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icallhimjoey · 1 year

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Not Enough

♥ ♥ rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie's hauled you off to LA because, turns out, when you're not throwing your life away on booze and drugs, opportunities tend to lead to more opportunities. LA's amazing, and Eddie's amazing, and suddenly life is all about sun-freckles and exciting accomplishments but... something's missing.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, fem!reader, angst, mentions of substance abuse and addiction, trauma

Author’s note: This story continues my Eddie story that consists of “Only Now”, “Over Now”, “Then Again” and "Never Over". I've done my best to make it so that you don't really need to read all previous parts, but, it always helps.

Wordcount: 5.2K

(find all other parts of this story here)

The mattress dipped behind you before cold air wafted underneath the covers. Movement, noise of skin against fabric, fabric against fabric, and then the noise of a heavy head meeting the pillow next to you in an exhale.

Eddie was home.

Before you knew it, you felt a hand wander over, finding its way in between your thighs, pushing through soft flesh, and curling up until Eddie’s hand splayed out just below your bellybutton. With a strong yank, you were pulled backwards, right into him, butt first. You didn’t know why he had to pull you over to his side of the bed by your vagina, but, here you were.

Arms curled around you, a knee pushed your legs apart, just to sit in between, and within just a few seconds you found yourself fully tangled up together. Heavy limbs, deep inhales, bodies wiggling until they fit together just perfectly for sleep.

“Mhm,” was all you managed as Eddie used careful fingers to move your hair aside before he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You felt the brush of his lips all the way down in your toes and relished under his protective touch.

“You smell like the bath,” Eddie whispered, inhaling the sickly-sweet artificial scent bath pearls had left on your skin.

“Mhm, you smell like studio,” you croaked back, meaning you could smell cigarettes and stale sweat the long day had left on him. It wasn’t meant to be a dig at how you thought he smelled bad – it was fine. Kind of nice, actually. It was more a dig at Eddie having spent all hours of the day, and some of the night too, cooped up inside a dark little room with a bunch of other men. You’d have liked for some of those hours to have been spent with you.

“I think we’ve done it,” Eddie’s voice slipped into a whisper mid-sentence. “Finished it.”

You hummed in reaction, just to let him know that you heard him. Eddie'd said the same thing two weeks ago, but then, the next day, there were a million things to change and redo and add and take away - this album was becoming the bane of Eddie's existence.

But he said they'd finished it now, and you hoped it was true this time.

Maybe that’s why they’d worked until the early hours of the morning. Creative work didn’t really stick to set schedules – didn’t really stick to time in general. Which... it wasn’t a problem. Not really. Not in the grand scheme of things. But time and you weren’t really getting on all that well lately. There was just so much of it.

Ever since you’d moved to California with Eddie, there’d been so much time.

Too many hours in a day. Too many minutes in every hour. Too many seconds to make you think because there wasn’t really anything to do.

Turns out that when you’re sober and learn to actually show up to things; gigs, radio interviews, award shows, TV performances, movie premiers, photoshoots, writing sessions, and even things like fundraisers, album release parties of other artists... if you show up and do the work, act and behave like the professional musician that you are, you actually... make the money.

And there was a lot more money in this game than you thought Eddie would ever be able to make.

It also really helped that he wasn’t spending all of it on substances and hotel room damages. Not that Eddie didn’t have other ways to blow through his cash, though.

But, what the steady income of insane amounts of money mostly meant was the lack of work it left for you.

Eddie had hired designers to do the interior design of the LA house. Eddie had hired a personal chef to take care of every meal the two of you could ever want. Eddie had hired gardeners, a pool guy, cleaners, and a personal assistant who got fired almost instantly because they ended up just doing your laundry.

You knew it was all coming from a good place. The best place.

It had taken a lot from Eddie to work himself up to ask you if you’d want to move to LA with him. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel forced to move halfway across the country, just because he kind of needed to for work. Correction, he didn’t really need to. It would just be easier, way more convenient. Half the band was already making plans to leave Indiana and sure, Eddie could travel. He could fly in and out and you could too, and you absolutely could’ve figured out a way to live like that.

But when Eddie carefully asked, you’d not even hesitated for a second.

It actually took some real convincing from your side, because Eddie immediately backtracked and said to forget it. He didn’t want to burden you. It was a stupid idea to begin with, he could tell his manager to work out something else, because you had a job and an apartment and a life and how could Eddie ever even think to burden you like that?

“Burden me with what? Your life?” you’d asked, looking at him like he was insane. But Eddie had shrugged his shoulders up and you’d realised that that was exactly what it was.

Over the years your heart had shattered many times for Eddie. Looking at him then, all tall, hair longer than it’d ever been, tattoos on show, sort of... flashy looking with all his chains and rings and his shiny black pointed toe boots – he looked like the rockstar the public knew him as. But all you could see was a fragile fearful little boy who seemingly had shrunk down enough for you to fit him into your pocket, and your heart shattered once more.

“Baby, come here.” You’d reached for him, and he’d instantly fallen into you, both arms around your waist, face pressed against your chest, your hand in his hair.

“We live in a shitty little apartment above a bar where I serve beers to the same seven middle aged men all day,”

“But your life is here, you love your job,”

“No, I loved the sense of independence it gave me when I moved out of Hawkins, I loved learning new skills, getting better at working with new people,” you needed him to know within his bones that what he was asking of you wasn’t a burden.

“What I love more,” you elongated the word more and felt Eddie nuzzle his nose against your collar bone, ready for you to list some shit that would make him feel better.

“Is how you sold your massive penthouse of a place for me, how you came to live with me above a bar, how you trust me with your schedule, how you always check in with me, how you value my opinion, how you don't hesitate to cancel plans because of me, how you come and pick me up from work which, I don't know how you do it, but you do do it, you do it all the time– Eddie, you keep choosing me, and–” your voice went up an octave as your throat closed up.

“Don’t cry,”

But you couldn’t help it.

Eddie had sold the penthouse because it reminded you too much of bad times. Awful times when Eddie drank mouthwash and tried to convince you he wouldn't finish the bottle but then had called you all sorts of names when you tipped it over and washed the remnants down the drain.

Eddie came to live with you, because he practically already was anyway. But your place was a small apartment, a place that smelled of beer and liquor 80 per cent of the time. And Eddie said he was fine. He'd bake bread and cake and pastries, and you'd cried when you realised it was to cover up the smell of bar you carried on you after a shift.

Eddie was kind and nice and would call his therapist whenever he needed to, would go see her on a semi-regular basis. He'd tell you about his schedule and it was never just an announcement, but instead was always a question: does this work for us? Are we okay with this?

Eddie always chose you and made sure you really felt it because Eddie knew. Eddie understood that for fucking years you’d felt the exact opposite.

Eddie would sort of choose you, just for a few days, and then he'd leave and not contact you for months.

But that was before. Eddie chose you every day now.

He wasn’t a burden to you.

He truly wasn’t.

Eddie had burdened you. For years. Not anymore, though. Everything was fine now.

Wasn’t it?

Eddie had been good. So good. He’d found ways to wade through life without the drink. Got so deeply into cooking and baking for a bit as his new obsession. Needed all the best pots and pans, until he had a whole collection of expensive kitchenware that cluttered up all kitchen storage.

Then, he’d moved onto something else. Needed something different to spark all the things within him that needed sparking.

Now that you lived in LA, in a much larger house with so much more space, the garage, one of two, was filled with Eddie’s latest hobby: pinball machines. He’d get them shipped in from all over, all special kinds, real rare ones, machines crafted by specific craftsmen, graphics designed into specific themes.

It wasn’t even about playing, Eddie just… wanted to collect the best ones and wanted them all lined up, all shiny with lights flickering and music playing.

Sometimes you'd tell him, come on Eddie, invite over the old gang, get Mike and Dustin and Lucas in here for a weekend, do a big pinball tournament. But Eddie'd just smile and tell you when he'd be expecting the next one to be delivered.

Before pinball machines it had been neon lights. And you’d been supportive. Would drive out to weird thrift stores, vintage markets and often times random people’s houses until you’d said, “Ed, I’d like the bedroom to be calm and neutral… we don’t need a big blue neon sign in here that used to hang outside of that restaurant you really like...”.

Eddie had laughed at himself then and realized the absurdity of what the house was turning into, had apologized, and then had sold all of them.

Except for the blue one.

The one that used to hang outside that restaurant he really liked. Where the owner would serve him apple juice in a wine glass and would seat Eddie in an area where he wouldn’t be able to see the bar. And then he’d play a Corroded Coffin song – just one, to show his appreciation for the visit, and then, wouldn’t let you pay the full bill, some dishes would always miraculously go missing.

Eddie kept that neon light which found a proud spot in a hallway upstairs that lead to one of the guest rooms.

Yeah.

Overall, Eddie had been good.

But some days, he’d wake up and he’d feel an inside want. Knew it meant something else was wrong, and this was just how his brain was wired to cope with it. He’d done work to rewire, but sometimes, wires crossed and all he really wanted was quick relief.

In those moments, he knew he’d have find something else to satisfy that inside want. The need for quick relief.

In those moments, he’d find you.

Eddie had you there. Always with him. Stuck to his hip, and vice versa.

So, you had quit your job for him. You had moved across the country for him. You had given up your whole life for him Eddie thought, even though you assured him time and time again that this was the exact life you wanted. All you needed was Eddie. Eddie was your home, and Eddie was your all, and you loved LA.

It was the perfect place to be for Eddie’s work. It was warm all the time, gave you permanent freckles that graced your nose. Your house was big, lovely, huge backyard with a big pool. You had ample room for people to come visit and stay for a few days. Weeks if they wanted to. Guest rooms with en suites and the one downstairs even with its own entrance, so when Wayne stayed over, he could go for early morning walks without fear of waking anyone up.

The only thing about LA you didn’t like was that there was so much time.

And it was just you.

And Eddie.

And sure, the Corroded Coffin guys. And Eddie's manager was nice. Their producer too. But they all had work, and sometimes you tagged along and it was so exciting, always so fun. Red carpets and sound checks and green rooms and festivals – it was always new and your excitement for it fueled Eddie's excitement for it.

But then there were also days– weeks like these, where all Eddie did was write, and record, and rehearse.

You remembered being 18 and hanging out with Steve a lot, sometimes Robin too, when Eddie'd be busy writing, recording, and rehearsing with his band.

But Steve wasn't in LA.

Wait.

Scratch the time being the issue – the only thing about LA you didn't like was that Steve wasn't there.

Your tripod was your tripod no more.

Steve had come to stay for a week when you'd just moved, and your week had mostly been the two of you figuring out where to buy groceries before Eddie hired someone to get them for you. After that, you'd just lazed around the pool for the rest of the week until Steve had to fly back home.

A lot had changed in the 1,5 years that followed that week.

But you missed Steve.

Steve, who had met a girl he really liked, who Robin said was lovely, but also said that she probably wouldn’t really gel with you and Eddie. Something judgmental about her. Kind, though. And very pretty.

You were glad Steve had Robin nearby still, because you knew Robin, and you loved Steve. Steve deserved the best. Deserved someone who could love him like you loved Eddie.

Robin said she did, which was good. Reassuring.

And Steve loved her.

You’d only met her a couple of times before Steve had proposed to her. Engaged to be married, just a few months in. And barely a year later, you’d been invited to a home coming big barbecue pool party at Steve’s parents’ house in Hawkins. You'd barely been able to make it, but Steve had been very adamant about it.

"I never have parties anymore, you have to come,"

"There'll be a whole non-alcoholic section of drinks, don't you even worry about it,"

"I've already talked to Eddie's manager, he said he has the time,"

"Please,"

Like you really needed convincing. Of course you'd be there, wouldn't fucking miss it for the world. Neither would anyone else, because everyone was there. The whole gang and then some. Matt was there too, and seeing an ex was never fun, but it was actually sort of okay. You didn't love the fact that you were there with Eddie, because it felt like you were shoving it into his face a little bit, but Matt was still Matt, ever the Corroded Coffin fan, and walked up with a huge smile the second he'd spotted you.

You'd learned that late afternoon that Steve had been just as pushy with everyone else about coming to this party. He'd been calling around, double and triple checking to make sure everyone really was going to be able to make it.

That's when you found Eddie narrowing his eyes at you. Pondering. Something didn't add up. Or it did, but it felt like the math problem you'd been given wasn't the correct one. You knew exactly what Eddie was thinking, and about thirty minutes later, Eddie was proven right.

The party turned out to be Steve's surprise wedding.

Eddie and you had clutched your hands tightly together throughout the whole ceremony, because what the fuck was happening? You kept making eye-contact with Robin, and she kept shrugging as if to say that she knew just as little about all of this as you did.

"Steve's married," you'd said to Eddie afterwards, stood in the Harrington's kitchen, both sort of.... defeated. Unsure of what to make of it all.

Eddie leant against the counter, arms crossed and teeth biting into his lower lip, scraping off dry skin the plane's aircon had left him with.

"I don't know why I feel offended," you'd huffed a laugh at how ridiculous that sounded.

"Offended?" Eddie asked, eyebrows quirked, clearly confused.

"Yea, I don't know... I always thought that, if any of us were to get married one day, we'd all be... more involved? Like, you'd be Steve's best man, and I'd... you know, know the bride,"

Steve didn't owe you shit, you knew that. And you'd moved away. You supposed that's what happened in life – things changed. But this all seemed very drastic. Insanely sudden. Almost out of character.

"She seems like she's good for him," Eddie offered, and you immediately agreed. Not because you thought Eddie was right, you had no idea if he was, but because that's what you wanted to be true.

A silence fell where you both stared into space for a second to let the day sink in a little.

"Steve's married... this is so weird," you'd grimaced a little at it which made Eddie reach for your arms to pull you into a hug.

It was nice how you just got to hug and kiss in the very same kitchen where before, when Steve had you over for movie nights, you'd have to sneak around a little. Not be too obvious when Eddie pretended there wasn't enough room to move around whilst preparing popcorn and you basically ended up grinding up against each other until someone would call out what was taking you so long.

"Should we get married?" Eddie asked after a beat, obviously joking, and it got you into giggles immediately.

"I don't know of a better way to make my mother both the happiest and most disturbed woman alive," you said, cheek pressed up against his chest, knowing your mother had been waiting for most of your life for you to get married. She really wanted to have that huge wedding she could get all dressed up for, to be mother of the bride for a whole day. It was just that she wasn't the biggest fan of Eddie. If anything, within your little group, she'd always really pushed for you and Steve to get together.

"She'd be so conflicted," you imagined, which meant, maybe not right now, but you added, "Let's do it!" which got Eddie right in his funny bone and pushed a barking laugh from him.

"Maybe I should start playing golf,"

"Wear pastel polo shirts,"

"Take some etiquette classes, be more like Matt,"

"Stop, she'll marry you herself if she could– don't," you saw Eddie raise his eyebrows, pretending to consider it, so you'd shut him up before he could say anything and it reduced you both into giggles.

You'd decided to be the supportive friends you both imagined Steve needed. Decided you weren't going to mention how insane and sudden all of it was. Just be happy for him. Which you were.

You just... missed him, you guessed.

"I kind of need to get out of here," Eddie sighed, looking out into the backyard where a wedding was in full swing, people getting more tipsy with every sip of bubbly they had.

You knew what he meant. Feeling anxiety creep up in a place where there were drinks up for grabs was the exact wrong environment for him to be in.

"Yea, let's go," you pecked Eddie on the lips, went to find people to say goodbye to, and then it took two hours before you had finally walked through the gates with lots of promises to come visit LA in your pockets.

Yet, Steve hadn't come out to visit you since that first time when he'd stayed over for a week.

So, yeah. The only thing you didn’t like about LA that was it was far away from Steve.

Steve who had gotten married about four months ago.

Steve whose phone calls had dropped in frequency over time, because d’uh, Steve was married now and you lived far away from each other, and you had your own lives. Were busy. Didn’t have time for dry catch-up conversations if the only updates were that Eddie had spent a lot of nights in the studio, and you kept busy managing his agenda.

Except you did have a lot of time.

It's just that people thought you didn't. All they'd see was Eddie's life. Eddie's life was on TV, on the radio, in the magazines and newspapers and people automatically assumed you'd be so busy.

You'd spent the day reorganizing your vanity as you'd heard the cleaners downstairs, and the chefs preparing food that they'd box up and leave in the fridge for you to have later. It was something you could've done within fifteen minutes, but you'd managed to stretch it to three hours. You weren't fucking busy at all. You could've easily spent hours on the phone to Hawkins.

But Steve was married, and you had cheated on Matt with Eddie which probably never sat right with Steve's new wife - not that you blamed her - and so you didn't call. Not often. Very rarely, actually.

When you woke up that next morning, Eddie still snoring into his pillow next to you, you'd gotten out and promised yourself that you'd call Steve that day.

When Eddie eventually made it down, sleep still in his eyes, hair everywhere, you apologised to the chef that was working on lunch for him being in just his boxers.

"Morning, babe," Eddie said before pressing a kiss into your hair as he ran a warm palm over your back.

"It's afternoon," you smiled over your mug of coffee.

"Well, was the morning good?"

"Morning was lovely, had a little swim," you watched Eddie as he moved to make his own coffee, and the chef behind him started making up two plates for you.

"I don't use that pool enough," Eddie said mostly to himself.

When he turned back to look at you, you inhaled sharply and gave him a polite smile. It made him frown a second. "What?"

"I'm going to call Steve today,"

You said it like it was something you could never do behind Eddie's back. Like it was a secret you'd feel bad about keeping to yourself.

"See if I can convince him to actually come over,"

Eddie nodded through his first sip of hot coffee, his face giving away that it was definitely too hot and burning his tongue.

"Tell him to bring Robin,"

You narrowed your eyes in thought.

"Do you think that'll help?"

Eddie shrugged. It might.

It shouldn't though. It was always you, Eddie and Steve. Just the three of you. And then, for a long time, it was you and Steve and only sometimes Robin.

But fine. You could always tell Steve to bring Robin if that would push him to actually take the time to come visit you.

When you called, you got Steve's wife.

"Hey, um, sorry, I was calling for Steve?"

"Yea, he's out. Can I take a message?"

"Oh, no, that's OK... I'll try again later, when do you think–"

"He's going to be out for a while."

"Oh..."

You didn't know how to react to that.

"Can I take a message?"

"No, I–"

And then she hung up. Just, hung up on you. No polite goodbye. No nothing. You looked at the receiver, then at Eddie.

"That was weird."

You didn't want to worry, so you chalked it up to bad timing. They'd probably just been in a fight. And, everyone fought, didn't they? Especially married couples who hadn't even known each other for a full year, you thought.

But of course you worried.

So you rang back a little later, but got told that if you didn't have a message for Steve, there was no use in calling because, like she'd said before, he'd be out for a while. There was something sad to her voice. Something that made you not push further, that made you not just ask, where is he, what happened?

When Eddie suggested for you to call Robin, you did, but got her answering machine. Three times.

You'd left a message that started out all up beat. Asked her how she was doing. Told her that you missed her, that she should come visit, the weather in LA was lovely and you had a guest room waiting for her to come and occupy for a little bit.

When you got all pleasantries out of the way, you mentioned Steve. The weird and very short phone calls you'd had with his wife.

And you wanted to tell her how it had never sat right with you, that Steve had met someone the second you'd moved away, and that he'd gotten engaged just a couple weeks after he'd been out to visit you in LA, and then a couple months later, he'd thrown a surprise wedding. You wanted to tell her that you thought this is how he'd gone about things, because maybe he'd been scared no one would've RSVP'd if you all had gotten wedding invitations in the mail. But you didn't say those things. Just said you missed them, her and Steve, and wanted to see them.

The more you thought about it, the more worried you got.

"What if something's wrong?" you'd asked Eddie when he was on his way out.

"Call again tomorrow, it'll be fine. People argue. Give it a little time,"

Logically you knew he was probably right, but something had taken residence within the pit of your stomach. Set up camp there, and you knew the only way to flush it out was by speaking to Steve directly. Or have Robin call you back to tell you Steve was doing just fine.

Fuck, if you could, you would've just made your way over to go and see for yourself.

But you were in LA.

And Steve was in Hawkins still.

Until he wasn’t.

"Um... babe?" Eddie called from the front step, door handle still in his hand, sunglasses somehow balanced on his forehead, just above his brows. His other hand shook his car keys into his fist when he looked back at you.

It was the next day, and Eddie had a meeting with his label. Nothing crazy, just a word on the tapes the band had dropped off the day before.

You looked, and from where you were sat, you weren't able to see much of what Eddie was looking at. Until he stepped aside a little, and someone stepped onto the threshold.

Suitcases came into vision first, one in either hand, and then, Steve was suddenly there, on your doorstep in LA, dark sunglasses hiding his emotions.

And he hadn’t known what to say, just looked at you as you'd gasped upon seeing him.

You’d rushed over immediately, arms open and you were so ready to fall into him, but you hadn't anticipated that he'd fall into you as well. Suitcases dropped and you crashed into each other. It audibly pushed the air from your lungs, and it hurt, but that didn't matter.

You heard a soft, "Careful," coming from Eddie, who held out both hands in case you were to lose balance, which you didn't.

Steve hugged, and you hugged and Eddie stood and watched, waited his turn to hug Steve. When he realised his turn wasn't going to come, because you were pushing fists into Steve and his grip didn't seem to be faltering soon either, he turned your hug into a group hug and you stood like that, on the threshold of your open front door for entirely too long.

"I called you yesterday, twice." you murmured. "Robin too,"

"I know," was all Steve said, and you wondered how he knew. Were the phone calls why he'd traveled to LA? Or had he already been on his way? Had he already booked the flight before you'd reached out?

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really,"

You felt Eddie's arms tense up, squeeze a little tighter, and you knew it was because he was about to pull back.

"I'm sorry, I've got... work, but please, come in, make yourself at home, have some food, take a shower," Eddie listed things off on his fingers as you finally broke the embrace.

"Are you telling me I stink?" Steve asked, the humorous undertone easily detectable in his voice.

"Yes," Eddie deadpanned before wanting to carry on the list, but your laugh interrupted him.

"We were never this blunt with him, were we?" Steve looked at you, and you recalled all the times Eddie had come to visit Hawkins, looking worse for wear and smelling like the men's room of a dirty dive bar. Steve immediately received a punch to the shoulder from Eddie.

"I'll be back in a couple hours,"

And so you'd said goodbye to Eddie, had invited Steve inside and had shown him to his room - the same one he stayed in last time. Not the one with its own entrance, but the one upstairs, close to your own bedroom.

Steve put his suitcases down on the ottoman by the end of the bed and sighed deeply.

"Sorry I didn't call before flying in,"

"Don't be, I literally called you yesterday to tell you to fucking come over already,"

Steve smiled as he started moving clothes from one of the suitcases onto the bed, stacking things in neat piles. You leant into the doorway, arms folded over your stomach, and you felt all sorts of feelings that all lead straight to guilt.

There was obviously something going on. Steve had taken off his sunglasses and revealed puffy skin and red-rimmed eyes. The hostile tone his wife had spoken with to you hadn't left your mind yet, either.

But, Steve was here now. Right where you wanted him to be, and you were reunited as the three-piece that you had always been. Morning, noon and evening. Sun, wind and rain. Birth, life and death. Past, present and future. It had always been the three of you, and even though you'd grown up, and lives had changed, having Steve over gave you the opportunity to drown in nostalgia for a few days.

Feel... complete for a little while.

Wait, that reminded you.

"How long are you staying?"

Steve kept busy and didn't look at you as he shrugged up both his shoulders.

"I don't know,"

You didn't respond. Just watched him unpack. Gave him the space to think his thoughts before he vocalized them which you knew he sometimes needed.

Then he turned his head to look at you, eyebrows scrunched up a little, almost as if he was apologizing.

"How does a month sound?"

---

The Taglisted:

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(two places left on my taglist: first come, first serve)

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munsons fluff #eddie x y/n #stranger things 4 #joe quinn #joseph quinn #over now #only now #then again #never over #not enough

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thekintsugikids · 1 year

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i noticed the similarities between fnowae and pavlove about a year and a half ago?? something like that. and quite frankly, while i could panegyrize fob’s entire discography till the end of time, specifically hearing those songs back to back, hearing, “i’m the invisible man who can’t stop staring at the mirror,” followed by, “i’m just the man on the balcony, singing ‘nobody will ever remember me’” made me absolutely spiral. like…both songs feel like they’re about this heart wrenching, soul crushing loneliness and just wanting someone to understand, to feel the way you do, to just fucking get it already, but the difference is in the way they see that. the different perspectives.

to fully explain this i think it’s important to fully understand the amadeus of it all for which i cannot recommend enough zero’s post about fnowae.

to use some of their words/phrasing, the quote itself as the title…fascinates me. it is salieri (in this instance, pete) repudiating god, declaring him to be his mortal enemy from here on for having the nerve to bestow upon amadeus (patrick) such brilliance (and i will be referring to him as amadeus because that feels like it might be a little cleaner than calling him mozart throughout this whole Thing etc etc etc). to mock salieri’s mediocrity. he is so envious of amadeus that he feels amadeus’s gifts are a divine punishment from god himself. “from now on we are enemies, you and i.”

what does all of that have to do with pavlove, though? amadeus is the gifted one, whom salieri finds to be insufferably annoying, but staggeringly brilliant. indescribably so (the fact that they do eventually befriend one another, and when amadeus dies, it essentially drives salieri insane and many years later he even claims he murdered amadeus, despite the fact that amadeus was sick, having worked himself to exhaustion and death……all of that is another can of worms i don’t…i don’t have it in me to crack open right now). “nobody will ever remember me, rejoice and fall to your knees.” “i want to make you as lonely as me, so you can get addicted to this.” bone crushing loneliness clawing at the door like a dog just begging for companionship. i need someone, please be that someone. i don’t know what to do if i don’t have someone. but maybe it’s for the best. but i can’t leave well enough alone (historically, “i don’t do too well on my own”) so i need you to feel what i feel. empty. isolated. lonely. then maybe you’ll need me the same way i need you.

“their faces are dancing till they can’t stand it.” being the outsider, the wallflower, the lone observer, because what else can you do? what else is there to do? it’s three drinks too late to talk to anyone but myself. who even wants to be there with the lunatic on a downward spiral entirely of his own design, who has faded so seamlessly into the background that he doesn’t even know who he is or if he even exists anymore. getting worse till there’s nothing left.

from now on we are enemies is pete vs patrick. two brilliant artists duking it out because one is so enamored with, but absolutely cannot stand, the brilliance of the other. pavlove is…different. more distanced. it’s the realization. and if pavlove is the realization, from now on we are enemies is the final showdown.

pavlove is misery with the life he’s cultivated, with the parties and the tabloids running rampant in the 2000s. the drugs he’d been doing that his best friend didn’t even fully realize the severity of because, in his mind, drug abuse was this abstract thing that he couldn’t quite comprehend. fnowae is the culmination of isolating oneself from those which he loves and cares about, because he’s so lost in his misery.

“what good comes of something when i’m just the ghost of nothing?” because progression in any capacity is a threat to your self preservation. creative integrity, personal growth, whatever it is, it has begun to feel like it’s unattainable because the risk is too high. so what’s the point? it’s a three-and-two pitch to walk to anywhere else. so stay where you are. don’t bother. patrick is brilliant, patrick is gifted and he doesn’t even know it and i’m just a painter looking at the walls trying to finger paint and he’s the only one who has been able to finish these half-baked paintings i throw at him. if this thing is breaking down, what am i good for?

trick question. stalemate. stay right here. if anything, move back.

but there’s a wife to try to make a life with and a child on the way and if i do move forward, who’s to say i don’t just find new ways to make it all worse? my anchor has started to completely detach—get engaged, make a solo record, make himself a life, eventually…soon, even—and i’m let out to sea all on my own and i don’t want to be here, i wanted to go back to land. i wasn’t prepared to still be here. but somehow, i am, and i don’t know what to do. i’m the just the man on the balcony, singing, “nobody will ever remember me,” because amadeus over here is doing the things that are worthwhile. he’s the one people will revere, and i will fade in the distance as the blurry shadow whose features have smudged and disappeared with time, because my contributions pale in comparison to his genius, because i wasn’t blessed with the ability to sing or write music or do so many of the ten billion things he is capable of. because who knows how i’ll be remembered now that the ship i’ve spent the last 8 years manning is possibly about to sink and maybe that means that will be my legacy, if i even have a legacy. if anyone remembers that i was ever here. but that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be remembered. that doesn’t mean i like what i’ve become, how my meaning has become dependent on the twin skeleton beside me. i’m the invisible man who can’t stop staring at the mirror. begging to be remembered…because that’s the point of it all, right?

i said it at the beginning, fall out boy had to be fall out boy and leave the world on a cliffhanger for three years. but it’s been 14 years since believers never die vol 1. we know what happens next. we’ve read the next chapter, watched the sequel, seen how it all pans out. they get to be happy middle aged men playing these songs, reclaiming the trauma and horrors and pain within them, making them into newer, happier memories, because they’re not about that pain anymore. and they haven’t been for a long time. they haven’t been theirs in ages. and so they can finally let it go, with their spouses and kids in the audience cheering them on (well, maybe not the kids. they’re dads, after all, they can’t think they’re cool). with stronger bonds between them and a stronger sense of self in each of them. because they’re not defined by each other anymore, no, this is their fun little art project. patrick composes for a living now (a composer but never composed, who always saw himself as a composer first, now literally a composer by trade), joe and pete each have multiple different ventures they explore in their free time (the symphonies of the overdosed, now being sung by yourself because you don’t need someone else to do it for you anymore), andy is in a million different bands at any given time. they don’t need each other—they don’t need to be defined by each other—they want to be with each other now.

no amadeus, no salieri, no jealousy, no enemies in sight, just four dudes who love making music together. who can make music on their own, who do make music on their own and/or separate from fall out boy, but can’t make their music without all of them together. at the end of the day, “no matter how obsessed you’ve been with your own vanishing, there will always be someone who still wants you whole.”

#i have gone fully insane im sorry #this has been festering for SO LONG and ive had so much to say but always felt super worried that my analysis was like #somehow Not Good Enough (despite the fact that any interpretation of art is valid i somehow believed mine would be the one wrong one)#and now with the collective insanity over fnowae after they played it #felt like as good a time as any to go crazy #besides who’s gonna read the whole thing atp skxosoxkskdi #whatever. going insane etc etc what the fuck everrrr #but yeah. pavlove and from now on we are enemies are a matching set do not separate!!!!#analysis.txt #fall out boy #patrick stump #pete wentz #joe trohman #andy hurley #fob #from now on we are enemies #pavlove #believers never die #folie a deux

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