#The Harringtons real estate business

[flowercrowngods]

j.r. harrington's christmas carol

in prose. being a ghost story of christmas. a modern au.

stave i

Three things in John Richard Harrington‘s life come with absolute certainty: tax returns, unsweetened black coffee three times a day, and the permanent headache once December inevitably rolls around, over time wandering from his temples to just behind his eyes, worsening his already sour mood.

“Idiocy, all of this,” he mutters under his breath as he pushes open the door to his office, leaving behind his stammering secretary and the ungodly blare of Christmas songs he cannot seem to escape this year. It’s grating on his nerves, and he hangs his hat on the coat-tree, damp with water because it never snows anymore. 

All the better for traffic, at least, because not a day passes that he has nowhere to be. Snow tends to thwart these plans. 

“Absolute humbug,” he grumbles once more, shucking his coat and smoothing a hand over the lapels, keeping them immaculate despite the rain.

There is a stack of documents on his desk, and it is a blessed vision, that. None of that dilly-dallying that the rest of the world seems so adamant on indulging this time of year, no. Not for John Richard Harrington, real estate magnate and financier by trade. The world of Money is not about to stop just because workers all across the globe are wont to forget about their employment for a few days of illusion and play-pretend. 

“Bah!” He sits down and finds note upon note from long-standing business partners and loyal clients, wishing him a Merry Christmas and expressing gratification and happiness towards their business this year. 

While Harrington does appreciate the loyalty and the premise of future business, he does not need their Merry Christmasses nor their Good Tidings. What he needs is responsible, determined employees who do purposeful work regardless of the holidays. 

But all he gets is a bunch of ungrateful, aimless good-for-nothings who, instead of working as they are expected to, spend all of December beseeching him to grant them just two days of Christmas vacation — and every year they get the same answer: “Stay home for Christmas and find yourselves unemployed.”

And every year they make the decision to come into work, restoring Harrington’s faith and goodwill that at times has been known to go so far as to sending them home a half hour early — paid! He is not a monster, after all; no matter what they say. He is a realist. A capitalist. A wise investor and a driven businessman. And business, he knows, at times necessitates a compromise. 

He will, however, not compromise a whole year’s work for a meaningless holiday that is in dire need of a better soundtrack. How people do not grow tired of listening to always the same songs on repeat each and every year is past him, and he won’t even try to understand it. So long as they keep their miguided cheer far away from him, he does not care if the first noël is born or if the midwinter is indeed bleak. 

A knock sounds against the heavy wooden door and he frowns, already anticipating the person behind the door even as he keeps sorting the stack on his desk, sorting mail into dedicated piles of business, sentimentality, and Steven. The latter has been empty for years now, but that is just as well. 

Another knock, and the old Harrington growls, his eyes flitting to the door as though he were capable of making the person behind it disappear by sheer willpower alone. Although he has to concede that making Cratchit disappear would be a poor move, as the man is one of his most efficient. Their acquaintance could be excellent if only Cratchit weren’t so adamant on experiencing the Christmas cheer each year without pause. 

John Richard sighs and leans back in his chair, still frowning at the door as he bids him inside. 

“Cratchit.” 

“Merry Christmas, sir!” Cratchit says, a glint of tease beneath the unfortunately entirely genuine sentiment that ricochets right off of Harrington’s scowl and returns to its sender, only brightening the man’s smile. 

“Tell me what you want and then get back to work, Cratchit. I don’t pay you for… lallygagging.” 

 Cratchit’s smile falters a little, and he clears his throat. “Well, you see, sir, my son. He has flown in from overseas, arrived this morning, in fact. Has come home for Christmas for the first time in three years, you see. He will stay over the holidays, and so I was wondering if, perhaps, you would make an exception this year and show a little heart—“ 

“Heart!” Harrington exclaims, effectively shutting up his stammering employee. “Compassion! And where will that get me, Cratchit? Let’s say I concede this year, you lot will expect it every year from now on. Add to that a vacation for New Year’s Day, and maybe a few days give or take until work ethic declines and you will only work from one holiday to another. Isn’t that what will happen, hm?” He scoffs, shaking his head in derision. “Compassion… I expected better from you, Cratchit.” 

The man withers, and normally Harrington wouldn’t mind that, would study his misery and hold it against him in future debates. But something about it, something about that grin disappearing, and with it that glint of something so youthful even though the man is only a few years his junior cracks at something inside him. Something that feels a lot like that empty stack of mail on his desk. 

“Please,” Cratchit says. “Please, sir, just… Just half the day tomorrow. It’s—“ 

It’s Christmas. It's humbug! 

Anger rises inside him and barely contains himself as it coils and bubbles inside him. “Get out,  Cratchit, before I’ll have you escorted outside.” 

“But sir—“ 

“Get out!” he shouts, watching as Cratchit flinches, entirely too soft for this world. Marley wouldn’t have hesitated to fire him thrice over for even trying to bargain over this. 

But Marley is dead seven years now, and Harrington is the only hard-headed man in charge of these good-for-nothings. And maybe it’s that; a tiny, misguided shred of mourning his business partner; or maybe it’s his hand reaching for the non-existent stack on his desk and finding his hand empty. Maybe it’s heart, as Cratchit put it, even though John Richard is known not to have one, and he is not inclined to disagree. 

Whatever the reason may be, Harrington calls, before Cratchit can hastily pull the door shut behind him, “And when you come back after Christmas, I expect to see you at your best performance, Cratchit. Understood?”

The man blinks, his eyes wide as saucers as he regards Harrington, his mouth falling open as he loses whatver composure he might have possessed before this. Five seconds pass and Harrington is inclined to take back his words when Cratchit shake shimself out of his stupor and falls into a tirade of gratitude and disbelief that Harrington really has no time for, calling for his assistant to escort Cratchit back downstairs. They have work to do after all. 

When the door falls shut once more, leaving the grand office in silence, he allows himself a moment to breathe and regret his moment of softness, hearing Marley’s grouching insistence that softness and compassion in a capitalist’s world will only lead to ruin and bitterness. 

But bitterness is there in Harrington’s life regardless, especially around this time of year. 

*** 

There is another certainty in John Richard Harrington’s life: He does not get nightmares. There are no terrors haunting him, no ghosts of future or past relationships to linger in the back corners of his mind, waiting to come out at night when he lets his guard down. 

That, however, does very little to explain this nightmare of Jacob Marley warning him of an eternity of sorrow and chains if he does not see the error in his ways, if he does not better himself and reconnect with the heart tapping a steady but withering beat in his chest. 

“I don’t undestand!” he calls into the void as the world spins around him, light becoming darkness and darkness turning into light, blinding and disorienting him as he feels colder by the second. 

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” Marley’s apparition says as Harrington falls, scrambling away from the Ghost, feeling real fear for the first time in his life. “You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits. Please them and yours will not be the same fate as mine. Expect the first one tonight, when the clock strikes One. The second will find you the night after that at the same hour. And the third will come when Christmas Eve turns into Christmas Day.” 

He shakes his head, refusing to believe this Ghost, ready to bargain that she should meet all these Spirits at once if they were real, that they should reveal themselves and absolve him of what crimes they think him to be guilty of. But Marley holds up his hand, forbidding John Richard to speak, and he does hold his tongue — more out of fear than real obedience. 

Before he knows it, the room fills with horrible wails of lamentation and regret, self-accusatory and begging for absolution so sorrowful that Harrington feels a cold shiver travelling down his back, a sensation he is not at all familiar with. 

And then, as quickly as it started, the spectre is gone and silence returns, the show is over. There is no time to collect himself, because he gasps awake the next moment, feeling no different than just seconds before and wondering if it really was a dream or if he was hallucinating. Unfortunately, a hallucination is just as impossible as a nightmare. 

The alarm clock on is bedside table shows 12:19 a.m. 

And for some reason, fear still coursing through his veins, John Richard Harrington decides to stay awake. Pretending not to count down the minutes until the clock stikes One and be assured to still exist in a world where ghosts aren’t real.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #will feature: #steddie #and stobin hehehe #and parental redemption #a christmas carol #have a whacky take at a christmas carol with harrington sr as scrooge #i fully don't expect this to get any notes but i wanted a fun little challenge and i kinda like the idea and i have Plans #(i also have no time for these plans but Oh Well™️) #stranger things christmas carol #dio words #this is whacky the words aint flowing i am only just regaining them after months of horribleness my brain is like rebooting sorry

[steventhusiast]

giggling to myself thinking about a steve harrington who is begrudgingly working for his father’s real estate/landlord business. he’s finally trusted enough to manage a property by himself (even if it’s just a small apartment), and who is the tenant of that apartment?

eddie munson. who hates his landlord on principle because no way does steve’s dad treat his tenants nicely or with respect. so eddie is as much of a menance to the harrington landlords as he can be without being evicted, and doesn’t plan on changing his tune anytime soon.

but then steve shows up to check up on a maintenance issue eddie raised and they are both shocked to see each other. eddie’s shocked because he’s met mr harrington before and he is NOT young or hot or nice. and steve’s shocked because his dad had described this tenant as trashy and a nuisance and rude, but standing before him is literally the prettiest man ever.

eddie tries to continue his anti-landlord ways and dislike steve on principle, and steve notices how much eddie hates his dad and is determined to prove to eddie that he’s a nice guy (and possibly a dateable guy) so he starts going above and beyond with the property, doing maintenance tasks himself instead of hiring a contractor, installing shelves eddie wants, bringing baked goods with him when he visits, approving wall repaints eddie wants to do, etc.

blah blah blah kind of enemies to lovers moment on eddie’s side at least of him having to come to terms with the fact that he likes his landlord as a person and maybe has a crush on him. and steve is just trying to woo him into being his friend or boyfriend from the start.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #stranger things #this is the most rambly idea ive ever posted #steddie drabble #feel free to build on this idea #mywriting #st

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly Track 1: Before the Beginning

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

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

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, bad parents all around, era-typical misogyny and sexism, mentions of reader's looks (as being very beautiful), partially interview format, no use of YN

AN: Hi, if you're a longtime TCGU reader, please read this note from me explaining this new format. If this is your first time coming across This fic, welcome! Please enjoy my attempt at a Daisy Jones and the Six!AU with some Fleetwood Mac-messiness thrown in.

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 8.6K

***

STEVE: Right, so I just start talking into this microphone thing?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, but you need to introduce yourself first.

STEVE: You know who I am, we’ve known each other for—ah, okay, okay sorry. I’m Steve. Harrington, obviously. Former lead singer and guitarist of The Downsides. So, uh, where do I start?

INTERVIEWER: The beginning—tell me about how you first got involved with music.

STEVE: Right, okay, I can do that. I grew up kinda lonely. My dad was this big real estate investor but we lived in Indiana of all places, so he was always traveling. I don’t think I remember him ever being home for more than a month straight growing up… and my mom was there but she wasn’t there, ya know? She drank a lot and spent a lot of time in bed, that sort of thing.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

Your childhood is a lonely one but it’s also a boring and predictable one.

Born in sun-soaked LA to a movie director father and his much younger model wife, two people who didn’t know each other well enough to either love or hate the other. They maintained a similar distance in their marriage as the one they tried to uphold in their individual relationships with you, their child.

So, your infancy was spent in a rotation of different nanny’s arms with your parents’ presence only dotting the periphery of your life. Who could blame them, after all? Infants are so contrived and boring compared to the big, wide, world of art that was Los Angeles in the 1960s.  Your parents were far too busy trying to cement their legacy in the art they created and inspired to spend too much time looking after you.

(Much later in life, you would find yourself wondering if your parents ever saw the irony  in the fact that your art ended up eclipsing their entire existence in the end and their only legacy was that of being your parents.)

As a child, however, you spent little time thinking of legacy and instead spent your time trying to feel less lonely.

***

STEVE: When I was a kid I would wonder why my parents even had me. Sorry, that’s like a total bummer thing to say during an interview. But it’s true. And you said to tell the truth. I never felt wanted by them. Until I got famous, and even then… but that’s not new,  a lot of kids grow up feeling lonely, right?

***

The employees who raised you were nice enough, but they saw you for what you were: a means to an end. A paycheck with big, sad, beautiful eyes that may beget sympathy, but they couldn’t get too close to.  The children you came to meet at your elite California private school seemed palatable enough at first, but the more you interacted with them, the more you found yourself at a loss. It was like they spoke a secret language you did not know—a language of price tags, and ever-changing hierarchies and thinly-veiled insults. One that your mother spoke perfectly, but never bothered to pass down to you.

You end up turning to books instead. The home library your father kept up for appearances’ sakes became your favorite room in the house and your teenage growth spurts were fed by any and all novels you could get your hands on from historical biographies to soapy romances, you read them all.  You loved them all, but you loved poetry the most— emotive and raw in ways you were unfamiliar with. You liked the way the syllables rolled gracefully into one another and how each word served a purpose—compact with meaning and so unlike the people around you who were so careless with their words.

As you began to age, and the meaningless mess of childhood shifted into the sharpness of adolescence, you began to write yourself. One day, somehow you had the idea of putting your poetry to music. If you could write songs good enough to be played on the radio then maybe you could earn people's adoration through your art like your parents had, you reasoned. Maybe you could even earn their adoration. You beg your parents for piano lessons, and they scoff at the thought.  “But what’s the point of having one if no one can play it?” You ask, referencing the piano in the grand foyer.

“That piano is not meant to be played,” your mother explains, slowly, “it’s meant to be admired by our guests.”

She walks away from the conversation before you can even protest.

Instead of giving up, though, you went to the library and borrowed all the books you could on music and piano playing and slowly began to teach yourself. You were not very good, at first, and both your parents made a habit of reminding you whenever they were around to hear you practicing. Luckily, they were rarely around.

***

STEVE: My parents signed me up for every single activity and extra-curricular you can think of: karate, basketball, pottery.   The one that really stuck though, was guitar lessons. Soon, that was the only thing I wanted to do it was something I was actually good at. Not something I had potential in, not something I was passable at. It was something I was good at. My dad did not like the idea of me going into music at first—he wanted me to take on a “manlier” hobby—but even he couldn’t deny that I was talented, and he sent me to this specialized music school in Indianapolis. That’s where I met Robin. That’s when I stopped feeling so alone.

ROBIN: Robin Buckley, brass, bass, and synth for The Downsides.

I met Steve when we were thirteen, I think, at this fancy music school in Indianapolis. I was there on scholarship.  I’m not going to lie, he was obnoxious, but most thirteen-year-old boys are. Even then, though, there was something about him that made everyone want to be his friend. He was also really talented. He never had to work very hard to be good at something, but he worked hard anyway. I hated him at first, but he wore me down and we eventually became best friends.

***

1978

Your music became a good outlet for all your loneliness and anger and disappointment, but it was not a cure for any of those things. You craved friendship and commonality and to be liked beyond the surface.

One day, when you were towards the end of seventeen, you decided to go exploring. You had heard Emily Cooke whispering salaciously in the girls’ bathroom at school about sneaking into the Whiskey A Go-Go to see The Six playing and an idea began to blossom.

Your home was only a walking distance from the Strip, the aptly named piece of street that was lined with clubs and musical venues, so that day, after hearing Emily’s plan you decided to try your luck at the Whiskey. You loved music, after all, and you wanted to be good at it, like the musicians that played there. Plus, there were others that shared those interests and the was a chance that some of them would be more tolerable than Emily Cooke.

You waited in line, by yourself, donning an outfit that you hoped made you look older than you were in an organic, cool way. When you made it to the doorman, you smiled trying to look more confident than pleading. His eyes raked over your body once, then twice and you resist the urge to flinch away. You had known then that you were beautiful—mostly because it was the only thing your mother valued in you— but what you hadn’t known was how far just being beautiful could get you. The doorman had let you in the club, not even questioning when your voice wavered while you had told him you were older than you actually were.

***

ROBIN:   Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Steve was my first kiss.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

ROBIN: Oh, right…. Well, whatever, Steve Harrington was my first kiss. He was also the first person I told that I liked girls. I knew from a really early age that I didn’t find men attractive but when Steve kissed me at our high school dance I had this immediate realization and I sorta burst out, “Steve, I like girls.” It was a really great moment of self-awareness for me—growing up as a girl, they always try to put you in this box of like feminity and being whatever men wanted you to be, including an object to be looked at or pawned over. I didn’t know how being gay fit into all that, until that moment.

I don’t think it was that great of a moment for Steve, though.

STEVE: She told you about that? Well, for the record, it wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it's just when you're a teenage boy and if your first crush admits she's a lesbian moments after you kiss her for the first time, well, it does not do your ego any favors, does it?

***

The moment you walked through that door, your life became severed in two: the before and the after. You watched, from the fringe of the crowd, as Billy Dunne crooned soulfully, and the audience sang his own words back to him.

You briefly imagine yourself on the stage, being someone that people would actually want to come see, someone that people would listen to. Someone people would love.  

***

STEVE: I always knew I wanted to be in music. It was the only thing that ever made sense. Wait, no, that’s not right… It’s the only thing that ever made life make sense. So, I started working at it, like seriously working it at, when I was 16. I bought as many records as I could, figured out what I liked, what I could do, and I practiced all the time. Like all the time. Robin did, too. I would play the guitar and sing, and she was insane on the trumpet and bass. I don’t think we ever sat down and had a conversation about whether we wanted to form a band or even what we wanted for ourselves in the future. We just always knew it was going to be the two of us, and we were going to be making music. Of course, you can’t have a band with only a guitar and a trumpet, so we had to start looking for more members.

***

1980

From that point on, your life had purpose.

You began to study everything about music—obsessively. You collected records, you played the piano until your fingers became cramped and sore or until your mother yelled at you to stop.

You filled notebook after notebook with lyrics, some good, many bad.

But you also kept your eyes on the tabloids and the gossip rags and the fashion magazines. To be a successful musician, you had to be good of course, but you also had to be well-liked. Growing up in the environment you did had given you a very unique perspective on this. Since infancy, you had seen hopeful artists-to-be approach your father for a chance, or ask your mother for advice. The most successful of them were not always the ones who had the best things to say, but those who said what they had to say in the best way.

 You practiced giving fake interviews in front of your mirror and in the shower. You stayed on top of trends and bought the best-fitting clothes. And most importantly, you tried to associate yourself with all the right people.

By the time you turned 18, you were well-known, even beyond the Strip. Photos of you standing next to the bass player/drummer/guitarist/lead singer of whatever band might have been riding a momentary wave of popularity at the time began to appear in tabloid magazines.

Most of them were men. Most of them wanted something out of you. You became a master in the art of giving just enough for them to think they had a chance with you if it meant that you could learn from them or convince them to listen to one of your songs. But every time you would even mention the idea that you wrote music, you would come hit a wall of patronizing, feigned interest followed by a grab at your chest.

Then came Jason Carver. Lead singer of the Letterman’s, Jason Carver. You dated him for a few weeks, right after you had turned 18. He was 25 and just charming enough for you to overlook his frequent condescension. Plus, he had promised that he would teach you a few chords on the guitar.

One day, you had come over to his apartment and he was getting all worked up because the band’s label was on his ass about writing a song and he couldn’t quite get it right. He needed to write a love song, something introspective and sweet but Jason could only churn out party anthems and songs meant to be played in dive bars.

Eventually, after hearing him gripe for what seemed like an eternity, you sent him off to take a shower and in the meanwhile compiled all of his shreds of half-lines and began to work filling in the gaps. Forty minutes later, you had a solid chorus and first verse to present to him for a song you thought should have been called “All At Once”. You thought that this would’ve made him happy, after all, you had gotten him one step closer to a possible song. (And maybe, you had secretly hoped, in all of his gratitude he could be swayed to give you a writing credit on the song).  Instead, he laughed at you like you were a child pretending to do an adult task and asked you to leave with a hasty promise that he would call you later that week. He never called. The hurt you felt was only a pin-prick. Six months later, you heard The Letterman’s on the radio: a new song by them called, “All At Once”. You tried to convince yourself for a moment that there would be no way that Jason could blatantly steal your song after having mocked you for even trying to write. But, boy, were you wrong. Those were, in fact, your lyrics, on the radio. Yes, the band had added another verse but, ultimately, your lyrics were all there. The same lyrics Jason had so easily dismissed six months prior.

That was when you realized if you were going to get ahead in the industry, you were going to have to play dirty, like Jason Carver.

***

 ROBIN: We met Argyle in Chicago. Once we graduated high school Steve and I started working as subs for small bands in the Midwestern circuit. Yes, it was as grim as it sounds, but it paid the bills and helped us meet people. Argyle was the drummer of some Reggae band that needed a bass player for a few weeks when their bassist got arrested on possession charges. I subbed in and was immediately super impressed by his skills. People always underestimated Argyle, to this day, because of the whole vibe he gives off, you know? But he’s smart and adaptable. Anyway, when his bassist lost his case, the band broke up indefinitely and I tried my best to convince Argyle to join Steve and me. There were two of us, we’d never played an official gig, and we didn’t even have a name, but Argyle said yes. Next was Nancy. We held open auditions for a keyboardist once Argyle was onboard. After five passable auditions, Nancy Fucking Wheeler walks in in this long skirt and bows in her hair. She had a book of Debussy sheet music for God’s sake. I almost burst out laughing when I saw her because I thought she must have been lost but then, in true Nancy Wheeler fashion she blew us all away. Ugh, was that woman talented. And gorgeous. Steve’s jaw had to be crane-lifted off the floor, it was love at first sight.

STEVE: It was not. She’s exaggerating.

1980

Ironically, you met Murray Bauman at one of your parents’ parties.

You knew he was a music producer for Starcourt Records because he kept loudly boasting to his date about it. The same Starcourt Records that the Letterman’s were signed on to.

You waited until he was two gin martinis in and standing alone admiring your father’s latest art purchase before you approached.

“Hello,” you said, brandishing a dazzling smile, your whole body angled and ready to perform this familiar dance.

“Aren’t you the producer for the Letterman’s?”

He shot you a grin that borders on swarmy and said, “why yes, I am and you look like you’re out past your bedtime.”

You didn’t react to his statement and instead marched onwards, “I loved their latest song, ‘All At Once’ right? It’s so romantic.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure how Carver popped that one out, he’s a bit of a meathead if you catch my drift.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction before laughing at his own joke.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not surprised to hear that considering I dated him,” your eyes flashed in a way that you hoped came off as dangerous, “and that I wrote that song.”

He regarded you for a moment before breaking out in a laugh. When he saw your expression remained unchanged, he stepped back in assessment.

“Oh shit, you’re being serious.”

You only nodded grimly.

“Okay, well that’s a new one. Usually, girls come up claiming that one of those idiots impregnated them, not this.”

He regarded you again, searching for a trace of a lie. He sighed, “So let’s say that you did write the song, which, knowing what I know about those Neanderthals, I am willing to entertain the possibility of this being at least partially true, then what does that mean? You’re going to blackmail Starcourt? Do you want money?”

You gestured vaguely behind you, sure that he must have known who your parents were. “I don’t need money.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I write music. Obviously. I want to write for your label.”

A grin broke out across his face, “Oh, boy.” He started to laugh: a deep chuckle that floated up from his belly.

“You and every other Joe Schmoe in Hollywood, sweetie.”

“But not every other Joe Schmoe wrote a song for one of your most popular bands.”

Murray regarded you again, he gave you a look you’re all too familiar with. One that says he did not expect such a fight in such an unassuming package.

“Here’s the deal,” you start, taking his brief lapse to pounce, “all I want is for you to take my demo tape and listen to it, like actually listen to it. Do that and we never have to mention this again.”

“And if I say no to your little proposition?”

You smile at his question before offering a small piece of paper, “Then here’s the business card to my lawyer he’ll be reaching out.”

This, puzzlingly, makes the man burst out laughing once again.

“Let me get this straight, you just want me to listen to your tape? That’s the grand blackmailing scheme? No record deal, no music video?”

You shake your head in response, “No, I think my music speaks for itself. I just need to get it in front of the right person.”

Murray’s still chuckling to himself as he extends his hand out signaling for you to drop the tape you are now holding in his hands.

“Fine, but you are one shitty blackmailer.”

You were signed to Startcourt Records a month later.

***

STEVE: Once Nancy joined, we were a band, and so we needed a name. I suggested the Steve Harrington experience but the girls shot me down like, right away. We ended up fighting about names for like an hour. It was actually Argyle who ended up coming up with our name. The Downsides, he had said, since we were all so negative about everything. He had said this after Robin had said I was 'all hair and no brain'. Not the best of origin stories, I guess. But we liked it and that’s how we became The Downsides.

***

NANCY: Nancy Wheeler, former keyboardist for The Downsides.

  I had been playing piano since I was eight, it was just one of those things my parents signed me up for to make me more well-rounded for college applications but I ended up loving it more than they had hoped.

I auditioned for the band on a whim, I was going to Indiana State at the time, getting my teaching degree but I loved playing the piano more than I would ever love being a teacher. To be honest, when I auditioned, I didn’t think they were going to take me, not even after I saw they had another girl in the band. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I had the talent for it, I just didn’t necessarily give off Rock and Roll vibes, but they accepted me anyway.

  I had a feeling Steve liked me from the moment we met, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him then. He’s Steve Harrington for God’s sake. Girls had posters of him up on their walls for the better part of the 80s. I just—I didn’t want people to think I got the spot because I was involved with the lead singer. I wanted people to know that I earned my place through talent. Steve was really disappointed when I turned him down, but he was always really respectful about it.

  That didn’t mean he stopped being interested or that I didn’t feel his eyes on me during every rehearsal in the summer of ‘81.  

1981

Of course, you knew that when you had been signed to Starcourt Records it wasn’t completely because of your talent.

You had started to wonder, however, if Starcourt had given you a shot because they didn't want to risk litigation or maybe because those record execs had seen your name floating around in a magazine or, more importantly, your picture.

The more you thought about it, the more insecure about your place you had felt, like an imposter among others who had earned their spots. But, after one week of rubbing shoulders with the musicians over at Starcourt, you realized that to be able to make it, you were going to have to ooze confidence, even if that confidence was fake.

***

NANCY: We started playing gigs together around the Midwest. In the beginning, we mostly played covers but eventually, we started writing our own music. I’m not a great songwriter and, to be frank, neither is Steve, so a lot of the stuff we were coming up with was pretty simple but it worked for us. We went from playing weddings to actually getting gigs that paid money. I mean it was barely enough to cover gas to get there but it was something. I guess, for the sake of transparency, there is one more thing I have to talk about while we’re talking about this time in the band’s life.

Steve and I spent a lot of time writing music together. It was great, being able to get close. I thought we were becoming friends. He was still a bit hung up, though and one night, when we were up late writing at his tiny apartment, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The next day, I told him that that couldn’t happen again. I gave him my reasons and he respected that but still, I could tell he was crushed. I think that between the kiss and us having this talk, he had begun to hope that something would happen between us.

I think that’s what made me and Jonathan hurt him so much more. 

1982

You didn’t necessarily like Murray when you first began to work with him but you did trust him. In the professional capacity at least. He never tried anything with you, which you appreciated although that bar was abysmally low.

You hadn’t known what to expect on your first day in the studio but you had a feeling that as far as the music was considered, you were in decent hands.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

The moment you had stepped into the studio, Murray had handed you a stack of music, all unfamiliar and definitely nothing you had written.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyes crinkling in confusion.

“A few contenders for an EP. The team over at marketing came up with some branding concepts and this is what we landed on.”

He then pulled out a thick folder overflowing with pictures of what you assumed the studio had wanted to mold you into. It was all bubblegum and teased hair and not at all what you had envisioned.

“Wait, Murray, I don’t understand.  I have a brand, one that I've spent a lot of time curating along. This isn't me and this is definitely not my music.  You said I could sing the music that I’ve written.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Murray hummed, condescendingly, “I never said that.”

“Well, if I can’t sing my music then I just won’t sing at all.” You were the full image of a petulant child, arms crossed and lips dangerously close to a pout.

Murray feigned concern for a moment before hunching down so that he was at eye level with you.

“You signed a contract,” he spoke slowly, “Starcourt owns you, and if you don’t like it, then talk to a judge.”

He turned away from you, leaning against the mixing console. He speaks again after what seems like an eternity.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s ethical or right, but if you want to make it in music, you got to play the game. You can’t come in here, swinging your metaphorical dick around, calling the shots when you haven’t proven you can rake in the dough.

“Sure, you’ve got talent, but who doesn’t? Right now, there’s a line of girls around the block who can sing and write and are probably better at following directions, waiting to take your spot.

"Plus, I read the songs you sent over, you have some good lines but there's not a single song worth attaching Starcourt's name to. Take this as an opportunity to learn, to be better, to actually work for something for the first time in your life. You have nothing right now, so nothing is below you, not even this pop dribble they're giving you to sing.

"I’m not saying it’s always gonna be this way, but you have to prove to them that you can play before they take you seriously, and then if you got what it takes, you can start writing your own music. Hell, if you make them enough money, they’ll let you play the fucking didgeridoo and go out in a nun’s habit… well, maybe not the habit, but the point stands. So, can we stop acting like the spoiled princess we are for just one afternoon and get to rehearsing?”

You snatched the book of songs from his outstretched hand and with a smile on your face, tore it down the middle before stomping off.

It had taken five days of Murray, along with various other executives at Starcourt, pounding on your door at the Chateau Mormont—the hotel that was your permanent residence since you had turned 18— before you had even considered setting foot in Starcourt again.

All it took was a gift basket full of Champagne and half a dozen threatening letters from their legal team.

***

NANCY: Jonathan came on as our second guitarist. I remember when he came to the audition he was this quiet, super shy kid who barely managed to make eye contact, but once he had a guitar in his hands, he had this way of coming alive. He wasn’t a showman like Steve, but he was electric when he played.

We—I never meant for things to turn out the way they did but with Jonathan, it wasn’t much of a choice. I know this sounds so cliche, but we were drawn to each other. I remember, during rehearsals, even before we really knew each other, he and I would lock eyes from across the room and I would know exactly what he was thinking.

Soon, we were sneaking around together. We were getting more and more serious, it was only a matter of time, honestly, before the others found out. Jonathan wanted to come clean early on, he could tell it was causing me so much stress, but I didn’t want to tell anyone else. Part of it, was Steve, of course, but also, what Jonathan and I had felt precious and personal and ours. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had built for ourselves.

Of course, it was Steve and Robin who eventually caught us, making out in Jonathan’s car after rehearsals one day.

To say that Steve took it hard is probably an understatement. He skipped rehearsal for five straight days and when he showed up he had this new song he had written, this ballad called, “Regret You”.

“If I never had you, then why can’t I forget you / I hate myself because I could never regret you.”

Yeah, that was an awkward one to rehearse but, to his credit, it was a great song. It was the song that got us noticed.

1982

You had spent months recording your first EP, a five-song collection the studio had decided to name “The Setlist”. It was meant to be a play on your groupie status, or at least that’s what some intern over in the marketing department had claimed, a little too proud of himself for your liking.

While you couldn't ignore the sense of accomplishment that bubbled below the surface, you mostly felt empty. 

The whole thing made you think of your father, whom you hadn't spoken to in years but had a very staunch view on artistic integrity. He despised artists who 'carelessly churned out poor imitations of real art for money'.  "To make art is as close as one can get to being god," he had explained to you once, with self-important tears in his eyes, "why would anyone sell that off? Art should mean something to the artist. Otherwise, they are a peddler of fake divinity." 

Your father had never had to worry about money a day in his life. 

That empty feeling was only exacerbated when, the Friday after you had officially finished recording, Murray had invited you to lunch with a particular proposition in mind.

“No, Murray, not gonna happen. Over my dead body and all that,” you spat from across the table.

“Listen, I don’t want to pull the contract card on you, but I will,” he warned with no real heat as he swirled his gin martini in one hand.

“Nice try,” you mirrored his pose, martini and all, “but the contract doesn't cover this, only original work. Not duets. You know that, I know that, so why don’t you try again and give me one good reason why I would even consider a duet with The Letterman’s.”

Murray gave you a look you had come to familiarize yourself with—one that was equal measures of pride and annoyance. It was the look he gave you whenever you bested him.

“How about the fact that they’re one of the hottest acts right now and being on a track with them would guarantee you a spot on the charts which is a great place to be at any point in time, but especially when you’re about to release an EP?”

Your face dropped in the way it only did when you knew Murray was right about something you didn’t want him to be right about. A look he had been starting to familiarize himself with.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but I want to spend as little time as possible with Jason. He’s a pompous ass.” “No disagreements there, sweetheart.”

The day you were scheduled to record with Jason and the rest of his band, he was an hour late. You hadn’t doubted for a moment he had done this on purpose.

When he finally had shown, he pretended not to know you, a game you had quickly caught on to, and made sure to respond with, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jackson” after he made a show of introducing himself to you which made the rest of his band and Murray guffaw.

Jason narrowed his eyes at you, his voice struggling to stay level, and said, “Watch it. We’re the ones doing you a favor here, remember?”

“I did you one first,” you responded, your eyes meeting his gaze, “remember?”

It had taken 20 minutes for his bandmates to calm him down, but eventually, the two of you got into the booth.

Your only priority had been to do your best job in as few takes as possible because you did not know how much longer you could tolerate being in Jason’s presence.

In the end, after a two-hour session, Murray had sent you both home, either happy with the finished product or at his wit’s end with the tension. Either way, three weeks later you had a duet with The Letterman’s called “It Was You” and just as Murray had predicted, it was quick to climb the charts.

You were getting noticed.

***

NANCY: Not long after Steve wrote “Regret You” we got noticed by a scout from Starcourt Records. I think at first we thought it was some sort of scheme, but it was legit. They had us record a few demos and in something like six months, they moved us to a house in Culver City.

The whole thing had felt like some sort of fever dream. I had to quit school and tell my parents. They didn’t even know I was in a band. Or seeing anybody. Needless to say, they didn’t take any of it well. When we got to LA, we did more test recordings and they even had us playing some shows at a few clubs on the strip.

Like I said: total fever dream.

But, when you’re under the thumb of a label like that, there are certain stipulations. One of the first things they told us was that they wanted to make our sound more modern and pop. We kinda

had an alternative, experimental sound back then. They said synth was going to be the new thing so they wanted Robin to learn how to play the synthesizer which meant that on certain songs, Jonathan would have to take over for bass. Also, they wanted Steve to be more of a frontman and less of a guitar player. Steve could always work a crowd, and they wanted to use that, especially with this new sound they had envisioned for us. All of this meant we needed another guitar player and, believe it or not, the label already knew who that was going to be. Eddie Munson.

***

EDDIE: Okay, here we go.

 I’m Eddie Munson, lead guitar for The Downsides.

 I  grew up trailer trash in some town that no one’s ever heard of. My mom died when I was eight and my dad was in and out of jail pretty much my entire life--well, until those royalty checks started rolling in, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

  People always use the dead mom/jailbird dad thing to either turn me into a sob story or villainize me, so I generally tend to avoid talking about it but since it's you, I'll say this: the thing I remember most about my mother is her absence and there is not a single redeeming thing about ole' Munson Sr. but I don't think they're responsible for any of the ways I've fucked up over the years. Nah, kid, that was all me.

Let’s get to the good stuff, shall we?

At the tender age of ten, I was gifted an old beat-up guitar by my uncle. Clearly, something he had picked up at the local Goodwill to try and keep me occupied and out of trouble. The neighbors hated us after. They hated us, even more, when it turned out that I could actually play.

When I was 18, Uncle Wayne got the idea that I was ready to commit to a life of indentured servitude over at the factory and that did not sit well with me, at all. I wanted to be a musician. But, instead of talking to him about it, you know, like a rational person? I just ran.

I sold my van and got a one-way ticket to LA. The metal scene was starting to pop up on the strip and music—metal—was the only thing I was good at, so I thought, ‘what the hell!’ and booked it. I slummed it for a few months and then, through some stroke of luck, I heard about a band that was auditioning for a new guitar player since their last one got hitched and quit. The Metal Gods smiled down on me the day of the audition because that same afternoon they called me back and told me they wanted me on as lead guitar.

1982

“It Was You”, your duet with The Letterman’s peaked at number 6 on Billboard’s Top 100 in October of 1982.

Suddenly, everyone wanted you to be featured in their songs. Your EP did well enough, but it didn’t even crack the top 30. That didn’t keep you from being the hot new thing on the scene and a

huge part of that was your reputation.

Of course, people knew who you were because of your groupie days, and you unintentionally built a reputation for being romantically involved with different musicians. So, when you broke out on the scene with a romantic duet, people started talking, and the tabloids began to spin stories about you and Jason being romantically linked which only caused a buzz for the song. You, of course, hated this and vehemently denied being involved with Jason to anyone who would listen. Jason, meanwhile, played it coy with the press, only fueling the rumors and your rage.

“Listen, I hate the guy as much as you do, sweetheart, but you got to respect the strategy,” Murray had said after hearing you gripe about one particularly salacious headline.

Before the year was through, you had been featured in five other duets. All with male artists. All resulting in more and more outlandish dating rumors. And all enjoying a lengthy stay on the top of the charts.

Starcourt had begun to push you to take it a step further and Brenner had asked for Murray to arrange outings between you and whatever male artist you were collaborating with. The meetings—you refused to call them dates—were always somewhere that was strategically public, somewhere where there was always at least one paparazzi with their cameras locked and ready. The pictures they would take would always make it to at least one gossip magazine, which resulted in even more publicity for the song.

Your partners—you refused to call them dates—were, at their best, cordial and business-like, one or two of them even asked for your permission before holding your hand. At their worst, though, they were handsy, entitled, and rude. None of them ever tried to ask you out on a real date and you weren't sure what that said about you.

Soon you were racking up duets and notoriety in equal measures. Radio DJs would make jokes about you every time they would play one of your songs—and they played your songs a lot. Once, while you were walking around Rodeo, a woman stopped you in the middle of the street and told you, very brazenly, that you needed to stop sleeping around so much. Before you could even tell her off, though, she proceeded to gush about how much she loved your duet with The Letterman's.

It seemed like everyone seemed to see you in a similar light though: they thought you were some sort of despicable maneater but all they wanted was more of a reason to talk about how you were a despicable maneater.

Murray had his work cut out for him, “We just need to find a way for you to have this same buzz all the time.”

***

EDDIE: Things started to pick up with Corroded Coffin. We were playing shows pretty much every night.  As I said, metal was on the rise and we were at the forefront. Eventually, record label bigwigs had no choice but to acknowledge that.

Some of them got smart and started poaching bands early on, like Starcourt. Corroded Coffin signed with them in ‘82. We thought we were hot shit after that.

There’s a certain lifestyle that goes along with that, though, you know? A reputation that you have to uphold.

I'm not trying to make excuses for myself here, trust me. I'm just...trying to explain myself.

People always love to talk shit. They'll call you all sorts of names before they see you as an actual person. Trust me, I would know. But, these interviews are an opportunity to set the record straight, to finally be seen as an actual person.

So, there I was, a nineteen-year-old kid from Bumfuck nowhere, finally making it big, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere--like for the first time I wasn't a freak whose mom died or some trailer trash high school dropout--of course, I was gonna get swept up in it all. Of course, I was going to start picking up the bad habits and doing drugs. There was no one there to tell me otherwise.

It started out as something to get us through the madness that was our schedule: between the live shows and the studio time, we needed uppers just to keep us on our feet. Then, obviously, you needed the downers so you could fucking relax because the uppers made you so tense. 

I stopped enjoying the drugs pretty early on, but at that point quitting wasn't something that I was willing to put that much effort into. 

1983

The first time someone asked for your autograph, you were at a show at Whiskey a Go Go. Murray, acting as a sort of manager, had set up a photo opp with Charles Riva, your latest duet partner. He hadn’t shown that night but you never walked away from a live show.

Two girls, not much younger than you, appeared behind you as you were ordering at the bar and tapped you on the shoulder.

“See, I told you it was her,” the shorter one, a strawberry blonde with severe bangs whispered excitedly to her friend, a taller brunette.

Before you could ask either of them exactly what they wanted, the strawberry blonde spoke again, “Can we have your autograph?”

You could only nod dumbly as they handed you a cocktail napkin and a pen. You tried to think of something meaningful to write, but in your shock, could only come up with “Best wishes, xoxo”. You didn’t even ask them their names. The best you could do was offer to buy them a drink, which they happily accepted.

You regretted the offer as soon as you registered how young they looked underneath all that makeup, an observation that made you unsettlingly sad. You were reminded of your first days on the Strip: lonely and young and wanting someone to notice you for the right reasons.

Your thoughts became too heavy to deal with at that particular moment and you abruptly excused yourself, leaving the two confused girls behind. A shame, you thought to yourself, in another life you might’ve all been friends, but no one really wants to be your friend these days. They just want to tell people they’re your friends. Walking away saves everyone the disappointment.

You needed a drink.

By the time the main act had taken the stage, your vision had started to haze at the edges as a result of the multiple drinks you had procured for yourself. You watched, half-interested as a band you’d never heard of, Corroded Coffin took the stage, your eyes tracing after each member, eyeing the things only a fellow musician would: the models of equipment they had, the way the band queued each other up.

You didn't know enough about metal yet to know whether you'd consider yourself a fan or not but even with the little familiarity you have, you can tell this band is good. Their playing is unpolished but overflowing with energy and the crowd is feeding into it, screaming the lyrics along with the lead singer.

All of it reminds you of your first show at the Strip—what seemed ages ago—and that memory summons a whole other thought entirely: the reason that you had gotten into music was to actually make music you liked, not to be a topic of discussion in a gossip magazine, getting no say in the music you created.

You don't even remember the last time you had even written a lyric.

You think to yourself that maybe you should wander backstage after the show, like you once did and talk to the band. Maybe you could pick their brains about songwriting. They clearly didn’t care about mass appeal if they were making metal music which means they were probably doing it for the art.

At the very least they probably had a decent stash of pills.

Either way, it would be worth it.

***

EDDIE: It was pretty much love, at first sight, the moment I saw her in the crowd that night at Whiskey a Go Go. I remember seeing her for the first time halfway through our set and it was like I went blind for a moment. I had completely forgotten what I was doing, I think I even missed a cue. After the show, I made a beeline for the bar where she was standing, trying to act as cool as I could but I was shitting it.

***

Once that band had wrapped up, you made your way to the dressing rooms. You maneuvered to the dressing rooms like you had dozens of times before, but the band wasn’t there.

You milled about for a bit, before growing bored and leaving wondering if maybe they had seen you coming and left.

***

EDDIE: I ordered a drink just as an excuse to get closer and it worked. She was even more beautiful up close and so, so kind. Told me she loved our show and even pointed out specific guitar solos of mine that she liked. She always had a way of making you feel special like that. Chrissy Fucking Cunningham. Even her name was perfect, not a syllable too few or too many.

I asked her for her number that night and we went on a date two days later, I could hardly keep it.

together having to wait two days to see her again. Then, after a few weeks, we were going steady, as the kids say. It was perfect. I never really had anyone to myself, you know? She was the first person that ever made me feel seen and cared about.

I remember one time; she was hanging out at my place while the band was in the studio. When I came back, she had done all my laundry. When I asked her why she had done that, she just said “I dunno, just because” then, all of a sudden there were tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like that for me “just because".

My life had never been better--so of course, I fucked it up.

***

While you did not manage to meet Corroded Coffin, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, even days later. It was like seeing them play had awoken you from a daze you didn’t even know you had been in.

You spend a few days getting incredibly drunk by the pool after that. But no matter how much you drank or how many pretty dresses you bought yourself or how many pill you took, you could not shake the feeling.

A few mornings later, you had called Murray, “This stops now, Murray. No more duets or features or whatever else. I want to meet with Brenner. I want to do this my way.”

Murray, not used to being awake so early, gave a weak attempt at talking you down.

“No,” you urged on, “you said once I started making money, I could have a say. Well, now I’m making money and I’m tired of Starcourt just using me for that. So, I want something permanent and I want to write my own music, got it?”

“You have a contract,” Murray parroted back, half-heartedly.

“Yes, I do, and I plan to honor that contract but so help me God I will make life a living hell for you and for Brenner and any other exec that tries to get me to do another duet with Jason fucking Carver. In fact, I will find a way to lose Starcourt money if you don’t get me out of this. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Great, I’ll see you at lunch Murray.”

He signed, “See you then.”

***

EDDIE: My drug use was getting more out of hand. Chrissy hated it, but I couldn't bring myself to quit. Especially the things that I thought I needed to make it through the day.

Chrissy was a saint throughout the whole thing, until one night when she caught me in the dressing room of Whiskey with a girl who was not her. She walked away and I don’t really blame her. Out of all the regrets of my life—and trust me, kid—that was one of the biggest.

She moved out that day and refused to take my calls, moved in with one of her friends and I spent days just calling her, sending her flowers, the works.

She told me she wouldn’t budge unless I got clean. So, I checked myself into rehab. She was a good enough reason to quit. 45 days later, I checked out, clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Chrissy was gone though, I had no clue where she had disappeared to, but wherever she went, she didn’t want me to find her.

On top of that, my band was fucking pissed. I left the band for 45 days without telling anyone, right as we were finishing recording our debut album. Yeah, they weren’t happy. I was in something called “breach of contract” with the suits over at record label and they wanted to take me to court, and not the Star kind.

I definitely didn’t have lawsuit type of money back then, so it was in my best interest to work something out with Starcourt and jump back on fulfilling my contract. Problem was, Corroded Coffin didn’t want me back anymore, even though the guy they replaced me with wasn’t half as good as I was.

I thought that because my old band didn’t want me, that meant that I would be free of my contract. I was wrong. What actually happened was that my fate was then put into Starcourt’s hands and they could place me in whatever podunk production or band they wanted. They owned my ass.

And that’s how I ended up with The Downsides.

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#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Eddie Munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #steve harrington #rockstar!eddie Munson #past!eddie x chrissy #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers

[thestobingirlie]

please please PLEASE talk more about Mrs H your version of her is amazing how did she and Mr H meet was she excited when Steve was born how did she find out her husband was cheating do they actually love each other

my hcs for steve’s parents vary wildly depending on the au and my mood lmao. but right now, this is what i’m feeling:

in most of my au’s, mrs h (hereafter referred to as diane, my name for her) comes from old money. her family has been wealthy a long time, and she’s famous in some small way. model, small acting roles that kind of thing. she’s know for her charm and looks and willingness to throw away her families money.

mr h (hereafter referred to as dick because i named him richard and i think it’s funny) comes from small town indiana, hawkins. he’s been working for years to build his families business (i lean towards some kind of real estate job). he’s out, he’s networking, and he meets diane. they’re both in their 20s (though sometimes i do love the idea of diane being a former secretary of dick’s and a lot younger. again, a lot of my hcs depend on my mood). anyway, it’s a whirlwind romance.

diane (and her families money) helps to build the harrington family business. she’s smart, and savvy, and underestimated. she’s also, just, exciting. and that’s what dick’s attracted to. this thrill. that she seems to take up all the space in a room.

for a boy from a nothing town, she’s… everything.

they marry fast, but steve doesn’t come for, like, another decade.

he’s a… surprise. they planned on kids, one day, but they like their freedom. the ability to do anything, relying on no one. but dick wants a son, someone to pass the family business onto one day, and diane likes the idea of children, of someone loving her unconditionally.

she wanted a girl, dick wanted a son, and diane is kinda devastated when steve turns out to be a boy. his nursery is bright pink for a few years, diane puts him in girls clothes when dick isn’t there to tell her off. she even does a few modelling jobs with him. he’s adorable. he’s a cute little baby.

but he changes her life. in a way she doesn’t exactly like.

steve doesn’t affect dick much, but suddenly they aren’t travelling, she doesn’t get to come into the office as much, she’s stuck at home looking after steve. and diane really struggles with that. sometimes i hc that she struggles with ppd. she has a hard time connecting to steve, and yet at the same time, when he’s a baby, it’s easy. he’s easy. he’s not really a person yet. it gets so much harder when he isn’t just… an accessory. part of her perfect wife life.

now, the cheating reveal is very fun, and the most consistent part of all my au’s. steve’s the one to discover it. he’s around 6-ish. comes home from a day out with grandpa, walks into his dads office and finds him…. closely cuddling a young, blonde secretary.

dick swears steve to secrecy, but steve, precious little mummies boy that he is, breaks his silence almost the second he sees diane.

she. flips. out. she’s been stuck as home, looking after steve while dick gets his dick wet? by the time he gets home that day, half of his stuff is on the lawn. wedding presents smashed, his favourite watch trodden on. diane doesn’t do things by half. she even gets steve involved. gives him a pair of scissors and tells him to go crazy with his dads ties.

dick is able to get her to soften eventually, but it forever changes the family dynamic. diane doesn’t trust dick anymore, dick blames steve for telling diane, and in a way diane kind of resents steve for telling her. she could’ve lived in ignorance. but steve is also the only person that still wholeheartedly loves her.

i think this is the point where she starts emotionally relying on steve, and becoming more of a “boy mom”, because she no longer fully trusts her husband to fulfil those emotional needs. it’s a lot of “you would never cheat, would you steve? you’re a good boy. you’re nothing like your good for nothing father.”

around the same time, dick’s parents get ill. they need more support, and with the cheating, diane is happy to usher dick away from the temptations bigger cities have to offer and back into small town hawkins.

he still has to travel back for work, diane doesn’t trust him. they both hate living in hawkins. and years down the line, we reach canon territory. a diane that follows dick whenever he leaves town, and a steve that goes insane at the very idea of cheating.

very fun.

now, the love is where it gets complicated lmao.

depending on the au obviously, but i do think they still kinda love each other, or at least, have love for one another. it’s how dick is always able to win diane round, it’s why dick doesn’t just divorce her. but they’re both pretty toxic people, i suppose, and that flows back into their marriage. but they still want to be who they were at the beginning of their marriage, their best selves, and that keeps some affection for the other within them. they both wish they could be those wild and free kids again. who had the whole world in the palm of their hands.

i do kinda think that once steve leaves that house though, they will divorce. yeah, every once in a while they’ll hit each other up and have an insane affair. maybe they even get remarried and divorced again. but eventually they have to stop living in the past, and move on.

(btw, i am always happy to talk about steve’s parents. they make me go insane lmao. esp diane. i mean, literally one of the reasons behind me writing saint stephen is because in all these “steve dies” au’s, his parents are never around!! i LOVE thinking about how steve’s death would fuck them up)

#steve harrington #steve harrington’s parents #diane harrington #dick harrington #<- my tags for them #stranger things #asks #anon

[qwainte]

Headcanons/speculation about how the preps acquired their wealth and current source if income:

The Harringtons: "Harrington Oil" can be seen advertized on the go-cart racetrack so we can assume they are oil tycoons. Derby is featured in Aquaberry advertisements so perhaps his family are shareholders and invest in other luxury clothing brands as well.

The Gauthiers: It's hard to say. Chad mentions Pinky's father bought her an entire ice cream factory so maybe he owns a major food manufacturing company a la Nestle. I also guess her parents are philanthropists considering that she has no qualms about donating to charity

The Taylors: Bif mentions his dad possibly bulldozing some low-income housing so I'm going to say land development and real estate. If he gets hit by a car Bif will mention his father being an attorney. I'm also going to consider Derby's little jab about him being a Democrat and say his dad is a political attorney.

The Spencers: "Spencer Shipping", a shipping manufacturing company; Tad says his father is a self-made man but perhaps his mother is old-money, hence the inbreeding. She may have came from an old British aristocrat family, and Tad does his best to replicate her accent.

The Vanderveldes: Sounds like "Vanderbilt" so imma say railroads

The Vendomes: Gord's dad is an attorney and owns a law firm that specializes in criminal cases. He also owns several hotels so he's in the hospitality business

The Montroses: Bryce's dad has gambled away most of their money and whatever source of wealth they have isn't enough to get their family out of debt. The best guess I can give is that his father is an investor and is currently seeing little to no returns on his investments (after more digging I found a quote were Bryce states his father told him he "lost a bundle in the stock market").

The Ogilvies: Literally no dialogue hints at his family's business so let's say his father owns a large vehicle manufacturing company and his mother is a professional conductor.

The Morrises: Chad mentions his father a lot like he's a really important person so perhaps he's in politics or works on the board of education. He mentions not receiving his usual care package from his mother, meaning that she may not live nearby in the Vale. She may have a profession that requires her to travel a lot. Judging by Chad's quotes about the environment I'd say she's an environmentalist.

#bully cce #canis canem edit #bully scholarship edition #bully headcanons #bully headcanon #derby harrington #pinky gauthier #bif taylor #tad spencer #gord vendome #chad morris #parker ogilvie #bryce montrose #justin vandervelde

[passivenovember]

Turns out, the Beemer was always too good for him.

Billy never would’ve pointed that out before. But he mentions his study date with Nancy Wheeler, and suddenly Billy’s gotta fork up his college fund to earn the right to sit where Steve’s got his hand on Billy’s knee. 

It’s pathetic.

And sure, the sun burns a little brighter, warming the stupid grin he can’t seem to scrub off when Steve’s got the windows rolled down. And yeah, life is a little sweeter when George Michael’s words bloom like petals across Steve’s lips.

And Billy’s got a thing for Steve. Obviously.

Everything he touches turns to gold and oozing poetry and Billy does what he can to keep Harrington focused on him, running his fingertips across every inch of free real estate Billy keeps on offer.

But Billy mentions the study date and, immediately, Steve’s too good for him. Always was, just. Wise’s up to it when Billy mentions that he’s all booked up this Friday. 

And Billy doesn’t care for that.

Maybe ‘I’ve got a date this Friday’ was a poor choice of words.

But the thing is, Billy and Nancy are neck ‘n neck for valedictorian. Steve’s got a thing for Brains. And they’re both trying to get into the Ivy Leagues so they thought. Two skulls are better than one, right?

But the thing is, Steve’s honey-gold smile falls away and he makes it all about him. Which gets Billy in the gut, you know?

Because Billy says he’s busy on Friday night, and Steve acts like someone told him his dog died. His parents are never coming home. Everything he’s ever dreamed is no longer set to come true. 

Never mind what happens to Billy, right?

“You’ve got a date,” Steve tries, testing the words on his tongue.

Billy frowns. Hates that he likes his men pretty and stupid. “It’s a study date.”

“Still a date.”

“Yeah, going over admissions stuff.”

“With Nancy Wheeler,” Steve looks out the window. Counts each little crack in the sidewalk. Seems to notice that the Hargrove’s live in a fucking dump. 

Billy shifts, skin stretched too tight over his ambitions. “That matter to you, all of a sudden?”

“It’s Nancy,” Steve says. 

Like that’s the key to the universe.

Like just the sound of her name is supposed to sort the alphabet soup sloshing around in Billy’s head. He’s supposed to look at the slump of Steve’s shoulders and realize the meaning.

He’s supposed to internalize it.

He’s supposed to stay home.

“Y’know, Nance sets out a little picnic blanket on her bedroom floor when she invites a guy over. It’s sinful to have him on their bed in his street clothes.”

Billy hates this. Wishes he’d never brought it up. 

“It’s all pink wallpaper and stuffed bears. It’s lame.” Steve looks at him, then, all traces of worry swiped clean. He’s suave, he’s cool as a cucumber. “Come study at mine, instead.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need Nancy’s brain.”

“Use mine.”

“She’s got a perfect mark in AP English, Harrington, I’m not even sure you can read, yet,” Billy expects that to be the end of it. 

Steve can throw punches but he can’t take them. He’s soft. Sweet and gentle in all the right places. It’s what Billy loves--

“You can bring Nance,” Steve rushes, grasping at straws because the cliff face of his argument is crumbling out from under him, and.

Nance.

Billy hates that. The sound of it slips into his ears and wiggles down his throat. Hits the back of it and makes him gag.

When Billy doesn’t say anything, Steve laughs. Sharp and humorless and so unlike him that Billy opens his mouth to apologize.

But what for?

Steve isn’t the only one who can dream. So Billy says that. Puffs his chest out, admits, “I wanna get out of this fucking town, Harrington.”

And Steve says, “I’ll take you,” Like it’s really that simple.

He’s an idiot.

Billy chews on his thumbnail. Steve hears him gnawing and threads their fingers together because that’s what he does. He’s sweet and he’s started putting himself between Billy and all his bad habits. Acting as a traffic stop. 

It hurts. 

it’s stuff that boys do when they’re in love. It’s fairytales and empty promises and the shape of everything Billy’s never deserved.

So he slips his hand away.

And Harrington reacts to that, too. His eyes go big. Tragic heroine goo, filling with disappointment. “I could help you with your admissions stuff,” Steve tries again. Honey-sweet.

“Pretty boy, the only thing you could do is foot the tuition bill.”

“I’ll do that, too.”

“What’s your deal with Nancy Wheeler?” Billy shakes his head. He leans across the console, studying every mole and freckle on Steve’s face until he starts to squirm. “You worried I’m gonna try and fuck your ex girlfriend, or something? You really think that little of me?”

Steve doesn’t say anything. 

He gapes, instead, like a hole in the road. Like a beached starfish. Like a man who just got caught in his own lie.

Billy can’t believe he fell in love with this asshole. “Fuck you.” 

“Billy--”

He slams out of the car because it feels good. Takes the stairs to his perch on Cherry Lane two at a time because Billy’s not soft or sweet or gentle.

He’s not patient. 

And he’s not going to wait around for Steve to admit that, all while he’s been driving Billy around town and leaving flowers under his window and holding Billy’s hand when he thinks no one’s looking, Steve’s held onto Nancy Wheeler.

He’s got feelings for the girl who’s better than Billy in every sense of the word.

#harringrove #light angst for ya

[ladykailitha]

If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too? Part 17

Allison isn’t in this one much, and next chapter we say goodbye to her because she was starting to take up the narrative space that was meant for Eddie. And while I’ll miss her as much as everyone else, it is a Steve/Eddie fic and not Steve+Allison fic. Maybe after this is done, I’ll do a little one-shot with featuring her.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

***

Steve was worried. Yes, yes, he was aware that was normal. But this was introducing his kids to his mom. He didn’t know if he should introduce them in batches or all at once.

Dustin took the decision out of his hands when he decided to show up at Eddie’s unannounced when his mom was there.

Eddie, Robin, Wayne, Allison and Steve had their heads over the real estate section of the newspaper.

Allison pointed to one. “This one is in Loch Nora. Four bedroom, three and half bath with an Olympic style pool.”

“What the hell is a half a bath?” Robin asked as she leaned over Allison’s shoulder.

There was a knock on the door and Eddie went to answer it while Allison explained what it was.

Dustin smiled up at him. “You know it’s great having you and Wayne in the neighborhood. It makes it easier to check up on you and Steve.”

Eddie sighed. “We’re busy, what do you want?”

Dustin was about to say when he heard Robin laugh. “Robin’s here, too?” Then he just barreled past Eddie to beeline straight for the kitchen.

He stopped short and cocked his head. “And who the hell are you?”

“Language!” Steve barked. “And you don’t get to talk to guests in someone else’s house like that.”

Eddie came up behind Dustin and knocked off his hat. “Yeah, butthead. She’s a guest in my house, you treat her with respect.”

“Come on, Eddie,” Dustin whined as he gathered his hat back up and put it on his head. “I was just surprised is all.”

Steve grinned. “Mom, this is Dustin Henderson. He’s the one I was telling you about that Eddie and I co-parent.”

Dustin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Mom?!”

“Dusty this is my mom, Allison Harrington,” Steve continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

Allison smiled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Steven has told me all about you. Did you really build a radio tower all by yourself?”

Dustin’s face lit up and he started talking a mile a minute. Allison seemed to take it all in stride as she nodded along and asked questions at the appropriate times.

After he was done explaining he turned to Steve. “Are you sure she’s your mother? But she is super smart.”

Eddie knocked his hat off again. “Behave.”

Allison also frowned. “As a wise man once said, if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree it will think itself stupid. My Steven has different strengths. And let’s not forget that the original NASA astronauts weren’t scientists and scholars but test pilots. Meathead jocks with an adrenaline addiction and little regard for their own safety.”

Dustin blinked. “Oh. That does sound like Steve.” He bent to pick his hat up again and adjusted it so it wouldn’t get knocked off as easily.

“What do you want, Genius Child?” Robin asked. “You came over for a reason. What was it?”

Dustin looked down at his feet and mumbled. “I haven’t got to spend much time with Steve since he moved out of his parents’ house...”

Steve’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, bud. Come here.”

Dustin shuffled over to him and let Steve wrap his arms around him. He put his head on Steve’s chest and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” Steve asked. “For wanting to hang out with me? Don’t be. I’ve just been super busy with work and volunteering and trying to find a place to live...and you’ve been in school. So it was just a matter of us missing each other, okay?”

Dustin nodded.

Allison cleared her throat. “Why don’t Robin and I scope out the place in Loch Nora and meet back here in a couple of hours? That way Dustin can hang out with Eddie and Steven. And Robin and I will come back let you know if it’s worth looking at? How does that sound?”

Steve pulled away from Dustin to look at him. “That sound good, bud?”

Dustin nodded.

Allison gathered up the newspaper and her keys, Robin following behind as they walked to the door. They said goodbye to everyone.

Wayne looked up at the clock. “Looks like it’s about time for me to get ready for work. You boys take care, all right?”

Eddie, Dustin and Steve all nodded.

“So what did you want to do, butthead?” Eddie asked, his hands on his lower back.

Dustin pulled off his backpack with a smile. “So I was thinking that we could build Steve a D&D character.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You know I’m not going to play, so why make me a character?”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Not like that. You as a D&D character. I figured with you and Eddie helping I could show you how badass your are.”

Steve frowned. “You think I’m badass?”

“Of course!” Dustin said. “And don’t think I hadn’t noticed that the clothes you’ve been wearing isn’t your normal style.”

Eddie scoffed. “Only after I told you.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Yes, and after you brought up, I began to notice it myself.”

Steve frowned at both of them. “I wear my regular clothes.”

Eddie wagged his finger back and forth and tsked. “Not true, my Stevie. The outfits you’ve worn lately have been longer in the sleeve and always collared. You haven’t worn a sweater or t-shirt since Vecna.”

“And you always wear an undershirt,” Dustin said. “Something you would only do if the shirt you were wearing was loose, like your Scoops Ahoy uniform.”

Steve gulped.

“Even when we went to Indy, you seemed to melt into the background,” Eddie said. “Something that I know isn’t you.”

Steve looked at the ground and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“I noticed, big boy,” Eddie said. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it? The road rash? It hurts?”

Steve nodded. “My mom got mad at the doctor for not giving me something for the itch at the very least. But by that point it was already starting to flake off. It’ll scar because they didn’t do anything about it.” He sighed. “I–I know I shouldn’t care. They’re proof I survived, but...” his voice cracked.

“What are you afraid of?” Dustin sneered. “That your good looks are gone now?”

When Steve didn’t say anything Eddie thumped Dustin on the head.

“Ow!” he protested. “What was that for?”

“That’s exactly what the problem is, you dumbass,” Eddie said. “And that’s what I was trying to indicate with his sudden change of style.”

“I just don’t understand what the big deal is,” Dustin said. “He’s been a badass for years. He doesn’t need his good looks when he’s got a nail bat. That’s why I wanted to make the D&D character to show him is strengths. So he can see on paper how cool he is.”

Steve and Eddie looked at each other in amazement.

“Oh,” Steve said softly.

“I wasn’t trying to be an ass,” Dustin whined. “I just don’t get why it upset him so much.”

“Because I know my reputation, okay,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “Dumb Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. A pretty face with the charm to match. King Steve the Jock, who’s toned and hot. Good looks and an empty head. Great to go to for beauty and dating advice, but not much else. I know! Okay?”

Dustin opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“It’s not like you kids do anything to dispel that image,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down. “Because when I ask questions no one tells me that I’m an adult and shouldn’t have to be told everything.” He raised an eyebrow at Dustin.

Dustin’s jaw dropped. “Oh shit.”

“I appreciate you wanting to show Steve his strengths in a very tangible way, I do,” Eddie said. “But if you really want Steve to feel better about himself, try starting with dialing back on the insults.”

Eddie pushed his fingers into his eye as tamped down on his rising temper. “That was something I didn’t understand. I was talking to Steve telling him how much everyone talked him up. Lucas, you, and even Mike. All ranted and raved about how awesome Steve was. But he didn’t believe me!” Steve looked up and bit his bottom lip, fighting back the tears.

Eddie straightened up and walked toward Dustin, putting himself between Steve and him. “But the second I saw you kids with Steve, I got it. And none of the older siblings get the absolute shit Steve does. Not even Lucas and he’s got Erica as a younger sister.”

Dustin stared up at Eddie, tearing up. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so bad. I’m sorry, Steve.”

“We can do the character sheet if you want,” Steve said, “but yeah, what he said.” He pointed to Eddie. “You and I give each other shit as brothers but seriously Eddie and I couldn’t figure out why you wanted to hang out with us when all you talked about was how cool the other guy was.”

Dustin shuffled his feet and blushed. “I wanted you guys to be friends at the very least. I thought if I kept saying how awesome you guys were that you’d want to meet. It never occurred to me that you might get jealous of each other.”

Eddie tilted his head forward and the side. “Uh, dude...I know the rest of that was important and very sweet, but what did you mean by ‘at the very least’?”

Dustin just continued to look at his feet, scuffing the kitchen tile with the side of his sneaker.

“Dusty?” Steve asked. “You can tell us, we won’t be mad. I promise.” He looked over at Eddie who nodded.

“No judgment, bud,” Eddie agreed. “But you’ve got to tell us.”

Dustin let out a dramatic sigh. “I kept trying to set Robin and Steve up, but they kept saying that they were incompatible and just strictly Platonic with a capital P.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow at Steve who half shrugged. “It is what it is.”  

“So, anyways,” Dustin continued. “I figured maybe it was because Steve was secretly gay and that’s why he kept striking out with girls. And I knew Eddie was so...”

Eddie doubled over with laughter as Steve placed his hands on his hips and looked up the ceiling, pursing his lips and trying not to laugh, too.

“You were trying to set us up?” Eddie asked between gasps of laughter.

“It only sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Dustin grumbled.

Eddie and Steve shared a glance.

“Should we tell him?” Steve asked.

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know, he does already have an over-inflated ego as it is. This might tip it over into epic mode.”

Steve tapped his lips. “That’s certainly true. But he’ll find out eventually and he’ll be upset we didn’t tell him when we had the chance.”

Eddie stopped giggling and sighed. “That’s certainly true. And for all his faults, we do love the little butthead.”

“That we do,” Steve said solemnly.

“Can someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Dustin asked, his head swimming with the possibilities of what they could be talking about.

Eddie grinned and walked over to Steve. Steve blushed as he realized what he was going to do.

Eddie wrapped one arm around Steve, the other hand reaching up to cup his cheek fondly. Then he pressed their lips together in a slow, searing, beautiful kiss.

Dustin began jumping up and down squealing with barely contained joy. “Oh my god! This is awesome!”

Steve broke away from the kiss and Dustin could see that he was completely red.

“How long?” he asked excitedly.

Steve buried his head in Eddie’s shoulder to hide his rising embarrassment.

Eddie licked his lips. “Since Indy.”

“Steve, you smooth motherfucker,” Dustin cooed. “Did you take him to the concert to woo Eddie?”

When Eddie just laughed and Steve buried his head further into Eddie’s neck, Dustin gasped.

He playfully pushed at Steve. “You could have said, asshole! I wouldn’t have pushed so hard to do something nice for Eddie, too. I would have done my own thing, dumbass.”

Steve lifted his head up and blinked at Dustin. “Really?”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Yes!” He threw his arms in the air. “Of course I would have. Plus, now that I know that you like Eddie back, I wouldn’t have tried to get you to give back the vest because it would be a really shit thing to do as if Eddie gave it to you, it would have been a declaration of his feelings for you.”

Eddie blinked at Dustin whose mouth had been running at a mile a minute. Steve on the other hand blushed deep.

“It’s a good thing I talked to Jeff and got skinny on that before I did something that stupid,” Steve acknowledged. “So I made him one to give back to him.”

Dustin giggled again and started hopping up and down.

“Dude!” Steve said, hands on his hips. “You’re going re-injure your ankle if you keep that up.”

“I don’t care!” Dustin squealed. “This is so freaking awesome. Can I see it? The vest I mean. You don’t have to because it’s personal, but yeah...”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah you can see it.” He went to go grab it.

Dustin immediately threw his arms around Steve. “This is so amazing. I’m so happy that you guys are a couple. And I completely understand you not telling me. Shit must be so scary for you guys.”

Steve nodded and hugged Dustin back.

“So do a lot of people know?” he asked, shyly. But Steve heard the real question of ‘Am I the last to know?’

Steve shook his head. “Wayne was the first to know.”

Dustin took a step back. “Makes sense.”

“Then Robin,” Steve continued.

“Best friend privileges,” Dustin agreed. “Well best friend your age anyway.”

Steve ruffled his hair. “Absolutely. I don’t have a secret handshake with just anyone.”

“You better not!” Dustin said mock seriously.

“Um...” Steve said. “Jeff was the next to know.”

Dustin nodded again. “You mentioned you talked to him about the battle vest, make sense that he understand the meaning behind, too.”

“Nancy...” Steve said with a grimace.

Dustin exploded. “What?!”

“She figured it out on her own,” Steve said. “They don’t call her Nancy Drew for nothing, after all. Plus, I’ll admit to panicking the day we went to Indy.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes. “Which meant Robin was panicking.”

“Yep,” Steve said. “So we called her in to help make sure I didn’t forget anything.”

“So far so good,” Dustin admitted. “Anyone else?”

“Just one,” Steve said, he licked his lips and looked down at the floor.

“Who?” Dustin asked, frowning a little.

“Will,” Eddie said from the doorway.

Dustin turned to see Eddie in the vest, leaning up against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

Dustin’s brain was warring between the information that Will knew before he did and how metal Eddie’s new vest looked. His lizard brain went for the shiny.

“That looks so cool!” he shrieked.

Eddie walked into the kitchen and did a slow turn to show off the whole vest.

“A Corroded Coffin t-shirt?” Dustin cried. “That’s freaking awesome! And Steve did all of it?”

“Yup,” Steve said, grateful that Dustin focused on the vest and not why Will knew before him. He didn’t out Robin and he sure the hell wasn’t going to out Will, either. “Jeff, Gareth, and Brian all showed me the different pins and patches all meant. And then showed me how to sew them on.”

“Brian likes you better now,” Eddie said with a chuckle.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “I’ll bet he does. With all the swag you brought home. I bet he wishes he was nicer to me before we left so I could get Ozzy’s signature for him.”

“Let’s get making up that character sheet,” Eddie said, “shall we?”

Dustin lit up again and his attention was taken off the vest and Will. Both Eddie and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Part 18  Part 19  Part 20

Tag List: @anaibis @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666  @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @whalesharksart @nburkhardt @snapshotmaestro @shrimply-a-menace @theotalksalot @child-of-cthulhu @bookbinderbitch @cr0w-culture @punctualhowell @obliosworld @eddiemunsonswife @sharingisntkaren @dididisrespectyourbridgegoatman @lillemilly @ravenpainter @nightmareglitter @dbquills

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #season 4 fix it #ladykailtiha writes

[robthegoodfellow]

I'm rereading Sideways and listen; I would kill to know what Slick said to Steve when he went up to the bar on his own.

This got WAY more brewing in my head than expected, so here! Have some Sam/Auntie Slick POV. One day I will commission art of my beloved butch.

🍺

The Harrington kid got up to use the gents and Sam, stacking glasses, let out a snort. Blondie hated to see him go, but sure did love to watch him leave. 

Her not-really-nephew was beelining for the booth, having snagged cans of pop from the minifridge—shameless freeloader.

She kept an eye on them as she poured Phil another—his last pint of the night if she didn’t want to catch an earful from his missus—and saw Blondie crane around like a man hunted, a wary cast at the bar. Smirking, she closed out the tab. Least he knows to tread careful.

When Harrington, Jr., strode up, plunked himself on a stool, she was honestly intrigued. Her last run-in with the family who owned half the town had been a few years back, when they’d made a play for the Hideout—for that whole block of storefronts—but Sam owned the building and the land, refused to sell.

For a couple different reasons, most important being that sitting her ass on a cushy mound of cash would spell disaster for her sobriety—she knew enough about herself to know that for certain—and the most sentimental being that the Hideout had been in the family for generations. Her daddy would rise from the dead and give her the kind of ghostly tongue-lashing that left you a gibbering mess in the corner, and she’d deserve it, selling out like that.

The Harringtons weren’t the type to take no for an answer, though—turned some screws to make her roll, made business a nightmare—but instead of showing her belly, she’d gone to Hop and they’d backed off.

“What’s their endgame?” she wondered, when he’d come by for a drink and a debrief. “They just gobbling up whatever can make them an easy buck, or—?”

Hop raised brows loaded with meaning, peering into his amber ale. 

“They’re shady,” she deduced.

He wouldn’t say—not until he went bottoms up, smacked his lips. “All I know is there’s a reason they spend so little time at home.”

“What about their kid?” she asked, wiping up with a rag. “What’s his name—Stuart? Isn’t he still in grade school?”

“It’s Steve,” Hop corrected, waved a dismissive hand as he donned his hat. “Freshman. Think he’s probably better off not seeing them much.”

“So it’s good I didn’t sell,” Sam stated, and Hop nodded.

“Anything that throws a wrench in their way.”

And now, here he was, in the flesh: Steve Harrington, heir to the Harrington fortune, lone occupant of the country estate.

In the flesh in what was definitely Blondie’s leather jacket. How cute.

“Ah—hi, there,” said Steve, quirking a hopeful smile.

Sam gave him the same flat stare she’d gifted his boy. Just to see what happened.

Nothing. Nothing is what happened, except the corner of his mouth twitched, suppressing some private amusement. He cleared his throat, hands clasped like a salesman about to offer a real bargain. “I heard you have a one beer policy for certain customers.”

She flicked a glance over his shoulder, where Blondie and Wayward Edward were hunched, in cahoots. 

“Where’s he from? Mr. California.”

Steve blinked. “Ah—California?” Dramatic shrug when she cut him a look she’d developed that was essentially an eye roll without the eye roll. “I met him literally a couple days ago. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Her guess was significantly better than his. “SoCal,” she decided. “I’d bet on it.”

“How much?” His grin held a mild challenge, and Sam decided she liked this kid. Somehow. 

“Ten.”

“You’re on,” he said, holding out his hand. They shook.

As she drew him the same beer as Blondie, she found herself suddenly torn between opposing instincts: one, to mind her damn business and not say another word; or two, butt into this kid’s life the same way she had the last kid. California kid.

Didn’t know why she was leaning toward the second. Other than Eddie and his little troupe, Sam had very happily remained uninvolved and uninvested in the existence of young people. So what was itching at her to sit these idiots down and firmly tell them what was what? Hell, she’d already given one of them a portion of the birds and the bees speech she’d bumbled through years ago with the not-really-nephew.

Wayne still owed her for that, come to think of it. But if he weren’t up to it, who would?

Maybe that was it. Who else was gonna tell these baby gays how to safely cross the street? Certainly not their folks, not their teachers. All they had was poor schmucks who had been baby gays themselves—who could pass on the fruits of their trial and error so maybe the newbies could err on the side of caution.

“You thought through what’ll happen if it gets out?” she asked, neutral undertone, sliding him the glass. “What you two are doing?”

He went completely still, staring, and Sam creaked her rusty gears enough to approximate a face that read chill out, you’re fine. 

Finally, Steve shrugged, far less dramatic. “I got some money they can’t touch—once I’m twenty-one. Dead grandparents.”

So—safe even if he were disowned.

“We’re in Indiana,” she reminded him. “There’s a lot worse that can happen than losing your piggy bank.”

Steve huffed, so cynical it could cut stone. “Oh, I know. I know.”

This kid kept surprising her left and right. She squinted, took in the flinty steel of his gaze, the set mouth that hinted at a past requiring far more of a stiff upper lip than you’d expect from a pampered prince.

“You do.” She made a fist, tapped it on worn wood sticky from a spill. “Then watch out for each other, huh?” Jerked her chin at the far booth—now git. “Enjoy the beer.”

Steve marched off with his spoils. 

Slid in next to Blondie until their arms were flush.

#thanks for the ask!! #harringrove #sideways outtake #spin me right round #friends i've written 2 submissions for a zine #that had to be 1.5k a piece #look at this thing i just whipped up and KNOW how much i suffered #1.5k is a SNEEZE #anyway apparently my sam/slick voice is pretty much my billy voice #only more ornery

[fizzigigsimmer]

Scenes From: Harringrove Legacy Save

The Harrington Family Save is a family legacy sims save based off of my a/b/o fic, “The Wish Your Heart Makes”. 

The goal: Successfully run a business and raise three generations of sims.

The first generation: Billy is a young adult sim. He is married to Steve another young adult sim. Together they are starting a company.

The Second generation: Daisy is a child sim around 9 years old. Poppy a toddler sim around 4 years old. Billy and Steve agreed on two children and with a new company getting off the ground now is not the time for more... but there’s always the chance.

Milestones:

Billy & Steve made enough money in their careers to buy and restore their dream home. It has become their little slice of heaven in the big city.

With enough Simoleons in the bank to start their own company, they have quit their salaried jobs and registered their new business H&H Homes with the labor office.

Both sims are passionate about saving the old houses that have fallen to neglect around Simsdom and making them into ready homes for new families. But it will take a lot of capital and partnering with a top notch real estate agent.

Her parents were occupied when the realtor arrived so their daughter Daisy took it upon herself to keep him entertained until they were ready.

The meeting went great and the agent is going to send a list of potential properties to buy in the next couple of days. Steve got to work updating the company blog while Billy gave their toddler a bath. Team work makes the dream work!

#fizzi plays the sims #the wish your heart makes #the sims 4 #family legacy save #alpha beta omega #Harringrove Sims #Steve was giving Billy a blowie in their office I kid you not #this is why we can't take you anywhere #poor daisy had to great the real estate man and tell him a bunch of stories #Y'all are supposed to be businessmen! #😄 #I am leaving it up to fate but I am betting on more kids #something tells me

[mariacallous]

Barring another extension, The Phantom of the Opera will close in April and the torch will pass to Chicago as the longest-running show currently on Broadway. The bare-bones revival of this musical of murder and infamy (lyrics by Fred Ebb, music by John Kander, and book by Ebb and original director Bob Fosse) has played continuously since 1996 — decades longer than the 1975 original production. One might reasonably expect the show to have entered tourist-trap territory by now, with phoned-in performances for half-awake viewers who picked up their discount tickets at the TKTS booth an hour before curtain. But it's one of the great delights of Broadway in 2023 that the cast and crew of Chicago are still performing like it's opening night.

Maybe it's because the story of Chicago has only appreciated in value in the age of social media, "reality" television, George Santos, and any number of fraudulent celebrities who now occupy prime real estate in our national attention. It's about Roxy Hart (Charlotte d'Amboise), an aging flapper who cheats on her husband (an appropriately pathetic Evan Harrington) with a furniture salesman (Brian O'Brien) and then shoots the bastard when he tries to walk out on her. She hires the unscrupulous lawyer Billy Flynn (James T. Lane) to represent her, and he immediately launches a media blitz designed to throw her case to the court of public opinion. If Roxie plays her cards right, she might even leverage her scandal into a career in vaudeville. But she'll have to contend with his other client, Velma Kelly (Amra-Faye Wright), as well as any murderess-turned-tabloid-celebrity coming into the clink after her.

For a show that is so much about the power of novelty in a fickle culture, Chicago benefits most from the seasoned performances of Wright and d'Amboise, both of whom have appeared regularly in this show since the turn of the century. Hopping with mousy, quirky energy, d'Amboise portrays a Roxy who is not a natural stage presence: She's breathy and excitable, and it seems as though any missed step or dropped line will send her rushing for the inhaler. That makes her sudden fame feel even more like a precious commodity she cannot afford to lose. She plays off the audience during "Roxie" like she's giving a one-night-only concert, and seems to particularly delight in antagonizing Velma, the Cristal Connors to her Nomi Malone. Wright plays the part of old pro well, delivering line readings that are as sharp as her dance moves.

Lane has appeared in several roles in Chicago before assuming the role of Billy Flynn. His rich intonation and disingenuous smile conjure the image of velvet smeared with Kerrygold butter — a combination simultaneously decadent and revolting. One never questions his command of the press, particularly the credulous Mary Sunshine. Ryan Lowe, who has played this part for over a decade, still soars into the rafters with his magnificent countertenor. Additionally, he seems to have been lifting hard since I last saw this production, making his second act reveal even more delightfully subversive.

If the veteran performers are the backbone of Chicago, the celebrity replacements (often derided as "stunt casting") are the lifeblood. Chicago has featured Jerry Springer, Pamela Anderson, Wendy Williams, and no fewer than four Real Housewives. These people bring fresh perspectives (and, crucially, new ticket-buyers) to the Ambassador Theatre. It's smart business and good dramaturgy in a musical that is all about the fleeting enchantment of public attention.

The newest addition to Chicago is Jinkx Monsoon, a double winner of RuPaul's Drag Race and the first drag performer (with apologies to NeNe Leakes) to assume the role of Matron "Mama" Morton. From the wild entrance applause she received during a recent Saturday matinee, it's clear that she's holding up her end of the bargain — and she justifies their enthusiasm with a goosebump-producing rendition of "When You're Good to Mama." One of the great belters presently working on the American stage, Monsoon's voice only seems to have grown since her annual holiday show with BenDeLaCreme. While her exaggerated dialect is more Canarsie than Chicago, Monsoon justifies the choice with a fully realized portrayal of Mama as a grotesque inhabitant of this world of smoke and mirrors, in which the most opportunistic always find a way to profit from tragedy. We easily fill in the backstory.

The excellent ensemble does the rest, creating memorable moments within director Walter Bobbie's staging and the late Ann Reinking's precise Fosse-inspired choreography. Rachel Schur's hilariously novel interpretation of Annie (the inmate charged with poisoning her Mormon husband) suggests a frazzled PTA mom. Christine Cornish's heartfelt turn as Hunyak, the Polish immigrant who professes her innocence, injects gravity into an otherwise frivolous spectacle. And Michael Scirrotto's tour de force as every member of the jury practically steals the scene. All these performances pop within a design scheme (atypically spare set by John Lee Beatty, harshly theatrical lighting by Ken Billington, sexy sheer costumes by William Ivey Long) that establishes the essential mood of the piece with brilliant economy. These are the best tricks of experimental theater applied to a big Broadway musical.

I am typically of the opinion that no show has any business occupying a Broadway house for more than a decade: Theater is ephemeral, and the magic tends to wear off as the years pass and performances become stale. Chicago makes this a difficult position to maintain. Ten thousand performances later, it's still dazzling.

[sluggrr]

grant patrick harrington  ( b. october 10, 1934 ) — born and raised in hawkins, it comes as no shock to learn that grant harrington had bigger goals than his family’s small business. at a young age, the importance of effort and hard work are drilled into him  ( something he would later preach himself )  . excelling in school, he was quick to leave hawkins following high school, going to chicago in order to pursue a degree and a career in law. after years working toward and achieving this, grant returns to his hometown, more accomplished and perhaps a bit more serious. shortly after joining a hawkins firm, grant meets charlotte gifford when assisting with her family’s estate. the next year goes by quickly, capped off in an accepted marriage proposal, then a wedding months later.  /  when his son, steven, was born, many might be surprised to learn just how happy grant was, though it soon becomes evident fatherhood may not be the correct path for him. in a couple years, grant begins his own law firm, something that quickly takes up more of his time than his career already had. he becomes proud of, even prideful in the things he’s built in his life and in how well he can support his family  ( financially )  .

charlotte mary harrington, née gifford  ( b. february 23, 1940 ) — born to none other than the gifford family — yes, those giffords — charlotte was one of the lucky ones, living a comfortable life of relative luxury. as luxurious as one’s life can be in the small town of hawkins. but seeing as the gifford family has lived in hawkins since the town’s founding, a legacy and a certain prestige — not to mention money — are to come with the name. a name she eventually gave up just eleven months after meeting grant harrington, a young estate lawyer, in 1964  ( married summer 1965 )  .  /  in may of 1966, charlotte gave birth to their only son, steven jeremy, named for grant’s father steven and charlotte’s father jeremy. taking to the mother role is difficult and restless work ; baby steven is a challenge and handful, for just one child, but charlotte finds her rocky footing in motherhood and as a homemaker with time. as steve begins school, however, charlotte begins pursuing activities outside the home — namely, serving on the city council. though the gifford name was already respected, charlotte herself earns her own respect, not only as a  ‘ working mother ’  but also as a valued member of the town of hawkins.

HOME LIFE : 

the harrington home could be safely described as tense. any combination of the family in the house could easily result in some kind of tension. steve would blame his father most of the time, but could say that his mother doesn’t really help the situation either. steve overhears quite a few arguments between his parents, often passive aggressive but there has been the very rare screaming match in the past. it may be a big house, but he’s good at knowing when it’s happening. mr. harrington’s infidelity is no secret, just for starters, and even steve is fully aware his dad could be more faithful to his mom. but he fully stays out of it. the more often his mom leaves town with his dad to keep her eye on him, the more often steve has the house to himself. it’s a win-win — for steve and his mother, at least. suffice to say they do not have the typical family dynamic, even if family dinners and family photos — absolute staples — are present. 

STEVE + HIS MOTHER :

charlotte harrington is more mellow in temperament but generally just as uptight as her husband, and only marginally more attentive. steve is more comfortable spending time with and talking to his mother, as he’s learned there’s a lower chance of any kind of real conflict arising, but he’s ready to roll his eyes very aggressively at a moment’s notice. whether it’s the softly judgmental comment about his grades, his friends, or the moments he has come home with bumps and bruises  ( mainly circa ‘83, ‘84, ‘85 )  . he knows she means well, but she never really says it right ; it comes out wrong and pejorative. sometimes, she seems a little more concerned with the way people their family than much else.

— “ Steven ... Beers? You and your friends know better than that, please. ” — “ It’s not like I threw a rager. It was just me and Tommy and Carol, pretty much. And we barely even drank anything ... ”

STEVE + HIS FATHER :

anyone who knows steve, even just a little bit, knows he’s never against shit-talking his dad, and sometimes for good reason. in steve’s life, his father has often been dismissive and even neglectful, but even steve can’t deny he has some nicer memories — though he can probably count them all on one hand  ( the bar is low )  . grant harrington isn’t the sort of father to go in the yard and play catch with his son, so quality time was few and far between. he always favored his career and his work over that sort of activity. it isn’t out of the question to say that he doesn’t really know steve, not fully, which is the root of many of their arguments — steve’s father is wanting to see steve as something he’s not. and steve can’t really show him when his dad’s not all that willing to listen.

— “ It was work or college, Steve, and you narrowed down your options all on your own. ” — “ Thanks ... Thanks for reminding me, Dad. That’s really helpful right about now. ”

#meta. #dyn / the harringtons.

[problmaticsmoved]

a selective multimuse independent rp blog. featuring canon & original muses by sugar. problmatics | tumblr / discord ( mutuals only )

                                       please review my rules &                                         preferences, listed on my carrd.

also found at sataniicpanic // full muse list under the cut

THE CANON CHARACTERS

stranger things / jason carver, jim hopper, joyce byers, billy hargrove, chrissy cunningham, steve harrington, max mayfield, will byers ( aged up verses only )

scream franchise / billy loomis, stu macher, sidney prescott, chad meeks-martin, mindy meeks-martin

glee / sebastian smythe, sam evans, hunter clarington, quinn fabray, noah puckerman, kitty wilde, marley rose, blaine anderson

elite / polo benevant, lucrecia montesinos, nano dominguez, christian valera

degrassi / craig manning, eli goldsworthy, jay hogart, jake martin, maya matlin, marisol lewis, miles hollingsworth, riley stravos, tristan milligan

julie and the phantoms / alex mercer, luke patterson, carrie wilson, caleb covington

shadowhunters: the mortal instruments / jace herondale, alec lightwood, simon lewis, clary fray, valentine morgenstern, isabelle lightwood

other fandoms / daphne blake ( scooby doo ), monican geller ( friends ), nick miller ( new girl ), ryan atwood ( the oc ), steven hyde ( that 70s show ), iris west-allen ( the flash/dctv ),barry allen ( the flash/dctv ), guy of gisborne ( bbc’s robin hood ), kevin keller ( riverdale ), moose mason ( riverdale ), jennifer jereau ( criminal minds ), ryan evans ( high school musical ), ej caswell ( hsmtmts ), ricky bowen ( hsmtmts ), harry hook ( disney’s descendants ), pacey witter ( dawson’s creek ), fox mulder ( the x-files ), draco malfoy ( harry potter ), lily evans-potter ( harry potter ), topper thornton ( outer banks ),

THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

analyn reyes / sab zada. twenty one. she/her. bisexual.  nursing home attendant.

bentley prince / keith powers ( alt ) twenty five. he/him. bisexual. actor / business major.

brandon tyson / dylan o’brien twenty nine. he/him. bisexual. unemployed / twitch streamer.

brooklyn scott / madelyn cline ( alt ) twenty three. she/her. bicurious. computer programmer / athlete / lifeguard.

cas ortiz / lizeth selene twenty five. she/they. bisexual. hacker.

cindy lyons / dua lipa twenty six. she/her. bisexual. ( reality ) television personality.

claudia torres / camila mendes twenty four. she/her. bisexual. hotel concierge.

dakota ellis / owen patrick joyner twenty three. he/they. bisexual. actor / onlyfans creator.

drew matthews / joe keery twenty eight. he/him. bisexual. musician / music teacher.

elliot douglas / charles esten fifty one. he/him. closeted homosexual. ethics professor / lawyer.

felix henry / logan lerman twenty seven. he/him. bisexual. paramedic & medical student.

genevieve beaufort / maika monroe twenty six. she/her. bisexual. hair stylist.

harrison michaels / rudy pankow twenty five. he/him. homosexual. coroner.

imogen doyle / maia mitchell twenty six. she/her. bisexual. tour guide / hotel clerk.

isaiah bennett / michael cimino twenty. he/him. bicurious. college student ( engineering major ).

jett findley / fivel stewart twenty five. she/her. lesbian. musician ( touring bass player ).

joey russell / madison bailey twenty two. she/her. bisexual. professional hockey player.

kenji simmons / darren barnet twenty seven. he/him. bisexual. nightclub owner / mini-golf course owner ( verse dependent )

matthew peters / robert pattinson thirty one. he/him. bisexual. emergency dispatcher.

reed sanchez / froy guteirrez twenty. he/him. homosexual. college student ( art major ).

remington windsor / jacob elordi twenty five. he/him. bisexual. art curator / art history major.

robbie jeffries / timothy olyphant forty six. he/him. bisexual. set designer / carpenter.

roger atkinson / david harbour forty five. he/him. heterosexual. park ranger.

sam montclair / jake gyllenhaal thirty seven. he/him. bisexual. voice actor.

sugar price / jade thirlwall twenty five. she/her. homosexual. real estate agent.

tatum cooper / chase sui wonders twenty four. she/they. homosexual. gas station attendant.

travis cameron / charlie gillespie twenty three. he/him. bisexual. mechanic.

will richardson / henry cavill thirty six. he/him. bisexual. general contractor.

winter saunders / coco jones twenty two. she/her. bicurious. college student / fashion major. ( nail tech ).

xander lincoln / shawn mendes twenty two. he/him. homosexual. singer / songwriter. ( pop artist ).

#* ( pinned ! )

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly 1. Before the Beginning

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

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

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, bad parents all around.

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 3.4K

A/N: long time reader, first time poster. Please share your thoughts and any tips you may have. ❤️❤️

***

STEVE: Right, so I just start talking into this microphone thing?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, but you need to introduce yourself first.

STEVE: You know who I am, we’ve known each other for—ah, okay, okay sorry. I’m Steve. Harrington, obviously. Former lead singer and guitarist of The Downsides. So, uh, where do I start?

INTERVIEWER: The beginning—tell me about how you first got involved with music.

STEVE: Right, okay, I can do that. I grew up kinda lonely. My dad was this big real estate investor but we lived in Indiana of all places, so he was always traveling. I don’t think I remember him ever being home for more than a month straight growing up… and my mom was there but she wasn’t there, ya know? She drank a lot and spent a lot of time in bed, that sort of thing.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

Your childhood is a lonely one but it’s also a boring and predictable one.

Born in sun-soaked LA to a movie director father and his much younger model wife, two people who didn’t know each other well enough to either love or hate the other. They maintained a similar distance in their marriage as the one they tried to uphold in their individual relationships with you, their child.

So, your infancy was spent in a rotation of different nanny’s arms with your parents’ presence only dotting the periphery of your life. Who could blame them, after all? Infants are so contrived and boring compared to the big, wide, world of art that was Los Angeles in the 1960s.  Your parents were far too busy trying to cement their legacy in the art they created and inspired to spend too much time looking after you.

(Much later in life, you would find yourself wondering if your parents ever saw the irony  in the fact that your art ended up eclipsing their entire existence in the end and their only legacy was that of being your parents.)

As a child, however, you spent little time thinking of legacy and instead spent your time trying to feel less lonely.

***

STEVE: When I was a kid I would wonder why my parents even had me. Sorry, that’s like a total bummer thing to say during an interview. But it’s true. And you said to tell the truth. I never felt wanted by them. Until I got famous, and even then… but that’s not new,  a lot of kids grow up feeling lonely, right?

***

The employees who raised you were nice enough, but they saw you for what you were: a means to an end. A paycheck with big, sad, beautiful eyes that may beget sympathy, but they couldn’t get too close to.  The children you came to meet at your elite California private school seemed palatable enough at first, but the more you interacted with them, the more you found yourself at a loss. It was like they spoke a secret language you did not know—a language of price tags, and ever-changing hierarchies and thinly-veiled insults. One that your mother spoke perfectly, but never bothered to pass down to you.

You end up turning to books instead. The home library your father kept up for appearances’ sakes became your favorite room in the house and your teenage growth spurts were fed by any and all novels you could get your hands on from historical biographies to soapy romances, you read them all.  You loved them all, but you loved poetry the most— emotive and raw in ways you were unfamiliar with. You liked the way the syllables rolled gracefully into one another and how each word served a purpose—compact with meaning and so unlike the people around you who were so careless with their words.

As you began to age, and the meaningless mess of childhood shifted into the sharpness of adolescence, you began to write yourself. One day, somehow you had the idea of putting your poetry to music. If you could write songs good enough to be played on the radio then maybe you could earn people's adoration through your art like your parents had, you reasoned. Maybe you could even earn their adoration. You beg your parents for piano lessons, and they scoff at the thought.  “But what’s the point of having one if no one can play it?” You ask, referencing the piano in the grand foyer.

“That piano is not meant to be played,” your mother explains, slowly, “it’s meant to be admired by our guests.”

She walks away from the conversation before you can even protest.

Instead of giving up, though, you went to the library and borrowed all the books you could on music and piano playing and slowly began to teach yourself. You were not very good, at first, and both your parents made a habit of reminding you whenever they were around to hear you practicing. Luckily, they were rarely around.

***

STEVE: My parents signed me up for every single activity and extra-curricular you can think of: karate, basketball, pottery.   The one that really stuck though, was guitar lessons. Soon, that was the only thing I wanted to do it was something I was actually good at. Not something I had potential in, not something I was passable at. It was something I was good at. My dad did not like the idea of me going into music at first—he wanted me to take on a “manlier” hobby—but even he couldn’t deny that I was talented, and he sent me to this specialized music school in Indianapolis. That’s where I met Robin. That’s when I stopped feeling so alone.

ROBIN: Robin Buckley, brass, bass, and synth for The Downsides.

I met Steve when we were thirteen, I think, at this fancy music school in Indianapolis. I was there on scholarship.  I’m not going to lie, he was obnoxious, but most thirteen-year-old boys are. Even then, though, there was something about him that made everyone want to be his friend. He was also really talented. He never had to work very hard to be good at something, but he worked hard anyway. I hated him at first, but he wore me down and we eventually became best friends.

***

1978

Your music became a good outlet for all your loneliness and anger and disappointment, but it was not a cure for any of those things. You craved friendship and commonality and to be liked beyond the surface.

One day, when you were towards the end of seventeen, you decided to go exploring. You had heard Emily Cooke whispering salaciously in the girls’ bathroom at school about sneaking into the Whiskey A Go-Go to see The Six playing and an idea began to blossom.

Your home was only a walking distance from the Strip, the aptly named piece of street that was lined with clubs and musical venues, so that day, after hearing Emily’s plan you decided to try your luck at the Whiskey. You loved music, after all, and you wanted to be good at it, like the musicians that played there. Plus, there were others that shared those interests and the was a chance that some of them would be more tolerable than Emily Cooke.

You waited in line, by yourself, donning an outfit that you hoped made you look older than you were in an organic, cool way. When you made it to the doorman, you smiled trying to look more confident than pleading. His eyes raked over your body once, then twice and you resist the urge to flinch away. You had known then that you were beautiful—mostly because it was the only thing your mother valued in you— but what you hadn’t known was how far just being beautiful could get you. The doorman had let you in the club, not even questioning when your voice wavered while you had told him you were older than you actually were.

***

ROBIN:   Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Steve was my first kiss.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

ROBIN: Oh, right…. Well, whatever, Steve Harrington was my first kiss. He was also the first person I told that I liked girls. I knew from a really early age that I didn’t find men attractive but when Steve kissed me at our high school dance I had this immediate realization and I sorta burst out, “Steve, I like girls.” It was a really great moment of self-awareness for me—growing up as a girl, they always try to put you in this box of like feminity and being whatever men wanted you to be, including an object to be looked at or pawned over. I didn’t know how being gay fit into all that, until that moment.

I don’t think it was that great of a moment for Steve, though.

STEVE: She told you about that? Well, for the record, it wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it's just when you're a teenage boy and if your first crush admits she's a lesbian moments after you kiss her for the first time, well, it does not do your ego any favors, does it?

***

The moment you walked through that door, your life became severed in two: the before and the after. You watched, from the fringe of the crowd, as Billy Dunne crooned soulfully, and the audience sang his own words back to him.

You briefly imagine yourself on the stage, being someone that people would actually want to come see, someone that people would listen to. Someone people would love.  

***

STEVE: I always knew I wanted to be in music. It was the only thing that ever made sense. Wait, no, that’s not right… It’s the only thing that ever made life make sense. So, I started working at it, like seriously working it at, when I was 16. I bought as many records as I could, figured out what I liked, what I could do, and I practiced all the time. Like all the time. Robin did, too. I would play the guitar and sing, and she was insane on the trumpet and bass. I don’t think we ever sat down and had a conversation about whether we wanted to form a band or even what we wanted for ourselves in the future. We just always knew it was going to be the two of us, and we were going to be making music. Of course, you can’t have a band with only a guitar and a trumpet, so we had to start looking for more members.

***

1980

From that point on, your life had purpose.

You began to study everything about music—obsessively. You collected records, you played the piano until your fingers became cramped and sore or until your mother yelled at you to stop.

You filled notebook after notebook with lyrics, some good, many bad.

But you also kept your eyes on the tabloids and the gossip rags and the fashion magazines. To be a successful musician, you had to be good of course, but you also had to be well-liked. Growing up in the environment you did had given you a very unique perspective on this. Since infancy, you had seen hopeful artists-to-be approach your father for a chance, or ask your mother for advice. The most successful of them were not always the ones who had the best things to say, but those who said what they had to say in the best way.

 You practiced giving fake interviews in front of your mirror and in the shower. You stayed on top of trends and bought the best-fitting clothes. And most importantly, you tried to associate yourself with all the right people.

By the time you turned 18, you were well-known, even beyond the Strip. Photos of you standing next to the bass player/drummer/guitarist/lead singer of whatever band might have been riding a momentary wave of popularity at the time began to appear in tabloid magazines.

Most of them were men. Most of them wanted something out of you. You became a master in the art of giving just enough for them to think they had a chance with you if it meant that you could learn from them or convince them to listen to one of your songs. But every time you would even mention the idea that you wrote music, you would come hit a wall of patronizing, feigned interest followed by a grab at your chest.

Then came Jason Carver. Lead singer of the Letterman’s, Jason Carver. You dated him for a few weeks, right after you had turned 18. He was 25 and just charming enough for you to overlook his frequent condescension. Plus, he had promised that he would teach you a few chords on the guitar.

One day, you had come over to his apartment and he was getting all worked up because the band’s label was on his ass about writing a song and he couldn’t quite get it right. He needed to write a love song, something introspective and sweet but Jason could only churn out party anthems and songs meant to be played in dive bars.

Eventually, after hearing him gripe for what seemed like an eternity, you sent him off to take a shower and in the meanwhile compiled all of his shreds of half-lines and began to work filling in the gaps. Forty minutes later, you had a solid chorus and first verse to present to him for a song you thought should have been called “All At Once”. You thought that this would’ve made him happy, after all, you had gotten him one step closer to a possible song. (And maybe, you had secretly hoped, in all of his gratitude he could be swayed to give you a writing credit on the song).  Instead, he laughed at you like you were a child pretending to do an adult task and asked you to leave with a hasty promise that he would call you later that week. He never called. The hurt you felt was only a pin-prick. Six months later, you heard The Letterman’s on the radio: a new song by them called, “All At Once”. You tried to convince yourself for a moment that there would be no way that Jason could blatantly steal your song after having mocked you for even trying to write. But, boy, were you wrong. Those were, in fact, your lyrics, on the radio. Yes, the band had added another verse but, ultimately, your lyrics were all there. The same lyrics Jason had so easily dismissed six months prior.

That was when you realized if you were going to get ahead in the industry, you were going to have to play dirty, like Jason Carver.

***

 ROBIN: We met Argyle in Chicago. Once we graduated high school Steve and I started working as subs for small bands in the Midwestern circuit. Yes, it was as grim as it sounds, but it paid the bills and helped us meet people. Argyle was the drummer of some Reggae band that needed a bass player for a few weeks when their bassist got arrested on possession charges. I subbed in and was immediately super impressed by his skills. People always underestimated Argyle, to this day, because of the whole vibe he gives off, you know? But he’s smart and adaptable. Anyway, when his bassist lost his case, the band broke up indefinitely and I tried my best to convince Argyle to join Steve and me. There were two of us, we’d never played an official gig, and we didn’t even have a name, but Argyle said yes. Next was Nancy. We held open auditions for a keyboardist once Argyle was onboard. After five passable auditions, Nancy Fucking Wheeler walks in in this long skirt and bows in her hair. She had a book of Debussy sheet music for God’s sake. I almost burst out laughing when I saw her because I thought she must have been lost but then, in true Nancy Wheeler fashion she blew us all away. Ugh, was that woman talented. And gorgeous. Steve’s jaw had to be crane-lifted off the floor, it was love at first sight.

STEVE: It was not. She’s exaggerating.

1980

Ironically, you met Murray Bauman at one of your parents’ parties.

You knew he was a music producer for Starcourt Records because he kept loudly boasting to his date about it. The same Starcourt Records that the Letterman’s were signed on to.

You waited until he was two gin martinis in and standing alone admiring your father’s latest art purchase before you approached.

“Hello,” you said, brandishing a dazzling smile, your whole body angled and ready to perform this familiar dance.

“Aren’t you the producer for the Letterman’s?”

He shot you a grin that borders on swarmy and said, “why yes, I am and you look like you’re out past your bedtime.”

You didn’t react to his statement and instead marched onwards, “I loved their latest song, ‘All At Once’ right? It’s so romantic.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure how Carver popped that one out, he’s a bit of a meathead if you catch my drift.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction before laughing at his own joke.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not surprised to hear that considering I dated him,” your eyes flashed in a way that you hoped came off as dangerous, “and that I wrote that song.”

He regarded you for a moment before breaking out in a laugh. When he saw your expression remained unchanged, he stepped back in assessment.

“Oh shit, you’re being serious.”

You only nodded grimly.

“Okay, well that’s a new one. Usually, girls come up claiming that one of those idiots impregnated them, not this.”

He regarded you again, searching for a trace of a lie. He sighed, “So let’s say that you did write the song, which, knowing what I know about those Neanderthals, I am willing to entertain the possibility of this being at least partially true, then what does that mean? You’re going to blackmail Starcourt? Do you want money?”

You gestured vaguely behind you, sure that he must have known who your parents were. “I don’t need money.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I write music. Obviously. I want to write for your label.”

A grin broke out across his face, “Oh, boy.” He started to laugh: a deep chuckle that floated up from his belly.

“You and every other Joe Schmoe in Hollywood, sweetie.”

“But not every other Joe Schmoe wrote a song for one of your most popular bands.”

Murray regarded you again, he gave you a look you’re all too familiar with. One that says he did not expect such a fight in such an unassuming package.

“Here’s the deal,” you start, taking his brief lapse to pounce, “all I want is for you to take my demo tape and listen to it, like actually listen to it. Do that and we never have to mention this again.”

“And if I say no to your little proposition?”

You smile at his question before offering a small piece of paper, “Then here’s the business card to my lawyer he’ll be reaching out.”

This, puzzlingly, makes the man burst out laughing once again.

“Let me get this straight, you just want me to listen to your tape? That’s the grand blackmailing scheme? No record deal, no music video?”

You shake your head in response, “No, I think my music speaks for itself. I just need to get it in front of the right person.”

Murray’s still chuckling to himself as he extends his hand out signaling for you to drop the tape you are now holding in his hands.

“Fine, but you are one shitty blackmailer.”

You were signed to Startcourt Records a month later.

***

STEVE: Once Nancy joined, we were a band, and so we needed a name. I suggested the Steve Harrington experience but the girls shot me down like, right away. We ended up fighting about names for like an hour. It was actually Argyle who ended up coming up with our name. The Downsides, he had said, since we were all so negative about everything. He had said this after Robin had said I was 'all hair and no brain'. Not the best of origin stories, I guess. But we liked it and that’s how we became The Downsides.

NEXT CHAPTER 🎹

#steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #Daisy Jones & the Six AU

[thestobingirlie]

Do you have any random thoughts or hcs about Steve and his parents? I know that’s vague but if you have just like anything to say about them I’d love to hear it because the little snippets you say about them and the way they’re portrayed in your Saint Stephen fic has entranced me

i think about steve and his parents a lot so sure!!! here’s my (current and subject to change) harrington family backstory (some of these might be repetitions of previous hc posts, but i can’t be arsed to go back searching for them):

i think steve’s dad, richard harrington (hereafter referred to as dick) has a big thing about proving himself. he started working for his dad right out of high school (a real estate company), and he always wanted to prove that he was deserving of it, and live up to the standards his father set for him. he dedicates so much time to the business that it grows from being hawkins based, to indiana based, and so on.

he was a hawkins boy, born and raised, unlike diane, the future mrs harrington. he liked that she was from out of town, made him feel bigger than the small town he grew up in.

they had steve when dick was in his 30s, and diane in her late twenties. diane suffered through the birth, and decided she never wanted another child. she found it hard to connect with steve as a baby, and felt uneasy about her position as a stay at home mother. all of this culminating in the steve falling down the stairs incident, at which point dick gave in and hired a nanny.

steve and diane do still bond though, and when steve’s a toddler he’s become a total mommy’s boy.

dick got rich, had women throwing themselves at him, and cheated on his wife. repeatedly.

now, steve and dick were originally pretty close. dick wasn’t ever really that close to his dad, who suffered a lot with ptsd, and he didn’t want to make that same mistake. but then steve (at around 6 years old) caught him with his affair partner, and told diane.

dick was trying to apologise and make it work, when his parents started getting old and ill. and diane came up with the ultimatum that either they move back to dick’s hometown where she can keep a better eye on him, or they’re done.

he starts to resent pretty much his entire family. steve for catching him and telling diane, his parents for getting sick, and diane for making him move home.

so they move, but that doesn’t end dick’s affairs, and instead causes an even bigger divide in the family. he still has to travel frequently for the company, and diane doesn’t actually want to leave dick or their family, so instead of dealing with it, she lashes out at dick, and emotionally relies, very heavily, on steve. who she calls her best friend and the only person in the world she has left in her corner. it becomes a pretty unhealthy relationship, though neither would recognise that. steve likes helping his mum! he wants to support her and be in her corner, and with his growing resentment towards his father, he feels it’s his duty to stand up for her.

dick never really liked how close steve and diane were, in the typical 80s father fashion of not wanting a sissy for a son, but he especially didn’t like the way diane was turning steve against him. but any attempt to rectify this just sent steve further away. and by the time we see steve in canon, he interprets pretty much anything his dad does in a negative light. deservingly or not.

as a family they have a lot of issues, but they do all love each other, though sometimes they might not feel loved by one another.

and as it stands in the saint stephen universe, the loss of steve really did cause the entire family to just fall apart. they can’t function without him. they hadn’t realised how much their marriage had grown to rely on steve until he was gone. and, for better or worse, it’s caused a lot of realisations about their dynamics (primarily for dick, who’s suddenly aware of just how distant he and steve were, and that, much like his relationship with his dad, he no longer has the opportunity to fix it)

anyway, if you want anything more specific just ask!!! and thank you! i’ve loved using saint stephen to explore diane and dick’s characters, and i’m glad you’ve enjoyed them!

#steve harrington #steve harrington’s parents #dick harrington #diane harrington #stranger things #saint stephen #asks #anon

[manleycollins]

Journal Entry #65 - Happy New Year 2021 in Massachusetts

JOURNAL ENTRY #65 Name: Manley M Collins Social Security Number: 5 7 9 – * * – 6 5 4 1 Date of Birth: 06/21 Place of Birth: Washington, District of Columbia Country of Birth: United States of America Date: January 1, 2021

TOPIC: Happy New Year 2021 in Massachusetts

I am celebrating my first new year in Massachusetts during the second-third wave of the coronavirus/Covid-19 pandemic in the United States of America. I am still single bachelor. I am working for Federal Express and staying at BPHC Southampton Street Shelter. I applied for my first apartment or shared room in Boston for six months. The shared room was a corner room close to the roof approximately 200 square feet. Only one person was in the whole house of eight (8) to nine (9) rooms. The house was cleared out because of the pandemic. The real estate agent was an Asian female young adult with child who was trying to get the rooms rented. I found her through craigslist and other sources of apartment hunting. It was for the period February 1, 2021 to August 31, 2021. The security deposit was $550.00 done by Zelle…and rent was $500 per month. I had Federal Express income, and UberEats and DoorDash income. I gave her my spiel that my credit was sub-par, but I had the income to support the rent and I never miss a rental payment. She ran the credit check and denied me the room. She told me she was refunding the deposit. I told her the same way I sent it…she can send it back. My storage unit was with CubeSmart. I tried Roomster subscription service through the Apple store.

Boston Public Health Commission's 112 Southampton Shelter additional civil case information happening at this time - Attorneys Batool Raza and Timothy Harrington; Rita Nieves is Interim Executive Director:

The second shelter restriction date is Sunday, January 3, 2021.

Action from BPHC Employees and BPHC Police was denial of shelter in weather of below 32 degrees on Sunday, January 3, 2021. a. Description of BPHC individuals from second shelter restriction.

Black male with foreign accent, medium build, 5'7”, brown safety vest, short black hair, dark skinned color, dark eyes, BPHC Employee

Black (African-American) female, curvy figure, unique glasses to fit personality, hair wrapped up as if dreaded, braided, or wig, no safety vest, sits at check-in, 5'8”, maybe supervisor or assistant supervisor, 215 lbs, dresses well depends on the day (sometimes casual, sometimes professional), BPHC Employee

Black (African-American) male, supervisor maybe, slender, 5'8”, 180 lbs, sits at check-in, blue hoodie normally, no safety vest, black hair, haircut very low, dark colored eyes, no earrings or piercings, no visible tattoos, BPHC Employee

Two BPHC police officers (African-American males). b. Evidence of entire shelter restriction video – Exhibit A.

Description of the activity from second shelter restriction date on Sunday, January 3, 2021. a. On Sunday, January 3, 2021, Commonwealth of Massachusetts, County of Suffolk, and City of Boston tried to invoke a rule stating, “Unlabeled or non-readable labels on prescribed medicine cannot be allowed in the building.” Please note at 112 Southampton employees enforced the rule on January 3, 2021 at the time of Plaintiff entry approximately around 11:00 pm to 12:30 am. Plaintiff has the full video on my smartphone and saved it into the cloud and many other places. This is 112 Southampton second time keeping Plaintiff out of the shelter and sending me into the below freezing temperatures outside. As a new resident of Boston and with the pandemic, Plaintiff already went to all the open shelters, which stated no new residents could come in. Other shelters completely offer no services or totally closed. Since this is Plaintiff's first situation encountering this rule, Plaintiff offered 112 Southampton St employees to verify the medicine via Google and told them all the businesses and government agencies involved in providing the medications for my conditions. The choices 112 Southampton St employees gave while pleading total ignorance abyss were as follows

Go to hospital to get it relabeled.

Go to clinic to get it relabeled.

Leave it outside for the current drug addicts currently using drugs inside and outside shelter.

Cannot come in with the medication.

It is BPHC’s attempt to avert from any individual on pressing charges on dumping perfectly legal medication. Plaintiff chose option number 4 because the medication is prescribed for me by reality of Plaintiff's life mental health issues. Thus, the consequence for the second time by 112 Southampton Street employees leading me to hypothermia and shock, Plaintiff had to keep himself awake all night to ensure Plaintiff make it to a warm location the next morning.

Therapy and Psychiatrist with Arbour Counseling Services topics were (Previous Journal topics - I just was repeating them to new people verbally)

Goals Changing my look - weight, hair, etc. New thoughts New information Letting go of mental illness People Introspection The world and mental health Apps of photo sharing, profile sharing, phone number sharing, name sharing FaceBook finding people I never thought I would see again Did not win the lottery Employment by the federal, state, and city - applications denied, but recruiters recruiting for contractor work (Washington, DC, Connecticut, and South Carolina) New hairstyle What's Going On? Thought process Did not get room in South Boston Sexual health results Massachusetts state opportunity

Federal Express civil case information happening at this time.

Additional specifics the people are Ahmed Abdillahi, Alex Angarita, Brianna Guzman, Camila Salas, Christian Langendoen-Hannabury, Claire Alexis, Dakhari Thomas, Ernesto Figueroa, Frederick Yancy, Maria Padilla, Rafael Nerey, Samson Prosper, Don Nash, Andrew Savage. Represented by attorneys Lorenzo Cabantog, Charles Holmes, and Christopher Ahearn.

The additional physical and sexual assaults of hitting continued directed toward me in my arm very hard, across my body while conversing with me. Throughout peak season, it was random touching by people.

Once the initial weeks were over with everyone participating in the physical and sexual assaults, the hitting continued. Please see Exhibit A – Dates of additional assaults. a. Andrew – Team Lead, Jamaican, male, 5'11”, age range 50-70, 215 lbs, medium build for age, normally on middle belt of warehouse, assaulted Plaintiff's arm very hard while arriving down the stairs from the center bridge and I called his name. b. Ahmed Abdillah – kept talking in casual conversation with me while hitting me. Plaintiff do not know any reason why. c. Camila Salas – whenever she had a bad day and FedEx schedulers kept us together on the various belts, she kept punching my shoulders, chest, and stomach/abs for no reason.

Throughout peak season, it was random touching by people.

On COVID-19 vaccination day, Wednesday, January 20, 2021 until Sunday, January 24, 2021 , I informed my Caucasian manager, Garrett Sexton, and the warehouse deck Caucasian team lead, Ronnie, that I received my first Moderna vaccination. However, the assaults really came in. The following happened: a. Ahmed Abdillah – punches made me yell at him to stop hitting and touching me. b. Frederick Yancy – Handler, African-American male, 6'0”, slender, age range 60-70, 195lbs, wears loud colored and matching outfits, did the shaking baby syndrome, and handshake by jerking my arms. c. Ernesto – Team Lead now Ramp Agent, Latino/Hispanic male, 6'1”, football build, 250lbs, age range 25-35, nicknamed Big E, black hair, normally wears short pants and short sleeve anytime of the year, performed the three way touching – salutation hand-to-hand pound, touch on arm, and then the angry punch in shoulder.

After yelling and the hitting stopped with certain individuals, the assaults continued with the following people: a. Dhakari Thomas – Handler, 6'1”, 195lbs, two ear piercings, Sagittarius tattoo on arm, African-American male, normally wears sweatpants, sweat jacket, small to low cut afro, black hair, no glasses, and performed the double hard hit onto shoulders bearing his weight daily onto Plaintiff, then dropped to once a week, and stopped after Plaintiff was placed outside to work. Locations assaults occurred in break room, in employee van, on the warehouse deck, on the warehouse conveyor belts. b. Maria – Handler, 5'4”, blond mixed with brunette hair, black framed glasses, Latino/Hispanic, female, age range 30-45, 150lbs. Performed assault on shoulder in break room and punch my ass on ramp belt after saying hello. c. Rafeal – Handler, 5'5”, age range 45-65, 155lbs, former military, Latino/Hispanic, male, normally wears black stonewashed jeans with red trim and sweatshirt. Performed same tactics as Ahmed Abdillah while attempting to have a casual conversation and hitting Plaintiff. d. Alex Angurita – Team Lead, 5'7”, Hispanic/Latino, male, bicycle rider, 185lbs, tan to very light skinned, black hair, normally wears athletic tights under shorts and shirts, age range 27-47. Performed an out-of-character hard grab of Plaintiff's right arm on ramp side conveyor belt close to airplanes. e. Christian – Handler, 5'8”, slender, Caucasian male, age range 19-30, works casual days, wear baseball cap, wears blue jeans and sweatshirt. Performed a hard grab or slam on Plaintiff's right arm against the ramp belt railing to grab the Plaintiff's attention for a casual conversation. f. Don Nash – Load Captain now Ramp Agent, Caucasian male, age range 50-65, 6'1”, 235lbs, normally wears baseball cap, wears shortpants, always wears a safety vest, dark brown eyes. Performed a hit with an emergency wand on right hand/wrist.

All Defendants violated the pandemic COVID-19 protocols for groups and gatherings and no six (6) feet for general conversations.

Plaintiff's responses to individual human Defendants were withdrawing from them, walking away, avoiding them, placing a FedEx package between us, tapping the Defendant in the same area where the hit occurred, yelling at them, telling them it arises my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and blocking or attempting to grab the Defendants hands before touching me.

Other topics from first quarter of 2021:

I provided the Massachusetts Department of Mental Health Two Way Authorization.

I continued getting my SARS-COVID-19 Test at Massachusetts General Hospital on 12/28/2020. The Rapid COVID test was ordered while in the emergency room visit. The SARS-COVID-19 PCR reference range came back negative and value was negative. The status was final. My blood pressure was 125/71. Weight was 150 lbs. Temperature 97.8 degrees. Pulse is 70. Respiration was 16. Oxygen Saturation was 100%. Lab test completed was Pandemic Respiratory viral Order (PRO).

I continued getting my SARS-COVID-19 Test at Massachusetts General Hospital on 1/11/2021. The Rapid COVID test was ordered while in the emergency room visit. The SARS-COVID-19 PCR reference range came back negative and value was negative. The status was final. My blood pressure was 120/58. Temperature 98.5 degrees. Pulse is 64. Respiration was 18. Oxygen Saturation was 97%. Lab test completed was Pandemic Respiratory viral Order (PRO).

I visited Studio Optics for my very first set of glasses and vision exam on January 27, 2021. My prescription was for Spectacle RX SPH Distance Right -0.50; Spectacle RX SPH Distance Left -0.50; Spectacle RX CYL Distance Right -0.50; Spectacle RX CYL Distance Left -0.25; Spectacle RX Axis Distance Right 130; Spectacle RX Axis Distance Left 080 - See the photo blogs for the glasses with Ultraviolet protection, scratch resistance protection, trivex, Crizal Alize anti-reflection protection, Blue light filter, anti-fog, and polycarbonate impact-resistant. Laymen's terms is Transitions lenses.

I started researching for dreadlocks hairstylists in New York City. I did travel to New York and stayed at the New York Marriott Marquis at 1535 Broadway. It was to get my hair done. I did rent a car from Enterprise Rent-A-Car and paid for hotel parking. The city was still in partial lockdown. I did New York Minute Dating service zoom and in-person. NY Minute Dating did not feel the same as when I first used the service in 2012-2014. I was using StyleSeat app on find the best hairstylist.

I got my first Moderna COVID-19 vaccination by BHCHP Southampton January 20, 2021.

I got my second Moderna COVID-19 vaccination by BHCHP Southampton February 17, 2021. I went to Massachusetts General Hospital emergency room visit after this dose and get a work excuse for February 18, 2021. I had nausea, nonintractable headache, and vaccine reaction. Medications given was acetaminophen (Tylenol) and ondansetron (ZOFRAN-ODT). Blood pressure was 149/92. Temperature 99.1 degrees. Pulse was 100. Respiration was 18. Oxygen Saturation was 95%.

I did some calculations for focusing on my small business when the federal government was offering PPP loans. I did not take any of them.

I went Dental Associates of New England regarding dental work.

Freegal Music through the District of Columbia Public Library was soothing the hurt of the 15,000 songs music collection lost in Chicago. Massachusetts and Boston Copley Library showed the website with ways to obtain music the same way, but I felt so uncomfortable and did not want the repeat trauma. I can do it Europe.

I was struggling to pay the credit cards that helped me escape from South Carolina's negative impact on my life and start anew in Boston, Massachusetts.

I renewed my membership with United States Track and Field Association and Potomac Valley Track Club.

I went to CVS Minute Clinic for vaccination appointment.

I was actively involved with civil cases in United States District Court of Illinois and First Municipal Circuit Court against City of Chicago, Cook County, Chicago Transit Authority, Chicago Public Library, United States Department of Interior, United States Department of Agriculture, City of Chicago Department of Streets and Sanitation.

Manley M. Collins, is the plaintiff. Mr. Collins was a resident in Chicago 2005-2006 at 1100 North LaSalle Dr, Apt 701, Chicago, IL 60640, and 2015-2016 at 27 North Wacker Drive, Apt 410, Chicago, IL 60610. His phone number is [phone]. This complaint to address incidents and trauma happened 2015-2016.

United States Department of Agriculture and United States of Department of Interior are the federal level and overseers of funding, operation, enforcers, and providers of needs or wants of the State of Illinois, County of Cook, and City of Chicago.

City of Chicago Department of Streets and Sanitation, City of Chicago, Cook County, and State of Illinois are the owners and operators of the streets, shelters, and public library.

Chicago Transit Authority, City of Chicago, Cook County and Chicago Public Library are the geographical areas where the incidents took place with State of Illinois residents.

The first incident occurred is April 3, 2016 at 175 North State St, Chicago, IL.

The Plaintiff was armed with Admittance to Evidence – Exhibit E – Photos of Lost Items and items listed in Admittance to Evidence – Exhibit A – Police Report for Storage Drives and Computer on April 3, 2016.

a. The Plaintiff was in the midst of a mental health crisis once he got off the CTA subway with his items. b. The Plaintiff was in the middle of a fight or flight response to stress. c. The Plaintiff left his items on State St, where he could no longer carry them through his mental health crisis. d. The Plaintiff remembers the Chicago Police Department, homeless community, Chicago residents, and City of Chicago Department of Sanitation was in the environment where the Plaintiff left his belongings. e. The Plaintiff recalls the City of Chicago Department of Sanitation lifting the heavy army bag into bag of trash truck. f. The Plaintiff recalls homeless, visitors, and residential community distributed his remaining bags and items. g. The Plaintiff went and received medical help and care for his mental health crisis from Northwestern University Hospital, Rush Medical Center, University of Illinois – Chicago Outpatient Care Center, and University of Chicago Emergency Room.

The Plaintiff reported on the week of June 30, 2021 that his brand new bicycle was stolen while staying at a Chicago based shelter for men. The report was made over the phone. See Exhibit C – Police Report for Stolen Bicycle.

The Plaintiff reported on August 16, 2016 that his brand new Apple iPod touch was stolen while in the Chicago Public Library. See Exhibit D – Police Report for Apple iPod Touch technology device.

#manley marvell collins #federal express #southampton #boston public health commission #massachusetts general hospital #mcinnis health center #civil case #chicago #massachusetts #boston #roomster #apartments #therapy #new york city #glasses

[creditfarm]

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