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coneyislandbabey · 1 year

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testing his patience. -> g. dunne

WARNINGS: arguing, profanities, billy being billy

SYNOPSIS: Graham finds his voice defending you after Billy takes his anger out on you during a recording session. word count: 2,294

You awoke to the dipping of the mattress on the other side of you. Stretching, you rolled over and blearily opened your eyes, taking in the sight of your boyfriend sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his shoes. His soft brown curls were unruly over the collar of his flannel shirt, and all you wanted to do was grab his arm and pull that curly head to your chest.

Graham glanced over his shoulder, and then fully turned to look at you when he realized that you were awake. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, stupid smile on your face as you took in his big blue cherub eyes, waiting for your brain to warm up enough to start functioning. “S’okay, I’m glad I get to see you before you go.”

Graham’s face split into a grin, and you felt your heart constrict at the sight. “You’re gonna come to rehearsal today, right?”

“Yeah, I’m going to come with Cami and Jules later,” you nodded.

“Good. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you soon,” Graham said. He leaned over, cupping your cheek with his palm, thumb stroking your soft skin once as he planted a kiss between your brows before exiting the room.

Once he was gone, you flopped over onto your back and tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Graham had been asking you to stop by rehearsals often lately, but you had been hesitant to. Billy had always been temperamental, but usually that was focused on the band and he treated you nicely, or at the very least politely. Yet, ever since Daisy Jones had come onto the scene, he’d been angry with everyone a lot of the time, and sullen the rest. His control issues had gotten worse, he was picking fights with anyone he could for the most innocuous reasons, and frankly, you would rather have some quiet time alone in the house while everyone was at rehearsal to work on your art, or go over to Billy and Camila’s to help with the baby. But Graham seemed more stressed out lately, his nerves fraying more every day that he came home from another day of Billy taking his anger out on him. You hoped that, if you went in to watch, maybe it would cause Billy to reign it in for the day. It’s the least you could try to do for Graham and the rest.

You got ready for the day quickly, before going over to Camila’s to entertain the baby while she got everything she’d need for the day together. You were hopeful that it would be a good day, that Billy would be in a better mood once his wife and daughter came to visit him. And you were starting to look forward to it, too– you’d always loved listening to the band rehearse and slowly work through new songs until they came to a final project, even more than you liked watching their shows. You missed getting to witness that process, and on top of it, you were extremely curious about Daisy and what she brought to the dynamic.

“You ready?” Camila asked, coming into the living room with a bag slung over her shoulder.

“Yes we are,” you responded brightly, standing up and cradling Julia closer to your body. She leaned her head on your shoulder and you did your best to hold in the squeal of sheer affection that threatened to overwhelm you.

Camila grinned, coming over and kissing the baby on the cheek. “She loves her auntie. Don’t you, Julie?”

“Don’t tell Uncle Graham, but you’re my favorite person in the world,” you stage-whispered into Julia’s hair. Camila laughed and led you out of the house, toward the car. You strapped Julia into her seat before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Everything okay, Cam? You seem a little tense,” you asked, noting the tenseness of your best friend’s shoulders as she drove. She didn’t respond at all for a moment, as if she hadn’t heard you at all, before she sighed, letting her shoulders drop.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just… well, you know Billy’s been stressed. It’s been a while since I’ve come to rehearsal, and I’m just not so sure if it’s a good idea to bring Julia with me,” she confessed. You nodded in sympathy, reaching over and squeezing her bicep reassuringly. You understood what she meant; it took a while after he came home from rehab, but Julia had become Billy’s world. Usually, she was an instant calming agent in his life, just having her around brightened him. But with the way he’d been lately, having even Julia at the studio would be a toss-up.

“We’ll try it out, and if it ends up not being good, you and me can just take Jules somewhere else, okay? It’s so nice out, we can take her down to the beach or to the park, get her some fresh air.”

Camila nodded, turning to shoot you a grateful smile as she stopped at a red light.

***

Upon arriving at the studio, you saw Teddy first, who had stepped out to the hall to make a phone call. He was hanging up as you walked in, and returned the smile you aimed towards him.

“Hello, ladies,” he said, nodding at the three of you in greeting.

“Morning, Teddy,” you said. “They’re in the usual studio?”

“Sure are. I’ll be back in there soon,” he said. You nodded and three of you started down the hall to the familiar room. When you walked in, you saw Tobias at the soundboard, and most of the band hanging around the cramped space. On the other side of the glass, Billy and Daisy stood sharing one microphone, singing something you hadn’t heard before. You waved at Karen, who was the only one to notice yours and Camila’s arrival so far and who was immediately reaching to take the baby from Camila’s arms. You squeezed past her, coming up behind Graham and snaking your arm into the crook of his elbow, leaning your head on his shoulder. He startled, but that ever-familiar grin enveloped his face when he realized it was you.

“Hey,” you grinned back, leaning up to kiss him. Both of his hands went to either side of your face as he reciprocated, cradling you the way he always did. When you pulled away, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

“Listen, we’re working on something new,” he said, nodding toward Daisy and Billy. You focused on the music, and just as you were really getting lost in it, Billy halted abruptly.

“Those aren’t the lyrics we agreed on,” he asserted, staring intensely at Daisy. She merely shrugged.

“I know, but I feel like the song is missing a note of insecurity,” she explained, “and it’s only a slight tweaking of the lyrics and we get that.”

“I didn’t write it with the intention of a ‘note of insecurity’, I wrote it to sound the way it already does!”

Teddy had walked into the soundbooth just as the two of them had started bickering, and he went over to the mic immediately. “Alright, let’s do a take Billy’s way, and a take Daisy’s way, and then discuss. Can you both work with that?”

Daisy nodded immediately, and Billy woodenly nodded as well a moment later. “My way first,” he said, and you smirked as Daisy did her best to stop her eyes from rolling as she agreed. Along with everyone else, you listened intently as the pair rolled through both takes. It was immediately clear to you that, even though they were only slightly different, Daisy’s lyrics had a certain edge to them that Billy’s version had been lacking. You all filed out of the soundbooth to meet Daisy and Billy in the other room to discuss.

“What do you think?” Daisy asked immediately, peering around at the gathered faces. Billy stood apart from her, jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest. You glanced around, wondering who would be the first to offer their opinion.

“It’s Daisy’s for me,” Karen said bluntly as she lit up a cigarette. “She’s right, her changes add something that the original was missing, something that should be there.”

“It’s better,” Eddie agreed.

Billy’s eyes hardened. “She’s taking the song in a completely different direction than I intended.”

“It’s not so different, Billy. It just adds another layer of complexity,” Graham countered. “And I can already see where I can tweak the guitar a bit to better accommodate the vibe.”

“Oh, so what? We’re changing the whole song now?” Billy asked.

“Come on, Billy, you know that’s not what’s happening,” Karen cut in.

“Daisy’s lyrics are just as catchy as the original, but they cut deeper, I think,” you piped up before you even realized you were going to speak. Immediately, you regretted it; usually, you did your best to stay out of any drama and arguments that cropped up in the group. Nine times out of ten they had nothing to do with you, and it wasn’t worth the agita to weigh in. This time, you had just gotten so caught up in the conversation, and opened your mouth before you could check yourself. Billy turned to you, scoffing, an anger in his eyes that had rarely, if ever, been aimed at you before.

“Not for nothing, (y/n), but this has nothing to do with you. Nobody asked what you think, and nobody wants to hear it,” he shouted. You stared at him, blinking, trying and failing to think of an appropriate response to his outburst. Anger simmered beneath your skin that he would dare to talk to you like that, but even deeper, you were hurt. You had only been trying to help. Around you, chaos erupted.

Daisy turned on him and said, “Actually, I asked.”

Simultaneously, Warren piped up for the first time to say, “Aw, c’mon man, lay off, she’s trying to help.”

Eddie and Karen were both saying something, too, but you couldn’t hear them. Graham had stepped away from your side and towards his brother, jabbing his finger into his chest. His voice was dangerously low, acidic, when he opened his mouth. “Don’t you ever fucking talk that way to her again, Billy, or I’ll make sure you can never speak again. I’m sick and tired of you bulldozing everybody else in this band and in our lives for the simple crime of disagreeing with you. Stand there, shut up, and take the fucking constructive criticism like a man.”

Everyone was silent, gaping at Graham. When he didn’t back up, Billy took the initiative and took a step away from his brother, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Well, that settles that,” Teddy said with finality. “We’ll go with Daisy’s lyrics when we pick up where we left off tomorrow. Now all of you go home.” As soon as the words were out of Teddy’s mouth, Billy turned on his heel and stormed away. Graham stared after him for a moment, before turning himself and walking off in the opposite direction. He headed for the side exit into the alley, disappearing outside before anyone else could speak.

Camila turned and handed Julia off to Eddie, and her eyes met yours. A silent conversation passed between you– Are you okay? Yes, and you? Are you okay to go after him? – Camila nodded slightly, and you nodded back, both of you going after your personal Dunne brother.

Outside, Graham was leaning against the brick wall, lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He tensed when he heard the door open, but immediately relaxed when he realized it was you. A sadness creeped into his clear blue eyes, clouding them like a sudden storm on a beautiful day. You walked over to stand in front of him, and instinctively his hands found their resting spot on your waist. You put your own hands on his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, before you could speak. “I shouldn’t have yelled like that in front of you.”

“Baby, I came out here to make sure you were okay and to say thank you,” you insisted, brow furrowed. “Thank you for standing up for me the way you did. I know it’s hard for you to do that when it’s Billy you’re standing up to. I’m proud of you for finding your voice when it comes to him.”

Graham sighed, and his eyes cleared with relief. He slumped further against the wall, pulling you with him. “Not that it’ll make much of a difference. Billy’ll continue on the way he always does, and I know it, but I couldn’t just let him talk to you like that.”

“Doesn’t matter if Billy doesn’t change after this, I’m still proud of you for standing up for me and for everyone that Billy belittles, and I know the rest of the band is proud of you, too,” you doubled down.

Graham nodded, but he wouldn’t look at you. Gently, you grasped his chin and turned his face toward yours. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m okay. Just… frustrated with him, I guess,” Graham nodded. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay, especially since my knight in shining armor stepped in to protect my honor,” you replied, grinning cheekily. Graham laughed, shaking his head and pulling you fully into a hug. You rested your head against his chest, moving to wrap your arms around his waist tightly. After a minute, you looked up and said, “Now, how about we get outta here and go get some food?”

#daisy jones and the six #djats #graham dunne #graham dunne x reader #billy dunne #camila dunne #daisy jones #julia dunne #eddie roundtree #eddie loving #warren rojas #warren rhodes #teddy price #karen sirko #karen karen

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drogonstone · 1 year

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DAISY JONES & THE SIX then and then

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layla-keating · 1 year

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DAISY JONES & THE SIX Episode 3: Someone Saved My Life Tonight

#djatsedit #tvedit #filmtvcentral #tvandfilm #djatsblr #userlolo #daisy jones #teddy price #daisy jones and the six #~#riley keough #tom wright

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darlingmarie3 · 1 month

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“Daisy Jones & The Six weren’t a real band stop crying over their break up.” Shut the fuck up they were real to me

#daisy jones and the six #70s music #daisy jones #billy dunne #graham dunne #karen sirko #warren rhodes #camila alvarez #eddie roundtree #simone jackson #teddy price #taylor jenkins reid

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agentsofniceentrances · 6 months

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Daisy Jones & The Six ft. Simone Jackson

Track 10: Rock 'n' Roll Suicide

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meropegaaunt · 1 year

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EVENTUALLY

Billy Dunne x reader

Implied eventual Graham Dunne x reader

Can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to West Coast

Summary: You grow apart from your childhood best friend, Billy.

Warnings: Angst, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, a non-detailed mention of childbirth, implied cheating, and attempted kissing

Word Count: 4,940 words

Author’s Note: If anyone would be interested in a third part of this fic, please let me know in the comments!

BILLY DUNNE (lead singer, The Six): I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but at one point or another, things between Y/N and I changed. They started to pull away, to keep me at arm’s length, and that . . . that hurt more than I can put into words. For twelve years, we had been inseparable, then boom. Just like that, we were separated.

Don’t get me wrong. I was happy with Camila, happier than I had been in ages, but can one truly find joy without their best friend? No, I don’t think they can.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Billy and Camila getting together served as a wake-up call. At some point in 1969, you had unknowingly developed feelings for him, had let him into your heart, but now that he was off the market, you felt the need to take a step back, to figure out who you were without your best friend. So you stopped going over to the Dunne household every day, instead opting to spend time with your father or your other friends. As expected, Billy took note of your absence, but when he pushed you for an explanation, you assured him all was well. The year before, he would have immediately noticed that your voice had cracked when offering assurance, revealing your words to be false. Now, though, he was distracted, his mind so wrapped up in other things that he did not notice. (Or so you thought . . .)

Despite the wide berth you were giving Billy, you still saw him at band practice. As per usual, the two of you played side by side, giving your all to the music, and while your musical talents continued to grow, something was off. A tension could be heard, one that neither of you were willing to acknowledge even after Chuck left . . .

His departure was completely unexpected, blindsiding not only you but the rest of the band, because he had been quiet in his discontent, not telling anyone he was going to leave until there was no other choice. He had to, because you had all rode up his stone-paved driveway in Warren’s rickety, beat-up van, expecting to practice, only to realize that the door to Chuck’s garage, your designated practice space, was closed.

“Ah, there he is,” Eddie breathed, kicking open the back door of the van, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips. Out of the back spilled you, him, and Graham, your features all a mask of confusion.

“Hey, Chuck,” you greeted, offering him a wide, sunny smile. The kind that could calm even the most nerve-addled man, because he looked to be in need of assurance. “We‘ve been calling all morning. What’s up?”

There was no time for him to answer, though, before Warren and Billy emerged from the front of the van, the former suspiciously eyeing the closed garage door. “Why’s the garage door closed?”

A beat of tense silence trickled by, depriving the space around you of oxygen, then, “Look, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just gonna say it. I got into college.”

Warren glanced at you, unable to suppress the soft, surprised chuckle that escaped his mouth. “Huh, all right.”

Your own mouth curved downward in response, showing that you had mixed emotions about the whole ordeal. On one hand, this was good news. Chuck had always been smart, the type that could go far with his brain so long as he applied himself. You could, too, but scholarly pursuits had never appealed to you, not the way music had. Four more years in a classroom personally sounded like torture to you, but if that was what Chuck wanted, then so be it. On the other hand, though, him going to college meant the band would be down both a bassist and a practice space.

“Bro, we didn’t even know you applied,” Graham pointed out, sparing a glance at the rest of the band. No one had a clue about Chuck applying to college until this very moment, because he had stayed silent, closed-lipped.

“Was this, like, before or after I spent all my money on this van?” Warren asked, his surprise bordering the line of disbelief.

“I know. I’m sorry, it’s just . . . they have a really good dental program.”

That was shocking, so much so that it was now your turn for disbelief. “You’re gonna be a dentist?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Chuck, come on,” Billy huffed, stepping closer to him in an effort to get through to him, to sway his decision. “Please don’t do this. All right? Not now. Not when things are just starting to happen.”

Chuck had thought long and hard about his decision, which was why he stayed firm, hard as stone. “What do you mean, ‘just starting to happen’?”

“Dude, we open for the Winters on Thursday, and that’s just the beginning.”

“This is a real opportunity.”

“So is this.”

“Billy,” Chuck released a deep, exasperated sigh, one that showed just how much he had thought this over. He would not be swayed, even when his closest friends begged him to. “I know this is your dream, man, but just because you want something to happen doesn’t mean it’s going to. Do you really think that there’s a future here?”

“Well, yeah. Chuck, I do.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

With that, Chuck left, leaving a large, bassist-sized hole in the band. It came as a harsh, cutting surprise, but even so, you called after him, “Good luck.”

Your words, though light, did nothing to dispel the tension that had fallen over the group. Eddie seemed to be feeling it most of all, as shown by how he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, turning it over and over in his hands. “We gotta cancel the gig.”

“No, man,” Billy shook his head, refusing to be put out by this one setback. He would not be stymied, not when the band had just gotten started on its rise to greatness. “We’re not canceling.”

“Yeah? What’re we gonna do? We don’t have a bassist, Billy—“

“We’re not canceling,” he repeated, remaining firm, unyielding. Emerald eyes slowly strayed to Eddie, clearing with comprehension, then, “Eddie, you switch over to bass.”

“No.”

You could not help but roll your eyes at the suggestion, because even though Eddie was a team player, there was no way he would switch over without kicking up a storm. He would no doubt complain, spending precious time complaining rather than practicing. That was why you straightened your spine, volunteering, “I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Y/N. We owe you one.” A pleased grin slid onto Billy’s face, replacing the discontent that had been there moments before. He placed a hand on your shoulder, pressing his gratefulness into your skin in a manner that could have been taken as friendly . . . if only his hand had not lingered a moment longer than it should have.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

GRAHAM DUNNE (lead guitar, the Six): (Smiles) Y/N ended up becoming a better bassist than Chuck, anyway.

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

ROD REYES (tour manager): Oh, yeah. I remember the night the Dunne Brothers opened for the Winters, specifically Billy Dunne and Y/N L/N. One look, and I could tell they were rock stars. He was cocksure, knew who to play in the crowd. They had this air about them, the kind that entranced the crowd, really brought out their emotions.

There’s just a quality that some people have. If you took nine guys, plus Mick Jagger, and you put them in a lineup, someone who had never heard of the Rolling Stones before could still point to Jagger and say, “That’s the rock star.” Billy and Y/N had that. And the bad had good sound.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Obviously, you got to write your own material,” the famed manager, Rod Reyes, declared, the distinct smells of smoke and sex emanating from him, filling the air. The smell was so strong and potent that it filled your nostrils from your spot beside Graham, burning your throat, but you were happy, too optimistic to mind the burn.

“Well, I-I mean, I do. We do,” Billy replied, his emerald eyes flitting briefly from Rod’s to yours, because the two of you had written the band’s songs together. A multitude of hours had trickled by in which you two had tried to piece together worthwhile ballads, throwing paint at a theoretical wall and seeing what stuck. The first drafts of the songs had been horrid, lacking any harmony or smoothness, but with much shaping, they had been turned into songs that could go a long way. Key word: could. “Most of it’s not good enough yet.”

“What are you writing about?”

“I have this one song called ‘Nevermore’ about the Catonsville Nine.”

“No. Oh! Are you Bob Dylan? Are you Buffy Sainte-Marie? Enough with the political shit. It’s a new decade. No one needs reminding that the world is a mess. People want to feel good again. They want to feel hope. You can write a love song, can’t you?” Rod demanded, a sour look crossing his face at the thought of ‘Nevermore.’ The song had not been bad, sounding pleasant to the ear, but he did not need to hear it to know that it would not go over well with the masses. He turned to Graham, then, “You need to cool it with the solos, brother. Nobody cares about your technical guitar skills. They want to sing. They want to dance. Look, the last thing I’ll say, and this is key, you need to get the fuck out of Pittsburgh. You want to be signed to a label, you want to work with Jimmy Miller, Tom Dowd, Teddy Price—“

The mention of Teddy Price caused a great, perceptible shift in the air. You immediately sat upright, a curious glint working its way into your eyes. “Wait, you know Teddy Price?”

“Yeah, I know everybody, and they’re all in L.A. now. Not London, not New York. California, my friends. That is the place you got to be.”

His words resonated deeply with you three, specifically the brothers, which was why the prospect of going to L.A. was promptly proposed to the rest of the band. As expected, they agreed, and the six of you and Camila set off, riding off in Warren’s van, Lady Peaches, toward your futures.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y/N L/N (singer, The Six): I knew the chances of making it big were slim, but I also knew that if I didn’t at least try, I would never forgive myself. The boys wouldn’t either. So I packed up my things and bid Dad farewell. He was sad to see me go, but just as happy that I was going after my dreams.

He didn’t tell me he was sick . . . Probably because he knew I’d have stayed behind to take care of him.

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

The City of Angels welcomed you and the Dunne Brothers with open arms, taking you in as one of its own. You got into contact with Rod, hoping that he would set you up with the big guys, specifically Teddy Price, but all he had to offer was a gig at a dank, seedy bar named Filthy McNastys. Its attendants were sketchy, having all sorts of sins to their name, but given that the bar was on the Strip, the band gladly pushed through, giving their all to each and every performance.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y/N: The months we spent at McNastys were slow. At first, barely anyone came to see us, but the more shows we played, the more attention we got. People started coming in just to see us, which was fantastic, but there was a problem: we were barely getting paid.

I ended up getting a job as a waiter at this cute little coffee house to help make ends meet, but no matter what we did, it just didn’t seem like it’d be enough.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“What happened with that producer you went up to?” Eddie asked as you slid into the booth aside him, donning your work uniform. Working at a coffee house was not exactly what you had envisioned yourself doing when you had set off for L.A., but hey, sacrifices had to be made if the group was to stay. “The one with the parrot?”

“Parrot guy passed on us,” Camila answered, having fashioned herself the band’s manager. You thought she was doing a great job, given that she had never done such a thing before. Others did not think as such, though, as shown by Eddie’s next comment.

“Wow. That is bleak.”

“Might want to save half that toast for tomorrow, Eddie,” she retorted, eyeing his toast with an expression of deadly seriousness. Atop the table lay a mound of cash, which was all of the money that the band had amassed since the start of the month. “This is barely enough to cover the rent.”

“Fuck,” Eddie cursed, breathing out a deep sigh. Half his toast was promptly placed in his shirt pocket, being tucked away to be eaten tomorrow.

“Fuck,” you echoed, resting your head atop his shoulder, the move a sign of just how deeply tiredness had settled upon your bones, weighing you down. “I’ll be working another double this weekend, I s’pose.”

Eddie opened his arms in response, letting you lean more closely against him. You did so happily, soaking in his warmth. The action, though gentle, was purely friendly, yet still, unbeknownst to you, two sets of eyes looked upon said action disapprovingly. Both Billy and Graham, despite not wanting to admit it, were jealous, because there you were, snuggling up against another man.

Their jealousy went unnoticed, but your exhaustion did not, as shown by the concern that made its way across Warren’s face. “Fuck it. Maybe old Chuckie was right, huh? Maybe this was all just a big mistake and we should have just stayed at home with our parents, saved money on rent, and become dentists.”

“I mean, I’ve sent out hundreds of photographs. Not a single fucking paper has responded. Should I just quit? No one said it was gonna be easy.”

Camila’s disheartened words drew your attention, causing your head to snap up toward hers. “No, don’t quit. All it takes is one person to make a difference,” you replied, flashing her a weak but warm smile, because even though you had distanced yourself from Billy, you had welcomed her into the group as kindly as you had the new keyboardist, Karen Sirko.

“Also, while we’re talking about stuff, how come I’m the only one without a bed in the house?” Warren deadpanned, heavily yearning for a good night’s sleep in a proper bed. He had been squatting on the couch, after all, and it could be felt in the aches of his back. No twenty year old should feel like they had the back of an old, decrepit man . . .

“Well, you could’ve taken Karen’s room,” Billy pointed out, finally breaking out of his jealous haze.

“No, I couldn’t have. That room is haunted.”

“It’s not haunted.”

“Everybody knows it’s haunted.”

“Oh, come on, Rojas. You don’t want to get all up close and personal with a ghost?” you teased, reaching across Eddie to jostle his arm. Of course, Warren jostled you back, the two of you nearly displacing Eddie’s toast, which he did not like. Not at all.

“Hey, stop! You almost made me drop my pocket toast—“

Sensing that the three of you were on the brink of causing chaos, Karen broke her silence, asking a question that had been bothering her for a long time, “Why are we still called The Dunne Brothers? I mean, four of us aren’t Dunnes, and the last time I checked, I’m nobody’s brother.”

“So you want to change our name?” Billy asked, not even wanting to consider the idea. Truth be told, you had been opposed to the name at the nascence of the band, but given that two of the three original members were Dunnes, your opinion had been the minority.

“I personally think that’s a great idea,” Eddie admitted, earning a sharp, accusatory look from Billy. Said look was sharp enough to cut skin, but he did not wilt, instead adding, “I’m just saying what everybody’s thinking.”

“Well, the name is the name, so . . . That’s how people know us.”

“Yeah, but it’s not exactly doing much for us, though.”

“How about Immaculate Reception?” Warren interjected, causing your nose to crinkle disapprovingly.

“God, no. That’s horrid.”

“We’re not changing the name,” Billy insisted, looking to his brother for help. Graham offered none, though, for he was open to changing the name.

“I mean, listen, if we’re throwing stuff out there, Hercules is still on the table.”

“No! No way!”

“Deliverance, Espionage, Poison.”

“How about Aurora—“

“The six of us will never agree on a name,” Billy cut you off, only liking a single one of the names that had been thrown out. “All right? So let’s just . . .”

His words caused a lightbulb to go off in Karen’s head, as shown by how brightly she grinned, realization donning on her features. “What about The Six?”

“I like The Six.”

“Sure as hell better than Hercules.”

“Y/N?” Graham looked at you, an expectant, questioning look flitting across his face. He had been looking at you more and more as of late with that look, one you could not quite make sense of. “What do you think?”

You opened your mouth to answer, to offer your view of the name, only for the words to die on your tongue when your boss, Dave, yelled out, “Y/N, break’s over. Back on the floor!”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y/N: I put in crazy hours at the coffee house, working to the point of exhaustion, but one of my coworkers there, this bright, fiery girl named Daisy Jones, turned what was one of the darkest times of my life into one of the brightest. One day, after working a double together, she pulled me along to watch her and her friend, Simone, perform at the Troubadour.

I thought that was all it was, that I was just going to support them, but then, after Daisy performed, she got this crazy glint in her eye. The kind where you know she’s up to something. She set down her guitar and said, “Now, I’d like to bring a friend of mine up on stage. Come on up and wow us, Y/N L/N.”

I was shocked, to say the least, but Daisy Jones isn’t the type of person you deny, especially in a room with that many people. So I got up on that stage, took Daisy’s guitar, and sang a piece I had been writing on my own called “Equilibrium.” It was about trying to find a balance between who I was with Billy versus without him.

Looking back, it was sad just how deeply intertwined I was with him, even when there was more space between us than ever. At the time, though, I didn’t realize the song was about him.

Hell, I didn’t even realize Teddy Price was in the audience that night. In my defense, though, my obliviousness might’ve been from all the mescaline I was taking at the time . . .

ੈ✩‧₊˚

After your performance, you returned the guitar to Daisy and hopped off the stage, your cheeks bathed in perspiration from exertion. As soon as your feet made contact with the earth, you were off, making a beeline for the star of the night, Simone.

A golden grin immediately slid onto your mouth, showing how happy you were for her in that moment. “Simone, you did great out there.”

“Hey,” she returned the smile, inclining her head to the man she had been chatting with before you had approached. “Y/N L/N, Teddy Price. You two should talk.”

Oh, my God, you thought when his name trickled your ears. It was all you could think, because there was one of the legends of the music industry, handing you his card. Feeling as though you were floating outside of your body, you reached out to take the card into your hands, hoping that he did not notice the slight tremble of your fingers.

“You interested, kid? We could work on some music together.”

“Oh, um, I appreciate it, but I’m not a solo act,” you informed, because at the time, you had only ever performed by yourself on a handful of occasions. They had been fine, perhaps even good, but not as great as when you performed with the band. “I’m in a band, The Six. Any chance you’d be interested in giving us a chance? Just let us play one song for you, that’s all I ask.”

He looked upon you, studying you keenly. A beat passed, then he nodded, agreeing to give The Six a chance. “Okay, kid. I’ll give you a chance. Are you ready?”

“Undoubtedly, yes.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

BILLY: People think we played one song for Teddy Price and he gave us a record deal. Not true. After that first meeting, he put us through the wringer for months, but it was worth it.

Everything had gone so slowly, and then suddenly it was all happening so fast. We recorded our album in six days, had two weeks off, then it was time to hit the road.

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

BILLY: The night before we were set to leave, Camila told me she was seven weeks pregnant, and I . . . I decided we needed to get married right away. We had been planning to have a wedding sometime after the tour but I decided we needed to do it right then. I don’t know why that mattered to me, but the moment I knew she was pregnant I felt like we had to make sure we were a proper family.

CAMILA DUNNE (wife of Billy Dunne): Karen knew an ordained minister. She got his number from a friend of hers and we called him late that night. He came right over.

EDDIE ROUNDTREE (rhythm guitarist, The Six): It was four in the morning.

CAMILA: Karen decorated the porch out back, and Y/N picked some roses from the bushes surrounding the house. They made me this beautiful flower crown and did my hair; it made me feel like a proper bride.

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

INTERVIEWER: What do you remember about the tour?

Y/N: More than I’d like to.

GRAHAM: . . .

WARREN ROJAS (drummer, The Six): . . .

KAREN SIRKO (keyboardist, The Six): . . .

BILLY: I, uh . . . It was a long time ago, I don’t remember much.

CAMILA: I remember everything.

GRAHAM: Pretty quickly, we found a rhythm: get to town, sound check, play, party, get on the bus. And the better we started playing, the more we partied. Hotels, girls, drugs. Over and over. Hotels, drugs, girls. For all of us, but especially Billy.

WARREN: Let me sum it up for you: I was getting laid, Graham was getting high, Eddie was getting drunk, Karen and Y/N were getting fed up, and Billy was all four, at once.

Y/N: Billy changed on that first tour. Cracked under the pressure, I think. He turned into a person I didn’t recognize and didn’t like.

And even though I didn’t like him, I still loved him.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

After the wedding, something within Billy had changed, had shifted. He became hard, closed off. You and Graham, two of the people closest to him, were kept at arm’s length, having no choice but to helplessly watch on as he ruined all that was good in his life. He got drunk, high, and angry, and when his anger mounted to an exceedingly high level, he expelled it by sleeping with a nameless woman, one he could use, then discard when he felt better.

Him spiraling hurt you more than you cared to admit, but you were not his family. Not his spouse nor his blood, so it was not your place to set him straight . . . or you thought as such until he tried to rope you into his debauchery.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y/N: After the Ottawa show, I went back to my hotel room and started getting ready to go out for the night. I remember, I was just about to get started on my hair when there came a knock at the door. I opened it, expecting to see Graham, but it was Billy. He had been drinking tequila. I could smell it on his breath, and the look in his eye . . . I had never seen him that down, and it made me sad.

I didn’t know what to say, but I let him in. He went and sat down on the bed, and knowing I’d need a drink to get through whatever was to come, I poured myself a glass of whiskey. It was awful, but did its job. I downed the whole thing, then poured two more. One for me, and one for Billy.

BILLY: I honestly don’t know what got into me that night. I just needed to see Y/N, to hold them.

Y/N: He asked me to hold him, so I did. We sat there for a while, not talking, moving, or doing anything. Just holding each other . . . until he tried to kiss me. That pissed me off, because he knew how I felt about him. He had known when he married Camila, yet still, he had married her. Had chosen her.

I jumped up and yelled, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Billy? I mean, honestly, is this the kind of person you want to be?”

And he said, “The booze, the drugs, the girls . . . I’ve been doing them all to try to get you out of my system—“

I slapped him. Hard.

BILLY: Y/N slapped me, and I just kind of sat there, reeling. They looked like they wanted to apologize, but before they could, Graham walked in. You could just tell by the look on his face that he had overheard the whole thing.

GRAHAM: I only heard a tiny bit, but it wasn’t hard to piece together what was happening. It also wasn’t hard to piece together that Y/N wasn’t willing to entertain Billy’s advances, so I pushed him out of the room and into the parking lot. Outside, he paced back and forth and muttered to himself, looking a little crazy. He said, “I fucked it all up. I fucked it all up.”

Deep down, I’d known it was coming, because he loved Y/N the same way I did. So all I could say was, “Just don’t do it again, man. Just don’t do it again.”

ROD: Billy started going at it double time after Ottawa. The coke and girls and booze and all that.

GRAHAM: Camila decided to surprise Billy a few weeks after that. She drove up, five months pregnant, and found him in a . . . compromising position.

EDDIE: She walked in on him getting, well . . . I don’t know how else to say it . . . oral sex, I guess I should say. From a groupie.

Y/N: Camila blew up on Billy. Like, slapped right across the face. Hit him with her bag, too, if memory serves. She asked me to watch him, to make sure he didn’t sink deeper into himself.

And she said, “When he wakes up, give him this letter.” The letter had an ultimatum; he had to get clean before the baby came.

KAREN: He didn’t stop messing around with all of it.

EDDIE: We were all sort of counting down the days. You know, sixty days until Billy has to get clean. Then it was forty days. Then, when it got down to ten days, he was forgetting the words onstage, and I thought he was never gonna clean up.

Y/N: On November 28th, we were in Hartford for a show when one of the stage managers called me offstage. Said there was a call for me. I picked it up, and it was Teddy. “You gotta get Billy home,” he said, because Camila had gone into labor.

BILLY: Y/N took me by the arm and held onto me until we got onto the plane. Then, we landed and they dragged me into this beat-up rental car and drove me to the hospital.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

The rickety old rental car sped into the hospital parking lot, going way faster than the legal speed in an effort to get Billy to his girls as fast as possible. When the car rolled to a stop, though, he did not immediately jump to get out. Confusion overtook your features, prompting you to say, “Well? Go see your girls.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice sad, broken down. Never before had you seen him so shattered.

“You can.”

“I can’t.”

“Billy.”

“Y/N. I can’t have her meet me like this.”

An emotion akin to the anger you had felt back in Ottawa arose beneath your skin, causing you to tighten your hold on the steering wheel, your knuckles flashing white with force. “Okay, then,” you said, eerily calm. “I’m going to be there for Camila and to meet that baby girl, with or without you, Billy. But if I go by myself, you’re going to get help when I come back out. Real help.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y/N: That night, sitting by Camila’s bedside was when I let go of the possibility of Billy. He had a wife and a baby, and if he was going to mess that up, I wasn’t going to play a part in it.

#daisy jones and the six #djats #billy dunne #camila alvarez #camila martinez #camila morrone #camila dunne #graham dunne #daisyjones #karen sirko #simone jackson #eddie roundtree #rod reyes #teddy price #billydunnexreader #warren rhodes #warren rojas

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wrongspacetime · 1 year

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Teddy Price & Billy Dunne | DAISY JONES AND THE SIX (2023)

#djats #daisy jones and the six #billy dunne #teddy price #djatsedit #sam claflin #tom wright #djatsblr #mygifs #i'm already super hooked #i need to get my hands on the book ASAP

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femininomen0n · 1 year

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my tummy hurts

#i feel so unhinged this really can’t be healthy #karen sirko #graham dunne #karengraham #daisy jones #billy dunne #daisybilly #camila dunne #billycamila #eddie roundtree #warren rojas #simone jackson #teddy price #djats #daisy jones and the six #talia speaks #**

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celestialexxperience · 1 year

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Graham Dunne (nfsw alphabet.)

~~ Requested ~~

A/N: bear with me this Is my first time writing something smut related so sorry If it's bad.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare king. He will immediately gives you cuddles and kisses and then runs you a hot bath. I love him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of his body is his arms and fingers because of how proud he is with his guitar playing skills and his skills with you (wink, wink.)

His fav of your body is your eyes, he just loves to stare into them for hours on end. Or your boobs to be honest he's a boob guy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Gonna be honest he has a breeding a kink, so he loves to cum inside you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Luke I said this man has a breeding kink, I mean he is a family man soooo. But, otherwise I feel like he is kinda ashamed or embarrassed about a lot of things when it comes to sex because I feel like he really doesn't like to talk about with other people that aren't you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like my man was a virgin before the band started but as the six got more and more famous he definitely got more and more experienced.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. Enough said.

I just feel like he loves to see your eyes and your facial expressions.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he's pretty serious but he can be Goofy, because if something awkward or cute happens Graham will flash a smile and laugh.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Lets just say the carpet does match the drapes, but i feel like he doesn't let it get our of hand like he trims and stuff.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very intimate likeeeeee…. Duhhh have you seen this man has is very rom-com Rose pedals in bed esc.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon).

He doesn't do it that much because he has you but when he's on tour or just misses you he does it, and imagine phone sex 🤭

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I've said this like 3 times already but breeding kink! Hehe. And I feel like he has a thing for sneaking around.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Either your guys house or like when you guys are in public you'll find a closet or something like I feel like he loves fucking in the closet at the recording studio.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

This mother fucker like a God damn horny teenager so basically anything.

When you say something sexually, when you lip your lips a certain way, when you keep eye contact, and especially when your cleavage is showing. Like I said mans a boob guy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No pain kink. He would not want to hurt you and even If you said it didn't hurt you he still wouldn't be up for it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving.

But when he does do it he eats you out like a starved fucking man, he loves the sounds you make and how your thighs shake from underneath him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the mood you or him your on but usually slow and sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Man's loves quickies.

Before practice, after practice, before you have to go to work, in the morning, before yall go to bed, ect.

My man's lives for them.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Yes. Most of the time atleast.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Like I said: horny mother fucker. So, mostly average Stamina, but when he really needs you he could be lasting a while.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't have any himself but If you do and use them around him he will be jealous of an inanimate object.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He does like to tease. Enough said.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is average-loud but he tries to cover it up. you're gonna have to get it out of him and believe me it's not gonna take much.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's a switch.

(I wanna dom this man.)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Average. (Like 6-8 inches.)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGHHH.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I feel like he does most of the time but not after taking care of you.

#daisy jones and the six #Djats #djats fanfic #Djats fanfic #Daisy jones and the six x reader #Djats x reader #Graham dunne #Graham dunne x reader #Graham dunne smut #Warren rojas #Billy dunne #Karen sirko #Camila Dunne #Daisy jones #Eddie roundtree #teddy price

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ben--solos · 2 months

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♫"There ain't no words for the song I'm here to sing, No, there ain't no words to the song I came to sing, Oh, I just don't know the words, babe, to tell you what I mean. And I'm at the end of my mind trying to do the right thing."♫

Daisy Jones & The Six → Track 5 - Fire

#djatsedit #djatsblr #daisyjonesedit #daisy jones and the six #adaptationsdaily #tvedit #daisy jones #billy dunne #camila dunne #eddie roundtree #warren rojas #graham dunne #teddy price #karen sirko #*

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coneyislandbabey · 1 year

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i don't need no beast of burden. -> e.roundtree

WARNINGS: excessive consumption of drugs and alcohol, profanities

SYNOPSIS: The push and pull between you and Eddie Roundtree was never-ending. No matter how hard you tried to push him away, you always came back together. word count: 3,847

NOTES: This is part (4/8) of the beast of burden series! Part 3 can be found here.

Also posting today as part of @djatsappreciationweek day one: fav character! Eddie my first love from the show 🫶

On the road, 1971

You woke up laying on your stomach on the bed in your hotel room, head throbbing and entire body aching so badly that you just want to roll over and die. Last night’s show had not gone well, and you went a lot harder than you usually did at the afterparty to forget about it. The remnants of the night were still visible around the room: a film of white powder clouding the glass surface of the side table, the sheer poncho you wore on stage thrown haphazardly over a lampshade in the corner, Warren knocked out on the floor with his sunglasses still on. You weren’t sure if he had started on the bed and fallen off at some point in the night, or if he’d just fallen asleep on the floor. The way last night had gone, both were equally plausible.

You let out a groan as you pushed yourself up on your forearms, squinting your eyes at the light coming through the window. As you moved into a sitting position, your vision swooped and blurred as if whatever you’d done the night before still hadn’t worn off. Your tank top and jeans were sticking to your skin with sweat, and you felt rumpled and stale. You noticed with chagrin that your boots were still on your feet, gray shoe prints stamped into the white sheets.

“What the fuck,” you muttered, and the vibrations of your vocal chords sent a headache shooting right up your neck and into your skull.

“Shhh,” Warren sounded off from the floor. “Let me die in peace.”

“The maid services won’t enjoy finding your body,” you grumbled, setting about the task of sliding out of bed and standing on your own two feet. This took you several minutes to complete. You stumbled like a newborn deer across the room and to the bathroom, shutting the door and pressing your forehead to the blessedly cool tile.

After rallying yourself, you peeled last night’s clothes off, leaving them in a heap on the floor. You took stock of the bruises on your legs and ribs, all in varying states of healing, none of which you knew the origin of. In the mirror, a woman stared back at you that you didn’t recognize: skin pallid, lips tinged an unhealthy blue, deep rings depressing the skin beneath the eyes, hair an untameable rat’s nest. You wished you could pretend you didn’t know when you changed from you into this woman, but you could pinpoint the very night.

The fight. Eddie storming out. The two of you hadn’t spoken in the weeks since. Not even a single word. It was funny, you thought, how little the two of you actually needed to interact directly in order to complete your jobs. Not that you had been doing a great job of that, either. The chemistry that had existed between you on stage was gone; you avoided each other like two repelling poles. You tried your best, and technically you were all playing the songs correctly, but something was off. Well, that was the understatement of the year.

You showered, scrubbing at your body until the skin was agitated and raw, doing your best to rectify the hair situation and wrestle this new, unfamiliar woman into something that resembled you at least somewhat. When you emerged from the bathroom, shower steam curling out and around you, Warren conscious and on two feet, holding two cups of black coffee.

“We gotta be on the bus in fifteen,” he said, offering a cup to you. You nodded, taking it gratefully.

“Alright, I’ll see you down there,” you agreed. Warren nodded and left. You sipped the coffee and closed your eyes, willing the caffeine to work you into a more functional person. Haltingly, you dressed yourself and grabbed all of your things from around the room, stuffing them into your bag and making your way down to the bus. You were touring the New York area opening for Rick Yates for a little while, which meant that when you got on the bus that morning, people were still drugged out of their minds and behaving like the afterparty was still in full swing. You collapsed into a seat near the front, the energy leached from your bones. What you needed right now was absolute quiet and a week of hibernation in a hotel room that nobody knew you were in, but. Well. You can’t always get what you want.

The doors opened again, and you watched as Eddie climbed the stairs, walking past you to sit somewhere near the back without so much of an acknowledgement that you were alive. He didn’t look much better than you felt, tousled and sleep-deprived and very clearly still wearing last night’s clothes. A sour taste invaded your mouth, and you turned away, looking through the windshield instead.

Briefly, you thought of standing up and dropping into the seat directly across from him, demanding his attention, demanding he acknowledge your existence. If only he looked at you, you thought, there would be a way for you to fix things. And maybe that was true, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take the first step. You hated the way that Eddie was behaving, sad and scorned, as though he wasn’t the one who walked away from you. As if he wasn’t the one who had decided your friendship was worth less than his wounded pride.

The gig that night goes a little better than the night before, but there’s still something glaringly missing. You snorted a line of coke backstage as soon as it was over, closing your eyes and willing every emotion to drop away into oblivion as quickly as possible.

“Hey, some chicks brought edibles, they said they’re crazy strong,” Warren said, suddenly at your side, his hand on your shoulder. “Ready to go back to the hotel?”

You nodded, the movement slightly off beat as you wiped your nose. “Yeah, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

You followed Warren and the small group of people he was inviting back to the afterparty to the hotel and up to your floor. The hall was dim, made murkier by your inebriated state, and you focused on Warren’s curly head in front of you, on the brightly colored dress of the girl with the edibles who was standing snugly at his side.

Just as you reached Warren’s room, noise and movement from a little further up the hall caught your attention, and you looked up in time to see Eddie backed up against his door, a girl with long blonde hair pushed up against his front. Her hands were fisted in his shirt, and one of Eddie’s was slipped into the back pocket of her jeans, the other fumbling for the doorknob. She disconnected her lips from his for a moment to say something, and they both laughed. He got the door open, and for just the most fleeting second, looked up and locked eyes with yours. You tried to read anything on his face, in his eyes, but he had shuttered you out well before this.

The pair fell into Eddie’s room, the blonde kicking the door closed with her foot. As you entered Warren’s room, you felt your senses sharpen. There was a pain in your chest alternating from dull to sharp and back again, and you kept running your hand across it, as though you would find a shard of glass or some other offending object lodged there. You were angry, you realized, even if deeper you were hurt. You zeroed in on the feeling; all you wanted to do was march across the hall and bang your fist on Eddie’s door until he opened it, you wanted to ruin his night, scream at him until you lost your voice, shout until he understood, because clearly he understood nothing. Instead, you grabbed two of the laced cookies the girl had brought, eating them one after another. Some guy was sitting on the bed and offered you another bump of coke, and you happily obliged.

It was shortly after that, that the night began to slip away in an unrememberable blur. You took whatever was offered to you–which was a lot– not much caring what it was, to the point that even Warren, though he was pretty far gone himself, started to worry about you, intercepting drugs and booze before they could make it down your throat or up your nose.

You woke up in the morning miraculously in your own room, feeling worse than you had the morning before. You stared up at the ceiling through bleary eyes, willing the intense pain in your head to ease enough to allow you to sit up. Vaguely, you registered that you were naked and laying on top of the sheet; there was someone sleeping next to you, but your fractured mind couldn’t call to memory who it could possibly be. You wished you had some adderall or something to help you get out of bed, but you knew in the long run it was only going to make your day worse.

Slowly, you roused yourself into a sitting position, clutching your head and grimacing as more aches and pains made themselves known to you on the journey. Your nose itched, and when you took your hand away after scratching it, there were flakes of dried blood on your fingers. You vaguely recognized the guy in bed next to you as the one who first offered you coke last night. You had no recollection of talking to him after that, let alone bringing him back to your room or having sex with him.

Fuck, you thought. All at once, it hit you that this… thing, this bender you had been on since your fight with Eddie those weeks ago, had become something too big, uncontrollable. Your body was crumbling under the beating you were issuing it, and you knew it wasn’t plausible to keep up the way you were for much longer. And yet, when you remembered Eddie stumbling into his room last night, that blonde attached to him like a sucker fish, you wanted to vomit, you wanted to seek out another bump of coke or anything else you could get your hands on in order to erase the images from your mind.

Eddie woke up in his hotel room, a hangover headache pressing behind his eyes and a girl he didn’t know the name of wrapped around his torso. The feeling of dread he’d been waking up with every morning had, by this point, given way to a peculiar emptiness that he was sure meant nothing good for him. Slowly, he tried to extract himself from beneath the woman, but she stirred, stretching and lifting her head from his chest.

“Morning,” she said, yawning again.

Eddie sent an awkward smile her way. “Morning. Listen, uh, I have to get my stuff together and get on the tour bus in a minute, so…”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, nodding once she finally caught onto his meaning. “I’m sure my girls are wondering where I disappeared to last night, so I better get home.”

With that, she stood from the bed and dressed quickly, fixing her hair as best she could in the mirror before bidding him goodbye and slipping out into the hall. Once the door closed behind her, he flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wondered what you were doing at the minute, where you were, whether you were still asleep or maybe staring up at the ceiling of your own room too, and then quickly tried to banish you from his mind. Any thought of you smarted like a sore tooth you can’t help prodding.

And yet.

Ever since the fight, he’d been trying to pretend you weren’t there, because interacting with you was just too hard. Every time he looked at you he remembered that kiss, remembered how he’d felt like maybe he was finally, finally getting to have you in his life in the way he’d dreamed of for years, and then how you’d ripped the notion from him within seconds. He tried to understand where you were coming from that night. In fact, he thought about your words every day, turning them over in new ways in his mind. He came to the conclusion that he did get why you felt nothing could happen, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Eventually, it felt like his window to talk about these feelings with you had closed. He saw how his ignoring you made you angrier and more upset by the day, the chasm between you growing ever wider, and felt helpless to actually do anything to fix it. Each day he just felt more miserable, wallowing as he did in his own self-pity and heartbreak. He started bringing groupies back to his room every night in an attempt to forget you and try to move on, but he only felt sick every morning after.

What made him feel the worst, though, was what he could tell was happening to you even from the rare glimpses he got of you these days. He saw the bruises, the grayish pallor your skin had taken on, the sunken skin under your eyes. The fog, the confusion, how you always seemed to be just adjacent to whatever was going on, but not exactly rooted in reality. You were strung out. You were partying too hard. You were losing your grip, and he knew it was because of him. He was a coward that couldn’t put his own heartbreak and misery aside in order to save you from the hole you were digging for yourself, and it was killing him.

As he got dressed and gathered up his things to leave, he hoped that when he saw you on the tour bus, you would look better. But he knew that wouldn’t be the case. He hoped it every day, and it never was. The sick feeling was always with him now, and he didn’t know if it was caused more by the actions he did take, or the ones he didn’t.

Los Angeles, 1972

Los Angeles was going to be it for the band, you could feel it. Rock and roll was happening right there under your nose, everywhere, from the clubs and the bars to the studios. It was happening right there, and you were in it. Finally.

Los Angeles, unfortunately, was not going to be good for you. As Warren pointed out on your first night in the city, after you all decided to fuck it and take Rod’s advice to move permanently across the country, it was way easier to score drugs in Los Angeles than anywhere else you’d been. And that means anything. And the way you’d been running, you knew that just simply couldn’t bode well. You wanted to regain control, to get back to normal, but it just seemed impossibly out of reach as long as everything else stayed the same.

You were doing better, all told. There were some days where you did no drugs at all, days where you threw yourself into practicing your bass parts until your fingers bled. There were other ways to forget, you were learning. You were learning, too, how to cope with the situation with Eddie better. The loss of the friendship was still sharp, like gravel in your shoes or paper cuts on every finger tip, but you were learning how to not let it disable you so alarmingly anymore. But that fight was long from over and you didn’t see an end in sight. Really, you were afraid that something might happen to make you lose the sparse control you did have, and that being in L.A. would allow you to go off the deep end further than ever before.

At the end of your first week in Los Angeles, once the house was fully settled, you woke from a nap to a knock on your bedroom door frame. When you opened your eyes, Camila, Karen, and Warren were crowded in the doorway, the expressions on their faces almost grim.

“Be down in the living room in five minutes,” Karen said, and with that, they all disappeared down the hall. You sat up immediately, replaying their faces in your mind and wondering what could have possibly happened to have them all looking like that.

When you got down to the living room, you saw the three of them standing in the middle of the carpet, looking like they were having some kind of conference amongst themselves. And then you saw Eddie, sitting on the couch looking flighty, and clearly also not knowing what was going on. You froze in the doorway, contemplating if you should just get the fuck out of the house to avoid whatever was happening, and knowing that even if you managed to escape for the moment, you couldn’t escape forever.

“You. Sit,” Karen said sharply, pointing from you to the couch. The tone of her voice left no room for argument, so you obeyed, sitting as far from Eddie as you could manage while still being on the same piece of furniture.

“Are you gonna tell me what this is about?” you asked once you were sat, the three of them standing there and looking between you and Eddie like they were sizing you up.

“You really don’t know?” Warren asked, incredulous.

“No, I really don’t know what the impromptu living room conference is about,” you responded, shocked by the undertones of anger coming from him. You hadn’t seen Warren be actually angry about something in, well, years.

Camila stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest and that chastising look on her face that made you feel like you were disappointing your mother. “Look, none of us know what happened between the two of you, but it has gone on long enough.”

Turning to address only you, she said, “If you keep on the way you have been, you’re going to end up dead.” She wheeled on Eddie then, saying, “and you, I’ve never seen someone more clearly miserable in my life. All of us are worried about what you might do next, and that goes for both of you.”

“You’re scaring me, man,” Warren said, looking at you. Your heart pinched when you saw that fear in his eyes right then. “Some nights it’s like you’re not even there.”

“You’re gonna sit here and talk out whatever the fuck happened,” Karen demanded. “And we’re all gonna give you some space to do it.”

With one last mom-esque look, Camila turned and left the room, the other two following behind her. You sat looking at your lap for a moment, contemplating your options. You were angry that they’d tricked you into doing this today, but more than that, you were ashamed that they could see the depth of your problems and that it scared them. Perhaps you should thank them, for making you take the step you could never make yourself take.

When you looked up, Eddie was already looking at you. The eye contact shot right through you, so strange after so much time of pretending each other doesn’t exist. You looked at him, trying and trying to find words, but they evaded you completely. What was there to say, after everything? So much. Not enough.

“(y/n), I…” Eddie started, his voice rough. He swallowed thickly, started again. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry for the way I reacted back in New York. I’m more fucking sorry that I haven’t been there for you when you needed me. Watching you do this to yourself is…”

You closed your eyes, trying to ward off the tears that were already threatening. It felt so good to have him talking to you again that you almost weren’t able to focus on the actual words he was saying. You tilted your head back in yet another effort to keep the tears at bay, a water laugh escaping you.

“You have every right to your feelings,” you said, once you were sure that you weren’t about to burst into hysterics. “I should have been– I shouldn’t have let myself lean into that kiss when I knew that’s all it could be, and I’m sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, as if physically deflecting your words. He shifted forward, a little bit closer to you on the couch but just barely, like he was afraid to come too close. “None of that matters! I’ve been selfish and a coward for getting stuck on that and doing nothing to– to–”

You leaned forward, resting a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder. It hurt to see how worked up he was getting over the situation, and you wondered exactly what kind of hell it was for him to watch you these last few months while you tortured each other. “You’re not responsible for my actions, Eddie. You’re not responsible for how I reacted to what happened, just like I’m not responsible for how you did. It just… happened the way it did.”

“I regret that it happened the way it did,” he insisted. There were tears pricking the corners of his eyes when he looked at you. “I’ve missed you so fucking much. Feels like one of my arms was chopped off. I can’t think, I can’t play right, I can’t sleep. All I can do is just miss you.”

You laughed again, a sound of relief, a sound of something thawing, something mending. “I missed you, too, Ed. More than you can know. More than I could handle, which is why, well, everything.”

“I want you back in my life, (y/n). You’re my best friend, and this has been hell. I understand if you don’t want that, but, god, I’m ready to get on my knees and beg.”

“That’s not necessary,” you assured him with a smile. “You’re my best friend and you always will be. Not even something like this could change that, okay? Let’s just start working on getting past it, yeah?”

The grin Eddie offered you was brilliant. “Good. That sounds good.”

That night, you were playing a show at the Troubadour. For the first time in months, you were completely sober before a show, and you felt good. Not just because of that, but because you were sure that, now that you and Eddie were on the mend, you would sound better on that stage than you had in months.

It ended up being the best show you had played in months. You and Eddie were in sync again, playing near each other, to each other. Everybody else seemed a little shocked that their intervention worked but nonetheless entirely pleased, playing more enthusiastically than ever. It was so good, in fact, that it caught the attention of Teddy motherfucking Price. So good that it got you a record contract.

Things were finally looking up. Way fucking up.

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