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#amazingly i’m actually better about this than i used to be

waitingonher · 4 months

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because i love you — [hoo boys headcanons]

summary: your "thing" with the hoo boys!

author's note: in honor of the pjo series coming out today,,have this rlly rlly short draft from earlier this year! xoxo

percy jackson — doodling on him

“give me your hand.”

“yes ma’am.”

minutes pass as you doodle gods know what onto percy’s hand. you always resort to this whenever the camp head counselor's meeting begins late—which seems to be every meeting—and giving percy "tattoos" certainly kills time. last meeting, you drew a can of beans and the time before that, was a bouquet of tulips. so honestly his guess being a pair of socks this time isn’t too far of a reach.

“okay, done,” you release his hand, a proud smile gracing your features, “cute right?”

he quirks a brow upon seeing the drawing, “is that…” percy turns his head to the side, gaining better perspective, “is that a flying fish?”

“wow, you’re good,” you say, giving him a nod of approval, “although, last time you did say that my can of beans looked like a roll of toilet paper…”

your boyfriend throws his hands in the air, “in my defense, you used a shitty pen so it was hard to tell.”

“whatever.”

jason grace — sewing your initials on his clothes

“hi love,” jason says, plopping down beside you on the couch. you give him a bright smile as he places a gentle kiss on your head, “almost done?”

nodding proudly, you hold up his pair of jeans to show him your work: your initials sewn onto a corner of his back pocket, “yup, just finished actually! what do you think of the color? i think you bought the thread for me on our second date. but i totally forgot i had it until i went digging in my supply box.”

a grin plasters itself on jason’s face as he nods his head in realization, “i knew the color seemed familiar. i remember wondering why a tiny spool of thread was so expensive. but it’s perfect, i love it,” he kisses your cheek, “all my friends are gonna be so jealous that they don’t have their girlfriends’ initials sewn onto their clothes.”

you laugh as you imagine jason vehemently bragging about his jeans to all his friends, “tell them i’m charging $50 if they want me to do theirs,” you wink.

“we’d make more than the stolls’ and their smuggling business if we did that,” he laughs, admiring your work once more. who knew that having your initials on his pants would have such an affect on him, “also, can you do my sweaters and my other jeans?"

you raise a brow, "i might have to start charging you at this point."

leo valdez — impromptu fashion shows

“wow!” you clap enthusiastically, “your outfit even puts paris fashion week outfits to shame!” yes, because a rainbow checkered crop top with a humongous green tutu and a pink boa paired with insanely skinny stilettos beats any and all high fashion runway outfits, “now, leo valdez, can you give us a few words about your new clothing line? and possibly a bit about what it’s like to be so amazingly talented?” you inquire, raising an invisible microphone to his mouth.

leo oh-so humbly bows and rises with a proud grin, “thank you, thank you, but i honestly must give all credit towards my beautiful muse, y/n, she’s the inspiration behind my new line. and about being so talented, it really is such hard work to be this naturally gifted.”

“ooh, do tell about this ‘y/n.’ i’ve never heard of her but she does sound absolutely gorgeous!” you exclaim, keeping up with the act.

your boyfriend nods firmly, “oh yes, she’s very, very, very beautiful,” adding a playful wink, “but i must say, she has the worst morning breath i’ve ever encountered!”

your smile drops and you squint your eyes, “i’m going to choke you with that stupid ugly boa if you don’t take that back right now.”

“uh ma’am,” leo backs up nervously, clutching his boa, “i’m going to have to call security if you threaten me again.”

"i'm seriously going to kill you."

3K notes · View notes

atomicami · 3 months

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vengeance.

roommate!abby anderson x fem!reader

- summary: you’re tired of dealing with your boyfriend’s awful habits. when he ends up crossing the line with you one day, you decide to get back at him, and your not-so-innocent roommate has the perfect way to do it.

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, reader and abby are roommates, reader has a shitty boyfriend, slight mentions of alcohol consumption and partying, infidelity/cheating, sex tape/amateur porn, kinda roughdom!abby, strap usage (r!receiving), abby referring to the strap as her cock, slight choking, daddy kink, abby hits it from the back, oral & fingering (r!receiving), pussy slapping, squirting, aftercare at the end ofc

- author’s note: hi everyone!! so i decided to do my very first collab with none other than the amazingly talented @whore4abby, i’m so grateful to have done this with you!!

also, consider this fic as our 1k special from us to you. thank you so much for all the love and support you’ve given to the both of us 🤍 we hope you enjoy it!!

you don’t really know how you got yourself to this point.

well, you do, actually…but you didn’t know how this could have possibly escalated so fast.

it was just a silly little conversation at first. you were simply venting to your roommate, abby about your boyfriend for what was probably the millionth time now.

“ugh, i just can’t believe him!” you exclaimed to her as you frantically paced around your room. “i told him to make the best impression to meet my parents last weekend and what does he do?! he shows up to the restaurant thirty minutes late smelling like alcohol. how can he be so…so inconsiderate?!”

you’ve been in an on-again, off-again relationship with your boyfriend for about a year now. everything went fine with the two of you at first, but now it somehow just progressed to where you both can’t even make it a week without breaking up.

abby is sat at the foot of your bed, nodding in acknowledgement as you continued to ramble to her about your asshole boyfriend. you truly couldn’t ask for a better friend like her to listen to all of your problems about this, because unlike abby, you knew that anyone else you might know couldn’t withstand having to hear about the same person every damn day of the week.

“i seriously think i’m gonna break up with him now, for good this time.” you tell her with confidence.

abby lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes at your statement. “isn’t that what you said the last fifteen times though?” she asked, further manspreading on your bed before pulling her phone out of her pocket to scroll through it.

“i know, i know,” you said, continuing to pace around your room. “he’s done so much stupid shit lately, but this is honestly the final straw for me. who knows how much worse he could get if i—“

“hey, um…you might wanna see this.” abby says, showing you her phone screen. “isn’t that him?”

“what? what are you—“ your words drift off for a moment. you take a step towards her to take a closer look at her phone. it was an instagram story that her friend manny had posted, containing a video of some frat party happening right now and you could visibly see a girl grinding and making out with your boyfriend, clear as day.

now that was really the last straw for you.

“that asshole…” you mutter quietly to yourself as you watched the story again.

to be honest, you weren’t even that upset about it. well, you were, but not to where you’d be in tears crying over him. but rather, you had an urge to try to get back at him somehow. you wanted to retaliate against him. you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.

you wanted to give him vengeance.

“i seriously can’t believe him right now,” you tell abby again as you hand the phone back to her. “you know, i’m not even upset that he cheated on me, i just…” you pause for a moment to take a deep breath. “i just wish i could get back at him, give him some sort of payback you know?”

“yeah, i get you.” abby replies before looking back down at her phone. “you know…i think i might have an idea to get back at him…show that asshole what he’s missing…” she said, flipping her phone around to eye at the camera for a moment before looking back up at you.

“really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity as you took another step towards her. “i’m down for whatever, what did you have in mind?”

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and that’s how you got to where you were now, as if it had happened in a matter of seconds.

“c’mon, baby… look at the camera for me.” abby murmured to you from behind.

you laid at the center of your bed, bare body sprawled out with your ass up and abby’s thick, black strap nestled deep inside your wet cunt.

you didn’t want to admit it, but the stretch that abby’s cock had in you was overbearing. you really thought you’d take it, you told her so yourself. but now that you were feeling every single inch inside you, from base to tip—you were very, very wrong. you’re trying as best as you can to follow abby’s commands, but the immense length and girth of her strap has you feeling dizzy.

one of her hands reaches down under your stomach and makes its way up to your neck. “you really want me to repeat myself right now, princess?” she says in a firm tone, keeping her grip on your neck. “i said, look at the camera for me.”

“oh, fuck—“ you whimper to yourself as chills start to go through your spine. your whole body is fucking trembling and abby still has yet to move her cock inside you.

you try to lift your head up, looking straight into the camera on abby’s phone that was currently propped up in front of the two of you, the most dumbfounded expression was stricken on your face at the moment. you were already so cockdrunk and it clearly shows.

“atta girl…would you look at that?” abby says, looking into the camera with you as well. “see how pretty your girlfriend looks on my cock? she’s already drunk and i haven’t even started moving yet…not so bad for a girl if i do say so myself.” she continues narrating into the camera. “i’ll show you how it’s really done, yeah?”

and with that she began to start moving, painfully slow to say the least. you felt her hand let go of its grip on your neck and move to your hip, gripping it tightly as she kept slowly thrusting her cock inside you.

“you like that, princess? like how my cock feels inside you?” she asks in between her thrusts.

you end up mumbling something into the sheets, and abby could’ve sworn that you were calling her a name. her hand quickly returns back to your neck, lifting you up and pulling you back towards her as she kept her cock inside you. “what did you just call me? tell me what you just said.” she says in a stern tone, slowly tightening her grip on your neck.

“f-feels so good, d-daddy…” you slur out to her, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the tip of the strap gently presses against your g spot.

the smirk on abby’s face grew wider as she heard you call her that name. it was like music to her ears, and she couldn’t help but play along with it. “yeah? does it feel good, princess? does daddy’s cock feel good inside that little pussy of yours?” she asks, receiving a whiny nod from you in response.

abby looks into the camera and lets out a quiet groan at the sight of the two of you on her phone screen. “oh fuck, you’re not wrong…let’s take a closer look there, shall we?” she says, keeping your body up against hers with one hand as she moves forward and grabs her phone with the other. you look down as she brings the front camera down to both of your lower bodies where the strap was connecting it. now keeping her bicep firm on your upper body, she snakes her hand down to your gushing pussy, spreading its puffy lips open with two fingers in front of the camera.

“would you look at that…” she murmurs, bringing the camera closer. “that pussy’s practically crying all over my cock. does he ever get you this wet, princess?”

“n-no…” you whine out, shaking your head. “he doesn’t…”

“oh, poor thing…” she murmurs from behind, reaching down to rub your throbbing clit. “seems like you need daddy to take care of you, yeah?”

“y-yes, daddy, please…n-need you to fuck me…”

abby gently lowers you back down onto your bed before setting her phone back to its original spot, screen still fixed on the both of you. she places a hand onto each of your hips, gripping them tightly as she begins to slowly thrust her cock into your pussy.

as abby began to fuck you, you were now buried into the sheets again, releasing muffled moans and whines with every thrust of abby’s hips. in that moment, your boyfriend, and all of the fights and encounters you’ve had with him were the last things on your mind. you didn’t care about him. you didn’t even care about the video, knowing that he’ll be watching it soon. all that was on your mind now was abby and the large piece of black silicone stretching you open.

“does that feel good, baby?” she asks, slowly speeding up her pace. “c’mon baby, why don’t you tell him how it feels?”

you muster up the energy to at least turn your head to the side to respond. “f-feels amazing, daddy…b-best cock i’ve ever had…” you slur back to her, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as you fist the sheets tightly.

“you hear that?” she says into the camera. “it’s not even real, yet it’s the best cock she’s ever had…bet it’s bigger than whatever you have going on down there too…”

you continue to whine into the sheets, weakly pushing your hips back against abby’s cock as a sign for her to speed it up. “f-faster daddy…p-please…” you whine out to her.

abby looks back down to what was below her, that same smirk growing onto her freckled face once again. “would you look at that, she’s already so eager for more…” she murmurs to herself, tightening her grip onto your hips as she began to thrust into you faster than before.

“oh f-f-fuck—“ you moan out, turning your head back to see her and watching her smirk get bigger again as she admires your drunk, fucked out expression. “don’t look at me now…” she tells you before pointing at her phone. “look at the camera. look at him. tell him how good i’m fucking you.”

despite how heavy your eyelids were getting, you try to keep your vision straight, looking into the camera for as long as you could. “s-s-she’s fucking me s-so good…b-better than y-you…” you slur out into the camera before letting your head drop back down into the sheets.

“you hear that? i’m a better fuck to her than you’ll ever be.” she narrates to the camera, still continuing her fast thrusts inside you. “can’t believe you’re letting a girl beat you at your own game, man.”

it didn’t take long for that feeling to build up inside you. abby had only been fucking you for less than five minutes, and you were already about to cum now.

“a-abby, fuck—g-gonna cum n-now…” you whimper out to her, bringing a trembling hand to hold hers from behind. abby instantly swats your hand away and brings her hand down to your ass to slap it, the sting causing you to flinch a bit. “that’s not my name, princess. you wanna try that again?” she asks you, still not stopping her fast pace.

“fuck, daddy!” you exclaimed, tightening your grip on the sheets to stabilize yourself. “p-please daddy…n-need to cum so bad…”

“there we go, that sounds better now…” she replies, looking back to the camera before back down at you. “go ahead, babygirl…cum for daddy.”

your grip gets even tighter on the sheets, and your cunt begins to clench down hard on the strap before cumming with a loud muffled moan, completely coating abby’s black strap with your release.

“holy fuck…” abby groans out from behind, now slowing down her pace. without pulling out just yet, she leans over to grab her phone, stopping the video and flipping the camera to the back to record a new one. “would you look at that…” she murmurs, zooming in on your lower body, particularly on the white ring that was being formed on her strap.

she then points the camera to the very back of you where your pussy was before slowly pulling her strap out of your fucked out cunt. abby lets out another groan as she watches your pussy clench and spill out your thick release, quickly running two of her fingers over it to pick it up. you whimper and whine due to the sensitivity from her thick fingertips, but you still oblige and let her do it.

“look how fucking good this pussy looks…” abby murmurs to the camera. “you know, i heard her tell me that you refuse to eat her out…” she says, pausing for a moment to suck her fingers clean before continuing. “you’re definitely a fucking idiot, to say the least. who wouldn’t want to get a taste of this sweet girl?”

you hear abby stop the recording on her phone, letting out a breath of relief as you set the rest of your body back down onto the bed. you’re already fucked out as is, and you feel the slumber slowly starting to take over you.

however, you didn’t get to have much of it now that abby has shaken you awake again. “lie back on the bed, i’m not done with you just yet.”

“w-what?” you say weakly, fully blinking your eyes open. “i-isn’t that one enough already?” you ask, pointing to her phone.

abby shakes her head in response. “nope, we still have one more video to make…and you’re holding the camera this time.”

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you take the phone into your shaky hands, almost dropping it in the process before steadying it, abby's eyes practically burning through the camera lens as you angle your phone to film her between your legs, she slaps her hand against your folds and you whine out her name, "keep it fuckin’ steady, you hear me?"

your grip tightens on the phone and you try to keep it as steady as possible as she connects her warm mouth onto your clit, flicking her tongue up and down it a couple times, before drawing back and looking into the camera. "you see what you're missing out on, huh?" she tsks and shakes her head slightly. you draw your bottom lip between your teeth as she sinks back between your legs.

she presses her tongue to your sensitive folds as she messily kisses and licks at your pussy, groaning as she tastes you. her fingertips find your clit, rubbing circles over it as she slurps up your juices. the phone starts to slip from your grasp and abby shakes her head mockingly, slapping her hand straight down onto your pussy, fingertips smacking at your clit cruelly. "i'm not telling you again, keep that camera on me or imma keep slapping this pussy." she drawls, voice low and demanding as her gaze shifts from the camera lens to look straight into your half-lidded eyes. her stern tone has you nodding your head immediately in fear of another sharp slap.

her fingers start to slide into your entrance, slick squelching around them as she thrusts them in and out. her lips move up to suck at your swollen clit, with more purpose this time around as she feels you clenching around her fingers. "lemme hear you baby. c'mon, let it out. let him hear how good i'm making you feel." she whispers, thrusting her fingers in and out faster. she lifts her head and smirks up at you, clearly waiting for you to cum for her.

your back arches up into her and her free hand slides between your legs, roughly rubbing your wet folds as her tongue flutters over your clit, bringing you over the edge. your thighs tremble as they clamp around her blonde head which gives her no other option than to keep her head buried between your legs, sucking on your clit as you ride out your high and start to cum on her face.

her fingers continue to plunge in and out of you at practically record speed, fingertips curling against every inch of your g-spot and without warning, a stream of juices spurts from your pussy to soak her fingers and her face. she slides her fingers from your entrance, holding them up for you to see that they're covered in your juices, glistening in the light.

"look at the mess you made." she chuckles as she looks up and notices the look of absolute shock on your face as you realise what just happened.

"never done that before, huh?" she raises an eyebrow. "nuh uh." you pant out, feeling the need to pinch yourself as there is absolutely no way in hell she just made you squirt. "he's never made me do that....like ever." you giggle.

your head is still reeling as she lays you comfortably up against the pillows before she quickly fetches a washcloth from the en-suite bathroom. she returns less than a minute later, warm washcloth in hand, and starts to clean you up between your legs doting to your every need and want so soothingly, kissing at your thighs and stomach sporadically whilst doing so.

she eventually lends you one of her t-shirts to wear, gently holding your arms above your head, the soft material grazing against your skin. she climbs into bed beside you, the two of you bundled up under the thick sheets, snuggled up into her arms as your scroll through the footage taken on your phone. abby rubs her hand up your spine softly before pulling you tightly against her as she smirks at you, "gimme his number, i wanna send the footage to him."

you giggle and hand her your phone as she quickly copies down his phone number from your contacts into her own with a couple taps of her screen before opening up a text conversation with the new contact. she attaches the videos and starts to type out a message which reads:

"took care of your girl for you tonight...looks like she likes me better, don't you think?"

you shake your head and give her a little amused smile as you see the sheer look of smugness filling her flushed face, "that'll fuckin’ teach him." before pressing send and placing her phone face down on the bed in front of you.

it’s safe to say that thanks to abby’s bright idea, you were successfully able to give your boyfriend the vengeance that he deserved after all. as abby pulls you in closer to her chest, you get the feeling that this won’t be the last time you’ll do this with her.

and by the looks of it, you’ve found a new habit of your own to enjoy too.

2K notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 7 months

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Fake Boyfriend Part 1

This was going to be an AO3 exclusive until I found out I couldn't do the strikethrough coding for the titles over there and until I think of one that works as well as this one does, it goes here first. There is a second part that will be posted on Tuesday as it got a tad too long for Tumblr (clocking out at over 3k).

Summary: After most of the older teens have gone off to college, Eddie goes over to Steve's to hang out. When he finds Steve on the phone with one of his co-workers, he tells Steve to pretend Eddie is his boyfriend to get the guy to back off via notes on his notebook. It works better than he could possibly dream as the more Steve describes his "boyfriend" the more it sounds real.

***

Eddie let himself into the Harrington mansion like he always did, backpack slung over his shoulder. Steve and he was long since past caring about knocking on each others’ houses’ doors. Bedrooms on the other hand were sacrosanct and closed doors were to be respected at all times, but their houses? Open invitation. Always.

He went straight to the kitchen because if Steve was going to be anywhere in that labyrinthine house of his, it was going to be the kitchen. He entered through the open doorway just as Steve snapped.

“Fuck you!” he growled.

Eddie frowned. “Hey!”

Steve turned and he could see that Steve was on the phone with someone. The other man mouthed, ‘Sorry!’ when he spotted Eddie in the doorway.

“I gave you this number for work purposes only,” Steve continued with a sigh. “I’m just not interested in you, Caleb. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Understanding slowly dawned over Eddie. He knew who Steve was talking to now. Caleb worked at the same hair salon Steve did and was constant thorn in Steve’s side. Always flirting with him and just generally making Steve uncomfortable.

He ripped the backpack off of his shoulder and started digging around. He pulled out a notebook and a pen. He turned to a blank page and wrote: TELL HIM YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND

Steve looked at the sign with a frown of confusion. ‘But I don’t’ he mouthed back.

Eddie pointed at himself.

Steve chewed on his thumb for a moment before he nodded. “Caleb!” he said interrupting the other man’s stream of consciousness that he was just spewing at Steve on the end of the line. “Look. I didn’t want to have to pull this card because ‘no’ is a complete sentence, but I have a boyfriend.”

Eddie gave him a thumbs up.

“I haven’t brought him up before because he’s not out–”

Eddie scoffed, smirking with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean we’re not out as a couple to our friends and family,” Steve amended, sticking his tongue out at him. “Of course they know I’m bisexual and he’s gay, they just don’t know that we’ve been dating.”

That was certainly true, especially considering that they weren’t actually dating.

Eddie scribbled another note: WAYNE

“Well,” Steve said with a huff of laughter, “his uncle knows, but my parents don’t.”

Eddie started on another note, but Steve beat him to it. “It’s a small house and thin walls, the dude was going to find out sooner or later.”

Eddie nearly choked on his own tongue. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head in shock.

Steve laughed. “And have my parents walk in on us? Fuck that. I trust his Uncle Wayne way more than I do my parents.”

Eddie looked down at the half-written message that would have spelled out TRUST with a fond smile on his face.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What do you mean you want me to prove he exists? Like describe him or something?”

Eddie jotted down another note: PERSISTANT BASTARD

Steve slammed a hand over his mouth to cover the laugh that bubbled to his lips.

He cleared his throat. “So are we talking looks or personality?” he asked. “Because I could go on about both.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, causing Steve’s cheeks flush.

“Looks?” Steve asked, his voice a little high at the absurdity of it all. “Oh. Wow. Yeah. He’s got the most amazingly soulful brown eyes I’ve ever seen outside of the movies. I’ve heard people describe them as doe-eyed or puppy-dog eyes. They aren’t bad descriptions, just... not close enough. I don’t think there is a word or phrase that matches their glory.”

Eddie shoved his hair in front of mouth to hide his embarrassment. Steve took a step toward him.

“He has long hair in soft curly locks that frame his face,” Steve continued and Eddie dropped the aforementioned lock, choosing to duck his head, and look away, rocking back on his heels.

Steve took another step forward. “He has these dimples that just light up his whole countenance when he smiles. They are the single most kissable part of his face, if you don’t include his lips.”

Eddie’s mind was spinning out of control, because there was no way Steve was making this up on the spot. These had to be things Steve had actually thought about.

But Steve wasn’t done talking. “He’s whipcord thin, but don’t let that fool you. He is strong, so strong.”

Eddie head jerked up and stared at Steve in amazement.

The other boy ducked his head, twirling his fingers around the phone cord. “I told you could go on and on about his looks, man. I could tell you about how long his eyelashes are or his legs that give him this causal sensuality that should be fucking illegal.”

Eddie didn’t think he could get any redder. He was so, so wrong.

“You want me to wax poetic about his personality now?” Steve asked incredulously. “No, I’m not describing Jon Bon Jovi. He’d be offended at the comparison. Eddie Van Halen is closer to the mark, or maybe Kirk Hemmett if you really make him blush.”

Cue Eddie’s blush burning his ears and flushing his throat; a part of his body that was refusing to do what it was supposed to and fucking allow breath to enter his lungs.

“What’s he like?” Steve breathed and Eddie was instantly jealous of his ability to do so. “He is so smart.”

Eddie snorted divisively.

“The school system may have failed him more times then I care to count,” Steve insisted, “but god, he is so clever, coming up with stories on fly. He has all this knowledge of so many things. He learned elvish and is learning dwarfish.” He snorted. “Because he can.”

Eddie blushed. Even his friends from Hellfire and Corroded Coffin thought he was a little insane trying to learn those languages. Not Steve, apparently.

“He uses it for his D&D games–campaigns, sorry,” Steve said, more to Eddie then to Caleb. Eddie mouthed ‘It’s okay.’ And Steve lit up with the brightest smile.

He took another step forward. “You know those kids that come into the store all the time?” Steve burst out laughing. “Yes, my kids. He loves them as much as I do. Maybe even more.”

Eddie scrambled to write another note: NOT POSSIBLE

Steve blushed this time. “Understands them better, certainly.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and half shrugged. That was fair.

“He DMs for them every week,” Steve continued. “DM? Oh that stands for dungeon master. It’s like the storyteller or master of the story. He sets the path for the characters to follow or blatantly ignore.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh.

“He does the voices for each person the party meets and it always makes me laugh,” Steve said. “My favorite is the voice he did for the princess. I don’t think there was a dry eye from all the laughing everyone was doing.”

Eddie grinned. That was his favorite, too. He had done it to make Steve laugh, the fact that it had made everyone else laugh too was just icing on the cake.

“Which, of course, impressed Dustin,” Steve said. He paused. “Oh Dustin is the one with curly hair and those hats.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. That’s another strike against this Caleb dude, not knowing the names of Steve’s kids. Like they came as a packaged deal. Everyone knew that.

Steve cleared his throat and looked down as he too felt Caleb’s disinterest keenly as well. “Anyway, anyone who can impress that little butthead is number one in my book.”

Eddie smiled tenderly at Steve before he jotted down a note again. YOU IMPRESS HIM TOO.

Steve blushed. “He can take his talent for story telling into song writing as well. He might not be the singer of his band–” There was another pause. “Yeah, an honest to god, plays at The Hideout every Tuesday metal band. He plays guitar. Lead, not rhythm. His best friend Jeff is rhythm guitar and their lead singer. He can read music and learn a song by ear. Do you know how fucking rare that is? To be able to do both? Trust me, it’s rare, okay?”

“Look, Caleb,” Steve growled, “don’t get pissy with me. You asked me describe my boyfriend. I warned you that I could go on and on.”

Eddie could barely breathe. This was starting to feel less like an excuse to get this asshole to stop harassing Steve and more and more real with every compliment that came out of his friend’s mouth.

Steve’s own breath caught in his chest. He looked directly at Eddie, so full of adoration, Eddie was sure his heart full on stopped.

“Yeah, of course I do,” Steve murmured, “of course I love him. God, how could I not. He means everything to me.” He tried to step forward but the cord got caught in his fingers, so he unwrapped it and took a final step toward Eddie. The cord was now taut, stretched as far as it could go.

Eddie could tell that the scant two feet between them was too far for Steve, but he was tethered to phone. He knew that that ache and longing in Steve’s face mirrored his own expression.

“And I am so grateful I get to call him mine...” Steve finished, his breath shallow as he fought to get his heart rate under control.

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***

Part 2

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #fake relationship #for all of ten minutes #because they dorks are that far gone for each other

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andhumanslovedstories · 3 months

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I was in the ICU last night taking care of medsurg overflow patients—that’s when you aren’t sick enough to be in the ICU anymore but we don’t have a bed anywhere else for you yet. I don’t like floating to the ICU. It’s such a coin flip as to whether you’re gonna have a hard night or an easy one. You almost never get a full load of four patients, and that’s so nice, but the one or two or three patients you do have are all sick enough to have needed intensive care six hours ago. They’re usually still not doing amazingly. But they’re floor status now, so it’s medsurg patient ratios. But if you were a medsurg floor, the charge would probably be like “let’s not give three patients of this high an acuity to one nurse.”

Also some of them are NOT floor status. They’re just “slightly less likely to die in the next 12 hours status.” What we really need is a step down unit which is somewhere between the extreme high acuity of the ICU and the catchall category of medsurg. Instead we have a couple units that are “essentially step down units,” which means they are just medsurg units but you know your night is probably gonna be so hard.

Besides the patients, the ICU is just so spread out and lonely. Most critical care patients have a 1:1 ratio—one patient to one nurse. That’s on account of how intensive the care is, you see. But it also means whenever you’re like “I would love some help,” everyone else on the floor is like “if I step more than six feet away from my patient, he will die so badly.” It makes it really hard to casually engage in conversation, especially since I’m not qualified to do like anything in the ICU rooms, so I would clearly be going over there to expressly talk to them. And I don’t want to have a conversation! I just want to establish some rapport. I love bounding ideas off other staff! I love being about to shoot the shit a lil bit and then be like “well I have rounds” when one of us has to wander off. No one here has rounds. They are already Right There.

Anyway then the shift ends, and it’s time to pass off your patients. If you’re lucky it’s to another medsurg nurse who also looks a kid realizing too late into the lecture that this is not their class. But sometimes you give report to an ICU nurse who asks questions that are so pertinent and are so fair to ask, but they’re also like. the kind of questions you ask when you expect the person you’re getting report from is another critical care nurse who only has one patient. At a certain point, I just wanna be like “what do you want from me, dude. i’m stupid. every lab you’re asking about is in the chart and you understand them better than I do. can I go home”

That also means when they give you a real softball like “and how many IVs does he have” and you’re like “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh let’s go count them together shall we” you feel like the biggest dipshit in the world. And then they ask you three more questions each easier than the last as you have traumatic flashbacks to nursing school, specifically the parts where you failed a quiz and also misspelled your name. It just ends the shift on a bad note. Not even a bad note. Real burp of a shift change.

I’m feeling particularly salty because I overheard a couple critical care nurses last night joking about how medsurg nurses are so nervous about the medical boarders and basically saying that we’re always freaking out over nothing while being completely oblivious to the actual symptoms that matter. And as a nurse who once called rapid response because my patient’s heart beat weird for about twelve seconds, I was like “hey. you’re correct. but also must be nice to have just one patient and all shift to read every single thing about them and to sit outside their door next to your fully stocked equipment cart, and to be able to watch them all shift.” And it’s like yeah, critical care nurses can take all the blood out of a person and then put it all back better than before. But I know to turn off lights when I leave a patient room at three in the morning, and apparently in the ICU that’s an even more illusion trick.

But anyway it’s twelve hours later and I’m on the other side of a good good sleep, so I’m less cranky, and back to being appreciative of the specific skills critical care nurses being that are so essential, and also I was like, how pressed can I really be about one group of nurses joking about another group of nurses. that’s like 25 percent of my blog at this point.

#nursing tag

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lxclerc · 2 years

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𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑

SUMARRY: you never thought drama could come from supporting your boyfriend over your brother for one race. PAIRING: sainz!reader x max verstappen WARNING: none, just pure fluff and carlos being dramatic REQUEST: from anon: "Max dating sainz!reader or leclerc!reader and she wears his shirt to support him insted of a ferrari shirt. Her brother gets ofended because ferrari is better and family goes first and i don't know just like comedic fluff" WORD COUNT: 2k words

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masterlist

For as long as you could remember, you never once hesitated in supporting Carlos, proudly doning his number on your back every race weekend. Family has always been one of the centrals in your life and being the youngest of four children, you’ve followed your siblings around for as long as you can remember, looking up at them with deep admiration despite your often bickering in your childhood.

You hoped to have Ana’s grace, Blanca’s intelligence and Carlos’ drive and in your efforts to adopt those traits, you’ve settled into following them around throughout your adolescents, attending the same university as Blanca did and always making time to attend your brother’s races. You’re his most frequent supporter and the most willing to jump from plane to plane with him, oftentimes with a book open as you studied for a test or did your homework, doning the shirt of whichever team he’s in.

You’re already known around the paddock, either in the Ferrari motorhome, following Carlos throughout his media duties or just walking around by yourself. But Max didn’t know you. He’s familiar with most of the other drivers’ girlfriends, having met them once or twice around the paddock or during the FIA Award Giving ceremony at the end of the season and so when he didn't recognize you, he easily assumed that you’re a fan who somehow found a way to smuggle in.

The makeshift terrace on top of the trailers is open only to drivers and staff and the higher up interviewers. Getting in requires a special access pass that can only be given if you’re either part of a team or a driver gave it, most times to family members and girlfriends. Not many people use it, everyone too busy with the hustle and bustle of everything downstairs that they barely take notice but it’s Max’s favorite place in every paddock, finding peace in the solitary and quiet.

But then there’s you. You wearing your Ferrari shirt, a frown on your face as two too thick books open before you, your hand fiddling with a pen and occasionally taking notes of whatever it is you're reading. Max felt invaded, his safe space suddenly not being safe as you tapped your pen against the table. “Excuse me,” he calls, voice a little too sharp than he meant it to be.

“Sí?” You asked as you looked up from your work, the sun blinding your eyes, causing you to light. Max thought there was something regal about you, something expensive and elegant and innocent and breakable. “Can I help you with something?”

You have an obvious accent, thick and lacing every word, making you pronounce every English word slowly as though you’re trying to make sure you say it right.

“I’m not sure you have access to be here,” he says though he no longer has the bite to his words, sounding as though he no longer minds your presence as her cleared his throat, meeting your eyes which turned out to be a big mistake. Your face may be the perfect picture of innocence but your eyes look both intelligent and warm and meeting them head on makes Max feel as though he's being studied - like you're looking straight into his soul. “Guests and fans are only allowed till there.” And then, like an idiot, he points at the crowded area of the paddock.

You lightly tilt your head to the side and Max never thought such a simple gesture could knock the breath out of his lungs but you’re so amazingly mesmerizing in his eyes with a golden light surrounding your figure that he isn't sure if it actually exist or just his minds playing tricks at him as he had the sudden urge to push back the strands of hair that escaped from behind your ear.

“I have a pass,” you tell him, voice soft of gentle, holding up the card hanging around your neck. “My brother told me I could study here. I have an exam on Monday, you see.”

At this point, Max doesn’t even care that you’ve seemingly appeared out of nowhere and taken advantage of his safe space. Only a blind man would complain as you offer him a small, friendly smile. “Oh. I’m sorry. I mistook you for a guest.”

Your smile widened a fraction of an inch, waving off his apology as you offered him your hand to shake. “I’m Y/N Sainz. In case you forget and mistake me for a fan again.”

As his hand envelop your much smaller ones, Max wanted to say that it’d be impossible to forget now that he knows you and had been on the receiving end of one of your smiles but he only gives you one of his in exchange – a shy awkward one because despite being a world champion, Max still struggles with talking with pretty ladies with pretty smiles – and offers you his own name.

“What are you studying for?” He asked eventually as he took the empty seat before you, a little desperate to keep you talking and know more about you.

He tried to understand your notes on the table but nearly all of it is written in Spanish and your books had far too many words that already had his mind spinning without him trying to attempt to read it.

“Just for school,” you say. “Would you like to help me?”

You grin this time and Max is enamored. Not a half smile or a polite, friendly one like the ones you’ve given him but rather a full smile as if you’ve been good friends your entire life. And with that smile on your face, you could have asked him to purposely lose his own race and he would have agreed.

And so that’s how Max Verstappen found himself spending the afternoon holding flashcards as he asked you questions and struggled to pronounce spanish words, your smiles as his reward whenever you correct him.

It would be the first of many, of course. Whenever he could, Max would spend his time with you. He made sure to make time every race weekend to just sit around or watch you study. It was no secret that from the very first time he met you, Max was completely taken away, barely able to find any other as attractive without comparing them to you only to come to the realization that you’re incomparable. The sight of the two of you laughing as you walked around the paddock became a usual. If no one could find Max, they know he’s probably with you and if your brother can't find you, you're probably with him, either Max is following you around or helping you study for another test but either way, he's is happy to have your attention no matter what you’re doing.

It isn’t until the third week, however, that he finally asks you out. After days and weeks of pining and following you around like a lost puppy, surprisingly, it’s Carlos the first to call him out. Max had been under the impression that the Ferrari driver isn’t particularly fond of him, always with a frown on his face whenever he catches sight of the two of you, not knowing him enough to know that’s just his face.

“What are your plans with my sister?” Carlos was direct to the point as he approached Max before the drivers’ parade – perhaps not the best time or place with all of the cameras around but Carlos seems uncaring.

Max practically chokes on his own saliva at Carlos’ sudden interrogation. He never found the Spaniard to be intimidating before but he definitely did now especially considering that Carlos is a few years older. Eventually, Max manages to control his own breathing, swallowing down a whole can of red bull in one go as a way to calm himself and to stall as he thought of a suitable answer, wondering how red his face must look.

“I really like her,” he says finally deciding that it's best to go with the truth, his voice firm and not at all reflecting the sudden nervousness he’s feeling. He isn't actually hiding his affections for you. “I’d love to be more than friends but she’s way out of my league.”

Carlos hummed in agreement at that and then a sudden, friendly smile appeared on his face, the change of moods giving Max a whiplash. “You’re right, she is too pretty for you but I give permission to ask her out.”

Max tried to ignore the indirect insult. “I mean I wasn’t really asking for permission–”

“Mate, just accept it.” But Charles clapped his shoulder, perhaps a little too hard in an attempt to get him to shut up. Max hadn’t even realized that Charles is next to him, much less listening to their conversation.

Carlos is still smiling at him like they’re such close friends when he wrapped an arm around Max, leaning towards the dutch. “If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you’re never able to drive a car again. Understood, mate?”

Carlos’ tone does not at all reflect his threat, still sounding happy and cheerful as if only commenting about the weather rather than threatening to practically cut off Max’s legs. Before he can do anything else other than nod though, both Ferrari drivers were walking away as if nothing happened, their backs turned on Max and hence Max wasn't able to see the matching grins on their faces, the plan they came up with to intimidate the young dutch having been successful.

Your relationship with Max flowed smoothly since then with him finally asking you out and you very enthusiastically agreeing. Unsurprisingly, your date went wonderfully, you going home with the biggest smile on your face after the two of you spent the night never running out of anything to talk about. You left him with a soft kiss on his cheek, your second date already planned.

For the first few weeks, the two of you decided to keep your relationship a secret with only your friends and family knowing. Of course there were speculations especially after the summer break where Max was found in Madrid multiple times with your family.

You know that Max was waiting for you to be ready, having already opened up that he’d love to go public and be able to post you and hug you after every race but you’ve always been apologetic as you explain your fears to him to which Max patiently listened.

He’s never pressured you into anything but after the summer holidays where you met each other’s families, you felt secure enough in yourself and your relationship that you finally felt ready to take on that next step.

Despite getting the fastest lap in qualifying in Spa, Max would be starting at the back of the grid due to an engine penalty and you decided what best way to confirm your relationship to the public than now.

On Sunday, you entered the paddock hand in hand with Max not in your usual red that people are so used to seeing in but rather a dark blue red bull shirt proudly displaying Max’s name and number. He could barely keep his hand to himself as the two of you make your way to the Red Bull motorhome, a grin much too big for someone starting p15 painting his face as his arm wrapped around your waist.

“You look breathtaking,” he told you throughout the entire day, eliciting a laugh out of you each time.

“Focus on your race, Amor,” you’d say, your arms wrapping around his neck as your lips meet his.

“I’m going to win,” Max told you smugly, pulling you flush against his chest. “I'm going to win this race for you.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn half heartedly, but nevertheless pulled him closer towards you.

“Y/N!” Called a sudden voice behind you, making you and Max turn to see your brother marching towards you with a dramatic shock face. “What did you do?”

You let go of Max, playfully rolling your eyes at your brother’s theatrics. “I’m supporting my boyfriend, Carlos.”

That seems to be the wrong answer as your older brother shook his head repeatedly, lightly touching your shirt before immediately letting it go as though the material burned him. “No, no, no. La familia es lo primero!” Family comes first.

“¡Es sólo por hoy!” You reason. “Deja de ser tan dramático, Carlos.” It’s only for today!...Stop being so dramatic, Carlos.

“Ay!” You brother complains, childishly covering his eyes as though the sight of you in a red bull shirt physically hurt him. “I can’t believe this, Y/N! Me has traicionado. Veinticuatro años de tu vida, he estado contigo y me traicionas tan fácilmente.” You betrayed me…Twenty four years of your life, I've been with you and you betray me so easily.

“What is he saying?” Your boyfriend asks, Max’s arms once again wrapping around your waist.

“Verstappen, you stole my sister from me!” Your brother exclaimed, pointing an accusing hand at Max.

“He’s being dramatic.” You roll your eyes again as you answer Max’s previous question. You face your brother again, “¡Carlos, contrólate! Es sólo una camiseta y seguiré animándote.“ Carlos, get a grip! It’s just a shirt and I’ll still be cheering for you.

But Carlos continues shaking his head as though he’s in emotional pain. “No, no, Y/N. I will never forget this. You are a traitor to the family.”

Sighing, you couldn’t help but facepalm. And to think it’s all because of a shirt.

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#carlos sainz #carlos sainz fluff #max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen angst #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagine #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader

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quixoticall · 3 months

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This Could Get Ugly Track 2: The Beginning

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

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

warnings: Heavy drug use, era-normalized!misogyny, everyone is a dick, Mention of French people, angst, fake relationships, partial interview style, no use of y/n

WC: 12K

MASTERLIST🎸

PLAY PREVIOUS TRACK 🎤

NANCY: Eddie was... not what we expected.

ROBIN: Eddie Munson looked like he’d been through some shit.

I’m not talking about the fact that he was covered in tattoos and never got a haircut. It was more that he just always looked sad and tired and kinda strung out.

NANCY: He looked a bit out of place with the rest of us.

ROBIN: He did not fit in one bit. I mean to be fair, we were a bit of a hodgepodge anyway but Eddie took the cake.

He was pure metal, the kind of guy who should’ve been in like Iron Maiden, not a synth band! So, we were kinda confused as to why Starcourt thought it would be a good idea to bring him on board.

And then we heard him play.

NANCY: Eddie was the best guitar player we ever had and the best songwriter up until that point, too. Don’t tell Jonathan or Steve I said that, though.

ROBIN: Yeah, he was better than Steve and I would say that to Steve’s face. In fact, I did say that to Steve’s face when we first heard Eddie play.

He was not happy about that. Actually, he wasn’t happy at all when Eddie first joined.

NANCY: It didn’t take very long for us to figure out that he was only there to fulfill a contract. I mean, it wasn’t like he was the most enthusiastic to be there but he wasn’t rude or hard to work with, he just treated it like any other job. He would be polite, but not overly friendly, do his thing in the booth, and then go sit and read until we needed him again.

Steve’s ego was still a bit tender after what had happened between him and me. I think seeing Starcourt bringing in this amazingly talented guitar player did him in a little. He was always used to being the best at what he did and suddenly that was no longer true. On top of that, Eddie just didn’t care and that made it worse in Steve’s eyes. They would butt heads all the time while we were recording our self-titled album. Things were a bit tense at the beginning, but we sounded better with Eddie there, much to Steve’s chagrin.

ROBIN: If you ask me, they hated how similar they were and that’s why they didn’t get along or maybe Steve was jealous of how little Eddie had to try to be good. Either way, those few first months after Eddie joined were almost as intense as the weeks following Jancygate. Don’t get me wrong, we always sounded great but there was no cohesion. We were trying to record our first full-length album but nothing ever came out sounding right, it was driving everyone crazy.

NANCY: When you’re first starting out in the industry, you don’t really have much of a say. You do what you’re told, you go to the meetings you're scheduled, and you add whatever member they throw at you. So, when Starcourt set up a lunch meeting with one of their producers about adding someone else to the band, we had no choice but to go.

May 26, 1983: The Bull and Bush

“Tell me again who this meeting is with?” You ask Murray from across the suspiciously long table.

When he had called you earlier in the week to set up lunch, he had been uncharacteristically cryptic about who the lunch was with and only told you it was with, “A few folks over at Starcourt,” he parroted again between bites of a bread roll. You stare him down silently over the rim of your martini glass and he gives, a little.

“I think I found you a way out of all these duets and possibly a chance to write music.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Yes, that all seemed great but with Starcourt things were rarely what they seemed.

“By the looks of this table for 10, I’m starting to think that maybe you’re trying to recruit me to the company softball team, Murray.”

“Not today, sweetheart, but don’t worry, the Comets will get you eventually.”

Your second drink is interrupted by a tall, imposing man approaching the table. He has thick eyebrows that naturally knit together and a thicker mustache that rests straight along his mouth. You vaguely recognized him as an exec from the record label but his casual flowered button-down and white linen trousers make you doubt your memory.

“This is Hopper. Jim Hopper,” Murray says to you in a sweeping introduction, “he manages some bands at Starcourt.”

You can feel your face twist in confusion before you quickly temper your features and rise to introduce yourself.

Hopper takes your small hand in his comically large one and shakes it hard before sitting down next to Murray.

You watch as your new lunch companion flags down a server to order a double scotch, your mind buzzing to put the pieces together. What the hell was going on?

Hopper and Murray turn to you in tandem, reminding you of parents on sitcom TV.

Murray starts keeping his voice low, “The label thinks that you make the most money when you’re singing with others and causing some buzz. Since you made it very clear that duets are no longer an option for you, we came up with another solution.”

“I manage a band,” Hopper says then, “they’re talented but they’re newer and still trying to figure out their image and sound. We think you would be a good addition.”

This last part comes slowly, as your lunch companions try to gauge your reaction. “You want me to join a band?” You repeat, stunned. “Why?”

“As I said, they need help establishing a brand, a reputation, and that’s something that you have plenty of—“ Murray snorts “— plus, they need a solid songwriter and Murray tells me that’s you.”

Your eyes volley between the two men in front of you, trying to figure out what the catch is. There’s always a catch.

It’s like they can sense what you’re thinking because they lock eyes, and Murray sighs, “And it just so happens that they have a very handsome male lead singer and maybe part of the deal would include a bit of a front-facing, romantic narrative that would entice the public to buy your albums and go to your shows.”

“You want me to pretend to be in a relationship with some guy in a band so people buy our music? That’s your great plan?

“I’ve proved myself, Murray. I’ve done everything that’s been asked of me. I sang your stupid duets and recorded that vapid EP. Are you just going to string me along forever, asking me to do stupider and stupider stunts?”

You stand and swing your arm back to grab the purse hanging from your chair. The two men mirror your movement and suddenly it feels like you’re in a stand-off.

“It’s not stupid,” Hopper says, matter-of-factly, “and we do believe in your talent, but it’s not just about talent anymore, it’s about image and it’s about what sells. Scandal sells. Look, you’re a talented kid, everyone knows that. But, talent isn’t what sells anymore. People want something to gossip about and you’ve already given them that.

“This is not some hair-brain scheme Murray and I cooked up in the fucking restroom between lines. This is years of marketing research and scouting to get the perfect combination of talent. You should consider yourself lucky that Starcourt— that Brenner, personally— picked you out of thousands to execute his little pet experiment.

“They’re going to talk about you anyway, why not have a little control over what they say? It beats them calling you a slut, doesn’t it?”

You glare at Hopper as he’s towering over you.

“Listen kiddo,” purrs Murray, sliding into a different approach, “we’re not asking you to marry the guy. Just, have lunch with them and maybe we get you featured on their first LP, do them a favor like The Letterman’s did for you when you were just getting started, huh?

“Plus, the guy’s handsome, like total frontman full-package, so, who knows, maybe he’s your type and you won’t have to pretend!”

Murray guffaws at this like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

“Fine,” you say, your mouth pitching down in a scowl, before haughtily dropping back into your chair. They follow suit.

“One lunch, but you—“ your finger waves at Murray “—are gonna get me on the list for a cottage at the Mormont and you—“ you pivot to point at Hopper “—are getting me a French 75.”

“Please,” you add after a beat.

The two men exchange a look and Hopper rolls his eyes and stands.

“Was gonna get me another scotch anyway,” he grumbles before ambling over to the bar.

While Hopper is at the bar, Murray fills you in with as many details as possible: the band’s name (“The Downsides”), the lead singer’s name (“Steve Something”), and the rest of the band members’ names (“Johnny, Natalie, Robin, Ed... maybe?...and Argyle, no wait, that’s not a name”).

As if on cue, just as Hopper approaches the table from one side, a motley bunch of individuals, that you know have to be The Downsides, file into the restaurant. Hopper waves at them and they walk over, in a single line, all following their big-haired leader.

“These misfit toys are the band?” you snark to no one in particular and Murray shoots you a warning glare before waving at them with feigned enthusiasm.

Hopper reaches the table before they do and hands you your drink while announcing your name to the band.

You smile in a practiced, charming way.

“Hi, you must be Steve,” you say rising to greet the tall, slender man with a mane of wild hair. Admittedly, he is much more hard-edged than you had imagined, decked out in leather and hardware with thick, silver rings adorning his fingers. Maybe this is what Hopper meant when he said the band needed help with their image--this guy was far too metal to ever break it into the mainstream.

He burst into laughs and then bumps his fist into the shoulder of the guy standing next to him, another long-haired man whose eyes were rimmed red.

“Did you hear that, she thought I was Harrington! Buckley, come here, she thought I was Harrington!”

Your face flushes in embarrassment and you wince. So, that was not Steve.

“Hi, I’m Nancy Wheeler,” a voice says softly at your side. You turn and find yourself facing a pretty, doe-eyed girl probably around your age. The gentleness in her voice lets you know that she had witnessed your embarrassment at the hands of Not!Steve and she was trying to smooth things over, and make a good impression.

After Nancy, you shake hands with the bouncy, sometimes-bass-sometimes-brass-sometimes-synth player Robin Buckley and the shy-bordering-on-morose guitarist Jonathan Byers. The spaced-out drummer with the long locks is Argyle and Not!Steve’s name is actually Eddie Munson, which you learn only from Robin and Nancy as he doesn't bother to introduce himself. He looks vaguely familiar, but then again, everyone at Starcourt does.

He catches you staring at him and shoots you a mocking wink. You want to scowl back, maybe even flip him off but you are too aware of how that moment, snapped by a paparazzi and sold to a gossip rag, could impact your already- precarious public image. So, instead, you raise a glass in response.

“Where the hell is Harrington?” Hopper barks at the group once they had settled. “He needed to park the car,” explains Jonathan.

“Park? Why would he need to do that?” You ask, “this place has a valet.”

An awkward silence blanketed the group as they all looked at you and then exchanged amongst themselves. You were under the impression you had just said something wrong and you weren’t sure what.

Before you have the chance to smooth things over, the group is interrupted.

“Sorry, I’m late everyone, parking here is terrible.”

Oh, so that’s what Murray meant by ‘full frontman package’.

Steve Harrington was tall and leanly muscular with a face as sharp and bright as a jewel and hair graceful and tousled.

His eyes land on yours and your shoulders straighten with a jolt.

“Hi,” he breathes, “I’m Steve. Uh, Harrington.”

“Hi,” you all but sigh back, an unfamiliar warmth moving up your cheeks.

***

ROBIN: Steve “Loverboy” Harrington. He used to fall in love like three times a week back in the day. Everyone at the table could tell he was immediately smitten with her though. I mean who could blame him? She was like distractingly gorgeous. I’m pretty sure I spilled soup in my lap from staring at her. More than once. Steve spent most of the lunch making eyes at her and the crazy part was, I think she was into him! Honestly, I thought he was getting ready to propose. Until Hopper told us all why he’d really brought us there.

***

“What? No way, Hops, we’re not adding another person to the band. Plus, we already have a lead singer—me.” Steve’s whole demeanor changed once Hopper started talking shop—he had gone from smiling flirtatiously at you from across the table to huffing like a petulant child.

“It’s just a feature on one song, kid. If it goes well then we’ll revisit and if it doesn’t well, we better hope the rest of the album is pure gold because Brenner really wants this to go well,” Hopper tries to assuage.

“This is never gonna work,” Steve spits out, “she doesn’t match our sound at all. Or our vibe—we have, like, substance.”

The table goes standstill quiet upon hearing this. The only noise you hear is what you think is Robin kicking Steve under the table.

Steve turns to you after a beat and says, “No offense,” with a dismissive shrug.

***

NANCY: Steve has always had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth at the worst times. He didn’t mean to come off as an ass, I don’t think, it was probably his way of lashing out against all the change that was happening without our input. First Eddie, now this, he probably felt so out of control he—I think we all did. He still shouldn’t have said it though.

ROBIN: Stupid, stupid, stupid.

***

All eyes land on you, awaiting the imminent explosion.

It never comes.

Instead, you school your features into a neutrally pleasant expression—you never know where there’ll be a camera after all—and respond sweetly, “None taken. You’re right to not want me on your track. After all, I've only had like, 6 Top 10 Singles in the last year which is nothing compared to your…wait how many have you had, again?”

Steve’s face falls as Murray chortles from the other end of the table.

***

NANCY: It wasn’t the nicest way to put it but it wasn’t like she had been unprovoked. Steve needed a reality check.

ROBIN: I mean, she had a point. She was doing us a favor by recording the track with us. Dingus just needed to get over himself.

The rest of the lunch was super awkward, in case you were wondering. She was still nice to the rest of us, but she barely acknowledged Steve, or Eddie for the matter.

If you would’ve told me then what would eventually become of those three—ha!—I would’ve said you were insane.

STEVE: Yeah, I know I had fucked up. Like, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I don’t know why I did it, I think I felt threatened or something. Listen, I think about what happened all the time and there isn’t one singular moment that we can pinpoint where everything went south, really, we all made mistakes, a lot of them. But sometimes, I can’t help thinking to myself that if I had just handled that day at the restaurant better, our whole lives would’ve been different. Or… who knows? Maybe not, maybe we were always meant to end as bad as we did.

***

June 7th, 1983–Los Angeles, California

A few days after your lunch with the Downsides, you see your own face peaking at you from the cover of a Subrosa magazine on a grocery store newsstand.

You glance around before surreptitiously crouching down for a closer look.

It was a grainy picture of you and Steve, sitting across from one another at lunch, clearly in conversation. The picture had been taken from outside the restaurant and framed in such a way that it looked like it was only the two of you dining together. You can tell by the looks on your faces that it was before everything had blown up—the two of you looked like you were enjoying yourselves.

Sultry Songstress Sees Upside with the Downsides’ Flirty Frontman reads across the top of the page, and you gag. They sure do love their alliteration over at the Sub.

You briefly wonder to yourself what Steve and the others will think of this once they see it. Shrugging that thought off, you toss the magazine into your cart.

***

You actually find out pretty quickly what Steve and the others think about the cover later that evening when you receive a call from an unknown number.

“Hi, it’s Robin,” you hear from the other line as soon as you pick up.

“Hi Ro—”

“Robin Buckley, from the Downsides? I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at lunch the other day when my friend made a huge ass of himself and— ow, Steve that hurt, God.”

Sounds of some sort of physical struggle echo through the telephone line until you decide to interrupt.

“Hi Robin, of course I remember you and your ass of a friend, what can I do for the two of you? Also, how did you get my number?”

You’re more curious than bothered when you ask the latter question.

“Four.”

“Pardon?”

“Four. There are four of us. See, you asked what you could do for the two of us but it’s not just me and Steve. Nancy and Argyle are here too—” At this point, you hear a faint ‘hello’ and ‘what’s up’ from the background—"For the sake of full disclosure I felt that I should mention that. Jonathan is visiting his family in Lenora Hills, otherwise, I’m sure he’d be here too. Oh, and to answer your question I got your number from Murray.”

“Uh-huh.”

You glance at your wristwatch; there’s a party in the Hills that you were planning on going to and you were going to have to leave soon if you didn’t want to be stuck in traffic all night.

As if she had read your mind, you hear some shuffling on the line before Nancy decidedly takes over the conversation with a much more serious tone.

“Hi, sorry to bother you this late but we wanted to ask if perhaps you had seen the latest issue of Subrosa? It seems like you and Steve are on the cover.”

Exhaling a laugh, you answer, “Yes, actually, saw it at the grocery store today, sorry you guys didn’t make the front page, I’m sure you’ll get them next time.”

“What? No, I mean, have you read the article? They’re printing lies about you both,” Nancy stutters out, indignantly.

“They’re saying that you and Steve had a private lunch and that he’s been seen sneaking out of the Hotel Mormont for weeks and that you might be pregnant? They’re even alluding to a fight breaking out between him and Jason Carver of all people.”

This causes you to fully chortle.

“I wish, that guy deserves a few punches to the face. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though, everything they say about me is a lie.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t they supposed to have some journalistic integrity? Don’t they get in trouble for printing lies like this? Have you tried to contact their editors about this?”

The confusion you feel about this conversation is outweighed by how weirdly touched you feel that these girls who had only met you once seem so offended on your behalf.

“No, I mean, it’s a gossip rag, not like The New York Times or anything,” you placate, “and after all the terrible things they’ve said about in the past, I’m kinda just glad they got a half-decent picture of me. I appreciate you all calling about it though.”

And then, after a beat, you address the band’s lead singer, who has been oddly quiet throughout the whole exchange.

“I hope being pictured with me didn’t sully your reputation, Flirty Frontman.”

Really, you didn’t care if Steve was bothered by the whole thing, you just hoped that he wasn’t making his bandmates call you on his behalf. You didn’t know what to make of the guy quite yet. On one hand, he was completely sweet to you most of the lunch, he spent the meal asking you questions about yourself and refilling your drink without you having to ask. But the tantrum he had thrown reminded you a little too much of the dangerously self-absorbed musicians that had grown sick of these last few years.

“Me? No, I’m fine. Did you see how great my hair looked?”

You laugh silently at his answer. His hair did look great in the photo, but you were not about to give him the satisfaction of letting him hear that from you.

He continues, “Plus, they never really said anything terrible about me. They’re like, totally after you which is why Nance and Rob have been so worried, I guess. Are you good?”

His question comes out more hushed than everything else he’s said, and you are once again reminded of the earnest smiles you exchanged across the table a few days ago.

“I’m fine, Harrington, this is a regular Tuesday for me.”

With that, you bid goodbye to the band, citing your lateness, but not before expressing a very sincere thanks for their naïve concern.

The unexpected phone call makes you hit traffic, as you had predicted. You spend nearly an hour and a half in the back of a cab, the whole time, you can’t stop replaying the conversation you just had in your head.

Maybe there was more to the Downsides than met the eye?

***

This theory is proven, in part, after Hopper sends you a demo recording of some of their songs the following week.

The Downsides, you quickly find out, are good, like very good. Their music is like nothing you’d ever heard before: experimental and fun but polished and very technically sound. Steve’s vocals are annoyingly impressive—his growly timbre grounding the lighter sound and keeping it from sounding too saccharine. You can see them dominating the charts and blowing The Letterman’s and every other one-trick band out of the water.

The track they wanted you to jump on was part of the demos Hopper had sent out. It was called “Feel It”, a romantic song, tinged with melancholy but paired with an upbeat synth sound.

You had been sent a copy of the lyrics that included a cue for you to come in.

You practiced your part for days, agonizing over how you wanted to deliver the lyrics, and eventually, you came up with exactly what you wanted to do after making some minor adjustments.

You were actually excited to record the song until you remembered that you would have to come face-to-face with the band’s two asshole guitarists again.

On the day of the recording, you tried your best to be early, but you had been up tossing all night which caused you to oversleep then you lost your keys, and you were moving at the time, so your things were all over the place. You also had to turn around and come back when you realized you had forgotten the gift basket of cookies you were planning on bringing for the band—something left over from a package Charles Riva's team sent you as an apology for him blowing you off. All in all, you were about thirty minutes late.

You pulled into the Starcourt parking lot a harried mess and as you rounded the corner into the studio, you could hear the booming voice of Eddie Munson.

“She’s probably stuck circling the parking lot trying to find some working-class sucker to park her car. Harrington, why don’t you go check out there? Maybe you’ll get papped again and get another 5 minutes of fame.”

You hear Steve respond and while you can’t make out the words, you can tell he’s annoyed, embarrassed, or possibly both.

You can see the faces of every other band member fall like dominos as they each caught sight of you rounding the corner to stand directly behind Eddie.

Eddie though doesn’t seem to pick up on what’s clearly written on all their faces and persists through his tirade, “She’s only coming for the photo opp anyway—she doesn’t care about any of this.”

It’s Argyle who finds his voice first, “Eddie, man, isn’t that her?”

Eddie whips around and with comically wide eyes, looks down at you, grimacing.

You consider telling the guy off but decide against it.

If there is one thing you have learned these years it’s that while the male artists can throw fits, yell, scream, and even damage equipment without anyone as much as blinking an eye, one emotional misstep from you and you would be branded a diva. They would say you were difficult, rude, and find any excuse to toss you aside like they had so many women before you and you refused to let them have that satisfaction.

So, instead, you smile at the band, eyes lingering on Eddie for just a moment longer than on anybody else, to let him know that you had heard him, and then say brightly, “Sorry I’m late everybody. I brought some cookies.”

***

EDDIE: Yeah, it was a dick thing to say, and I regretted it immediately and not just because she brought us cookies.

I wasn’t—that wasn’t me.

I was just so angry about everything that I had lost, and I didn’t know where to put it all and then she shows up: this rich, spoiled girl who just seemed to float through life without a single fucking care or struggle, and suddenly I had an easy target.

I felt bad about it until she changed my fucking lyrics.

***

Unlike their guitarists, most of the band seemed pleased to see you and you spent a few minutes greeting everyone and handing around cookies while Eddie and Steve kept their respective distances—Eddie, sulking in a corner and Steve doing a poor job at pretending to tune his guitar.

“Okay kids let’s give the voices some space to do their thing,” Hopper says waving them through the door sounding more like a disgruntled parent than a manager.

In the end, it’s just you, Steve, Murray, and the sound booth tech. The latter two are busy prepping the sound and mic, leaving you and Steve standing in the back.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize about what I said the other day at lunch,” he leans in close to your ear, his eyes transfixed on his shoes.

“I didn’t mean it—not really. I guess I was just lashing out because, well, they keep changing things about the band without even talking to us. First, they made us go pop, then they made me give up lead guitar to Eddie because his previous band didn’t want him anymore, and then it seemed like they wanted to replace me with you and like, it’s not that I wouldn’t want you it’s just that—well they never even asked what we wanted, you know? I was frustrated about that, and I took it out on you and I’m sorry about that.”

You watch him as he digs the toe of his sneaker into the carpet, eyes downcast, clearly waiting for you to respond. You’re too busy contemplating his words, however, because an apology was the last thing you were expecting from him, much less such a sincere one.

Out of all the difficult men you had dealt with in your life—producers, musicians, lawyers, managers, former flings, hell, even your own father—you had never received an apology from any of them regardless of how poorly they’d treated you.

Steve’s eyes finally trail up to meet yours, searching your face for signs that he didn’t say the wrong thing yet again.

Seeing no trace of dishonesty on Steve’s face, you decide to trust the apology for what it is and nod in acceptance.

“I get it,” you say, and truly, you did, “I’ve had most of my career decisions made for me, and a lot of times, they weren’t really what I wanted. It makes the whole thing feel kind of…empty, doesn’t it?”

His face floods with relief as he nods along in understanding.

“Yeah, like does success matter if we can’t do things our way? Me and Rob, we’ve been best friends since we were little and this has always been our dream and now that it may be coming true, it doesn’t feel like we imagined. I guess that’s kinda stupid though, expecting things to be like you imagined them as a kid,” he laughs at himself nervously.

“No, it’s not,” you counter, “that’s not stupid at all.”

You understand Steve’s disillusionment completely because it mirrors your own.

“Listen, I get how you feel, trust me, but you got to keep going. You guys are good, and I think you could all be big one day and then it’ll be you who’s calling the shots and then you can kick me and Eddie to the curb,” you clearly say the last part in jest but that doesn’t stop the shame that rolls across Steve’s face.

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re really talented and we’re lucky that you’re doing us this favor. We’d be even luckier if we could get you to stick around. Munson I could give or take, though.”

His joke makes you laugh so loud that Murray turns around and glares.

***

Steve was sent into the booth first to record his final vocals for the song, leaving you to observe.

As they set Steve up, your eyes kept bouncing over to the newly appeared Eddie, trying to figure out what exactly he was doing there.

“I wrote the song,” Eddie explains, after catching your eye.

“Oh,” you say, not bothering enough to hide your surprise, “well, congratulations, it’s a good song.”

You catch him eyeing the plate of cookies at your side. You open your mouth to offer him a cookie, but the echo of his words rings fresh in your mind, so instead, you reach for one and make a big show of savoring it.

Steve records his part of the vocals in five takes. He appears a bit nervous at first but eases into his groove rather quickly.

As the audio engineer is setting up the booth for you, you feel your own nerves rise. You wanted this to go well. You wanted to impress Steve and Hopper and even Eddie.

They signal you into the booth and the first two times, you record the song exactly how it’s written. Then, on the third one, you switch up the final chorus.

The original lyrics were: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your hope bare next to mine/ and even if the world caves in, we’ll be fine

You changed the lyrics to: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your flaws bare next to mine/ because when the world caves in, I’ll leave you cryin’

The change was slight, you thought, but meaningful.

The original version—Eddie’s version—was too hopeful. It was a boring portrayal of lovers staying with each other through thick and thin.

Your change added some conflict and dimension to the narrative. You made it better.

“What the hell was that?” Eddie pushed past Murray to yell into the mic that fed into the booth.

You roll your eyes at him dramatically interrupting your take, “I was just trying something out.”

Hopper pulled Eddie back by the shoulder while Murray wrestled the mic from him.

“Woah, sweetheart, pump the breaks. That was good. Better than the original. Can we run that one more time but with your lyrics instead? Harrington, we’ll re-record some of your parts too.”

Hopper has to all but carry Eddie out the door after he hears that.

***

EDDIE: The thing that pissed me off the most was that her version of the song was better. I just didn’t want to admit it because I wrote that song about Chrissy, about how even though I was so scared I was going to fuck up our relationship, she understood that and was willing to work through that with me. Her version was much closer to what actually happened and that hit a little too close to home.

***

“Woah, what did you two do to Eddie?” Robin demands as soon as you and Steve are dismissed into the hallway. “Hopper pretty much had to drag him out in tears!”

You worry at your bottom lip, caught in the wondering eyes of the group. At the time, you felt like you were doing the right thing, but now you wonder if you had forgone the common courtesy of at least letting him know you had changed the song. You didn’t want to come across as unprofessional as he accused you of being.

“I should probably go talk to him,” you say in response.

“Geez, Robin. Was the third degree really necessary there? This is just like last week’s DMV visit all over again,” Steve chastises as they all watch you walk away.

***

You find Eddie in the smoking area, cigarette in hand. “Hey, listen can we talk—"

Eddie turns dangerously to face you, cutting you off.

“You know what your fucking problem is? No one’s ever said no to you so you think you can do whatever the hell you want and that everyone else just rolls over and gives it to you because you’re so pretty and charming and rich.

“Well, you may have the rest of those assholes fooled but I see right through you, okay?”

Your eyes narrowed in response before you snap back.

"First of all, you don't know anything about me, so stop pretending that you do. I have worked hard to be here, just like the rest of you, and as far as this song goes, my name is going to be attached to it too, so I have just as much of a right to give input as you or Steve. It was wrong that I didn't say anything to you beforehand, sure, and I apologize for that, but let's not pretend that you've been the epitome of professionalism here either because you've been an ass to me since we've met, and I don't know why but I won't stand for it again. Fuck you, Eddie Munson,” you spit out before turning on your heel and stomping away.

***

EDDIE: That was hot, not gonna lie.

***

“Are you really going to let some mangy metalhead from Bumfuck, Nowhere keep you from finally doing what you want?” Murray asks exasperatedly when you call him to complain about the exchange later that night.

“Listen, I’ve recorded a lot of songs in that studio, some of them great, most of them mediocre, but today blew all of them out of the water. The band’s never sounded better and neither have you, frankly. If you gave up the chance to finally write your own songs and sound this good while doing it, that would be flat-out idiotic. You know that, right?”

The line goes still.

“Yes,” you finally say.

“Great, now that that’s settled, why don’t you get some rest, huh? Ruining Muson’s day must have tired you right out.”

You exhale a laugh before saying goodbye.

Although you would never say it to his face, you were grateful for Murray. It was nice having someone looking out for you.

***

MURRAY: Brenner loved the track. After that, we had a very short time to make a lot of big things happen. The Downside’s debut album was already 70% recorded, but now that we had a whole other person on vocals, we had to scrap a good portion of the work they had already done and rerecord with our new vocalist. We couldn’t even celebrate our victory because we were just getting started.

Those poor kids had no clue what was coming.

***

When your phone rings a few mornings later, you suspect it’s Murray again with an update on the song, and while you’re right about the message, you’re wrong about the messenger.

“Hi, it’s Steve, uh, Harrington. Obviously,” you hear a familiar voice crackle over the line.

“Oh? And to what do I owe the honor Mr. Obviously?” you respond.

“Oh, very funny. Listen, I wanted to call and let you know that we just heard from Hopper that Brenner and his guys liked our song, and they want us to continue, you know… recording together and stuff. So, yeah, would that be something you’re interested in… being a part of, you know, the band?” his voice wavers a bit as he asks.

“Is that even a choice?” you fire back, “I was under the impression that once Brenner gave the go-ahead, it was pretty much a done deal.”

He clears his throat in response, “I think you deserve to have a choice. I talked to the rest of the band, and they agree and if you don’t want in, we’ll back you… even if that means breaking our Starcourt contract.”

The line goes silent as you contemplate the gravity of what Steve has just said. The Downsides would be willing to put their own career at risk just to assure you the luxury of choice.

The answer was easy after that.

“I’m in,” you say after a few moments of terse silence. “I want to be a part of the band.”

You can all but see Steve pumping his fist on the other side of the line.

“That’s great! That’s great news. I’m glad my asshole tendencies didn’t put you off,” he laughs, relieved.

“I mean, it was a tough sell,” you tease back, “but I think we can be good together. The band, I mean.”

You wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing when his joyous peals of laughter stop suddenly at your words.

“Actually, um, about that,” he begins, once again nervously, “I’m really grateful that you’re giving us—the band—a chance and that you were nice enough to record the single with us in the first place. And, I mean, I know I’m already pushing my luck with the universe and you but maybe—uh, maybe today it’s my turn to be the luckiest guy in the world? Who knows?”

You have absolutely no clue what he’s getting at, and you let him know as much.

“Right, hm, I was wondering if I could take you out, on a date, to celebrate us becoming a band but also like, you know, a date. I know I made a total ass of myself, but I really like you, and I think you're gorgeous and talented and smart. I know I may not deserve another shot, but I would love it if you gave me one.”

You’re at a loss for words. First, you’re not even sure if you want to trust Steve fully, not quite yet. Sure, he apologized, but a part of you wonders if he only did it to get on your good side once he had seen how your pre-established infamy could serve him after that Subrosa article ran. Murray mentioned how radio runtime for the few EP songs The Downsides had in the rotation tripled since the publication. It definitely wouldn’t have been the first time you were being used like this.

Even if you could find it in yourself to look past that (and who knows, maybe you could?) there was still the matter of what Murray and Hopper had so delicately mentioned that day at lunch.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I don’t think that would be very professional. Especially on account of our… front-facing, romantic narrative.”

“Our what?”

***

MURRAY: I thought that Hopper had gotten his team on the same page about the more personal aspects of the band’s arrangement, but apparently, I was wrong. None of them had any clue what was going on and the thing about running a ruse is that people that are in on it kind of have to know that they’re in on it.

A few days before we began re-recording, the girl called me all in a tizzy because she accidentally spilled the beans, not knowing that Harrington had no clue at all about the plan.

I then call Hopper; it turns into this whole thing. We had to arrange an emergency meeting with the two of them and the entire legal team.

A bit slow on the uptake, that Harrington kid, but he got there. Eventually.

He was harder to convince than the girl, though. At least she didn’t have a problem with lying to the public. But Harrington was all about that Midwestern “integrity” and “letting the music speak for itself”. Hop eventually had to spell it out real simple for him: either they do this, or the entire band was cooked.

STEVE: I guess after like 15 years the ruse is finally up, huh? Yeah, the relationship was fake. Or, at least, it started out that way. Listen, it was complicated and we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

But, if you’re asking about what I was thinking when they finally told me their plan, well, I wasn’t happy or on board at all. It felt like we had already given up so much of ourselves for this—like, where do you draw the line, you know?

But then Hopper reminded me that it wasn’t all about me: Nancy had dropped out of college to be in the band, Jonathan…he had his sick little brother to take care of, and even Munson was going to be in trouble if he didn’t fulfill his contract with Starcourt.

It was selfish to say no, in my opinion. And really, what was I losing? I got to make music for a living and parade around, pretending to date a total hottie while doing it. I mean, the only way it could’ve gotten better was if the relationship had been real.

***

After what feels like days—but is most likely hours—with the Starcourt legal team, you and Steve are finally released with a very long grocery list of instructions that include a minimum number of required public appearances; a very specific list of acceptable PDA; and interestingly, enough, a sample NDA in case either of you wanted to “be involved” with anyone on the side.

“Nothing says romance like NDA, right?” you weakly joke in an attempt to break the ice.

“How are you so okay with this?” Steve shoots back, seemingly stunned.

“Well, it’s not like this is my first rodeo, or my fourth, or my sixth.”

And before he can question further, you tell him everything, starting with Jason fucking Carver.

***

STEVE: I couldn’t believe it. They had been forcing her to pretend to be involved with all these guys for years. It was super fucked up, but she stuck with it. That’s how much she wanted it. How could I possibly let her down after that? Especially with my own selfish, dumb feelings? She was right, we needed to keep it professional, no matter how hard that was going to be for me.

***

JONATHAN: Jonathan Byers, bassist and guitarist for the Downsides. never wanted to be famous, I just wanted to play music and make enough money to support my family. I could do all of that and more with The Downsides.

I felt like the luckiest guy in the world then. We were finally starting to see some stability as a band and even though things weren’t exactly as we expected, things were good. I mean we were making music we loved with people we liked—back when we all still liked each other.

***

October 1983—Los Angeles, California

As the studio had predicted, the band’s single was a total hit, as were you and Steve in the press. The gamble Starcourt was starting to pay off.

Everyone was more relieved than happy about that news.

What followed was a few grueling weeks of rerecording the band’s nearly completed album while also strategically traipsing arm-in-arm with Steve around every romantic spot in Hollywood trying to bait the paparazzi.

Things had finally slowed down a bit since the album was in post-production, but Starcourt still had you on a tight schedule. You had transitioned into rehearsing for the band’s upcoming tour. That’s how certain Startcourt was that the Downsides were going to be a success—you were rehearsing for a tour that hadn’t even been announced yet for an album that hadn’t even been released.

You try not to think about what it would mean if the band didn’t meet the label’s expectations. Instead, you focus on figuring out how to adapt to the band you’re now a part of.

The obvious lack of familiarity between all of you was not as pronounced when you were re-recording in the studio, now that you’re all rehearsing together, it is impossible to ignore. The original members of the band share a bond that keeps them incredibly in sync, oftentimes leaving you and Eddie struggling both on and off the stage. You’ve been working to adapt though, and you’ve made progress, sometimes you’re even close to feeling like the band has accepted you as one of their own. But then something will happen that will leave you feeling like an outsider once more.

***

The last thing a hungover you needs to see at seven in the morning is a Subrosa article questioning your moral character and calling you a man-eater. The universe—in the form of one Nancy Wheeler—has a different idea.

“Have you seen this?” the keyboardist asks, indignation coloring her tone, as she slings the offending publication across your lap.

You hadn’t seen it, in fact, but one look at the grainy picture of you and Steve and you can assume what the article says.

You sigh tiredly in response, “Honestly Nancy, you shouldn’t pay attention to this shit. I don’t know why you let it bother you so much.”

“It’s just so unfair that they’re singing Steve’s praises and are still dragging you through the mud, even though you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Exactly, there’s no winning with them, not for me. So why don’t we just say fuck them and do whatever we want?” You find it in yourself to waggle your eyebrows playfully at her earning a giggle from the otherwise serious girl.

You catch Eddie watching your exchange from across the large warehouse that is serving as the band’s rehearsal space with a curious amount of interest.

The two of you have barely spoken since your row outside of Starcourt. It’s not like you’re missing out on much though, since Eddie barely interacts with the band beyond rehearsal which makes his apparent engagement with your conversation unusual. Eddie, realizing he’s been caught staring, opens his mouth to say something but is quickly interrupted by a very late Steve and Robin.

“Hey, have you seen the latest issue of Subrosa?” Steve asks, harried and out of breath.

You try not to think about the fact that this is the third time this week that the two of them have shown up together and late.

“Yes, we were just talking about it, which you would’ve known if the two of you were on time for once,” Nancy jabs back with no real heat, just the annoyance of an older sister chastising her siblings.

“Hey, don’t blame me, Robin wanted to—” he stops short as soon as his eyes land on you and coughs awkwardly.

“I wanted to stop by the post office,” Robin rushes to say. “It’s Bastille Day and I needed to send a card to my French pen pal, Celine in honor of the occasion.”

“Isn’t Bastille Day in July?” You ask Robin.

She flushes scarlet. “Right, exactly, that’s why this is so important, my card was already like three months late. You know how French people are about punctuality.”

She then exchanges a meaningful glance with Steve and Nancy who seem to be having their own sort of conversation consisting solely of glances and eyebrow movement.

“Fine, whatever,” Nancy exhales after a few terse moments of silent communication, “let’s just start please.”

She stands and the others follow suit. You, however, remain sat, trying to figure out what exactly had just happened.

Steve, sensing you hadn’t moved, turns to throw you an apologetic look over his shoulder before beaconing gently with a nod of his head. You sigh but join him, nonetheless.

This happens a lot.

***

JONATHAN: When the whole staged relationship thing first started, I don’t think any of us had any idea what that meant. I mean, sure, it started out as the gimmick that got us through the door but it soon became something bigger than that. Their relationship was synonymous with the band and it's success and I'm sure that resulted in a lot of pressure.

I think for the two of them, though, the most difficult part was trying to keep things professional, especially when other people began to get involved.

***

None of the personal dynamics mattered when you were all playing together.

What you loved most about your bandmates was that they cared about the music just as much as you did. That had become clear from the very first rehearsal and even now, nearly a month in, you’re still in awe watching them all perform alongside you.

Prim, soft-spoken Nancy turned into a wild thing on the keyboard, her whole body moving with the music, fingers flying over the keys like it was nothing. Ever the perfectionist, she would never miss a note, and on the off chance that she did, curse words you had never heard before streamed out of her mouth, causing your eyes to go wide every time.

Jonathan, too, became something else: full of bravado and fire, hair swinging wildly and even jumping around on stage. His playing had a smoothness to it, he knew when to show restraint and let someone else shine and when to bring it himself.

Argyle and Robin were the biggest transformations, though. Gone was goofy and easy-going Argyle the person and all that was left behind was the laser-focused drummer, who seemed to move on instinct to create a strong musical foundation for the rest of you. Robin, who normally was a bit erratic and all over the place, became the self-assured, quick-thinking driving force behind the band. It was like she knew exactly how the song needed to sound and what each person needed to bring to get there. She was the first to let anyone know there was something amiss and no one took it the wrong way because she was rarely wrong.

Steve and Eddie were exactly what you had expected, however, what you did not expect was how alike they would be. They both moved gracefully and with careless precision. Showmen in equal measures.

Once you had familiarized yourself with your bandmates, figuring out how you fit into the band’s onstage dynamic was easy.

Off-stage was a whole different story.

***

JONATHAN: I mean, yeah, I think it was natural that there was a bit of a divide in those early days between the ‘original’ band and our two new members. It’s not for lack of trying though, it’s just, well the five of us lived in a house together and had known each other for years, it was probably kinda intimidating trying to jump into that dynamic. I also got the feeling that the other two weren’t really used to having friends. They both seemed to have their guards up in their own way.

With her you could tell she was holding back, almost like she was afraid of doing the wrong thing and well, with Eddie… you know how he is.

I think it was that feeling of sort of being on the outside that first drew them together, honestly.

***

Your eyes scan over the small craft services area that makes up part of your rehearsal space. Most of the band starts at one table, chatting amiably over lunch. Before you can even take a step in their direction, though, your eyes zero in on Steve and Robin, whose heads are bent, close together, whispering to one another intimately and you falter.

As much as you enjoyed Robin and Steve individually, watching them interact with one another often stoked an aching loneliness in you that you struggled to put out and the more time you spent with them only made it worse. After six weeks, you were worn thin.

Deciding that you’d rather not foster any unearned feelings, you turn to the only other table where Eddie is sitting alone bent over a thick paperback.

Trying to play it as cool as you can, you reach inside your bag to pull out your own book, and casually sit down across from the long-haired boy.

He stares you down. You raise an eyebrow in response.

“Didn’t know you could read,” he says casually.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing about you,” you shoot back with no real bite.

He chuckles to himself, seemingly impressed before gesturing to your book.

“Didn’t peg you for a Baldwin type either,” Eddie says, eyes scanning the cover of your book.

You shrug, noncommittally, “I found a copy Beal Street sitting with a bunch of junk on my neighbor’s curb and I’ve been a fan since.”

He barks out a laugh so loud it catches everyone’s attention.

Conversation halts and you feel your bandmates’ curious gazes fall on you all at once.

“Forgive me, princess, but I have a hard time imagining you digging through other people's trash for books from what I know of you.”

“And what do you know about me, Eddie? I mean, other than the stuff Subrosa prints.”

His face falls in response.

The two of you spend the rest of your lunch in silence, pretending not to notice the way everyone else is staring.

***

JONATHAN: They ate lunch together every day after that, barely talking, reading their books. I don’t think they were friends or anything, but I did see them exchange books a few times.

It did stress Nancy out, I think, the divide. It made her think we weren’t doing enough to be “welcoming” to them. Argyle and I didn’t really care, and Robin was dealing with her on shit at the time.

***

ROBIN : Yeah, I was seeing this girl, and I was trying to keep it under wraps from well… everyone actually. Steve was a really great friend though; he would always give me rides to and from her place when I needed them.

***

JONATHAN: ...a nd Steve liked to pretend that he didn’t care but he definitely did.

ROBIN: Of course, Steve cared, are you kidding?

NANCY: We could tell it bothered him.

STEVE : Did I care that she was eating lunch with Munson and kept avoiding me outside of rehearsal? No! Of course not.

***

November 1983, Los Angeles, California

The Downsides’ debut album was released on November 6, 1983, to commercial and critical success.

People immediately took to the upbeat synth sound paired with the introspective and clever lyrics. On top of that, you and Steve were, quite literally the talk of the town.

There were entire articles in gossip magazines dedicated to parsing out details of your relationship from the song lyrics on the album and coming up with theories about what the lyrics were about.

And all of that just from a few pictures of you two holding hands. Starcourt was ecstatic, they had bottled magic.

As much as everyone wanted to celebrate, you weren’t out of the woods yet, there were still the press junkets.

A growing list of TV and radio appearances that the band was required to be at plagued Hopper who was tasked with making sure you were all present and willing at these appearances. And of course, that you didn’t make fools of yourselves or Starcourt.

The label had taken it upon itself to send everyone PR briefings—essentially a long list of things no one should say under any circumstances during interviews.

Normally, you would think a list like this was overkill but knowing some of your bandmates, it was definitely needed.

All the eyes (and the pressure) would be on you and Steve, though, everyone knew that. You two were the ‘It Couple’ everyone wanted to hear from, and you weren’t quite sure what you were going to say.

The pap photos were easy: it was just walking around or sometimes getting lunch, holding hands, and looking like you were enjoying each other’s company. Something that wasn’t difficult since conversation flowed easily between the two of you. At first, you would talk music—Steve was incredibly dedicated and knowledgeable, you quickly found out—but eventually, the two of you had branched into other topics. You learned about Steve’s life growing up in Indiana, about all his likes and dislikes, and everything about the band. He managed to pull the same information from you and you let him.

Even the physical stuff was easy, with time. In the beginning, it was an experiment of firsts. While you were pretty well-versed in the practice of feigned affection, you were used to the guy always making the first (fake) move. Most of the guys you had been "set up" with were the "act first, ask permission later" type. Steve was polite and considerate to a fault, and it took you two full dates to convince him that he didn't have to ask before holding your hand and an entire week more to work up to the kiss on the cheek. After those conversations though, touching Steve, in one way or another, had become second nature.

So much so, in fact, that it had begun to bleed into your everyday lives. It was not unusual during the time of your re-recording, to be at the studio and have Steve come up from behind you to rest his hand in the gentle dip of your waist only for you to lean back as you inhaled that scent that was uniquely him: smokey sandalwood and hair pomade.

Right around the time rehearsal started you realized that perhaps the two of you were becoming too comfortable with that type of affection, especially given how much time he spent with Robin, and you had begun to keep a subtle distance between the two of you whenever you weren’t on stage.

Steve while intelligent in his own right, had never struck you as the kind of person to pick up on subtleties, so when he brings up this distance you realize that either you severely underestimated his abilities, or you were not as subtle as you thought you’d been.

It’s a few days before the first stop of the Press Tour—An early morning slot with Wake Up, USA! —that has the two of you sitting on your couch when he brings it up. You had invited Steve over to practice answering any possible questions you may have to field together and make sure you’re on the same page.

As it turns out though, outside of music, Steve is not much for rehearsing.

“Can’t we just wing it?” Steve asks as he lies sprawled on your couch.

You huff in response, “No, we can’t just wing it. This is a big deal! This is our first time out as a couple, and we have to be believable.”

Steve scoffs at this and you raise an annoyed eyebrow in response.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs in response, “it’s just hard to act like a couple when you’ve been avoiding me for, like, the past month.”

He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry when he says this, just matter-of-fact.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you sputter out, weakly.

It’s his turn to raise an incredulous eyebrow at you.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me. Last time I checked you and Eddie weren’t the best of friends, but you’d rather eat lunch with him than the rest of us. You know, if you didn’t like us, you didn’t have to agree to be in the band, we would’ve understood,” he deflates as he says this last sentence and it crumples your heart just a bit.

“I like you guys,” you say quietly, nudging his leg with your knee as you do.

“Then, is it me?” He asks, voice small and eyes low.

“No, no, it’s not you, Steve,” you rush to say.

“It’s just, I’ve never really been any good at this,” you mumble, shy under his gaze.

“Good at what?” He urges gently.

“At being friends with people.”

You continue, words clunky and difficult to get out, “At being friends with someone I’m also pretending to date.

“I mean, with the rest of the guys Starcourt set me up with, I only had to tolerate them for a few weeks, at most. With us, well who knows right? Plus, I actually like you,” you wince at this uncharacteristic display of vulnerability from yourself, “I like all of you and I don’t want to ruffle any feathers or cross any boundaries and hurt anyone’s feelings.”

He chuckles at this, “Trust me, you won’t hurt my feelings by spending time with me.”

You shake your head, “It’s not you I’m worried about, Steve. There are other people.”

Steve’s brow furrows in confusion, “I’m not following.”

You are not sure what to say, now. You don’t want to call Steve and Robin out, it’s clear that they’ve been trying to keep what they have going on a secret, and you don’t want to call attention to that. You’re also afraid that if you mention him and Robin, you’ll eventually have to explain how when you see them together, your chest gets painfully tight. Pivot, you demand of yourself.

“What I mean to say is, it’s easier for me to keep everything professional when I have a little more space because I’m not really used to this friend thing. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t like you or the band. I like you all a lot, actually and I guess I’m just worried about messing that up.”

You can feel yourself retract into yourself the more you speak and by the end, your knees are tucked under your chin. You can’t bring yourself to meet Steve’s gaze.

He doesn’t respond right away, but you feel the warmth of his palm spread over the expanse of your back.

“Listen, I think… if this is gonna work, we have to be on each other’s team and part of that is talking to one another, right? And letting each other know when we're having a hard time. I want to be on your team, will you let me?” His voice swells as he asks, and you are so aware of his warmth next to you.

“Yeah,” you nod, finally meeting his eyes, “ I want to be on your team too if you’ll let me?”

He nods enthusiastically, smiling so brightly you question if the sun has ever been as bright.

“Great, now can we please practice some of these questions?” You demand, playfully.

“Or, or, and hear me out, we could go get burgers," he offers back.

You end up doing both.

***

November 13, 1983, Sunset Studios, Los Angeles, California

Call time for Wake Up, USA! was insanely early and you don’t think you’ve ever seen an angrier Hopper than one that has to be dealing with Eddie Munson at 5 AM. Eddie is decidedly, not a morning person.

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine today?” You deadpan to the disgruntled guitarist from your makeup chair next to his. You were not fairing much better: not only were you running on little sleep, but you were also wound tightly with nerves about your first live interview as a band and as a couple.

“Can it, Your Majesty, or we might have a case of regicide on our hands,” he warns with no real heat behind his words.

“Isn’t it a bit too early to be throwing big words like that around, Munson?” Steve asks, from his spot on your other side.

“Don’t even know what that means,” he mutters, mostly to you.

“It means the murder of a king or queen,” you respond automatically.

“Doesn’t have to be just one, either. You could always kill more than one monarch at a time,” Eddie raises his eyebrows at Steve as he says this, making his implications very obvious.

“Wow, look at us,” Steve exclaims, grinning, “already making veiled threats at each other. We’ve finally made it, honey.”

He says this last part exclusively to you punctuating it by reaching for your hand and giving it a squeeze and you laugh.

The lightness of the exchange distracts you from your nerves for a moment. And from the way Eddie’s eyes linger on your hand interlaced with Steve’s.

Your brief reprieve is interrupted by the soft thud of a heavy object landing in your lap.

“What’s this?” You hold up a beat-up paperback to the culprit.

Eddie shrugs, “The Two Towers, Dustin finally got it back to me, took his sweet time too, that little asshole.”

You nod. He had lent you the first Lord of the Rings book weeks ago, while you were still in rehearsal after you had shown up bookless one day and you had devoured the book. You had been needling him for the second one since, but he had lent it to the audio engineer’s son, a kid named Dustin who idolized him and Steve in equal measure.

“Thanks,” you say, surprise coloring your voice, thumbing through the pages, eyes hungrily scanning the pages.

***

EDDIE: I dunno, she seemed nervous. I thought if she had something to distract her, it might’ve helped.

***

You get through the first chapter of your new book before they pull you into wardrobe.

They outfit you in a light blue dress, with exaggerated sleeves and a belt around your middle to compliment Steve’s dark blue blazer and stripped t-shirt combo.

You feel your nerves mounting as you are helped into your heels and given your mic pack. Suddenly, everything that is riding on this is suffocating you from all ends—a visceral crushing pain that you can’t shake.

Steve appears at your side and the band had been escorted onto the soundstage your hand has been tightly wrapped around his like a vice the entire time.

“Can you, uh, loosen your grip a bit, please,” Steve asks, finally.

“Right, sorry,” you say, letting go of his hand completely and instead focusing your nervous energy on straightening his lapels.

After the third time you’ve readjusted his collar, Steve grabs both of your hands in his, and pulls you close, giving you no choice but to focus on his face.

“Hey,” he says in a hushed tone, just for you, “you don’t need to worry, okay? We’ve got this. I’m on your team, remember?”

You swallow thickly, and nod, before adding, “And I’m on yours, Harrington.”

“That’s my girl,” he says sealing the exchange with a kiss on the cheek.

***

JONATHAN: That first interview, on Wake Up, USA! was what really sold them. I mean, they couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other the entire time.

And then, when one of the hosts asked them how they met, Steve told this story about seeing her for the first time from across the restaurant during our first lunch together and how he was sure he had made a total fool of himself because he was so nervous to be around someone so beautiful, of course, Steve Harrington would say something like that. The audience swooned. Hell, I swooned a little bit.

And then they asked her about all the guys from her past, which was totally fucked up by the way, but she handled it great. She said she was grateful for all the mistakes she had made in the past because they had led her to The Downsides and to Steve.

Between that interview and our live performance, the audience was hooked.

***

“Good job, you two,” Hopper says gruffly, patting you and Steve on the shoulder as you're ushered off stage after your performance.

“Thanks,” you squeak out, all the tension slowly deflating from your body after hearing Hopper’s approval.

It was done, your first live appearance complete, and it hadn’t been a total train wreck.

Actually, thinking back, it had been pretty good. There was a good variety of questions; everyone had gotten to speak; and when it came to you and Steve, well, it seemed believable at least. And the band managed to preform the new single without a hitch, all of the kinks that had plagued you during the last few weeks of rehearsals ironed out.

Maybe you could pull this off after all.

***

By the time the band had wrapped up the week-long press junket, you were exhausted.

What had taken more of a toll than the hours of sitting in makeup chairs, too-tight shoes and repetitive questions was having to pretend with Steve.

You realize now that your problem was never the risk of not being convincing enough, but instead of being too convincing.

You had spent the entire week so physically attached to Steve, that it was beginning to feel like you were one single being. Like he was an appendage you couldn’t move without.

And every kiss on the cheek, every look, every squeeze of your hand, felt like a jumpstart to your heart.

Then there were actual interview parts. Steve was good with the press. He would draw audiences and hosts alike, in as easy as if he was winding up a thread. There was never a question that would catch him off guard and he always came off boyish and genuine in his responses. Like the time he was asked what his favorite thing about you was and he told the story of you showing up at the recording studio with cookies and having the guts to change Eddie’s lyrics in the same afternoon.

You knew better than to ask if he meant it.

The next day, Hopper called to let you know that your album was breaking all sorts of records, and the label was incredibly pleased. So much so that they were thinking of increasing the tour dates and they were even starting to plan for future projects—projects that they wanted you to write.

The news didn’t make you feel light with joy like you had once hoped it would, instead, it made you feel heavy like a sinking stone.

A few weeks later, when the band went their separate ways for the Christmas break, you all knew something big was coming, you just had no way of knowing what.

***

JONATHAN: Right after New Year, Hopper pulls the band into a meeting in his office. First thing he told us was that they were announcing a tour with twice as many dates as they had originally planned for, demand was that high. Then he said, “From this point on, everything is going to move really quickly, there’s no getting off the ride now.”

Subrosa Article

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

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alittlefrenchtree · 1 month

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I obviously don't think he has to be online 24/7 so as not to be forgotten, it doesn't make sense and his job isn't even one that requires this of him. However, I think that his agent and his team are doing a poor job and should do much more. They didn't profit in the slightest by taking advantage of the hype that rwrb would bring.

I know the strike wasn't expected, but Nicholas for example was able to capitalize on the popularity due to the film with two projects he's promoting now that he's made post rwrb and his name is everywhere thanks to it. They should have done something similar too, he should be super busy by now thanks to the popularity of that movie and maybe for me it's more important what he does than how he uses social media (no hate, I just think his team should do more better)

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to post and answer your ask. There is something quite bizarre about posting something I disagree with entirely on my blog. But I’m still going to try if I can manage to answer this clearly and quickly (spoiler: it’s not quick) and if I like my answer enough. If you’re reading this, I guess I’ve managed to do it somehow.

I don’t know if you know, but people have been coming to my inbox to talk about the bad job agent and PR team were doing since 2019 or 2020. Do you know who they were talking about back then? Timothée Chalamet. Since the guy is having a pretty decent career so far, I'm guessing wasn't so bad after all. So even if I’m not comparing Taylor to Timothée, because no one can be compared to Timothée right now, you’ll understand that I’ve already learned that they aren’t many experts around here. But the thing that came off all of the talks back then is: you might not like what you see (or don’t see) but it doesn’t mean they’re doing a bad job.

Secondly, there is still no point of comparing one people to another or to ask of someone to be more like someone else or do the same kind of things as someone else. Nick and Taylor are different people, at different stages of their careers, with different careers and backgrounds, and certainly with different aspirations and needs so wishing the people around them would have done "something similar" is a bit of a non sense for me. They’re doing the same job and worked on the same movie but it doesn’t mean they should follow similar path. To carry on with the Chalamet example, I don’t see people going around blaming Calah Lane for not being Timothée Chalamet, Hugh Grant or Olivia Colman yet after the success of Wonka. It doesn't make sense.

Thirdly, you got some your dates wrong. Nick is actually capitalizing on projects he did before rwrb right now. To be fair, he’s probably more capitalizing on freaking Cinderella than anything else at the moment. He does that beautifully but it’s really something he’s been building up from way longer than the last 7 months or so. And yes, Starz was probably delighted to see his popularity explode during the summer with RWRB and Bottoms but it means they got a few more bucks for promotion and a few more interviews requests. It didn't give the actual job to Nick. And well, all respect to Nick but I’m pretty sure Anne Hathaway and Harry Styles would have make all the buzz around pre-premiere The Idea of You all by themselves. Nick did bring most of the enthusiastic cheerleaders to the premiere but his impact on the movie and how much he can capitalize will come after the release of the said thing. For now, the project and the lead are bigger than him.

I know some people will only read half of my words but I’m obviously not diminishing any of Nick’s work or talent. He’s very talented and is doing amazingly and I’m both very happy and proud to see him shine but some of the things I read about him are clearly lacking of perspective in the grand scheme of things.

So far, post-RWRB actually brought very similar things to Taylor and Nick actually: invitations to a shit loads of fancy parties and both apparently working on unknown projects we know nothing about. (And delicate talks about a potential sequel).

People also needs to understand that Taylor’s career in movies has started in 2020. He’s a freaking baby. And since covid killed most of the impact TBK could have had and the his sister died of cancer and then the strikes happened, half of the years since 2020 doesn't really count. Thinking where he is now isn’t already huge giving the circumstances (and everything else we’ve already talked about here) is madness. And we actually don't know what his team is doing right now. Might be a poor job. Might be ok. I have no clue.

God I hate what you made me do. I might regret answering it for all the people who will read this and find nothing better to write that something like "there is this Tumblr blog saying Nick owes all of his success to Camila Cabello and Harry Styles and that he did nothing compared to TZP, imagine the delulu 💀" but yeah.

TLDR; (not specifically for you, Nonny. Just some general thoughts with way less words)

Stop comparing artists. Stop comparing people all together.

Stop asking middle schooler to be high schooler.

Stop thinking high schooler is worth more than the middle schooler because they’re in high school. They’ve been doing that student thing for way longer, it’s normal.

Stop thinking you’re the only target audience of PR work. You’re already obsessed, they doesn’t need to get you on board.

Stop thinking movies are made from scratch to finish in 5 months. Scripts go around for years. People are casted, then leave projects because pre-production takes forever, because there isn’t enough money and then other people are casted and pre-production starts again, and things get delayed and everything takes a freaking long time (and even more luck) to actually happen.

Having too much expectations will kill the fun eventually. Wait for things to happen. Go play video games or something in the meantime. I don’t know.

(I’m not sure what I’ll do with the follow up of this conversation. I’ll read everything but I might not answer to most. I’m not sure).

And like previous ask, sorry if it came out harsher that it should have been. No harm intended 🙏

#alft asks

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colorfuleclipse · 11 months

Text

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘦 + 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

genre; smut hcs

warnings; afab!reader, use of pet names (baby/princess), so fluffy tbh, handjob, fingering, cream pie, wholesome (can you tell i was in a mood writing this LMAO)

this absolute sweetheart

bodyworshipbodyworshipbodyworship

also praise oh my jesus christ

when he’s in a passionate mood (v common actually he’s a passionate guy in general)

he takes his time, like i’m talking hours

genuinely curious about what makes your body react and will spend most of the time on foreplay

he cares so much and is so affectionate and attentive, he just wants to show you how much he loves you

has you in his lap, his fingers deep inside you trailing kisses over your neck

whispers little endearing things

“you’re so perfect baby”

“it’s ok princess tell me how good it feels”

“your moans are so cute, i love your voice”

“you’re so gorgeous it’s driving me crazy”

says the most butterfly inducing things with the sweetest voice, so sickeningly sweet it makes you shake in his hold

and every time you do shiver at his words he lets out a little laugh making you whine, he just kisses you and keeps going

he could spend hours drawing shapes on your clit or guiding your hips on his thigh or playing with your nipples

you try to make him feel good too and he lets you, but he won’t let you entirely pleasure him

he Has to be touching you and making you feel good too

handjob and fingering while making out is his favorite, you’re both so dizzy but you couldn’t care less

the kisses are sloppy but gentle and you’re both moaning in each others mouths

you stop because you want him to cum inside and when he hears that he just about passes out

the thought of cumming inside your perfect pussy has him a little more eager than he previously was

he’s kissing all over your face and down your jaw to distract you while he stretches you out

groaning occasionally over how amazingly you take him, once he bottoms out he thinks hes just about in heaven

stays still for a good while to just cradle you and play with your hair and whisper to you about how perfect you are and how much he loves being intimate with you :(

once you ask him to move with a whine he giggles at you and kisses you deeply

you both moan into the kiss as he starts moving, the slow but steady motions making your heads spin

he’s so big and at the pace he’s going you could map him out just by feeling him, the way he moves making you lightly grind with him

his head hurried into your neck, quiet moans and groans as he tries to focus on giving you hickies and feeling you with his hands

“fuck it feels so good, so so good for me baby”

constant praises leaving his mouth over how good you are to him and how he feels like the luckiest man alive for this

praise him back and you’ll feel him shiver under you, whines and subtle whimpers leaving him over the idea that you’re just as infatuated with him as he is with you

making out with your tongues dancing and bodies pressed as tightly together as possible, hands messily in each others hair and grazing over each others most sensitive areas

his size is so perfect it makes you see stars and before long you’re squeezing him tight and coating his cock with all you can give

he didn’t forget what you said earlier wanting to cum in you so bad, the feeling of you tightening around him and holding onto him like your life depended on it only making him drown in you more

“shhh just a little more angel, f-fuck i know i got you hold on a little longer ok?”

once he finally does cum he swears he’s on top of the world, the feeling so good he can’t imagine anything better

kissing you so hard his lips are swollen and glossy when he pulls away, his eyes meeting yours with the most lovesick look you’ve ever seen

he bursts into giggles and buries his head into your neck again squeezing you into a tight hug telling you he loves you and wouldn’t trade that for anything ever

once he comes down from his little romantic high he pulls out and you guys get cleaned up, seeing both of your cum leaking out of you filling him with that giddy feeling and making him wanna do it all over again

#cravity #cravity fancfiction #cravity minhee #cravity x reader #kang minhee #kang minhee x reader #minhee x reader #cravity smut #kang minhee smut #minhee smut #cravity minhee smut #🌊

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lunaslovelyrambles · 1 year

Text

“you’ve got your products and reactants mixed up.”

you swear your eraser nearly rips a hole through your paper as you fix your mistake. who decided that organic chemistry had to be so goddamn hard? and complicated? and stupid, and-

“and the solvent is wrong, polar aprotic works better for SN2.”

and why did you decide to study with the world’s number one chemistry nerd?

“thanks, kuroo, got anything to say that’ll make me feel like i actually do know reaction mechanisms?”

he chose to not say that your skeleton structure was off by one carbon. or that the fluorine should be on a dash bond and not a wedge bond.

“well,” he pointed to the problem before that you had just completed, “this one’s right.”

you gave him an unconvinced look.

“mostly right.”

“ah, there it is,” you sighed and leaned back into your chair. you were tired. more than tired - exhausted. but ochem was your worst subject. it was even worse because there was no way that you’d actually use chemistry given your career goals.

it was merely one of those classes that you “needed to take” for your major. and it was brutal compared to the other chem classes you’d taken beforehand.

kuroo has been your friend for as long as you can remember. he was your neighbor growing up, and best friend ever since then. and now, your study buddy as you struggled with chemistry.

again.

“well. the product is only slightly off. you’re just not thinking about chirality when you’re doing SN1 reactions,” he narrowed his eyes at you as he watched you nod off.

“mhm. chirality, yup.”

“‘cause that can change your products,” he trailed off. your eyes had completely closed and he could’ve sworn you fell asleep because you barely noticed your chair tipping back further and further-

“ah-AH!” you lost your balance and felt yourself fall backwards, thankfully not hitting the ground due to the much more alert kuroo tetsuro.

“i think we should call it for tonight,” he went to go close your textbook. you sprung forward to stop him.

“no, no wait! i promise i’m awake,” you pleaded with him. he sighed and shook his head.

“you’ve done this before, y/l/n. with every other chem exam i’ve helped you study for. remember when i helped you study for your first gen chem one exam?” he had a teasing lilt to his voice.

“umm.. no?”

“exactly,” he full on smirked at you now, “you fell asleep for it.” you huffed, moving your arms to cross over your chest.

“well, it’s not my fault chemistry is so.. sleep inducing.” he mocked hurt and held his hand to his chest, as if the mere thought of chemistry being talked badly about was offensive.

“how dare you speak that way about chemistry?”

“oh come off it, deep down inside your science-loving heart you know this can get a bit boring.” he hummed in response, sliding your book off the desk and into your bag.

“maybe, maybe you just don’t understand how amazingly fun and super rad it can be.” that got a laugh out of you.

“but even with how fun it is, it’s not good to study for,” he broke to check the clock, “four hours? with rarely any breaks.”

“i know,” you sighed, head resting on the desk. even as you tried to relax your brain was still filled with ochem, and stupid reactions. your eyes fluttered shut and you sighed.

kuroo smiled affectionately at your sleepiness. it was cute, and he admired how much you effort you were putting into the class despite your hatred towards it.

he nudged your shoulder to jostle you awake slightly.

“don’t fall asleep at the desk,” he gently helped you up and over to your bed where you finally felt your body decompress. kuroo tucked the blankets around your body.

he took one second to unabashedly admire how adorable you were when you got tired. kuroo couldn’t help the small smile that rose to his face.

but he soon turned, shutting off the light on the desk and gathering his stuff. he assumed you were asleep until you spoke up again:

“night, tetsu,” you yawned sleepily, the sound of the nickname from his lips made him smile.

“g’night y/n, try not to dream too much about chemistry.”

— • — • —

-> masterlist

#the motivation came in the form of kuroo #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu drabble #tetsuro kuroo #tetsuro kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro drabble #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuro x reader

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mooseyspooky · 1 month

Text

Moz Solo was already on it @lovely-lady-fox! FamousWhenDead posted the whole thing:

Johnny Marr: How could Meryl Streep agree to be in Mamma Mia?

The guitarist lets us into his cultural life, from his love of David Hockney to making his friends watch a Joan Didion documentary

My favourite piece of music For a long time now, it’s been My Goal’s Beyond by John McLaughlin. Like his work with the Mahavishnu Orchestra, it is in a genre entirely of its own. It’s unquantifiable and makes me feel a certain way, no matter what happens in the outside world.

The lyric I wish I’d written “You’re going to reap just what you sow”, from Perfect Day by Lou Reed.

The instrument I wish I’d learnt Piano. I can play it, but only in amateurish fashion. I should say though there are guitar players who play the piano nicely like Neil Young, Paul McCartney and David Bowie. They play it as a means to an end and do wonderful things with it. But I would like to be a few levels up from there.

The music that cheers me up Any good pop music, which by definition usually means contemporary. There are things from my past that of course make me feel good. But there’s something about hearing music that’s fresh, upbeat and represents the modern world — it makes you feel that everything is OK.

I’m having a fantasy dinner party, I’ll invite these artists and authors Gary Oldman, Muhammad Ali and certainly Marilyn Monroe.

And I’ll put on this music Spirit Power: The Best of Johnny Marr.

Overrated I don’t tend to like shitting on people, but Mamma Mia!, for God’s sake, or We Will Rock You or any of those sorts of musicals. How did it get to that? We’re supposed to go along with the idea that they’re good. What was Meryl Streep thinking she was doing starring in that film, and Julie Walters? What were they thinking? There are a lot of things culturally that we’ve just gone along with and they really must stop.

Underrated

Blindboy Boatclub, the artist and musician from Limerick, is best known as one half of the Irish comedy hip-hop group the Rubberbandits. He’s amazing, has such an interesting way of thinking and also hosts the brilliant series The Blindboy Podcast too. One of the best books I have ever read is his Topographia Hibernica. I can’t recommend him or it enough.

My favourite author

Aldous Huxley. People would assume I’m thinking about Brave New World orThe Doors of Perception, but I’m actually referring to his work after he moved to the United States in the second half of his life. His essays and lectures are even better than his earlier work. I rediscovered him in the Nineties and he is my actual hero. Everything you read of his is an education.

The book I’m reading

Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson. It’s a trip, moving around from style to style. The novel is loosely based on Greek mythology, but set in modern times. It’s relatable and super interesting. PJ Harvey introduced me to Carson, an intriguing cross between an essayist and a poet.

The book I couldn’t finish

The Perennial Philosophy by Aldous Huxley. Just couldn’t do it.

The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read Ulysses by James Joyce. It just sounds so hard going. I love the idea of it and feel genuinely bad that I haven’t read it, but I do also feel like I know so much about it already. I admire it enough, without feeling the need to put myself through the hassle of reading it.

My favourite film Sergio Leone’s film Once Upon a Time in America. When it was first released, I went to see it a few times and decided then it was the best thing I’d ever seen. I recently saw The End We Start From, starring Jodie Comer. It’s so good. Amazingly, I came away from it with this feeling of triumph of the human spirit. It says a lot about what it means to be human and what we fundamentally need, which is compassion, connection, love and understanding. And Comer is just so believable in the role.

The box set I’m hooked on I’m rewatching Nurse Jackie. There’s so much good stuff out there that whenever I occasionally revisit old, great stuff, you forget how much it stands up. I like anything Edie Falco is in. I also have just rewatched the documentary Joan Didion: The Center Will Not Hold. I’ve watched it at least three times and whenever someone comes to my place that hasn’t watched it, I watch it with them.

My favourite TV series It has to be Mad Men. One of my friends is eagle-eyed and noticed that when they put an album on a turntable, it has the correct label from the Sixties. That’s crazy.

The film I walked out on

There are loads, often stuff I take my kids to see and they don’t even notice I’d left. I didn’t enjoy Baby Driver — I didn’t like the music in that at all.

I wasted an evening watching Manchester City play in the Champions League final in 2021.

The last movie that made me cry These days I can cry at almost anything so I can’t remember.

The place I feel happiest Running around Brooklyn, over the Williamsburg Bridge. Or around Portland, Oregon. Whenever I’m at those places, I always run unless I’m injured. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but nothing quite beats that.

My guiltiest cultural pleasure Cheese and onion pasty, chips and peas. Anybody who says that’s not a culture doesn’t know what they are talking about.

If I could own one painting it would be We Two Boys Together Clinging by David Hockney. Any of his work would be a dream to own. Even the iPad stuff is beautiful. I went to see David Hockney: Bigger and Closer at the Lightroom and it was great.

FamousWhenDead's post of the article

#johnny marr #These days i can cry at almost anything my God johnny just rip my heart out gosh #Sweet soft boy just out here being a part time Philosophy major

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absolutepokemontrash · 2 years

Text

Eat Your Feelings

I felt the sudden urge to write about my favourite hungry hungry himbo, and now, here I am.

Warnings: Mentions of Beel wanting to eat MC at the beginning of them knowing each other

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Beelzebub was the Avatar of Gluttony, and food was his forte. He was nice for a demon, most would note. Despite his nearly terrifying resting expression and overall stature, Beel was a sweet guy. The swoonworthy captain of the Fangol team, always willing to lend a hand… in exchange for food of course.

One couldn’t spend more than an hour at most around Beelzebub without hearing something about his love for food, be it from the demon himself or from his terrifying stomach growls.

“Don’t eat your feelings, Beelzebub.” Lucifer had told him one bright Friday morning. Everyone was ravenously tearing through breakfast with as much fervour as Beel, excited to start the day in the Celestial Realm.

“What do you mean, Lucifer?” Beel said through a mouthful of food, which caused the eldest to grimace slightly.

“Don’t eat your feelings, it’s a saying.” Lucifer explained. “Don’t eat to try to distract from negative emotions, face them like the soon to be seraph you are.”

Why would I be eating my feelings? Beel briefly wondered before the empty seat that normally belonged to Levi caught his eye. Oh… right…

Levi was off fighting the demons, he had left the previous day…

Beel felt his heart sink upon remembering.

…maybe he could eat his feelings a little more…

…

Just a little bit more became a mantra Beel repeated to himself, over and over and over, like a cultish chant that echoed off his skull and consumed his thoughts. Just a little bit more wouldn’t hurt… I’m so damn hungry…

Don’t eat your feelings.

It was too late for Lucifer’s advice, as Beel had cleared out the pantry and was rummaging through the cupboards like a man starved.

Just a little bit more…

Lilith was dead and gone.

Belphie wouldn’t talk to him.

Just a little bit more…

Just a bit…

Mammon’s bad habits were spiralling out of control.

Levi wouldn’t leave his room.

He would stop after this bite, just one more-

Asmo had become obsessed with himself and only himself.

The baby wouldn’t stop screaming.

Lucifer was a wreck-

Beel polished off the last of the food in the cubboards, he looked around the kitchen… nothing. He had eaten everything. The cupboards were open and empty, the fridge was picked clean, and yet, there was still a void. A void right in Beel’s chest that refused to fill, a void that screamed for more, for him to give it more.

He was still hungry, and nothing could fill it.

As Beel’s stomach growled again, he could only think of one little thing…

Oh how he wished he could eat his feelings.

…

Humans were a delicacy in the Devildom for thousands of years until Diavolo decided the practice of eating them was barbaric and banned it.

“We can’t exactly expect the humans to like us while we’re actively eating them, can we? For the betterment of both our worlds, no more eating humans.”

Beel almost openly groaned in sadness when the news broke, but Lucifer gave him a glare so sharp Beel was sure it actually managed to paralyze his vocal cords.

But that didn’t change the fact that humans were amazingly tasty, so when the human exchange student was dropped into the assembly hall, he couldn’t help but begin to drool. They were an average human, like all the rest, but Beel had developed a craving, and it was going to take all his self control to not devour the human on the spot.

The first day, 3:30 pm, Beel was walking home from school, his stomach beginning to rumble. Damn it he needed a snack…

He began to salivate at the thought, mmmmm… there was ice cream mochi in the freezer, maybe he could dig into that-

The frantic shaking of the front gate of the house broke Beel out of his thoughts. There was the human, looking back and forth from the gate that refused to open, to a group of four demons that were running towards them.

Ah, Beel finally saw the issue, the gate was bent at the hinges, Cerberus must have gnawed on it.

As the demons got closer, the human’s attempts to open the gate grew in desperation, they began to ram their shoulder against the metal. With each shriek of the metal, the other demons got closer and closer until-

“Damn it!” One of them cried before turning to their friends and saying: “Beel.”

The others stopped dead in their tracks the moment they noticed that Beel had walked up the sidewalk and was standing a mere five feet from the human, who had only just noticed him.

The human was wide eyed, staring up at him with a mixture of terror and almost… relief? Well, mostly terror.

After a few moments of deafening silence and stillness, the other demons groaned and walked away, mumbling about losing their after-school snack.

The faint rattling of the gate started up again. Beel looked down at the human again to see their hands shaking against the gate, but their stare hadn’t left Beel.

The Avatar of Gluttony’s stomach growled. The human was right there… no one else was around…

Beel’s hand shot out, and the human shrieked, throwing up their hands in a feeble attempt to defend themselves, but… when they realized Beel hadn’t touched them, they looked up again. His hand was clasped around the gate, as he yanked it open. The two were as still as statues, no one dared to move an inch until Beel’s stomach growled again.

“Are you going to go inside?” Beel asked, tilting his head.

The human, mouth slightly agape, slowly nodded, then nodded quickly. “Y-yes. Inside. Right!”

They then scampered through the gate and into the house. Beel’s stomach grumbled again.

…the ice cream mochi better still be in the fridge…

…

As the days turned into weeks, Beel couldn’t help but feel shame for his craving. The human was nice, they had become friends with Mammon and Levi, two of the most notoriously difficult to get along with of the seven princes of Hell, and the human had no qualms about sharing their food with him.

On one particular Saturday night, Beel heard a shout come from the human’s room, and he couldn’t help but poke his head in to see what was happening.

There on the floor, sitting in front of a TV, was the human, Mammon, and Levi, frantically tapping buttons on their controllers.

“Who the hell picks Rainbow Road for fun?!” Mammon growled as his character fell off the track, which elicited a giggle from the human.

“Me.” Levi said, the edge of his voice tinged with a hiss. “Because I’m not a noob like you.”

“Dumbass!” Mammon said as he slammed his elbow into Levi’s bicep, still keeping focused on the game where he slammed his kart against Levi’s. “I ain’t no noob! I’ve been playin’ racing games with you since the first Mario Kart came out!”

“Don’t fight you two, channel your aggression into the game.” The human said, a sly little smirk appearing on their face. “Because… oops.”

The human rammed their kart against the two of their’s, throwing them both off the track and letting the human take the lead.

“Looks like I’m winning~.”

“Not next round you’re not!” Levi promised as he began frantically trying to catch up.

It was at that moment when Beel felt his heart swell with joy upon seeing his brothers getting along, where he noticed… he wasn’t hungry. Well, the gnawing feeling was still there, it would always be there, but it was just so… tameable. Controllable.

…it was nice.

…

Sure, he had gotten mad enough at Mammon and the human to destroy the wall that connected the kitchen and their room in a hunger filled rampage, but on that particular day, Beel wasn’t feeling very content.

He had been saving that pudding for pity’s sake! It wasn’t the cheap stuff, either! Maybe that was what had attracted Mammon to it, the fact that the pudding was worth more than what Mammon usually had in his bank account (which was never too much, mind you).

But after spending time with the human, watching how they were willing to throw themselves in front of Lucifer himself in order to protect him and Luke… Beel had begun to feel something else. Something beyond simple contentment or hunger.

It was… it was…

“Butterflies!” Asmo had cried to him one day. The Avatar of Lust threw himself onto one of the living room couches and rested his head against one of Beel’s biceps. “I swear whenever Barbatos gives me that charming butler look I get butterflies…”

“I don’t think Barbatos meant to be charming. He was just looking at you.” Beel replied, stuffing chips into his face.

“Oh you don’t know him like I do, Beel…” Asmo giggled. “That nervous but hopelessly attractive sensation that rumbles in your chest and stomach…”

Oh… so Beel had butterflies in his stomach… that made sense. Pleasant little nervous butterflies.

Every little smile, exchange of looks, friendly word, sent Beel’s butterflies fluttering. But for the first time in a very, very long time, Beel didn’t want to eat these feelings away.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me Beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me MC x Beelzebub #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction

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elfwreck · 2 years

Note

Is ao3 going to be ok? Like in the long run? I just found it 3 years ago and I don’t want to lose it (or the contact it protects if I’m going to be honest)

Yes, AO3 will be okay.

AO3 was built to last.

AO3 has been through much, MUCH worse election drama than this year. So much worse.

(And that really doesn't cover the full scope of the screaming.)

Short summary, possibly with flaws: In 2015, the first contested election since 2011 (because people tended to leave before their terms were up), 6 people ran for 2 spots. The election itself had substantially more drama than this one. (Maybe not more posts/tweets about it, but more diverse, focused on multiple topics.)

After the election, due to Bizarre Internal Conflicts, the six existing board members all resigned at once, leaving the two total newbies stuck running the whole org. (There was a brief training/intro period overlap.) The two new members were stuck appointing the rest of the board and sorting out what you do when you went from "8 people, should be 9, run this place" to "2 people run this place."

Most people who use the archive never noticed. There was no noticeable blip in availability, support team, tag wrangling, or OTW project plans. Because what the board does, isn't crucial to the day-to-day management of the org.

-----

AO3 was built by people who had been through fandom_wank community on Livejournal, who had seen fandom_wank on JournalFen (after it got kicked off LJ), who saw corporate fanfic archives show up, get active, and then get shut down when they found a buyer for the software. Who'd seen Strikethrough and Boldthrough. Who'd seen individual-pairing fanfic archives vanish literally overnight because the two head mods got in a fight and one of them deleted the database and locked the other one out of the website.

AO3 wasn't just built on fandom squee and "we love fanfic so we will build an archive for everyone" but on "we have been through endless fanwank, arguments, hostile corporate takeovers of fan resources, accusations of immorality and outright crimes -- and we are gonna build an archive that not only can survive that, but assumes it's constantly going on in the background and sometimes it'll be foreground."

The OTW is a nonprofit so none of its projects can be sold to a venture-capitalist corporation no matter how much money it gets offered. If Microsoft wanted to buy AO3 and offered two billion dollars for it... THE OTW CAN'T SELL IT. Legally. Cannot. There are laws about how nonprofits work, and they don't allow that.

The OTW has a board and committees so that no one person has All The Power to take the AO3 ball and go home. The election process is clunky so that a swarm of evangelicals (which is what we were worried about at the time) or antis (which is what we're dealing with now) can't swoop in and take it over.

AO3 is doing just fine. The election is working as expected: One of the candidates is a very bad fit for the board, and people have noticed, and a whole lot of people are not voting for her.

Even if her supporters outnumber them (even if her amazingly quiet supporters outnumber the detractors)... she'd be one voice among 7 on the board. One vote out of 7. On the Board, which doesn't actually manage the make-AO3-work stuff.

I don't think she's an anti. I don't think she wants to censor anything. I think she wants clearer policies in a couple of places, and better public relations in others. I think her approach is flawed, and that she doesn't know how to explain herself clearly, and those are both reasons she shouldn't be on the board. But it wouldn't be a disaster if she were.

Because AO3 is built for resilience more than agility. It does not make changes quickly, but its "hold still and wait out the drama" abilities are matched by none.

#otw elections #fandom #otw #ao3

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confessions-official · 5 months

Note

i’ve tried to start crocheting recently and i CANNOT do a chain stitch. i just can’t. i’ve looked up multiple different ways, i’ve tried each of them many times but my hands are just. Not doing it right??? i am actually on the verge of a meltdown because What the Fuck i have spent an HOUR trying to do an allegedly easy thing. specifically it’s the yarning over thats fucking everything up for me. i am trying so so hard but i am ass at anything to do with coordination and i would like to have another body please. i would like a refund on my flesh suit or at least my brain because it’s really amazingly shitty at working like it’s supposed to. i am genuinely considering staying home sick from school for the rest of the week so i can keep trying to make this goddamn motherfucking chain stitch.

and i can’t talk to anyone about this or anything coordination-related that i struggle with because they’ll say “its fine, practice makes perfect, nobody gets it on their first try” and its like. okay but YOU are not experiencing this. YOU do not have to deal with being disabled even though 1) your disability isn’t recognized as a disability even though it is extremely fucking disabling which sucks because 2) i am diagnosed with this, i was diagnosed with it at a young age i will be dealing with this for the rest of my fucking life it impacts literally every facet of everything which makes it more infuriating that 3) mostly people don’t fucking know what it is. which makes it very tiring whenever i talk about it because i have to preface the conversation with an explanation of what it is. and whenever i’m explaining this to someone as a reason for why i can’t do a thing or will do badly at a thing they’ll be like “ok well you shouldnt let that impact you so much, stop using it as an excuse” because 4) most people do not consider it a physical disability. they just don’t! which is. kind of wild to me. because like. yeah the disorder that makes everything involving coordination 100 times more difficult DO interfere with my daily life, actually. nobody gets that. it’s not that i’m clumsy, my legs just don’t work like they should. i can’t even run for longer than a couple seconds without needing to lay down for a couple minutes.

my body doesn’t work right. thats it. thats the whole thing. it doesnt work how it should and that’s fucked up every single part of my life. “dyspraxic children may be more vulnerable to bullying and social rejection” YEAH NO SHIT! even as a kid in PE classes i could see everybody else doing things that my body just wouldn’t. i tried for years but i am simply not built for that. and of fucking course thats going to get you othered, rejected and bullied, which if it happens enough times will fuck up your social skills for A While. i’m not trying to mope around about it because i understand that it’s not that bad a disorder, it is disabling but other disabilities are more disabling and i can mostly pretend i don’t need any accommodations. thats fine. i can do that. its just that the fucking chain stitch made me realize “oh, fuck. i know why my life is like this.” and maybe i am having a very strong reaction about not being able to do a chain stitch but i don’t know. it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, i guess. like, i can’t do any sports or most art, i don’t have any friends, i don’t go out and do things and i can’t even do a fucking chain stitch? i can’t even do that? i probably will end up getting it in a while but idk. i just want to crochet, man. i don’t know why this is so difficult for me. i wish i wasn’t like this. i wish i was better. like, just in general i want to be better. i’ve tried but i can’t. i just want a body and brain that work how they’re supposed to. i don’t see why i have to work twice as hard as everyone for the same results. i know nothing in life is fair but jesus christ this is ridiculous. i’m very “sad, down on his luck protagonist who gets sucked into a whirlwind adventure” coded. i am. going to start crying

#confession

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andorerso · 9 months

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I love your last reblog about Jyn and Cassian. I know we usually think Jyn is the one always wanting to leave because it’s easier to leave than to be left one more time which makes sense but specially after Andor I think this fits Cassian too. I guess the rebel alliance is the place where he stayed the most because in a way or another he was always leaving and didn’t have many connections (as it’s implied in Rogue One) because he always felt displaced and was really trying to figure out who he really was. They fit each other so well, I’m going to cry.

mmhm yes, if I'm honest I think both descriptions fit them to an extent. but I guess I always saw Jyn as someone who's greedy for love and affection and thus greedy with the people she loves. she spent a lot of time on her own, disappointed by everyone in her life, so I see why she'd be the one who wants to leave at first, but I think that's more pre-RO Jyn and her character arc in a way was also about finding a home again. people she can call family. and not just Cassian, but she got along amazingly fast with Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut as well, and even made truce with Kay. she's close to all of them by the end of the movie. I could still see her having doubts and fears but I think ultimately, unless something happens or someone (coughs Cassian) tries to push her away, she'd try to hold onto them with an iron fist while also trying to appear super casual about it. she doesn't want to admit how much they mean to her but they do.

with Cassian, I'll admit I was thinking more about his first backstory as it's still the default to me, but yes, Andor fits too. with the first backstory though, I see a man who's been isolated and lonely for so long, who's been playing roles and putting on masks for the better part of his life, that he just isn't really used to anyone knowing him, his real self. he probably feels like he barely knows his real self. and I think he spent most of his life leaving people behind or sacrificing them for the cause (like Tivik) and he's used to that. he comes back for Jyn but I think she's an exception he didn't anticipate. I think his life as a spy didn't really allow him to form attachments or stay in one place for long, and I think even in the rebellion not many people actually know him all that well (exceptions being Kay, I like to think Draven, maybe Melshi). so he's definitely not used to being known or staying. I think even with the Rogue One team, he'd be slower to allow them close to him.

but on the flipside, I think once he gets over that, he like Jyn would be clinging to them just as fiercely. so conclusion... they're definitely once again mirroring each other

#replies #anonymous #rebelcaptain

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jamietarttsnorthernattitude · 1 month

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i'm so tempted to send you like twenty of these things so i can better pick through your beautiful brain BUT i have managed to whittle it down to a semi-sane number!

as many or as little as you feel like answering!

2, 4, 13, 19, 31, 35, 49, 73

💚💚💚

Thank you, you amazing human you <3

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

So I try to write happy endings, or at least ending on an upbeat note with things heading in the right direction, and that was the plan for the honesty of pain. I wrote a scene with Paddy O'Gara picking Jamie up the morning after his confrontation with his father and bringing him to Ethihad for treatment. And it was going to end with Jamie showing up at his Mum's (where they would rebuild their relationship in another story). But, it felt too easy, ending on an upbeat note, so I ended it on a depressing note which aligned more with where Jamie is between seasons 1 and 2.

4. answered here.

13. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

I think just this lovely community here. I've loved becoming friends with so many wonderful people and amazingly talented writers. People like you my friend who are so supportive and kind and just lovely, lovely people. I don't tell any of my IRL friends about my writing. I don't know if I would find it as rewarding without all of you to share the process with and have a front row seat to watching all of you go through the same process. Love to all of you!

19. what are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

So what I read is definitely not like what I write. I love reading thriller type books.

31. tell us about one of your characters who’s an absolute joy to write

Roy’s sister. We only see her in two scenes but those are her at work and then her interacting with her daughter and brother and I feel like we got a lot out of those two scenes but at the same time I don’t worry too much about it being OOC because we know so little about her. And as a little sister who delights in bothering my brother, I love to write that for her and Roy as well. Plus since I write so much whump it’s such a cheat code to have her involved in all that.

35. tell us about a character who’s very different than you who you love a whole lot

Oh gosh, I guess my beloved, Jamie. He’s so confident and secure in himself for the most part, and outgoing, wants to be the center etc etc. And that’s just not me, I’m very quiet until I get to know you (then I’m a sarcastic bitch).

49. do you want to be published some day?

I’ve had dreams of writing for years, but I’ve never actually attempted to write something original. I’m not sure I have the creativity to write a full novel or the discipline or intelligence to write one. Technically I did win a poetry contest in 4th grade and my poem was published in a poetry book but alas that is lost to time.

73. how do you visualize scenes? do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

I visualize it like it’s the show, but sometimes the words just flow. Some scenes I have a general idea and others I’ve visualized in full detail by the time I start typing.

#thank you thank you thank you #seriously this makes my day #i'm supposed to be away for the weekend but i'm taken sick so its just me and my couch currently #and my laptop #i'm hoping my brain will clear enough to let me write but so far it's only tumblr level #writing ask game #ask box is always open

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cloudiness · 2 years

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What do you think of Carlos’ Italian? Has he got a good accent? He sounds mesmerising! wish I could understand him when he talks.

Hello Anon! Sorry for the late reply!

Carlos speaks amazingly in Italian, he has a good accent, he sounds much better than other people I know whose first language is Spanish, but you can still tell that he’s Spanish.

He makes some mistakes but very few tbh. He tends to sometimes mix Italian and Spanish sounds or words; for example, I heard him say in many occasion a word that you can hear in the video I’ve posted of his interview at the French GP (HERE) at 5:05; he wants to use a word that in this context means “whatever”, which is: “qualsiasi” /kwalˈsi.a.si/ that in Spanish is "cualquiera" /kwalˈkjeɾa/, but you can hear that Carlos uses a mix that sounds like “cualquie-siasi” which is just so cute 🥰.

That’s such a little thing tough; he uses words that are part of the actual spoken language and he does it in such a natural way! He also knows many terms that are used just in the f1 world that he must have learnt by speaking with Italian people in the paddock because you can’t study those on a book. So, yeah, he’s pretty brilliant in my opinion.

Tbh I’m always amazed when I hear drivers speaking Italian, so many of them speak in such a natural and proficient way; Charles has almost no accent, sometimes he makes mistakes but he speaks better Italian than English, Alonso is almost like Carlos, Ocon is not perfect but fluent, Pierre and Daniel are not that good but they still try sometimes, Daniel is just so much fun to hear but it can be a little bit embarrassing, not for how he speaks but for what he says 😂. Nico Rosberg needs a special mention though, he is just WOW! I couldn’t believe it when I first heard him speak. His accent is so on point! You can tell that he grew up with people that are from the norther part of Italy because that’s where I live and HE HAS MY ACCENT, it’s so weird because he can mess up words or tenses so that you know that he’s not 100% Italian but you could never tell that he’s German!

Back to Carlos, I think he has improved a lot in these last two years working with Italian people in Italy, he just keeps getting better and I agree with you Anon, he’s just so mesmerizing to hear and watch ✨✨✨✨❤️.

I didn’t mean to write an essay about drivers and Italian..oops..thank you anon for your question! Next time I’ll try and be less verbose 😅

#BEHOLD AN ESSAY THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR #carlos sainz jr #should i tag the other drivers..?#charles leclerc #daniel ricciardo #nico rosberg #f1 #ok just those three..charles because he's good nico because he's amazing and daniel because he's daniel #anon #ask #answers #i almost forgot!#Another ex-driver who is just outstanding is Daniil Kvyat and I think that Carlos learnt a lot from him back when they were teammates #ok..my work here is done #BYE ANON! Thanks again! <3

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