maybe even kids. And as if that’s not enough, you wrote an entire song about him. You were almost finished with it, so close to recording it and putting it out, maybe with tour dates to match. 

Now it's gone. Dead and buried. 

A whole song, written in 4 weeks, about your love, the love of your life, your supposed forever person, and he threw it all away. You knew love wasn’t easy. It never was, especially not after your rise to fame. It was hard to find time for date nights, for sex, for just seeing each other and talking. But you would’ve never imagined this to be how it ended.

You can’t help but feel as though this might have been your fault. Some small, pessimistic, mean part of you nagging that you could’ve prevented this if you had just changed. You tried to make time for Scott, you really did, but you got caught up in the music— the music for him. You worked tirelessly at it. For Scott to hear this song and immediately know it’s about him. You wanted it to be a wedding gift, maybe, to play it at your wedding for everyone to hear your love. You had never been so soft in a song, so open and disgustingly lovesick, and you wasted it all on him. Maybe it was your fault; perhaps it was for the better—

“Hey, you okay?” Robin cuts through your thoughts, “You went a little quiet there,” she smiles softly, playfully nudging her shoulder against yours. “Yeah,” you nod, “I-I’m good. Great.” You nod along with your words, trying fiercely to believe them.

You were not good, nor were you great. You were, to put it nicely, fucking wrecked. You were humiliated. How could anyone be okay after something like this? It was bad enough he cheated in the first place but with your best friend? You lost two of your closest people within the blink of an eye. It hurts more that they got each other while you got nothing but ghosts and memories. Scott was there for everything, your first real concert, the after-parties, the carpets. He was there for all of it. And he won’t be there anymore, and that hurts.

You shrug, laughing nervously and rubbing the bridge of your nose in distress, “I just can’t help but think that— that maybe this–” You motion your hands uselessly. Robin quickly interrupts you before you can finish your thought, “No. Do not go there. Are you insane? This,” she motions lazily over your figure, copying you, “was not your fault.” She shakes her head, sincerity laced within her voice and gaze. “Believe me when I say that— I would tell you if you were a crazy bitch, trust.” She smiles and nudges you again with her shoulder, pulling a laugh from you. 

You sigh, rotating your neck to stretch it out, rolling your shoulders, “So, like, what’s up with you?” You ask to lighten the mood, leaning on the bar counter with your elbows. It works because she laughs and nods, looking down at the glasses of whiskey as the bartender wordlessly fills them back up. She traces her finger around the rim of it, still nodding, “I-I’ve been good, you know,” she glances at you and shyly looks away when you begin to smirk, “Just sorta.. Hangin’ out, I guess. Shootin’ the shit,” she shrugs, and you laugh. “Yeah, so when did you guys hook up?” You say over your glass rim innocently, laughing even harder when the girl turns red in the face and sputters over her drink. 

“We did not hook up!” She exclaims, wiping the drink from her lips. “Me and Nance,” she shakes her head, “we just… We, like, hung out, you know?” She shrugged. You mockingly raise an eyebrow as she keeps talking, “And like smoked a bit and maybe drank and then like, there was a movie involved, and then she kissed me and—” You interrupt her rambling with a wave of your hand, “Alright, no more details. You totally hooked up,” you laugh, and she blushes harder, laughing and shaking her head, “Definitely did not.” she scoffs.

“You definitely did.” You challenge.

“Did not.” She shoots back.

“Did.”

She groans and shakes you, “If I pay for your tab, will you shut up?” she offers. You pretend to think dramatically for a moment before giving in and nodding, laughing when she slams a one hundred dollar bill on the counter and gets up, picking her leather jacket from behind her chair. “God, you are so annoying,” she complains, shucking her coat over her Daughters of Vampira band t-shirt. 

You get up, shrugging your leather jacket on and snickering, “Nah, you love me,” you teasingly say, shoving at her shoulder. She smirks and shakes her head, heading for the exit, “Yeah, you wish,” She pushes the door open and steps outside into the chilly Los Angeles night, immediately shoving her hands into her pockets. 

You opt for taking the damaged, smashed pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and pulling a matching lighter out. The lighter has a siren with long, blonde locks and a green, shimmery mermaid tail. You pull out a cigarette and stick it between your lips, igniting the flame and holding it up to the end of the cigarette. You bask in the warmth emanating from the flame, a soft heat kissing your nose. You pull the lighter away and puff, blowing the tobacco back out.

“Man, all I wanted was a peaceful drink, and I got verbally berated instead,” Robin jokes.  You laugh, blowing smoke in her face before stopping, looking ahead. You freeze, and not because of the air; the cogs in your brain start moving, fired up with the fuel of alcohol and the lightheaded buzz of nicotine. You still your movements, looking at your friend, “What did you say?” you ask slowly, pulling your gaze from the busy car-filled street. 

Her face heats up, eyes widening and hands flying from her pockets to raise in defense, “No, I mean, like— I was kidding. I wasn’t being serious—” you interrupt her by waving your hand hastily that was holding a cigarette, before looking at it and tossing it carelessly to the side. You aimlessly shake your hands at her, “No, what did you just say?” You stare into her eyes, watching as she tries to connect the dots. 

She raises her eyebrows in confusion, shrugging before saying slowly, “All I wanted—” You stop her, snapping and pointing, walking away and walking back, obviously pacing. “Yes! Yes— that. It’s perfect.” You stop pacing for a second, standing with your hands on your hips. Robin laughs nervously, fiddling with her zipper jacket, “Uh, what is happening right now? Am I in trouble?” she jokes anxiously, but you ignore her. 

You were thinking. Thinking hard. 

All I wanted. All you wanted? All I wanted. 

You repeat it to her, mumbling the words, gaze still focused on the ground, “All I wanted.” You say, pulling your eyes back up to hers. “Uh.. yeah– All I wanted…was a drink,” she parrots back, nodding dumbly, placating you like a small child doing a math equation. 

You smile mischievously, “Robin, you’re a fucking genius!” You all but shriek, earning some glances from the sidewalk. You pay no attention to them, but Robin does, grabbing your shoulder and pushing you into a walk, looking around her to not draw attention to the both of you, but it’s difficult when you’re wildly smiling and humming out a guitar tempo. 

“Dude, what are you talking about?” She stresses, “Please tell me what’s happening; I have no idea what is socially acceptable to say right now,” she explains nervously, hand moving to grasp at your elbow, keeping you in motion. “Robin, we have to go to the studio right now,” you beg, looking her in her eyes, your gaze shining in inspiration. “What? No, what? Why?” She steps in front of you and halts your walking, “What is happening?” she pleads, leaning forward and pressing her palms together in a praying motion— silently asking you to please elaborate. You move past her, still walking, still thinking. 

Robin jogs to catch up to you, “Tell me what you’re thinking, please,” she begs. You look at her and smirk, “I have an idea for a song,” you conclude. Upon hearing this, Robin smiles like the fucking Cheshire cat.

“Hit me, Tiger.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh when his friend tells him what happened. He pauses for a moment, staring at Scott and waiting for him to say it was just a joke, but he never does, and Eddie nearly dies of laughter, the rest of the band along with him.

“Holy shit,” Eddie gasps between laughter. Gareth snorts, raising his eyebrow in shock as he speaks, “She threw your shit out the window?” 

Scott rolls his eyes, flipping the brown-haired boy off, sipping his beer, and leaning back into the red leather couch. Eddie shakes his head as he swivels around in his chair to mess with the studio soundboard, “That’s what you get when you fuck crazy bitches, man,” Eddie laughs, glancing up to watch Jeff mess around with chords in the sound booth. He listens as he speaks, “I mean, sure, she was hot,” He shrugs, reaching over for his box of cigarettes, “Insane tits or whatever, but at what cost?” He snorts. 

Scott shrugs, downing the rest of his beer and tossing the bottle into the small trash bin near the soundboard. 

“I mean, the sex was definitely good, but she just— I dunno, man,” he shakes his head and dismissively waves his hand, “She’s too much of a firecracker. Angie is way more docile,” he concludes. He snickers as he thinks it over, “Easier to deal with,” he smirks, reaching down to the floor to pick up another beer. Gareth snickers and Eddie grimaces with a shake of his head; he then smirks as he slides a cigarette between his lips, “Nah, the firecrackers are the fun ones, man.” he speaks around the paper as he lights the cancerous stick, sucking and blowing out the smoke. “So, what now?” Gareth asks, taking a swig of his drink as he looks at Scott. 

Scott shrugs, opening the glass bottle of beer and sipping it, “Yeah, y’know… no wedding, I’m with Angie, whatever,” he says, and Eddie chuckles, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, “Yeah, I get it,” he nods, taking another drag off his cigarette, lost in his thoughts. You’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good… A lightbulb goes off in his head. 

“Wait, guys,” he swivels around in his chair to face Gareth and Scott. The two boys look up at him as Eddie speaks, “We’ve all had crazy girlfriends, right?” His gaze bounces between the boys as he puffs on the cigarette before standing up and pushing the bud of it into Gareth’s bottle, much to his dismay. He ignores Gareth’s complaints, ignoring the boys laughing at him, pacing the room, mind swirling to the sound of Jeff’s guitar. 

Through the fog of chords and lyrics, Eddie continues speaking, “All of our ex-girlfriends— and ex-fiances,” he blindly points to Scott as he paces, ignoring when Scott scoffs, “are crazy bitches,” he points out, looking back at the group. “I mean, I can’t remember the last time I had a normal fucking girlfriend,” he snickers. The boys look at Eddie as if they’re concerned, confusion written across their faces that Eddie could care less to ease, “This is fucking inspiration, boys! Let’s write this shit down,” He leans on the soundboard, “Let’s expose this chick,” He snickers.

He walks into the sound booth and grabs his guitar from the stand, pulling the strap over his neck as he nods toward Jeff, “Keep playing that,” he orders. Despite his masked confusion, Jeff continues to play the riff he’d been tweaking. Eddie steps up to the mic in the middle of the sound booth, reaching for the headphones to slip them over his head, leaving one ear uncovered. He gestures to Gareth through the glass, motioning for him to tag along.

Gareth puts his beer down and walks in, glancing at Eddie in confusion, “You gonna tell us what we’re playing or?” He sits behind his drums as Eddie tweaks the strings on his guitar. “Just follow along, man.” Eddie distractedly mumbles. Gareth and Jeff glance at one another— Eddie often has moments like this, and they have yet to get used to it. Gareth shrugs, picking up his deeply mangled drumsticks and tapping a beat to Jeff’s strings.

Eddie mumbles to himself, fingers ghosting chords over the frets as he nods his head to the beat. He picks up with Gareth and Jeff’s sound, shredding along to create a fuller sound, the images of the music he’d composed in his mind coming to life just below his fingertips. Scott watches from outside the sound booth, standing up to lean over the soundboard. He watches, intrigued, as they play together, wordlessly tweaking until they all compliment each other. Scott reaches over with a smirk and hits the record button just in time for Eddie to chime in on the mic, finally spitting out the lyrics they’d all be waiting to hear.

And it’s fucking good. 

“Alllriiight!”

It’s raunchy, unhinged, and all things dirty. On top of that, it’s a massive fuck you to Scott’s ex, and Scott can’t keep the grin off his face as he adds the bass to the track, snickering at the words Eddie sings. They work on the song all day, throwing in new verses and tweaks until they feel satisfied for the time being. They sit outside the sound booth and nurse a round of beers as they play the song, listening to what they have so far, grinning and nodding along to the beat, laughing at the absurdity of the lyrics.

“Hey, you’re a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good, I’m on top of it.”

“It’s good… as much as I hate to say it, it’s good.” Scott laughs, rolling his eyes when the boys cheer. Sitting on the swivel chair in front of the soundboard, Eddie reaches out and nudges Scott's foot with his own, “You might get a few slashed tires when she hears this, you know.” He snickers over the rim of his beer bottle.

Scott laughs and shrugs, “Can’t be any worse than what she’s already done.” He jokes. The boys all laugh, watching Jeff as he raises his beer in the gesture of a toast, “To crazy bitches.” The boys all raise their beers in unity, parroting back, “To crazy bitches!” They clink their drinks and laugh, taking sips.

“You’re crazy, but I like the way you fuck me.”

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream,”

Your voice filters through the speakers, thick studio headphones skewed on your head as you fiddle with the soundboard knobs and buttons. You sigh and push the headphones to rest around your neck, rubbing your hands tiredly over your face. You take a glance at the clock— 4:34 AM. Goddamn. You had truly been here all night. After your night out with Robin, drinking your feelings away, and your quick epiphany moment, you guys caught a taxi straight here and got to business. That was at 10:46 PM. 

Poor Robin, you put the girl through the wringer. Making her drum out new beats, forcing her to pluck out a bass riff to the best of her abilities. The rest of your band was, without a doubt, asleep, and you didn’t want to bother them with your antics. And, of course, you all were close, but it was just different with you and Robin. You guys could be together for hours and never tire of one another. You just clicked. 

Maybe it was also the fact that you didn’t want to face whatever awkward encounter was bound to happen between Robin and Nancy, opting to wait until the morning to see them face one another. Robin was fully asleep underneath the sound booth, using both of your jackets as a pillow. Her fingers are wrapped around the beer she’d been drinking; hand cuddled up to her face. You pull out your cigarettes from your pocket, pulling one stick out and sliding it between your lips. You light it up and puff on the cigarette, glancing at Robin beneath the table before reaching down and carefully snagging her beer. You take a quick swig, quietly listening to the song. 

“All I wanted was you,

All I wanted was you.”

The guitar that comes in right after is powerful. It’s beautiful; it showcases your anger, your betrayal, your heart that still aches. This was supposed to be a love song for Scott, but after tweaking a few lyrics, it quickly became a song laced with hatred and resentment— a piece of heartbreak and anguish you’re still clearly sorting through. But that’s all that love is, right? Just two people fighting and slashing at each other until one inevitably gives in and waves a white flag? 

You down the rest of your stolen beer, still taking drags of the cigarette and blowing it back out. It wasn’t unusual for you to be the only one here at ungodly hours of the night, but it was one of the first times you were here with your friend and bandmate. Knowing she was here for you after such a chaotic, hectic day, supporting you even at unreasonable hours, was nice.

You replay the lyrics repeatedly, playing with the weak bass Robin was barely able to play. You should go home; you know you should, given how late it is and the dryness that begins to seep through your eyes, but you hate the feeling that runs through your bones when you think about what used to be your and Scott’s home. You don’t want to go home. Home is where everything ended. Home is no longer home— not after what happened. Home is where you’ll go to relieve the day over and over again until you get tired enough to pass out. 

And then it hits you; lyrics, more heartache hits you. The song was initially titled The Only Exception, but the words changed after playing around for several hours. You stuff the cigarette bud in the beer bottle, letting it fizzle out as you get up from your swivel chair to try and find a notebook— a notepad, napkins, or something, but you only find a pen. Frustrated with your lack of writing materials, you look at your surroundings hungrily before your eyes land on Robin’s bare arm. 

You pace back to the soundboard and reach underneath to yank on Robin’s arm, waking her up for a split second. You ignore Robin’s grumbly and slurred “What the fuck?” and proceed with your task as she inevitably falls back asleep. You yank the pen cap off with your teeth and begin jotting down lyrics on Robin’s pale, freckled, tattooed arm. 

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott and your favorite thing to do was watch old 1950s classic films. You guys watched them so much, watched so many of them, over and over again, that you could quote them to one another. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you write these lyrics down, some falling on Robin’s arm and smudging the ink. You curse and press your palm to the running ink to dry whatever can be salvaged from your sloppy work. You drop her arm to the ground and hear her briefly groan as you pace back into the sound booth, picking up your black guitar from the stand and pulling the strap over your upper body. 

You move your headphones around your neck to sit over your ears, waiting for your next move. You start strumming out a guitar riff, basking in the glory of the echoing sounds and its full, tough ring. You push your lips to the microphone and begin mumbling, playing with more lyrics in your head before you sing.

“I could follow you to the beginning,

Just to relive the start.

And maybe then, we’d remember to slow down.

At all of our favorite parts.”

The tears are freefalling now; the dark eyeliner you’d spent the past hours smudging leaves roads of sorrow against your skin. You and Scott were together for seven magical months. Yeah, it was quick— pathetic in a different light, but you’d been mindlessly in love. And fuck, would it have been a mistake if you did end up marrying him. He was a production assistant and a bassist with no new lines of work coming, opting to freeload off his friend’s band, Corroded Coffin, playing with them at shows whenever they needed him. 

And it’s working for him so far— until it doesn’t. As much as you hate to admit, Scott is talented. He’s good with his instrument and has a good ear for sound, but despite his talent, he has no real drive— no actual want to succeed and be at the top of the music pyramid with you. As you continue to play with the guitar, you stop for a second to wipe your eyes, thoroughly smudging your makeup now and probably making you look insane. 

Scott had good moments, though. When it was good, it was good— spontaneous nights out, making out in alleyways like lovesick teenagers, and every second feeling like a movie until the credits rolled— but when it was bad, it was really fucking bad. Fights, stupid arguments, bickering, breaking expensive items, and threatening to leave each other until he makes it up to you with mediocre sex and breakfast in bed the next day. You loved him, you did, and you believe he loved you too, but you just can’t pinpoint where it all went wrong. 

You stop strumming the guitar and huff waterily, setting the guitar back on the stand and ripping your headphones off your head before tossing them to the ground. You sit on a metal, foldable chair beside you and lean forward to push your head into your hands. 

You really blew the fuck up on him. Did you overreact? Did you honestly act like a crazy bitch? Fuck, maybe you should apologize. 

You can hear Robin in the back of your head, nagging and begging you to stop thinking self-destructive thoughts like this, telling you you’re insane for even thinking of apologizing, but you just can’t help it. You venture down the deep, dark, but welcoming rabbit hole of psycho-analyzing every romantic relationship you’ve ever had. None of your relationships have lasted— the ones in high school, obviously, but you’ve been out of that shit hole for years now, yet you’re still playing the never-ending game of kiss and tell.

Life in Hawkins was a weird, dull one. All the boys you brought home never shared the same interests as you and certainly did not like that you had a mind of your own. They didn’t like the clothes you wore, or the makeup you did, or the music you listened to. They thought you and the rest of the band were stupid and wasting your lives trying to be something big with the weird sound you carried. Nothing about you or the people you hung out with fit the cookie-cutter shape of Hawkins, and you learned that the hard way. 

You were more of a dirty secret for boys in your school. Nobody wanted to express their love or attraction to you openly, but they sure as hell did so behind closed doors. Your first boyfriend, Brady, was a star on the wrestling team; he didn’t mind showing you off much because nobody had the guts to talk shit about him— too scared to get sucker punched. Brady lasted a few months before you eventually cut ties with each other. 

There were a few others after Brady, all meeting the same dead end you’re so familiar with. Although there was one guy— Eddie Munson— people believed you would be perfect for each other. You liked the same music, dressed relatively the same, and had shitty high school bands nobody wanted to listen to. Logistically, it was a perfect match; the only problem was Eddie Munson is an asshole. 

Scum of the earth, piece of shit, grade-A asshole.

Scott was friends with him, and on occasion, you would sometimes cross paths at parties or hangouts with mutual friends; and every single run-in you’ve had with the man left you with a splitting migraine and an itching impulse to smash his head through a window. He’s awful; he doesn’t respect you or any woman for that matter, he acts like he’s a living god, and he and his shitty band won (stole) that fucking music contest in Hawkins back in ‘87, and you’ll never forget it. That’s how you met him, and your guys’ race to the top hasn’t let up since.

And now that you think of it, it’s not surprising that Eddie and Scott get along so well— they’re both sexist assholes. 

You’re milling in your thoughts for what seems like hours, tears dried and itching against your skin. You’re not sure how long you sit in the sound booth, but before you know it, Robin’s hoarse voice is cracking through the speakers of the sound booth, “As much as I think you’re a musical genius and love the way you work in mysterious ways, it’s extremely late, and we both need to catch some sleep before tomorrow.”

Your face twists in confusion, “Tomorrow? What’s special about tomorrow?” You ask, your voice cracking. Robin shifts on her feet, brows furrowing at your confusion, “We’re meeting with the record label. Remember we’re playing them our new album?”

Fuck. You completely forgot about that, and all of those songs, except for maybe three, are based around your stupid ex-fiance that just dumped you for your best friend. You sigh, dropping your head in your hands and running your palms over your face. You let out a long groan into your hands, not even hearing Robin opening the door to the sound booth and walking up to you. Her chilled fingers wrap around your wrists to pull your hands away from your face. Her blue eyes are tired and full of love and warmth as she squats before you to gaze at you, “Talk to me.”

Tears brim your eyes at her soft voice, and you wince— you really wish you could stop fucking crying. You rub at your teary eyes and shake your head, “It’s just—” you sigh and blearily blink down at Robin, “they’re all about him, Rob.” You frown.

Robin patiently waits for you to find the words, comfortingly squeezing your tear-dampened fingers. “Every song on the album is about him and I… I really don’t wanna spend an entire tour singing about him.” You softly speak, avoiding her gaze.

The brown-haired girl shuffles closer to you, ducking into your gaze and shrugging, “That’s okay,” she shakes her head, “We can scrap it. I mean, the label might be a little pissed, but just… play them what we did tonight, and I guarantee you they’ll extend our time.”

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “What? No. Robin, the song’s not finished—” “We don’t get another chance with this, Tiger. We either play them what we did tonight or give them the album.”

And you know Robin is right; she does not want to give you an ultimatum, but it’s the inevitable truth. You can either play the song and hope it’s the best thing the label has ever heard, or you suck it up and play them the album full of bittersweet words that leave a sticky residue clogging your throat.

You look at Robin, her patient and tired gaze locked on your face. You chew on the inside of your cheek, thinking it over for a moment— and it could work. The new song you’d just recorded is insane— nothing you’ve ever done before and, without a doubt, has a groundbreaking sound. It could work.

Max and Nancy are going to kill you tomorrow.

You nod your head, “Okay,” you breathe. Robin’s lips slowly stretch into a smile, “I’m gonna play it for them.” You nod. Robin shoots up to her feet with a cheer.

“Perfect! Now wipe those tears, and let's get the fuck out of here.”

You and Robin look like hell. You’re sporting heavy undereye bags with dark circles, while Robin opted to cover her evident lack of sleep with a pair of dark shades. Nancy and Max look concerned when they see you both sitting in the lobby of your label’s building. Nancy, of course, chastised you for your lateness while Max just snickered in the corner. Max suddenly makes a face as she speaks, “Why do you guys look like you’ve been hit by a bus?”

Robin tiredly groans, shifting in her seat with a yawn, “Stayed at the studio late.” She mumbles. Nancy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Why? I thought we had everything ready for today.” She points out, obviously concerned. Nothing would ever get done if you didn’t have Nancy in the band. Now that you look at her, she has a manila folder in her hands, most likely stuffed with questions, comments, concerns, budgets, and more. She was more like Erica’s assistant than your bass player. But fuck, could her skilled fingers pluck out a riff.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, glancing over at Robin, who seems to be now passed out behind her glasses, offering you no help. You scoff. Of course. You mentally punch Robin in the face. You fidget with the rings on your fingers as you begin to explain. “So, basically,” you start, “I came home yesterday and found Scott and Angie fucking in my bed, so I threw their shit out the window and then called Robin,” you barely pay attention to Nancy and Max’s widening eyes as you spew out the events of yesterday. You knew they already knew, probably from Erica or the fucking tabloids. Hell, the whole fucking world knew, but they acted like this was their first time hearing about it. 

You ramble on about the events, telling them about you finding inspiration and dragging Robin to the studio, drunk, only to decide to scrap the album you’d all been working on for the past few months. 

That last bit of information didn’t go so well, however. 

“You what?”

You wince at Max’s sneering tone, glancing at Nancy to try and get a read on her expressionless face. “Please tell me you’re joking,” Max says, voice teetering on the precipice of panic. You wish Robin would wake the fuck up. “I… I know I’m really taking a leap of faith here, but I need you guys to trust me on this,” you plead, gaze hopefully bouncing between the two women, “Please.”

Max folds her arms across her chest, tongue rolling against the inside of her cheek before she shakes her head, “I swear if this fucks us over, you’ll never hear the end of it from me.” She breaks, and you’re just thankful she agrees to follow your and Robin’s plan. She turns around and walks over to plop into the seat on the other side of the lobby, glancing at you before speaking, “Sorry about Scott, by the way…” she mumbles. “Maybe it’s a good thing; I never liked all those love songs anyways…” She smiles apologetically, and you huff out a chuckle.

Nancy nudges her foot against your leather boot, “You were out of his league anyway. He was dumber than a rock.” She adds to Max’s apology. You snicker and thank them for their condolences. Nancy sits on the chair next to Max and sighs heavily, “Did you tell Erica about the change?” she asks, already flipping through her folder. You pretended you didn’t hear the question, which was not a good idea. 

The two girls begin to panic at your eerie silence. Nancy’s face falls, and Robin fucking snores, “You did tell Erica, right?” She presses. Your silence says enough.

Max groans, leaning forward to sink her head into the palm of her hands, “We’re so fucked.”

And when the time comes, you’re not exactly sure what the label is thinking. All the board members wear the same unwavering expression as they listen to All I Wanted. You glance at Nancy and Max, who are both visibly shaken with nerves; Max’s leg bouncing at an ungodly rate beneath the table, and Nancy’s poor fingers picked to shreds. Robin, who’s now awake, is busying herself with doodling random sketches on the napkin in front of her, and you’re— well, you’re hardly breathing. 

Erica looks thoroughly pissed; you don’t doubt she’d thought about strangling you the second you announced you were scraping the album. You could tell she was itching to make some phone calls as her stone-hard gaze stayed on you throughout the whole listening session. You pretended you didn’t notice her.

When the demo ends, a thick silence settles over the room, and you lean forward, pressing pause on the track to prevent the CD from repeating. You awkwardly scratch the side of your neck, “I-It’s not done; I’m still working on it, but um—” You glance at the table of faces and gulp. You haven’t been this nervous in longer than you can remember. “I know it can be something. Something big.”

James, the CEO of the record label, clears his throat and leans forward, pressing his elbows onto the thick wooden table. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he points to the middle of the table where the CD player sits, “This is about Scott, yes?”

All eyes are on you, and you have no choice but to nod yes. James takes a drag of his cigarette, eyebrows furrowing as he silently thinks. You glance at your friends, a wave of nerves washing through your body at the anticipation. “What happened yesterday can never happen again. You almost ruined your image. Almost.” He finally speaks, his stern gaze locked in on you. You almost want to shrink in your seat, feeling like a child being scolded in the principal's office as he continues to speak. “You're a good talent, but if you don't know how to act like a grown woman, you won’t have a place here.” 

You scoff and open your mouth, a smart response on the tip of your tongue, until Robin harshly kicks the heel of her leather boot into your ankle. You hiss in pain, sucking on your teeth to poorly conceal it. You relent and nod your head, “I understand.”

James nods and flicks the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray beside him, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh, “Now,” his lips split into a smug grin, a grin that tells you that you won, “Get this track finished by the end of the week. I want it on air by Monday morning.”

Monday morning, Eddie is hauling ass down I-405, without a doubt breaking many traffic laws he could care less about, given he’s late to his studio session with the band. When is he not late? He’s got a cigarette hanging from his lips and the smell of last night's alcohol on his clothes. As he meticulously swerves and weaves in and out of LA traffic, he jams his finger to turn his radio on, flipping through static, noise, ads, shitty pop music, and landing on a seemingly decent Rock station. 

He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and puffs the rest before tossing it out of the open window. His hair tousles from the wind, and he bats the curly strands away whenever they fly into his view. His ringed fingers grip the steering wheel, swerving out of the way of a truck before honking and throwing up a middle finger. What he misses during that exchange is the introduction of the song.

“Next up is a new hit single named All I Wanted by Daughters of Vampira! Daughters of Vampira will be going on tour soon; stay tuned for details!”

Then, the music starts when he finally starts to slow down after narrowly missing the truck.

“Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there,

I’ll beg you nice from my knees.

And when the world treats you way too fairly,

Well, it’s a shame, I’m a dream.”

Your voice filters through his car stereo, unbeknownst to Eddie, and he glances down at his music console. He slowly turns the volume dial up, intrigued by the sound and wanting to know where it’s leading. When the ferocious guitar shred comes in, his face twists in approval, turning the volume even louder as he bobs his head to the tune. Whoever’s band this was, is fucking good. It’s not every day you hear a good Rock song sung by a woman, he thinks.

“All I wanted was you, oh,

All I wanted was you, oh!”

Eddie’s not sure why it takes him so long to realize the voice playing through his speakers is none other than the lead singer of that stupid fucking feminazi band Daughters of Vampira. He nearly chokes when he realizes it’s your voice, turning the volume up to max and listening to the words.

It’s… sad. The lyrics are like the gut-wrenching heartbreak you see in movies, aching and drenched with the grief of a love that was supposed to be great. And your voice is so fucking raw, so angry, and filled with pain that it brings Eddie to a stand-still, the skin on his arms raising in tiny bumps at the sheer emotion. Eddie almost forgets he’s in his car until he hears the car behind him honking, the man behind the wheel yelling at him to go now that the traffic light has turned green. He doesn’t move an inch, afraid he’ll miss a beat of this slice of heartache.

The song ends, and Eddie turns off his radio, choosing to spend the rest of his ride in silence as the gnawing feeling of guilt settles in his gut. By the sound of it, Scott really did a fucking number on you— tore your heart out, chewed it up, spit it out, and stepped on it like a spider on a sidewalk— and Eddie knows what that feels like; he’s had his heart broken before so he knows what it feels like to be so angry at the love you had for a person. It’s a shitty feeling.

So, Eddie’s not sure why he decides to be an asshole and tell the boys about your new song, but he does. The second he enters the studio, he tells Gareth to turn on the radio.

“...Why?” Gareth questions with a tone of suspicion. Eddie brushes his question off and walks to lean over the desk, turning the radio on and beginning to switch through the stations. “Uh, Eddie… we’ve got some work to do, man, we don’t have time for—” “Shh, just give me a second,” Eddie snaps. 

“It’s gotta be playing somewhere.” Eddie mumbles, eyebrows furrowed, ringed finger going overtime on the dial, abruptly stopping when he finally hears it. “This is it! This is it; just listen.” Eddie turns the volume up and stands up to his full height, hands on his hips, and chews on his lip as they silently listen to the song.

Jeff is the first to speak through the sound of drums and intense chords, “Why are we listening to this?” Eddie waves him off, telling him just to wait— just wait until the verse.

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times,

And fall asleep on the couch. 

Wake up early to black-and-white reruns,

That escape from my mouth.”

Scott’s eyes widen, striding over to Eddie’s side and gazing at the boombox in shock, “No fuckin’ way.” He breathes. Eddie looks at Scott as he reaches over to increase the volume. Gareth twirls his drumstick between his knuckles and deeply sighs as he leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up onto the soundboard, “Dude, no offense, but why are we listening to this shit?” He asks. Scott turns to the boys and points back to the radio, “That’s my fucking bitch ex singing about me.”

Jeff and Gareth’s eyes widen, both boys leaning forward in their seats to listen to the lyrics. Scott curses and reaches over to shut the radio off, letting a thick silence fall over the room. Jeff is the first to break and nervously laugh, and Eddie grins, Gareth falling into a fit of laughter behind Jeff’s. “Why the fuck are you guys laughing?” Scott sneers.

Eddie chuckles, reaching out to rest his hands on Scott’s shoulders and turn him to face each other, “You don’t get it, man,” Eddie begins. Scott’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and Eddie smiles mischievously, “This is the perfect time to drop Crazy Bitch.”

You nearly blow a gasket when you first hear Corroded Coffin’s new song. Nancy did quite a good job of bringing you down to somewhat of a levelheaded state and getting you to understand that killing Scott or slashing his tires wouldn’t be the wisest of decisions to make. You still aren’t convinced.

You try your best to ignore the song, switching the radio to a different station whenever it plays, but it seems like that fucking track follows you wherever you go. A week after the song's release, you’re walking down the street with Robin, browsing the stores that catch your eye and chatting about whatever comes to mind.

You hardly notice the crowd gathered outside the store you are in until Robin points it out, nudging your side and nodding towards the window, “Looks like we’ve got company today.” she mumbles. You curse, shelving the shirt you’d been looking at as you grumble to Robin, “Seriously, how the fuck did they find us?”

You suppose the rest of your day out won’t last much longer, so you and Robin decide to make your way home, stepping out into the crowd and shoving through a sea of flashing bulbs. 

Over time, you’ve mustered up the strength to ignore the questions paparazzi throw at you; questions about who you’re dating, your sexuality, your political beliefs— questions of generally no substance or anything to do with your music. You’ve become numb to the reality of your life being plastered on tabloids and riddled with lies; it doesn’t really hurt you anymore. 

However, you’re still a human being, and you have moments where you crack, and today seems to be one of those moments when a man yells out, “You were seen dumping your ex-fiance Scott's items into the street! So is the song true? Did you and Eddie Munson have an affair? Is that why you and Scott broke up?” 

Robin tenses, glancing at you and silently pleading for you to just keep walking. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

You glare but smile at the man, flashing your white, shark-like teeth, “If you wanna know so bad, why don’t you ask Scott and Angie yourself?” You sneer. 

A few of the men snicker, one whistling and commenting about you being feisty, but you ignore it and continue as you and Robin finally reach your car, “And for the record, I wouldn’t touch that asshole with a ten-inch pole. His dick is small.” You grin sarcastically, opening your car door and getting in without another word. You hear the crowd erupt in more questions outside your car, some scribbling stuff down on their notepads and some laughing.

You groan in annoyance, buckling yourself in and starting the car as Robin settles in the passenger seat. You don’t miss the chance to flip the mob of men off when you drive off, leaving them behind with screeching tires. It’s silent until Robin chuckles, and you glance at her, “What’s so funny?”

Robin shrugs and shakes her head, “Nothing,” she says, “Just that Erica’s gonna murder you.” You roll your eyes and slide a pair of shades on. “When is she not wanting to murder me?” 

The media erupted after your comment about womanizer and rockstar Eddie Munson. Many fans came to your aid, voicing the truth of the breakup and defending you and your band. In contrast, many other fans— Corroded Coffin’s cult of assholes— came to Eddie’s defense, stating that he was only doing charity work to get your name in the papers. That you were fucking your way to the top of the music industry and much, much more deeply misogynistic statements. 

You didn’t care for any of it. You, your friends, your family, and your band knew what actually happened. The best part is that Scott knew the truth, and he was a shit fucking liar. He couldn’t cover up what happened if his life depended on it. It made you think of how he could lie about the affair for as long as he did. You don’t dwell on that thought for too long, growing tired of digging deeper into the pit of despair Scott had so happily tossed you into.

At the end of the day, your image is in shambles, and if your image is fucked, then so is the bands. Daughters of Vampira wasn’t booking anything; shows, meet-and-greets, autograph signings— nothing. Even though All I Wanted was an enormous hit and ended up in the charts, people couldn’t get over the fact that you, the lead singer, tend to be explosive. You would’ve felt bad about this if Eddie’s image hadn’t suffered the same fate. 

Eddie and his band immediately stopped booking shows after their song Crazy Bitch. Of course, it was a big success, but only because the drama fueled it. Young women stopped throwing themselves at the band and instead opted for screaming, “Woman haters!” and “Sexist pigs!” at them whenever they were out. It had been fucking rough, and it only got worse after Eddie commented to the paparazzi while he was out on a coffee run in the streets of Los Angeles.

“How the fuck do they always find me?” Eddie grumbles to himself, putting on a fake smile for the group.

Eddie was rocking a pair of shades, thinking of ways to quickly escape the mob, when a young boy approached him from the crowd. He had a Corroded Coffin shirt on with a photograph of Eddie clenched to his chest as he kindly asked for an autograph. 

“Sure, kid,” Eddie crouches down to the boy’s height and gently takes the photograph and Sharpie, "who am I signing it for?” He smiles softly at the boy, “For Thomas, sir!” The boy politely says, his eyes shining in excitement. “Thomas, sick name, man.” Eddie compliments, yanking the cap off with his teeth. He signs his name with a Let’s fuckin’ ROCK! in the corner, putting the lid back and handing the photo back to the boy. 

He smiles when the boy squeals in excitement and offers him a fist bump before standing up to his full height. “Thank you, Mr. Munson!” Eddie snickers and nods, “‘Course, but hey, don’t call me Munson; call me Ed,” He smirks, and the kid laughs. “Mr. Muns– Ed, I have a question for you,” the kid shyly asks. 

Eddie’s heart implodes at the cuteness of this little shithead and chuckles as he responds, “Shoot, kid, I’m all ears,” Eddie ignores the flashes from the cameras, taking photos of this pure and innocent moment. He ignores the coos from the women, from the kid’s parents, all of it, just zoned in on this small child meeting his hero. Him.

“Ed, is it true that you hate girls?”

And just like that, the moment is over.

Eddie turns red in the face and forces a harsh but nervous laugh. The crowd closes in upon hearing the exchange and begins asking a multitude of questions. The parents snag their son away and start expressing profuse apologies that Eddie waves off. “Nah, nah, the kid’s fine. But uh, to answer your question, no, that isn’t true, Tommy boy,” he says, looking at the child standing beside his mother’s legs. He takes out a pack of smokes and opens it, sliding a cigarette between his lips as he adds, “I am a really big fan of girls,” he flashes a dazzling smile around the stick and does finger guns at the small kid before he turns and begins to walk away. 

He’s forgotten all about his coffee, and now all he wants is to get the fuck outta there. 

He lights the cigarette up and ignores the crowd of paparazzi following him, cameras still in motion. He rolls his eyes, body buzzing in annoyance from the kid's question and the crowd. He continues walking the street as more questions and fans approach him. As Eddie signs a woman’s photograph, a cigarette hanging from his lips, an interviewer comments with a camera already zoned in and recording Eddie’s face. No doubt this will be on MTV tonight. No doubt he won’t hear the end of it from Dustin and Steve.

“Eddie, did you hear what the frontwoman of Daughters of Vampira has said about you? Can we get a response?” He shoves the mic into Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s lips break into a grin, but he doesn’t look up from the autograph he’s signing. “Yeah… yeah, I heard, and y’know what? She can come find out herself if it’s small or not,” He looks up and smirks right at the camera, “Have a nice day.” He smiles tightly at the interviewer and hastily flags down a taxi, hopping in and yelling at the driver to step on it. He watches as the crowd grows smaller and smaller with distance, his heart thundering in his chest. He takes deep breaths to slow his pulse down, to stop thinking of you. 

It never seems to slow as his mind can’t move on from you or that damn song.

Both the managers of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira are pushed to the limit with you and Eddie. Dustin Henderson and Steve Harrington are co-managers of Corroded Coffin, mainly because Steve has the money and Dustin has the brains to man the operation. All Steve really does is cut the checks and warn the team when to cut back on the extracurriculars. 

Erica, Steve, and Dustin are all from Hawkins and are quite familiar with each other due to living in a small town where everyone knows everybody. They, along with all members of Corroded Coffin and Daughters of Vampira, all sort of grew up with one another in the 80s and have always been on this whimsical journey together. As the years went by, you all drifted, more so because of the competition, but aside from the band, the managers stayed relatively civil with one another. Erica, Steve, and Dustin stayed in touch because sometimes they couldn’t handle the two bands, which is why Erica summoned the two boys to a bar in downtown LA.

Erica Sinclair is seemingly always tested by you and has no idea where to go or what her next move should be. She has times when she feels like a single mother dealing with an angsty teen, and when those moments teeter on disastrous, she makes calls— the call.

“I mean, I have just had it up to here,” Erica moves her hand up in the air to emphasize her annoyance, “with these girls, I mean, my god!” She shakes her head as she sips her red wine, the two boys nodding from across from her. “Trust me,” Steve scoffs, “we get it.” 

Dustin nods, taking a sip of his Shirley Temple and smacking his lips before adding, “We’re in the same boat too— with Eddie,” Dustin starts, drinking his Shirley Temple out of a bendy straw. 

“Yeah, he’s always been a pain in the ass, ever since high school,” Steve continues, sharing a look with Dustin, who tiredly nods, “But it has never been this bad. Normally we can get a hold on him running his mouth, but it’s just been…” Steve falters and trails off, struggling to grasp the words to explain Eddie’s childlike behavior. Erica nods, “I know what you mean,” She makes a face and holds her wine glass out to cheer with them. Dustin clinks his Shirley Temple, and Steve clinks his beer, them all taking a sip.

“Both band’s images are terrible. It won’t be long till we’re losing more money,” Steve grumbles, taking another swig of his beer. “I think we should just lock them all in a room together till they get along,” Erica jokes, earning a chortle from Steve and a cackle from Dustin. They all sigh in unison, a comfortable silence falling over them. 

Suddenly, Dustin sits up straight, aggressively snapping his fingers before pointing to Erica.

Steve jumps and makes a face at Dustin, grumbling about how annoying Dustin’s theatrics are. Erica rolls her eyes, already used to the boy’s antics. “Well? Are you gonna tell us about your nerdy little lightbulb moment or keep making a scene?” She sneers over her wine glass rim, taking a sip. Dustin looks back from Steve’s annoyed face to Erica’s tired one, basking in the dramatics.

“Why don’t we do just that?” He finally says.

Steve and Erica share a look. Typically, Dustin has these moments, and Steve and Erica have to entertain them, but Erica thinks Henderson might be onto something. Steve scoffs and leans back in his chair, “I doubt they’d last a week locked in a house before one kills the other.” Steve mumbles, clearly missing Dustin’s case in point.

Erica, however, knows just where Dustin’s mind has gone— to the motherland of brilliant-fucking-idea. Erica puts her glass down and leans her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the backs of her folded hands. “When you say just that, you mean…?” She looks at the boy quizzically, praying he means what she thinks he means. Steve puts his hand on the back of Dustin’s chair and leans forward, “I’m not really picking up on this guys,” He uses his other hand to lazily gesture. Dustin ignores Steve and nods slowly, “Oh hell yeah, I mean that.” He says, smirking mischievously. Erica and Dustin share a grin, a playful gleam in their eyes. Steve groans on the side in annoyance.

“Let’s book a fuckin’ tour bus, boys,” Erica concludes, and Dustin erupts in cheers, the two of them clinking their drinks. Steve finally understands, and his eyes widen, “Oh! Holy shit, that’s fucking genius.”

Erica laughs and finishes off the last of her wine. “Tiger is gonna kill me.” She smirks and shakes her head, sighing. Dustin and Steve share a look and chuckle a little bit, “Her reaction won’t be as bad as Munson’s. He’s gonna fuckin’ lose it.” Dustin says, slurping on his straw.

A few weeks pass before Erica, Steve, and Dustin manage to rally both bands in a conference room. The tension in the room is almost unbearable. For the most part, the band members seem more interested in knowing why they’ve been summoned together— the real tension is at the end of the table, where you and Eddie sit across from each other. Eddie wears a snickering grin to go along with his darkened shades, and you— well, if looks could kill, everybody in this room would be six feet under and crossing into the afterlife. 

You’re pissed. Annoyed that you’re being forced to breathe the same air as that fuckface Eddie Munson, and Eddie could not be more pleased with himself. Eddie gazes at each of the girls across from him; Max, who’s glaring at your managers and bouncing her knee in evident impatience, Nancy, who couldn’t look more uninterested if she tried; and Robin, who seems more intrigued with the wood paneling of the wall to look at anything else. He makes the mistake of looking at you, earning him a nicely silver-wrapped middle finger which he winks at.

“If you two are done acting like children down there, we’d like to get this meeting started,” Erica announces from her seat at the head of the table. All eyes turn to her, and she sarcastically smiles, opening her mouth to begin speaking until you cut her off, “Whatever fucking bullshit you three have planned, I won’t be a part of it. Not with this asshole.” You gesture to the curly-haired boy across from you.

Gareth and Jeff snicker, and you glare at them, ignoring Robin’s elbow jabbing into your side. “It’s funny that you think you have a choice, Tiger,” Erica says, tilting her head with a grin. You begin to bounce your leg impatiently, jaw clenching as the ticking time bomb in your mind begins to speed up. 

Dustin clears his throat and stands up, gathering everyone's attention as he clasps his hands. “Let’s cut straight to the chase,” he begins, “Your music careers are fucked.”

Jeff breathily laughs to the side, and Erica glares at him, quickly diminishing his obvious amusement. “Somehow, the seven of you have managed to obliterate your band's image in less than a month,” Dustin points out, picking up a stack of magazines before him and walking calmly about the room. He tosses a magazine out into the middle of the table, “Misogynists,” another magazine, “Anti-feminist,” another magazine, “Chauvinists,” another magazine— the final one, “Woman-haters.”

You all look at the magazines silently until you mumble, “Sounds about right,” causing Eddie to scoff and roll his eyes beneath his shades. “What? You’re mad the media is finally realizing how full of shit you all are?” You prod with a tilt of your head. “At least nobody’s saying I should be sent to a fucking ward.”

Your eyes narrow, and you begin to form a response, but Erica rises from her seat loudly, startling the room as her loud voice booms through the space, “The media is tearing both of you to shreds,” she leans forward to press her palms against the cool wooden table, heated gaze darting between you and Eddie.

“Both of your bands aren’t booking gigs, and you're losing money faster than you earn it,” she points out, watching as you all cower from the truth. She waves a manicured finger between both sides of the table, “This stupid little fucking back and forth you’ve created either ends here or on the road.”

Robin’s face twists in confusion, a raspy voice speaking up for the first time, “On the road?”

Steve turns to her and grins, “Yes. On the road. Together.”

Gareth leans forward in his chair, confused as he speaks, “What, like a retreat type deal?” He questions. Dustin slaps a paper down in front of him, “No. Tour. Nine months, ninety-two shows.”

Gareth doesn’t get much time to take in the information on the paper before Eddie snatches it out of his hands, shades pushed up into his hair as he leans in to gape at it. A list of tour dates, an ongoing and never-ending fucking list.

“You’re not serious.” He says. Steve chuckles at the end of the table, nodding his head, “As serious as a heart attack.”

You’re next to snatch the paper away for a gander, ignoring the rest of the room as everyone erupts in a fit of protest. You stand with your back to the table as you gaze through each date, your neck heating up with anger as your fingers crease the paper. You turn around, face twisted in rage, wrinkling the paper in your shaking fist as you storm up to where Erica stands, waiting for you to say your piece with an unwavering impression.

You hold the crinkled paper up as you stand before her, “You’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m doing shows with these pieces of shits.” You sneer, tossing the paper onto the table. Erica raises an eyebrow, looking at you as if you’ve gone off the deep end. The room enters a thick silence at your outburst, all eyes on the standoff between you and Erica. “Call the tour off, or I’m out.”

“What?” Robin leans forward to gaze at you, eyes widened in shock at your words, “You’re not leaving the band, Y/N, you— you can’t.”

You ignore Robin and step closer to Erica, eyes burning into her gaze as you speak, and Erica has never seen you this angry in all her years of knowing you. “Call it off.”

Erica will let you believe you have the upper hand for your peace of mind, but when it comes down to reality, you both know you don’t stand a chance against her force of nature. Erica is calm and uncannily patient as she speaks to you, “You’re at a dead-end street, Tiger,” she starts, “You either make a way, or you go back to Hawkins with your tail between your legs like everyone expected.” 

Erica sits back in her chair, not even bothering to look at you as she busies herself with the paperwork before her when she adds, “You make the call.”

You glare down at her, throat closing in anger and betrayal. You don’t say another word as you storm out, leaving the room with a booming echo of the heavy glass door slamming shut. Erica sighs, settling back in her chair and gazing at the rest of the band members, who are all silently fuming in anger. “Now, does anyone else have something to say or something of substance to add, or are we done here?” Eddie rises from his seat with clear annoyance, “This is bullshit,” the force of his movement sends his chair back to the wall as he walks out of the room, just as angrily as you had previously done.

The remaining band members sit in silence, avoiding each other's gaze, and Steve breathily laughs, “Well, Dustin, you were wrong,” he teases, smirking when Dustin and Erica turn to him. “Eddie took that pretty well.”

The band members glance at the managers, and Dustin sighs as he leans back in his chair, twisting his mouth in thought and tapping his pen against the table.

“This is gonna be more work than I thought.”

————

a/n: AHHH, YOU'VE MADE IT TO THE END!!! WE HOPE YOU LIKED THIS AND LOVE THEM SO FAR; more to come sooonnnn <3

————

teeny taglist: @tommyvelvet @oeuryale

#WOOOOO #ENJOYYY #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader #drabble #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things au