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katyswrites · 3 months

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, HEAVY alcohol use, recreational weed use, getting drunk/blacking out, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.7k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 2

You don’t truly decide to go to Steve’s stupid party until the last possible moment. You already know that spending more time with him than necessary is a recipe for disaster. But, you reason, you probably should show your face. It actually does seem like nearly everyone from the campus’ music scene would be there - it would look bad if you didn’t show up. The radio station’s funding is always on the chopping block - half of your job is networking and being friendly with practically everyone on campus to keep it alive.

Still, as you start getting ready, you consider backing out about 50 times. Is Steve actually expecting you to show up? Is it a pity invite? Or, a challenge?

Knowing him, it’s probably the latter.

Throughout the course of getting ready - which mostly involved throwing on some makeup while intermittently feeling like you had nothing to wear every time you looked in your closet full of clothes - you chugged a bottle of wine to help yourself relax. It had been on the door of the fridge, so God knows how long it had been there, but it’s good enough. Then you’re out the door and catching a bus downtown, shivering a bit in the crisp October evening air. You pull your jacket tighter around you as you hop on board, forever thankful that university students get to ride the city’s buses for free.

It’s packed full of other college kids, mostly freshmen undoubtedly on their way to frat parties downtown. You had outgrown that phase after sophomore year, opting for friends’ house parties and going out to bars as you got older. You can’t help but look at them fondly - somehow, despite being peers in all the ways that matter, you feel so far removed from them; the girls in their mini dresses and crop tops, boys carrying six-packs and sporting unbuttoned flannel shirts, loudly packed onto the bus like sardines on their way downtown to make bad decisions.

Hamilton Street is in the heart of the downtown area, where a lot of students live. You hop off the bus with nearly everyone else, droves of kids filling the streets, chugging beers and smoking cigarettes as they make their way to various frat houses. You follow the groups, the other students slowly peeling away until it’s much quieter - it seems like Steve’s place is one of the last ones on the block.

You had purposely left late enough so that you could guarantee you wouldn’t be in the first wave of people to arrive - it was closer to 11 than 10 at this point. The autumn evening air was chilly enough that you’re walking briskly, jacket pulled tightly around your shoulders. You nearly turn around approximately six times between the bus stop and his house - yet, against all odds, you find yourself standing on his front porch.

Like most student rentals, the house is old and a bit rickety - you can hear the din of chatter and music inside. A good sign, you suppose - part of you had been worried he’d purposely given you the wrong address. You wouldn’t put it past him, not when it comes to you.

You take a deep breath, and open the door. The smell of beer, weed, and sweat hits you like a wave. The small living room is hazy with smoke, the house immediately a bit too warm from body heat. A few heads look up as you enter, followed by an uproar of greetings.

Look who decided to show up!

Hey babe!

Everyone hide, mom’s here!

You roll your eyes, laughing.

“I do have fun sometimes, guys.”

“Oh, I know,” a familiar voice says, Eddie lifting himself off of the couch to give you a big hug.

“I was there at that party freshman year when you nearly fell off of Mikayla Hodder’s roof-”

“Shut up,” you say, face flushed with embarrassment at the (fuzzy) memory.

“Can I get you a drink?” the shaggy-haired boy asks.

You nod, following him back through the house towards the kitchen. You shoulder your way through bodies, saying the occasional hello when someone you recognize catches your eye.

Eddie is rooting through the fridge, pulling out a beer and extending it to you. You accept it gratefully, pushing the fridge closed with your hip as he leans against the counter.

“So…I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight,” Eddie remarks, popping his bottle cap off with an opener screwed into the wall.

“And why’s that?” you ask casually.

“Well… I mean, please tell me you know whose house this is -”

“Of course I do,” you say quickly, taking a swig of beer. “Harrington invited me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“Really?”

You nod. “Is that so unbelievable?”

He just shrugs, staring down at his bottle.

“Dunno. I know he’s not exactly your favorite person -”

“Maybe so, but a lot of my friends are here, so… who's to stop me?”

Eddie grins, clinking his drink with yours.

“There you go - I was hoping you’d come out, to be honest. Sometimes I’m worried you don’t let yourself have fun anymore.”

You scoff.

“I - I have fun.”

“You used to. This year, though, you’d been so…”

“So what?” you ask defensively.

Eddie’s face starts to turn a bit red.

“Well - you know - I know you’re stressed and all, managing the station, but… you can be a little…uptight.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not uptight -”

“Look, trust me - I’m saying that with love, as your friend -”

“Yeah, whatever - I can be fun.”

“I know - I’ve been there with you through it all. Just… I’m glad you came. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

You don’t really respond, crossing your arms as you glance around the kitchen a bit.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“No one,” you respond absentmindedly.

Eddie smirks.

“Yeah - okay.”

Steve is nowhere to be found. Perhaps that’s a blessing - it’s busy enough here that you ma be able to avoid having a conversation all night.

It’s around then that Eddie’s bandmate Gareth is stumbling into the kitchen, stopping himself for a moment before breaking into a grin when he sets eyes on you and Eddie.

“Thank God - me and Jeff need someone for pong!”

That’s how you find yourself partnered with Eddie, letting yourself forget about Steve as you play beer pong. You’re a competitive person, and arguably more so when you’re drunk - that’s how you and Eddie kick ass two rounds in a row, leading a fed up Gareth to declare the game totally bogus before storming out to the back porch to smoke with Jeff.

You high-five Eddie on your way back to the kitchen to grab another drink. You’re properly tipsy now, probably on your fourth drink in less than 2 hours. Your tolerance did used to be better than this - maybe Eddie was right, about you not being as fun as you used to.

The kitchen is empty, which you’re thankful for - it’s tiny to begin with, so more than a handful of people makes it feel cramped. You’re a bit hot, working up enough of a sweat during the game that you had shed your jacket already. The refrigerator light is nearly blinding in the dimness of the room, but the cold gives enough of a relief that you bend over and lean into the fridge. You hang there for a moment, sighing. In the distance, you hear the sound of a glass breaking, followed by a series of aw, mans - you decide it’s not your problem to worry about, and stay there another moment. You then root through the fridge for a moment until you find a bottle of something you like.

You slam the door shut and turn to head back towards the rest of the party, only to nearly jump out of your skin when you realize you’re not alone.

Steve Harrington leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and wearing a smirk.

“Jesus - you scared me. Why the fuck are you just standing there like that?”

He shrugs.

“Just enjoying the view, sweetheart.”

You scoff, popping the cap off of your bottle and heading right towards him, hoping he’d move out of the way to let you through. That, of course, is wishful thinking.

“Can I get through?” you ask, bristling as he blocks the doorway.

“You decided to come,” Steve says, looking down at you with a grin.

“Well, you did invite me.”

“I know - I’m glad you actually showed up, though.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” you mutter sarcastically, shouldering past him and back towards the living room.

Eddie’s lounging on the couch, eyelids heavy as he passes a joint between himself and Argyle.

“Got enough to share?” you ask, plopping down next to him. He nods, passing it over to you. You take a long hit, letting the smoke settle into your lungs as you sink further into the couch.

“You good?” Eddie asks.

“Mm, yeah. Just want to chill here for a little bit.”

He nods, paying you no mind as he takes a deep inhale. Your eyes follow Steve as he crosses the room and heads out to the front porch with a girl you don’t recognize. You feel your brow furrow, your eyes trained on the front door. It’s not too long after that that you manage to help Eddie finish the joint. You chug your beer, starting to feel lightheaded, the world around you moving a bit more slowly.

You fall into a comfortable crossfaded lull there for a while, with Robin Buckley eventually placing a beer can in the middle of the table and calling for a game of Kings as she shuffles a deck of cards.

You open another beer as she does, sitting forward a bit to half-heartedly play the game. You find yourself getting stuck taking a drink quite a few times, your reflexes slow and your wits not quite about you. A few more people filter in, sitting criss-crossed around the coffee table and pulling cards from the deck and doing what it dictates.

“Six is chicks!” Eddie cries out, flashing his six-of-spades card to the group. You roll your eyes as you take yet another drink, reaching to grab your own card as Eddie sticks his under the can’s pull tab.

You glance at it, and giggle.

“Jack - what’s Jack again?”

“Never Have I Ever,” Robin says, holding up three fingers. Everyone follows suit, and you think for a minute to start it off.

“Okay, um… never have I ever done a drug harder than weed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eddie asks.

“What do you think it means?”

“Alcohol is technically more powerful of a drug than pot,” Steve pipes up across the table - when did he get here?

“Shut up Harrington, you know what I mean -”

“Yeah, like acid and coke and shit,” Argyle adds.

“Well fuck,” Eddie concedes, putting a finger down.

You laugh, expecting nothing less of him. It goes around the circle for a bit - things ranging from never have I ever broken a bone to never have I ever had a threesome, followed by a series of laughs or groans as people put down fingers and down drinks. You only have one finger left by the time it gets to Steve.

He thinks for a moment, humming to himself as he does - you can’t help but think that there isn’t much he hasn’t done. After a few more seconds pass, he smirks, and locks eyes with Robin.

“Never have I ever hooked up with someone in the vinyl closet at the station.”

“Not fair,” Robin exclaims, smacking Steve on the arm. He laughs as his friend lays into him. She’s blushing, and officially out of the game. She glares daggers at him as she takes a drink.

You can’t help but notice that Steve gets quite a few people with that - Eddie being one of them, caught in a cascade of groans and fingers getting put down. You feel your mouth fall open in disbelief.

“Whoa, wait - is everyone fucking around in the vinyl library?”

Robin stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then laughs.

“Wait, seriously? You didn’t know that?”

You feel your face flush with embarrassment, all eyes on you.

“Well - um, no, this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Eddie just grins, and gives you a playful pat on the back.

“You seriously don’t know your own radio station at all, huh?”

“I - I guess I’m not that surprised that someone has, but - all of you?”

“Not all,” Steve chimes in.

“Yeah, wait - how have you not?” Robin asks.

Steve just shrugs. “I don’t know… I have things like, I don’t know - a bed, in my own home, for starters.”

Robin rolls her eyes. You meet Steve’s eyes for a moment, and quickly look away.

You stick the Jack card in the pile under the beer can’s pull-tab - only to hear a pop followed by a hiss.

“Uh oh, Madame President broke the seal!” Eddie declares, pushing it towards you. “Looks like somebody’s got to shotgun it.”

You take it begrudgingly and stare at it for a moment.

“I need to borrow someone’s keys,” you finally say, earning some whoops and hollers from the group. The last thing you vividly remember is popping a hole in the can, and downing the whole beer in a manner of 30 seconds.

******

You blink awake groggily - enough sunlight permeates through the curtains that you know it must be morning. You groan, your mouth dry and tasting distinctly of alcohol. A turn over towards your bedside table makes your stomach feel all wobbly - fuck.

You reach for your alarm clock, squinting at it - nevermind. It’s not morning - more like the afternoon. Well into the afternoon.

A pit of dread settles into your gut - when did you get home? How long were you asleep? You never sleep this late, not even on weekends - a late lie-in for you is 11 AM. You’re definitely in your own bed, which is a positive - still in last night’s clothes, though. How?

You don’t remember much after the game of Kings - though, you were definitely doing shots at some point… with who? You remember being in someone’s car - maybe. Or was it the bus again? If you actually managed getting the bus home while blackout drunk, you’re actually quite proud of yourself. But that somehow doesn’t seem too likely.

You pulled yourself to sit up, only to immediately regret it. Your stomach is now churning like a stormy sea, and your head is starting to throb. You’re an idiot.

You hadn’t gotten drunk like that since your freshman year - it was a rookie mistake. You just hoped you didn’t make a complete idiot out of yourself in front of everyone.

After finally pulling yourself out of bed, you stumble over to your bedroom window and open the curtains. The bright afternoon sunlight hitting your face made you realize what a horrid mistake that was - you’re practically blinded by the light, and your head is properly pounding now. And now…

You barely make it to the bathroom in time, keeling over the toilet to puke up all of last night’s mistakes. The second your knees hit the cold tile floor, you begin coughing everything up, regretting anything and everything you’ve ever done to lead you to this moment. You don’t even hear Nancy approach behind you, not even aware of her presence until you’ve flushed and fall back against the wall, feeling disgusting.

“I was going to ask how you’re feeling, but it feels like a stupid question,” she says, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed.

You glance up at your roommate, feeling so small.

“Ha ha,” you say sarcastically. She offers a hand to help you up, which you accept gratefully. She waits until you’re hunched over the sink, brushing your teeth and gargling water to clean the taste of sick out of your mouth, to speak again.

“So - it was a fun night?” she asks cautiously.

You laugh dryly. “Um, yeah, I guess the night was fun. Right now… not so much.”

“Aww, poor baby,” Nancy coos teasingly. “You’ll be alright - just chill out today, yeah?”

“Mm - yeah, that’s the plan. I think I’m going to take a shower… and lie down for a little.”

Nancy nods. “Yeah, good idea - maybe I can go down to Blockbuster, rent a couple of movies, get some snacks?”

You offer up a small smile. “That’s nice, but you really don’t have to -”

“No seriously, it’s fine, I think they have some new stuff I want to check out anyways. I don’t have plans anyway - let’s just do a girls’ day, maybe get takeout later -”

“Sounds great, Nance. Thanks. Maybe hold off on takeout, for a bit… let me see how all of this feels,” you say, gesturing to your stomach.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll head out - take a nice, long shower, it always helps.”

“Sure thing - and hey, I don’t know who called you, but thanks for coming to get me last night.”

Nancy furrows her brow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I - didn’t you bring me home last night?”

Nancy shakes her head.

“No - no, I was asleep. I think I heard the door open at some point, but I assumed that was just you coming home - you don’t remember?”

You shake your head, properly confused now.

“No - I don’t. I - think maybe I took the bus back then?”

“I thought they stop running those after like 2AM? I didn’t hear you get home until around 3, I think.”

She’s right - then how did you get back?

You bite your lip, thinking for a bit.

“Maybe it was Eddie. I’ll call him and ask.”

Nancy nods. “Alright, yeah. Either way, you got back safe. Sorry about the hangover, though.”

You wave her off. “It’s my own fault - I went too hard last night. I’m just going to try to sleep it off, I guess.”

After Nancy leaves, you take a nice, long shower - you feel utterly disgusting, still in last night’s sweaty clothes and smudged makeup. You let last night’s bad decisions cascade down your skin and into the drain, sighing as the shower semi-revives you.

By the time you’re out and drying off, your stomach has settled a bit more. The headache has only gotten a bit worse, though. You open the medicine cabinet, only to find the bottle of Ibuprofen missing. Did Nancy use it and forget to put it back? You don’t want to go rifling through her room, so you trudge back to your bedroom, praying she can find it when she gets back.

Pulling on a baggy t-shirt and pajama shorts, you reach for the phone on your bedside table - you punch in Eddie’s number, sitting on the edge of your bed as you twirl the cord with your finger. He picks up almost straight away.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie - it’s me.”

“Whoa! She lives!” he cries out, laughing. You wince.

“Can you not yell, please?”

“Uh oh - are you feeling a little… delicate?”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, falling back onto your mattress.

“I’m only teasing -”

“Yeah, whatever. Listen - did I make an idiot out of myself?”

“How much do you remember?”

“Uh - I remember playing Kings… and not a ton after that. I remember little things here and there, but… were we dancing?”

“You were dancing. On the kitchen table, if I remember.”

You groan, letting your head fall into your free hand.

“Oh God -”

“It’s all good, listen - people thought it was fun, I swear.”

“Yeah, if you say so… did I throw up?”

Silence on the other end.

“Oh fuck -”

“Only actually in the toilet, though - well, someone’s Solo cup at one point. Then it was all the bathroom after that, I swear. I really don’t think a lot of people saw that part though, the night was kind of winding down.”

“You swear?”

“Positive. Even I was leaving at that point. Don’t know if you got worse after that, though.”

You sit up suddenly, despite your body’s protests.

“You - what?”

“Listen, I didn’t want to leave you, but Argyle’s buddy Jonathan offered to drive us, and he didn’t want someone who might get sick in his car -”

“But wait, hold on - how did I get home? I thought you got me back -”

“Oh - you really don’t remember, huh?”

“Well - no.”

“Don’t get mad, but -”

“But what?”

“It was Steve. He drove you home.”

You pause, opening your mouth a few times to say something, but not finding the words.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Harrington only had like, two beers all night, so he said he could take you back.”

“I - oh.”

What you wanted to say was, why the fuck would he do that?

“So… yeah. Sorry about that. But, I’m glad you made it back okay.”

“Yeah - mm hm…” you murmur absentmindedly. You hear a shrill beeping sound through the phone, making you wince.

“Sorry - fuck, Gareth set off the fucking fire alarm again. Sorry, I -”

“No, it’s okay. Go deal with that. I just… wanted to make sure you knew I’m alive.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, and you can practically what your friend’s grin through the phone. “Gotta go - drink water, eat some fries, bye -”

Click.

You sit there in silence for a few moments, brow furrowed - Steve? Did you really make a drunk fool of yourself in front of him? You groan - he’ll definitely find a way to use this as leverage. How did he even get you inside? Did you throw up in his car - Christ, you hope not.

Worst of all… now you owe Steve Harrington, of all people.

It’s as you’re making peace with this horrible realization that you finally spot the Ibuprofen - there it is, in plain sight, on your bedside table. The bottle is conveniently right there, somehow, with a glass of water. You hadn’t noticed it in your hungover stupor earlier - when you reach for it, you realize it’s sitting on top of a note with untidy scrawl that reads:

Take some of this - you’re going to need it, sweetheart.

-Harrington

You stare at it dumbfoundedly, then scoff.

Motherfucker.

author's note: I'm back! I took a bit of a hiatus, but I'm back in the swing of writing. I wont lie though... this is barely proofread. So, please be kind. This is a slow burn, so don't expect real smut for a few more chapters. But, let me know your thoughts, and I hope you enjoyed!

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tiffanyachings · 7 months

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it would have been very beautiful. camilla would have had to cook (horrible bone soup)

#HELLO back at it again #tug introduced groundbreaking new findings about soul permeability but my mind bypassed all that in favour of this au #the division of labour is as follows:#dulcie reads the instructions; snacks; and changes the radio station every time she doesn’t like a song #if you complain she will remind you she's literally dying. life is too short and mediocre songs are too long #pal gets stuff from high shelves and battles his constantly fogged up glasses #he tried to help with prep once and promptly got himself banned from using knives for the rest of his life #cam does 98% of the actual cooking #trivia section -#you can tell i am new to this because i arranged them in the wrong speaking order. let’s all practice our right to left reading #cam has a silly novelty apron because a) the idea was unbearably funny to me and b) i need to spread the gospel (aroace cam)#the cookbooks next to dulcie are ‘a few teaspoons of salt’ (by ianthe tridentarius)#and ‘saintly feasts: food for saints and scholars’ which is a real book! though not written by cassiopeia the first #*#dulcie septimus #dulcinea septimus #camilla hect #palamedes sextus #the locked tomb #field sketches #<< i get to have an art tag now!

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lowqualitygarbage · 2 months

Photo

The problem with such a big dream was that it was hard to figure out what steps to take to achieve it. With their first potential settler and comrade-in-arms in tow, the women wandered the Wasteland, unsure of what to do next. One evening, as Charlie flipped through the stations on her Pipboy, a bright voice straight from the old world film reels back home rang out. To her delight, the man on the radio mentioned her new project. Sure, he was calling it the Hazbin instead of the Happy, but still! He was talking about them!

Angel seemed confused. Apparently there hadn't been a live host on any of the stations since he was a kid. Nonetheless, the three settled in and enjoyed the commentary between classic songs.

Charlie loved tuning in to the show, and to her delight, every time they seemed lost, the broadcaster would mention some bit of news or rumors about places that needed help or potential treasures to be rediscovered. She was happy to let the old world charm of the voice on the radio help guide their way through the Wasteland.

Vaggie, however, found herself quickly unsettled by just much the man on the radio knew about their little group; how perfectly timed every new piece of information was brought up just as they needed it.

Listen, if you thought I have not been a gigantic Alastor simp ever since the pilot first came out, you do not know me. He may or may not have been the first idea I had for this AU.

#Vault 666 #Alastor #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin AU #Fallout AU #His radio tower has a mounted radstag with human skulls between their teeth in the lobby because he's classy like that #Any suggestions on a radio station name I am all ears

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byberbunk2069 · 19 days

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They like Samurai (ironically)

#this was taken on my search for the Blade Runner easter egg #Song So Mi #Songbird #OC: Veil #Cyberpunk 2077 #Phantom Liberty #otp: Crash & Burn #in the AU (post 2077 events) Johnny is hiding out at their pirate radio station and they send this to him over the Net #also I might make some changes to the custom So Mi appearance today #kinda wanna give her Alt's tank that the original Songbird can be seen wearing sometimes #I wanna make another appearance too that adds her hastily put on sneakers

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muzzlemouths · 1 year

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Today's warm up drabble comes from my newest brain worms, Starshine Station (radio host au)! Not a full chapter, just something for you to munch on while I continue figuring out what I want to do.

Sun (& Eclipse) Centric // Wordcount: 1960

“Gooooood afternoon, ladies, gents, folks on the fence, and everyone except the lint licker who cut me off on the way into the station today. I sincerely hope that speeding ticket was worth it, honey, cause I just know that Mercedes is already guzzling your pockets by the mile!”

A wuh wuhhh sound effect comes across the speakers, followed quick by a giddy snicker from the announcer himself.

“It's the 20th of March, if you need reminding, and that marks the beautiful start of spring, spring, spring! I don’t know about you, but I love welcoming the season with some good ol’ fashioned deep cleaning. There’s nothing quite like giving the room a good sparkle to your favorite moxie melody, and what better way to kick off the afternoon than with Wanda Jackson's ‘Let's have a Party!’ It’sa classic that’ll see you movin’, groovin’, and having an all around good time while you’re sprucing your place up–”

A silhouette in the office window catches Sun’s attention. His chair whines with the motion of a backward lean to get a proper look at the intern waving him down from the other side of the glass, evidently needing his attention right there and then, despite the clear ON AIR sign flashing red above the door.

Not one to keep anyone waiting, Sun lifts a finger, mouthing a silent ‘one second’, before returning to his mic. “–and you know we're all about having a good time down here at Starshine Station! That’s why our special guest for today is none other than the ace of rock, Montgomery McGator, himself! We’ll hear everything he has to say about the bedazzled band trend here in a moment. For now, turn up those speakers for some Wanda magic!”

The quick press of a button sets his mic to mute and allows him exactly two minutes and nineteen seconds to stretch his legs and see to whatever issue has come up. He opens the door and hardly has his head poked outside of it before the station’s intern (you, evidently) is in front of him, clipboard in hand, with an expression that spells trouble.

“Oh, no,” Sun grimaces, “I know that look, dear. What’s wrong?”

You hate to be the bearer of bad news on any day, but today, you fear it could cost you your job. The issue at hand - something that came up only a moment ago - has your fingers tapping against the wood of the board and your bottom lip tucking between teeth, and you stall for time with a bout of silence, procrastinating the inevitable anger that’s going to come your way as soon as you break the news.

Sun is patient. He always is. But now, even he is peering over his shoulder to check on the remaining time. He turns back with a nervous expression. “Out with it, now,” he urges you, “I haven’t got much time left, flower, so if it isn’t terribly important–”

“Montgomery canceled.” You get it out in one breath, an apologetic whine stirring behind the words, and you’re quick to offer the only excuse you were given before he has a chance to do anything more than balk, “H-He said something about a sick dog, and that he’d try to make it next week, instead, if we could–”

Sun cuts you off with a raised hand and presses the other to his face, exhaling rather loudly, “So not only is he not in the booth next to me, where he’s supposed to have already been for the last half hour, but he isn’t coming in today at all? Did I hear you right?”

You nod, slow and shy.

“Okay.” He says sternly. Another exhale. His shoulders rise with gusto a moment later as his palms come open in a simple ‘what can you do’ gesture, “We’ll just have to find someone else to fill the spot.”

“I–” Another whine escapes you, evidence of your guilt despite the lack of a crime, “I’m really sorry, if I’d known any earlier, trust me, I would have–”

“Please, this isn’t your fault,” another peek inside the booth reveals he has approximately thirty seconds to think of a new plan. When he turns back around it’s with a wide grin and scheming eyes, an expression you don’t enjoy in the slightest - given the way it’s angled right towards you. “However, since it’s technically your responsibility to see that our segments run smoothly–” oh, no, “–why don’t you join me as our special guest instead?”

You shrink in place, gawking, the clipboard hugged tight to your chest, “What? No, no - I couldn’t!”

“Nonsense!” Chirps Sun, already dragging you into the booth by the arm, “I need a guest, you’re right here, it’ll work out just fine!”

“I’m just an intern!”

“And our special guest for the day!” He sits you down in the chair beside his own and hastily parks into his a second after. Ten seconds. His finger goes for the mic button, but you reach for his wrist and catch it just before. He casts you a sideways glance.

“What about Eclipse?” You swallow the heavy lump that’s settled in your throat, “You know they aren’t going to like this, Sun. He and I already aren’t on the best terms.”

Five seconds. “I’ll take care of him,” Sun waves you off with his spare hand, “don’t you worry your little head about it, blossom. Relax for me – and put on a smile! – you’re about to be famous.”

“But–”

His finger lands on the button. “Welcome back, listeners! You’re tuned in to Starshine Station, and that was Let's have a Party!’ from the one and only Wanda Jackson. I’m sure you’re all bustlin’ for a bruising from big man McGator, but it appears his schedule rock and rolled out of our grasp–“ he plays a ba dum tss, then chases it with a sad trombone, ”–but worry not, folks, we’ve got someone special to keep you entertained while we sort things out. Give a big hand to an announcer in training from our very own station!“

Sun adjusts the mic in your direction, gesturing for you to introduce yourself.

Fuck. What are you supposed to do, tell him no? Live on air? “Oh, um, - I’m–” you clear your throat. Telling thousands of viewers your name is harder than chugging dry sand, but you do it, and you do it without making too much of a fool of yourself.

“Our friend here has been with the station for a few months now, already!” Sun tells the audience, “They manage things like a true professional and keep me and Moon from feeling like we’re herding cats with all that needs done in a day, truly, where would we be without them?”

You can’t help it, the heat that crosses your cheeks at his words, and you even manage a shy, bubbling laugh, finding yourself more willing to lean into the mic and reply – that is, until you see a familiar face in the window.

A contrast of blue and yellow, silver cheeks and fifteen pointed rays. There, behind the glass, stood Eclipse.

And he did not look happy.

You’re quick to tap Sun on the shoulder, not daring to point your guest out to him but rather gesturing with a panicked look, and he follows your gaze to see Eclipse - arms crossed, foot tapping - with a look that could kill across his face. Sun doesn’t even flinch. He turns back to the mic.

“You’ll hear more from our esteemed guest here in a moment, but first,” and his eyes flash in Eclipse’s direction, holding there, “let’s hear a Lesley Gore favorite, ‘You don’t own me’,” he meets Eclipse’s scowl with a grin, “then we’ll hear a word from our sponsors. Stay tuned in for more ca-lassic hits!”

A button press has never sounded so deafening. Eclipse leaves the window a moment later.

Sun nods towards the door where, already, you can hear the station manager marching towards the booth, “Come on,” he sighs, “let’s get this over with. He won’t bother us too much, I can only stall with commercials for so long.”

The door slams open before either of you reach it. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Snaps Eclipse, “Our fans are expecting Montgomery McGator, and you think to bring a rookie on air?”

“I–”

“Monty canceled,” Sun interrupts before the apology is even halfway out, “nothing we could do about it, regretfully. Unless you magically have one of the other Glamrocks on speed-dial.”

The look Eclipse gives you both makes you shrink, and you actively fight the urge to hide behind Sun.

His hand twitches. Once, twice. Then it settles at his hip. “That doesn’t mean you get to bring just anyone in,” he scolds, “we have a reputation to keep, if you kindly remember, and I won’t have it tarnished because you see fit to put an intern on air. What type of calls are you expecting from this interview - inquisitions on how to properly staple papers together?”

You bury the hint of offense deep, deep down, and stomp on the pile for good measure, doing your best not to remind the guy who paid your bills what all you did to keep the station running.

Luckily, Sun doesn’t miss a beat. He’s at your defense long before you have a chance to argue. “They do much more than that,” he corrects with a tut, “you ought to know, it’s you who orders them around like a pack mule, isn’t it?”

Eclipse seethes, steam rising faintly from his cheeks, “I won’t apologize for keeping them busy,” he says, “there’s work that needs done - work that doesn’t involve playing in the sound booth - and I won’t be made the enemy for demanding they do their job.” He stares Sun down, looking stern. Sun holds his gaze without even a blink. Finally, Eclipse sighs and deflates at the shoulders, “They can stay for the interview,” he says “but only because I don’t want you falling through on two promised segments in a row.”

Happy with his win, Sun beams from ear to ear and slaps you between the shoulders, an action that nearly has you stumbling straight into the boss himself.

“But–” Eclipse continues, and he angles himself to look you dead in the eyes, “if you ever think about bringing them in without my permission again, I’ll see to it that both of you are out of a job by evening. Capiche?”

“Of course, of course,” Sun waves a hand, “this is a one-time thing, swear on my soul. A special occasion. Won’t happen again!”

You have no idea how he can be so lax in the face of someone like Eclipse, but if it means getting you off the hook, you aren’t complaining. Even if it meant having to go through with an interview that you are wholly unprepared for.

Either way, Eclipse seems to buy it.

“Mhm,” is all he initially has to say, “you’re back on in twelve. Better make it worthwhile.”

Sun follows him halfway out the door, “It’ll be unforgettable!” He shouts down the hall.

Yeah, unforgettable is what you’re afraid of.

Despite your fears you don’t stop Sun from pulling you back into the chair, and not a moment too soon. The last advertisement ends, and he returns to the crowd as if nothing had ever happened, queueing the next few songs and making small talk as he reintroduces you.

When it comes time to answer questions you’re all but sweating through your company sweatshirt, but his smile is there and it warms you to the core, and you find the words come a little easier, this time. Sun hits the dial.

“Let’s take our first caller.”

#drops this before passing out #starshine station #radio host au #snippets #sun fnaf #sundrop #eclipse fnaf

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imagionary · 8 months

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Randomized Fusion between Dave and Cathal! Title is either Deceiver or Payola ^v^

Other concepts under cut:

(Atari head and portable VCR possibilities I ping ponged in my brain)

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meandaupod · 2 years

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Andrea’s big list of podcasts about women smooching

In light of my ongoing #romancequest 2022, I figured it is time I did my bit by compiling a list of shows that I like where one of the main plotlines is a romance between two women.

For the purposes of this I’m going to define “main plotline” as:

Involving one or more of the show’s lead characters and

Affecting the show’s plot in a substantial way, over a large percentage of episodes

The Strange Case of Starship Iris | @iriscasefiles

An ensemble sci-fi adventure about a team of scrappy smugglers who stumble into a major, galactic-spanning conspiracy involving the oppressive galactic regime that governs humanity and the aliens they went to war with.

Who should be or is kissing? Anxious scientist-turned-medic Violet and Arkady Patel, a combat veteran with a complicated history... present... day-to-day, really.

Me and AU | @meandaupod Yes, okay, this is us, but if you found this list via reblog, here are some details:

A coming of age romance about two college-aged women who fall in love writing fanfiction about their favourite new TV show, a paranormal mystery only airing in Canada with a fandom of eight people. Listen to us here.

Who should be or is kissing? Kate “ACunningPlan” Cunningham and Ella “Hella--enchanted,” two big nerds who realize that sometimes when you think you’re writing your friend a there was only one bed fic what you’re really saying is I love you.

The Pasithea Powder | @pasitheapowder

When Dr. Jane Gonzalez revealed her planet had been experimenting with a memory-altering bioweapon she helped end an interplanetary war - and committed an act of treason. In the aftermath of the conflict, she reconnects with former friend Lt. Sophie Green, a war hero on a goodwill galactic tour, and everything gets even more morally and ethically complicated somehow.

Who should be or is kissing? Jane and Sophie’s years-long will they or won’t they sexual tension will make you scream but in a good way.

Arden | @ardenpodcast

All Bea Casely wanted was to make a true crime podcast about the infamous disappearance of actress Julie Capsom. But when her station is purchased by an eccentric billionaire, who insists on hiring disgraced cop Brenda Bentley as her co-host, Bea gets way more than she bargained for.

Who should be or is kissing? There are actually a fair few f/f couples across Arden’s two released seasons, particularly in season 2, but never have two people needed to just fuck already more than Bea and Brenda.

Midnight Radio | @martletradio

Amelia just moved back to the hometown she left for a reason and needs advice. Luckily, the dreamy, perfectly vintage midnight radio talk show hosted by Sybil McIntyre takes listener letters. Slowly we realize things aren’t all that they seem for Sybil, whose timeless aesthetic may have more sinister underpinnings.

Who should be or is kissing? Sybil and Amelia, assuming a uh, massive spoiler gets resolved.

Interference

D&D podcaster Jacq is recording her advice show when she accidentally makes radio contact with Geneva, an orc researcher based in the land of Chel. As portals begin to open between their worlds, the two must get to the bottom of what’s going on, and figure out their fledgling feelings for each other.

Who should be or is kissing? Jacq and Geneva are very cute from the jump. And who can blame Jacq for seeing the opportunity to smooch a hot trans orc lady and going for it?

Mabel | @mabelpodcast

A home healthcare worker begins attempting to reach the estranged granddaughter of the woman she is charged with looking after, and then things get really weird. (I find Mabel so very vexing to describe but expect strange, surreal horror with a dark romantic heart.)

Who should be or is kissing? Home health worker Ana Limon and Mabel Martin, whose whereabouts will not be spoiled by this tiny list.

Greenhouse

Rose’s dad just died, and his will states she must start writing letters to the owner of his favourite flower shop if she wants to continue living in their family home. Despite all this, romance blossoms as she and her new penpal slowly get to know each other.

Who should be or is kissing? Rose and Abby, the owner of the flower shop, who build an mutual understanding around being anxious as hell, weird about media and needing to go to therapy pretty badly.

Alice isn’t Dead

Alice isn’t dead, which is news to her wife. Working as a truck driver for an increasingly strange company, Keisha crosses the country to track her down and uncovers a dark secret lurking along America’s highways in the process.

Who should be or is kissing? Alice and Keisha have a, uh, complicated relationships to say the least but you can’t argue there isn’t something interesting there.

#romancequest 2022 #me and au podcast #the strange case of starship iris #arden podcast #greenhouse #midnight radio #alice isn't dead #mabel podcast #I feel like this list should be longer!#BUT a lot of stuff got knocked out for being off category - either about a couple who broke up before the start and will never smooch again #(Within the Wires IWNJATR etc)#or a couple who are only together for a bit to move the plot along #(Night Post)#or stuff like my OWN OTHER SHOW where the romance is a C-plot at best (but Nelly/Reva forever listen to Station to Station anyway)#that being said I know there are a few circa-2018 shows I've forgotten but their feeds may be dead anyway

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heyitslapis · 6 days

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I JUST FIGURED OUT HOW TO MAKE MY OWN RADIO STATION FOR FALLOUT NV!!!!!!

#HOLY FUCKING SHIT I CANT BELIEVE IT ACTUALLY WORKS HOLY FUCK #IM SO EXCITED BECAUSE ITS MY FALLOUT FAN-RADIO STATION FOR AN AU OF MINE #OMG OMG OMG OMG #sorry for all the shouting im just like wow its so awesome!!!!!!!!#thank god for people on youtube & reddit i swear #fallout #falloutnv #fallout new vegas #emma rambles #fallout mods #fallout radio mods #fnv

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ziyalathena30 · 27 days

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Summary: Martin and Jon end up somewhere else, and that somewhere is Night Vale.

#martin blackwood #tma #jonmartin #the magnus archives #au #night vale radio station #welcome to nightvale #cecil nightvale #somewhere else

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softquietsteadylove · 4 months

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The tiny cellar. The door slamming shut. The darkness. Gils claustrophobia. The DRAMA!

For the wildfire one please! ❤️

"Someone! Anyone, please!!"

Thena walked a little more briskly. It had reached her ears so quietly and muffled at first, but there was no mistaking it now. Someone needed help. "Hello?"

"Please, help me!"

She picked her pace up to a light jog, the scenery looking much more familiar now. She kept telling herself she wasn't coming back to Gil's cabin - again - she was just...in the area. Her perimeter routes had changed, that was all.

It wasn't that she missed the place, or the host.

"Someone!"

"Gil?" she called out, looking around for him. She couldn't figure out for the life of her where he was. She walked around the side of the cabin, but he wasn't by the wood pile, or chopping out front. He didn't seem to be inside, based on how she was hearing him.

"Please!"

"Gil, are you okay?!" she shouted back, her heart starting to beat faster. What the hell had happened to him? "Gil!"

"Help!!"

"Gilgamesh!" Thena ran around the other side of the house. There wasn't much over there except the storm cellar door and where the water connection was. He had showed her the water main so that she could help herself to the shower in case he was away and had shut it off.

The doors rattled, being pounded on from the inside.

"Please, please, please!"

"Gil!" Thena shouted back, rushing to pull them open. They weren't locked, but the wood had warped over the course of winter, and now were wedged together in just such a way that made them seem impossible to get open now that they were slotted together.

"Thena, please!"

She slammed her foot on one door and pulled on the other one, stumbling back as it finally cracked open. If she didn't know him so well, it might have been terrifying, seeing someone as large as Gil come tearing up and out of the cellar in that state.

"Thena!"

She tried not to fall over as Gil sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her stomach. He was bawling like a baby, clearly having been hyperventilating in the cellar by himself. She huffed. "Gil."

"Thena, oh thank god, fuck, I-I thought-"

Thena tried a few times to try and pat his head - or something - without feeling weird about it. He was clinging to her like he'd faced down his worst nightmare, which perhaps he had. He wasn't being dramatic, or his big, sensitive self. He wasn't well. "It's okay, Gil."

He screamed into the material of her shirt, his whole body quaking. He was such a bear of a man but he truly seemed fragile, on the verge of crumbling. "I can't...I can't..."

Thena finally gave in, letting her hands fall over him as gently as she could manage. He flinched, and it only made her feel worse for him. But she rubbed his shoulder, ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm here, Gil. You're okay."

He took slower breaths, steadier with each slow inhale. He slowly sank lower until he couldn't even hold onto her anymore, seemingly ready to lie down on the forest floor.

"Gil, hey," she said gently, trying to have more than her usual charisma (lack thereof) with him. She knelt with him, holding his shoulders and making him look at her. "What happened?"

He groaned, his throat raw from screaming for however long he'd been in there. "I-I was checking on some stuff in the cellar. I always have the doors wide open, but they must have gotten blown over, or maybe something wandered by and closed them--I-I dunno."

"Okay," she nearly whispered, nodding and watching him closely. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, but his pupils were responsive. He was no longer gasping for air, his chest no longer heaving. She wouldn't be surprised if he was lightheaded. "It's over now."

He groaned again, rubbing his face. "Ugh, Thena...I'm sorry."

He was apologising?

"I didn't mean to freak out and," he blushed, typical Gil, "throw myself at you like that."

She tilted her head at him, and he looked truly ashamed and remorseful. "You never told me you're claustrophobic."

He shook his head, ruffling his own hair now. He looked like he'd been through hell. "Doesn't come up much, I guess. I don't exactly get put on cave duty that often."

Thena furrowed her brows. She would think that if his phobia was this severe that he wouldn't be put on cave search duty to begin with.

"Thanks for rescuing me," he smiled limply at her as she rocked back on her heels and flopped back on her butt across from him. "Sorry you had to come all this way to do it."

"I was," she shrugged, hoping she seemed casual, "passing by."

Whether he believed her or not, he chuckled and nodded, "well, you really saved me, so..."

Thena sighed, keeping an eye on him. It didn't feel right to just...leave him like this. She inhaled, poking him in the shoulder, "okay, hey, c'mon, get up."

He blinked at her as she pulled herself up and dusted off her grey jeans. "R-Right, you must have to-"

"Get inside, I'll make your disgusting leaf water for you." As soon as she said it she wondered if maybe she could see why she was known as a 'stone cold bitch' at the station.

Gil brightened like a dog being offered a treat. He looked up at her with those big brown eyes of his, "really?"

She turned away from him; he acted like she had asked him to marry her! All she offered was to make him some tea! "Today, Gilgamesh, before I change my mind!"

Maybe she could be a little nicer to the man whose life had flashed before his eyes in his own storm cellar.

But Gil picked himself up, hopping to fall in step beside her. He nudged her shoulder gently with his, "thanks."

She bit the inside of her cheek. He was making such a big deal about it. "Thank me if I make it right."

But even now, her growling did nothing to dissuade him from inviting her in. If anything, when she whipped the door open and stepped in ahead of him, he held the door open over her shoulder. Such a little gentleman (she rolled her eyes).

"Gil," she started while on her way to the kitchen.

"Yeah?" he asked, already kicking off his boots in favour of his sandals.

She lingered by the doorway between the kitchen and the main body of the cabin. "Next time you need something in that cellar...just call me."

"Huh?"

She resisted the urge to press her forehead to the fridge door, feeling her face growing warm. "Just wait for me and I'll do it for you! You don't have to go down there again, is what I'm saying."

She continued on her way, digging out the kind of tea that was his favourite. She didn't know what kind it was, but she supposed she had smelled worse teas. And she knew how to put the kettle on. Maybe she would make herself a single mug of instant coffee with the boiling water while she was here.

"Thanks, Thena."

He was probably smiling that dumb smile that was kind of endearing. And she refused to go out there if he was going to catch her looking flustered over it. He could wait for his stupid leaf water.

This was why she was off search and rescue. Saving just one person made it feel worthwhile to do it again and again.

#Thenamesh Wildfire AU #Thank you for asking for this!#I didn't write this Gil with claustrophobia initially #but y'know what? why not #He has to have some weakness as a firefighter right?#otherwise he's too big and strong and nice and good with the public #there has to be some reason he's also stationed out in the middle of nowhere #Gil is truly terrified of being locked in pretty much anywhere #Thena starts walking a route tighter and tighter around the cabin #she even radios in and says that she's changing her perimeter deal with it #everyone's like uh...okay?#her boys radio her and are like everything good Thee?#how's your boyfriend doing?#Thena: HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND #protests too much maybe #meanwhile poor golden retriever Gil is just happy to be here #Thena makes truly terrible tea #she lets the water boil too long and scorches the delicate oolong leaves Gil loves #but that's okay he loves it anyway

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