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#we all contain multitudes my dudes

sailor-egg · 2 months

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how much of ur gender is ur makeup/facial hair?

#me #gay #we all contain multitudes my dudes

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quixoticall · 2 months

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This Could Get Ugly Track 5: The Beginning of the End

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

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

warnings: ANGST, drinking, drug use, smut, oral and fingering f receiving, p in v sex, the Harringtons make an appearance.

a/n: It has been a while my loves! If you've been following me at all, you know I've had a rough month. I really, truly appreciate every single one of you who has reached out and checked in! I appreciate you! This chapter is extra long to make up for lost time and it contains smut. It's my first time writing smut, so hopefully, I did not disappoint.

wc: 11.2K

MASTERLIST🎸

PLAY PREVIOUS TRACK 🎵

APRIL 28th, 1984 PHILADELPHIA , PA—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

If you wanted to be technical about it, the whole thing started with Argyle.

The two of you were backstage, sitting outside the dressing rooms killing time during the opener—some local band that you weren’t previously familiar with.

You had always appreciated Argyle’s ability to be friendly with everyone and float above the tensions, that was the case especially now when things with the others seemed to have fallen apart a little.

You were sitting next to each other on the floor, backs against the wall, as you were running him through some of the songs that had made the preliminary list for the next album and asking for his input while he threw a bouncy ball against the opposite wall. You liked working with Argyle, he was out of the box, creative, and one of the most technically skilled band members. You had been sitting with him for only 30 minutes and he had already made one of your songs infinitely better.

“What’s the move tonight, dude?” he asks you, nonchalantly as you scribbled down some of his suggested changes.

You shrug in response, “I dunno, I might just go home and sleep after this, maybe work on the arrangements for this—” You wave your beat-up notebook in the air, and he scoffs.

“You like never come out with us anymore,” he exclaims, “I miss when we all used to party together, dude. Now you are all dropping like flies and it’s not as fun anymore!”

It was your turn to scoff at him, “Please, I was never the life of the party, Argyle, c’mon.”

“Are you kidding, dude? People would always show up in droves to see you. Plus, you’re like totally fun. Remember when you and Steve did karaoke in Austin and you both got on the bar? That was totally cool.”

You chuckle at the memory and concede, “Yeah, that was pretty fun, but you still have everyone else!”

“Well, you took my dude Eddie too,” he points out without malice.

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t come out since St. Louis—keeps saying he’s gonna stay in just in case you want to write with him.”

Of course, this is news to you. You hadn’t taken up Eddie’s offer to write together since he had spurned you in Missouri (and since he starred in a very vivid dream of yours). It wasn’t that you didn’t accept his apology (presented in the form of a ridiculously large flower bouquet) it was that thing would have been far too awkward at this point.

It wasn’t that you had a crush on him necessarily, you were pretty sure that mantle was still taken up by Steve to some extent, it was more that there was an undeniable sexual something between the two of you below the surface that your dreams had made obvious and you didn’t trust yourself to be alone in a room with him without wanting to rip his clothes off.

Obviously, giving in to your desires was a bad idea for a multitude of reasons but chiefly, because:

a. It would wreak havoc on the band.

b. You were certain Eddie wouldn’t reciprocate your advances.

But then… you had heard what Argyle had said.

“Wait, are you saying Eddie has been hanging out after shows just on the off chance that I may call him?” You confirm incredulously.

Argyle nods in response, “Yeah. Did you put a spell on him or something?”

“No,” you respond wryly, “I’m not that type of witch, I’m the bad kind of witch.”

“Well, you definitely did something to the dude, he’s been obsessing over whether or not you hate him and keeps trying to get me to ask.”

This takes you aback completely. Eddie caring so much what you thought of him that he’d be willing to ask Argyle, of all people to discreetly scope that out seems improbable so you continue to probe.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, he obviously thinks you’re pretty and he’s just been waiting around for you to call him up, and he cares a lot about what you think of him, which is weird because last time I checked he kinda hated you—no offense.”

“How do you know all this?” You ask, ignoring the offense.

“He told me, duh.”

“Have you told anyone else this?”

“No one else has asked,” Argyle says plaintively.

“Well, how about we keep all of this between the three of us, then?” You propose.

Before the drummer can confirm, the thundering applause signaling that the opening act had wrapped up cut the conversation off.

Neither of you has the chance to continue the discussion before being rushed onto stage by a harried and high-strung stage manager.

Without knowing, Argyle had invertedly changed the course of everything.

***

EDDIE: We were in Philly. It was a great show—probably one of the best of that tour. The audience was feeling us the opener was sick and we were just gelling for what felt like probably the first time. It was like we were all finally on the same wavelength if that makes sense. No more guessing what the next move was or fighting to keep up. It was like we were finally learning to trust each other.

***

The Philly show was electric, all the elements had come together perfectly. You and Steve were particularly reveling in it. You spent most of the night singing into the same microphone, lips inches from one another, your hand grasping the back of his neck, fingers carding through his hair, and eye contact unbreaking. At one point, you were certain by the way he had captured your bottom lip under the meat of his thumb, that he was going to lean in and kiss you on the mouth, a barrier that the two of you had managed to maintain this whole time.

The audience must have had a similar thought by the sounds of their cheers—a sound that seemed to have shaken both you and Steve from whatever spell you had been under because the next thing you know the pressure of his thumb was gone and his eyes were turned away from you and towards the crowd.

The rest of the show was spent similarly—the two of you toeing the line and the audience following your every move. It was easy to get addicted both to the applause and the intimacy.

After the encores were sung and the last bows were taken, though, Steve was back to barely being able to look at you.

The only time his gaze does flit to you, ever-briefly, is when you politely decline Argyle’s invitation to go out after the show.

“Come on dude, you said you would come if I looked at your song,” the drummer gives a half-hearted attempt at bargaining which only makes you giggle.

“I never said that Argyle,” and truly you hadn’t, “I said that I couldn’t go out because I had to make those changes you suggested.”

In response, Argyle begins to boo you, loudly and the others join in eagerly.

You roll your eyes playfully and bid goodbye to Argyle and the rest of the band when you part ways for the night and you notice that other than yourself, Eddie is the only one missing from the boisterous group but you try not to think too much on it.

Your efforts to push all thoughts of Eddie out of your mind seemed to have the opposite effect and it was like the thoughts themselves were digging their heels in and had found your mind to be a welcoming home.

You had made the song changes you had told Argyle you would and even tried to make some progress on your plethora of unfinished songs. As it turned out, you worked slower when you wrote alone.

You knew that as the remaining tour dates dwindled and the band’s return to LA drew closer, you eventually would have to approach Eddie again to write together. It was indisputable that whatever the two of you produced together was almost always better than what you accomplished alone.

How could you possibly approach him when you could barely look at him without dying of mortification? With Steve, at least, you could get some of the sexual energy out on stage, but with Eddie you didn’t have the same luxury and it stayed bottled up.

All of this, along with Argyle’s words from earlier in the evening made focusing nearly impossible and you gave up on writing all together, deciding to call it a night and head to bed. To your chagrin, the better part of the night was spent tossing and turning trying to evict the thoughts and ideas that had begun to formulate in your mind fueled by a lack of sleep, stress and desperation. And suddenly, you had an idea.

Admittedly, it was not a very good idea. It was actually probably a very bad idea. A ruinous idea even. And yet, you found yourself pulling the covers off yourself and stumbling into a pair of slippers, perplexed by your actions. You wondered, as you blearily shuffled down the identical hotel halls why you weren’t trying to talk yourself out of this idea—one that you were certain was going to change everything. Perhaps you were itching for a new thrill. Or maybe you were as selfish as everyone seemed to believe. Maybe it was the poison that had settled in your heart before you were old enough to know better, insisting that there was no other option for you. Or maybe you were giving yourself far too much credit and you were simply horny.

Whatever the reason, it brought you directly to Eddie Munson’s door.

***

EDDIE: I swear I thought I was dreaming when I saw her there, standing outside my door in this tiny pajama top and even tinier short. They had little cherries on them. I remember thinking they were so cute. Her hair was all a mess. I thought that was cute too.

After probably 5 minutes of us standing there in the doorway, I finally got my brain to work enough to invite her in. She seemed nervous at first. Sort of paced around the room, not saying anything for a while and then—I swear to God—she asks, “Do you want to sleep with me?” out of fucking nowhere. If I hadn’t been there myself, I would’ve never believed it. Hell, even telling you now, part of me thinks I made it up.

My brain short-circuited because I couldn’t even respond. I just stared at her with my jaw on the fucking floor, trying to remember what the signs of a stroke were.

***

“Are you serious?” Eddie spits out, voice hoarse with shock at your overly-direct question.

You nod, wordlessly, trying to ignore the panic that has begun to set in.

“Why?” he presses.

You shrug, which he doesn’t find sufficient because he nods along, trying to draw the reasons from you.

“We both like sex,” you explain, clumsily, “and I find you attractive and I think you find me attractive, too—” he nods feverishly at this—“so why not have some fun?”

You try to say this last part enticingly but aren’t sure you pulled it off until you see a flush play itself across his pretty features.

“Why me? Why not Harrington?”

Even though you had anticipated the question, you can’t help but steel yourself as you respond, “Because we like each other enough for it to be fun but not enough for either of us to get attached.”

You watched, with bated breath as the thoughts played out over Eddie’s features and when you see a flash of what could be hurt you entertain for the briefest moment, the idea that maybe someone could get hurt but the thought is pushed away as a lazy grin begins to spread over his face and a newfound cockiness color his features.

Suddenly, he is much closer, and the space between your two bodies draws thin.

“Now?” he asks.

“Yes, now,” you squeak out as he encroaches in on you, fingertips grazing the bare skin on your hips.

You take a step towards him, moving to stand flush against his hip, invitingly and weave a hand through his unruly bed head curls. You want him to know how much you want this—how much you’ve wanted this. It was inevitable really, there had always been a tension between the two of you. Whether it was the hot friction of dislike , the bold spark of creative partnership or the hot embers of sexual tension, the two of you burned for one another just the same.

He leans in for a kiss when your impatience gets the best of you and you rush to meet him halfway.

He tastes like cigarettes and cherries, a taste you revel in as his lips move languidly over yours. Suddenly, he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and lightly tugs, and a moan tumbles out of you.

“We can’t tell anyone,” you mutter into the kiss and it goes unacknowledged.

The cold of his rings meets your nipples through the thin fabric of your strappy pajama top and your body arches in response.

The kiss is broken you are left gasping for air. Eddie wastes no time in attaching his lips to your neck, his tongue tracing over your collarbone hotly.

The straps of your top are shucked of your shoulders and the fabric bunched down towards your middle and a trail of kisses following in its wake.

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and the hands in your waist guide you down in a fluid motion.

Your eyes flutter as wet kisses are peppered over your breasts.

“Come on princess, let me hear those pretty noises,” Eddie murmurs into your skin, his hot breath covering you in goosebumps.

A heady moan escapes you, almost on command. It would’ve embarrassed you if you still had the decency to care.

A trail of kisses and suddenly Eddie is thumbing at the waistband of your shorts. You nod fervently when his eyes suddenly trail up to find you, but that’s not enough for him.

“Come on, baby,” he teases, “tell me what you want.”

You throw your head back in frustration and want and Eddie takes this lapse in response to run his hand sloppily over your clothed core.

“So wet,” he murmured, “so pretty.”

You let out a desperate laugh at this and his eyes are back on you, expectantly and any resistant you have dissipates.

“Touch me, please,” you sigh, half plea, half demand.

It’s not a hard sell because your shorts and underwear are gone in a flash and cold rings are pulling your thighs wide open.

You reach out towards Eddie’s curls for purchase, gently tugging him closer to your core, hoping he’d get the message.

A moment of clarity cuts through your haze and suddenly you’re pulling him up by his hair, forcing eye contact.

“No one can know,” you insists.

He’s all half-lidded eyes and dazed smile when he’s looking at you.

Leaning in to grab his jaw in your palm, you pull him close. This is important.

“Eddie, no one can know. Promise me,” you repeat again.

He nods in agreement, even though his expression leads you to believe you could’ve asked anything in that moment and he would’ve readily acquiesced.

“No one can know,” he affirms before hitching your body closer with a harsh tug on your thighs and disappearing in between your legs, mouth latching hotly to where you need him the most.

***

EDDIE: We started sleeping together that night. A no strings attached type thing. We had to keep it a secret. She didn’t want to hurt Harrington’s feelings which I understood. He was a good guy and anyone could tell he was head over heels for her.

And she was just… well, I guess she was just afraid. We were kind of the same in that way. Couldn’t hold onto anything without crushing it into dust.

***

MAY 1st, 1984–STATEN ISLAND, NY—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

Eddie’s hands are curled around your thighs, keeping your body balanced on the flimsy tour bus bathroom sink. His silver rings dig into the soft flesh of your thigh in a way that you are certain will leave bruises in their wake.

You have to be quiet, you know that. Even if the rest of the band had taken a quick pit stop between Philly and New York to explore the Staten Island Zoo and the likelihood of them coming back this early was low, it wasn’t non-existent . This left you stifling your own moans into the back of your hand as Eddie rocked into you languidly and delicious.

Your hand moved to steady itself behind you as he lets go of your left thigh and places the pad of his thumb on the soft flesh of your clit, causing you to forget nearly everything.

He seems to anticipate your next move though, because his mouth is quickly on yours, tongue gliding over your bottom lip and effectively keeping you quiet.

The angle of his hips meeting your core and his nimble fingers worked together to bring you closer to your release.

“I can feel it, baby, you’re close aren’t you?”

You nod feverishly, eyes screwed shut, “Yes, so good Eds. I’m gonna cum,” you manage to squeak out.

“C’mon pretty girl, look at me,” Eddie instructs firmly, but you can tell by the strain in his voice that he’s not too far behind, “wanna see you when you cum.”

You force your eyes open and he rewards you by pressing his unoccupied thumb into your bottom lip which you greedily take into your mouth.

Your release washes over you in a wave and you watch moments later as Eddie finds his own.

The two of you are left panting for a few moments as you try to steady yourselves. Once you find your bearings, you lower yourself from the sink and adjust the sundress that was so carelessly shucked to your hips and Eddie busies himself with disposing of the condom discreetly.

Turning to the bathroom mirror, you make an attempt at taming your haphazard hair and fixing your smudged lipstick before making a move for the door.

“Well, that was nice,” you offer before spilling into the tour bus’s common space.

“Wait,” Eddie cries out as he’s still adjusting his belt, “where are you going?”

You shrug nonchalantly in response but don’t turn around, “Back to the girls’ bus.”

“You don’t want to… you don’t want to stick around maybe? We could do some writing?” Eddie sounds out of breath when he asks but you chalk it up to the sex.

“Better not. It might look suspicious,” you explain as you take the stops down from the bus, two at a time.

“Right, wouldn’t want that,” Eddie squeaks out and you smile back at him, grateful for his understanding.

“See you later, Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything back, but when you look back after having boarded your own bus, he’s still standing on the bottom step, eyes still on you.

***

EDDIE: Let’s get the record straight about something though, I didn’t steal her away from anyone. She is her own person first of all, not some thing to be stolen. And second of all, she came to me first. Not the other way around. And! She and Harrington weren’t even really seeing each other. So, other than the lying, it truthfully wasn’t that bad.

But then again, does the truth even matter? Especially now? After everything?

INTERVIEWER: It does to me and to you too, I think, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

EDDIE: Has anyone ever told you you’re too smart for your own good?

***

MAY 3rd, 1984–NEW YORK CITY, NY—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

It was easy, really, to keep your fling with Eddie a secret from the rest of the band. Most of them were barely paying attention to what you were doing anyway.

Nancy and Jonathan were once again preoccupied with waiting by the phone to hear from Jonathan’s mother, Joyce. Will’s condition had once again worsen and the two were on high alert.

Robin and Steve were busy sightseeing and pointedly only talking to you when necessary. They weren’t hostile, per se, (or at least, Steve wasn’t) but they also made a point to not invite you to their outing. You want to tell them to be wary of the paps since the city is crawling with them in a matter akin to cockroaches but you know better than to try to tell Robin what to do.

Argyle, for his part, is in his own world.

The two of you were essentially in the clear barring rehearsals, shows and any stray public appearance. Still, you couldn’t help but want to take precautions.

***

EDDIE: She would never sleep over. You know, after. She was too worried about what would happen if Steve or anyone else went looking for her.

It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did, she—we had made it very clear that this was a purely physical thing but, well, between you and me kid, I always knew it was never gonna be like that. At least not for me. I was in deep for way longer than I had realized.

***

Long, skilled fingers trace patterns along your naked spine. The movements are comforting, calming, you almost find yourself lulled to sleep. Except you know you shouldn’t—that you can’t.

Your eyes flutter open as you fight against the sleep that sets in. This isn’t your bed, you remind yourself, and you feel that in the brush of the sheets against your naked body that definitively do not feel like the sheets of your bed merely a few doors down. It’s a silly thought, truly, these sheets are probably the exact same as the ones on your bed and more so, you haven’t slept in your bed, a bed that is truly, strictly your own in years . Still, this does not feel quite right.

You will your body to stir, working actively against every nerve that is telling you not to move from the warm, comfortable haven you had found and the warm body next to you but you know better. This is a dance you’re familiar with: they ask you to stay but don’t really mean it and if they do it’s only to squeeze another quick fuck in.

“Why don’t you stay?” Eddie grumbles into your shoulder even though both of you already know the answer.

“What if someone comes looking for me, huh?” A question for a question, “it’ll be hard to explain to Hopper why I’m naked in your bed.”

“Bullshit. You’re one of the only ones Hopper doesn’t have to keep tabs on,” Eddie’s only partially playful in saying this.

“I miss my bed,” you rebut, plainly and the guitarist pouts in response.

“This is like the same bed, dude.”

“ ‘Dude’? You’ve been hanging out with Argyle way too much.”

“Whatever,” Eddie dismisses as his hand travels down along your spine to circle around the rise of your hip to the front of your body to pull you closer against his chest and you squeal.

His skilled fingers travel down to the apex of your legs and two of them swipe through your still-wet heat making you jolt. You’re still sensitive from earlier in the night and Eddie is using that to his advantage as he swipes over your clit.

You moan at the contact and your hips canter forward embarrassingly quickly.

“Don’t want to leave now, do you?” Eddie teases as he moves away from your clit to tease your entrance and you mewl in response. Before you know it a pair of lips are attached to your neck and two fingers are slowly, deliciously rocking in and out of your core. A hand moves up to grip Eddie by the hair as you moan.

“Just like that, please keep going.”

You feel Eddie’s length begin to harden against your back as his pace quickens and his thumb circles your clit bringing you closer to your third orgasm of the night.

“No fair,” you pant, as you feel a tightening in your lower stomach. “You can’t keep me around by giving me orgasms.”

He laughs at this, full-blown guffaws. “There’s no rule against it,” he says as his tongue slides over the shell of your ear. His fingers curl inside you and you gasp at the sudden pressure before succumbing to the feeling. Your release washes over you, unexpectedly and you cry out.

A few seconds reprieve give you a moment to come back to earth. You sigh contently feeling Eddie’s harden length against the swell of you ass.

It would be impolite to leave him hanging.

***

EDDIE: Not that I could complain about our arrangement.

***

You had fallen asleep. Accidentally, of course, but erroneously still. You realize this far too late as the harsh red numbers of the hotel room alarm clock blare at you angrily: 11:52 AM.

You scramble out of bed, covers flung in the process and you make a grab for your clothes that litter the floor. The sudden, frantic movement had inadvertently awoken the man sleeping next to you and you could hear the sleep in his voice as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Woah, woah where’s the fire, princess?”

“It’s nearly noon!” you respond, panic clear in your voice. “I accidentally fell asleep and now it’s almost noon!”

Your mind is overcome with worst case scenarios and conclusions that are easily jumped to as you imagine how this late morning can turn into your downfall.

Eddie tries valiantly to calm you down to no avail. You had done the one thing you said you never would: you stayed the night and now you didn’t know what to do with that other than panic and rush out the door half dressed and fully angered with yourself throwing a paltry goodbye to a very disoriented Eddie over your shoulder as you did so.

You try to fix your hair in the elevator along with your harried breath. Most of the band wake up late into the day, you try to remind yourself, especially after a night out.

It was not unusual to be walking the halls of your hotel room at this time, but you still felt overwhelmingly nervous walking back to your room in a way that you felt obviously gave away that you were coming back from a night of raunchy sex.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the elevator doors slid open to reveal Steve Harrington waiting outside your door. This is what you were afraid of. Certainly one look at you and he’d know exactly what you were doing and probably with who and that would spell the end of the Downsides, you were sure of it.

You didn’t say anything as you exited the elevator and slowly made your way over, hoping to prolong the moment before everything came crumbling down as much as you could.

A few steps in and you had caught Steve’s attention. When he looked at you though, it wasn’t with anger or disappointment but with nerves.

***

STEVE: My parents moved around a lot after I left home. Indianapolis, Chicago, Phoenix in the winter and Bridgeport in the summer, you know, regular rich folks shit.

It’s not like I could ever go back home but when they heard the band was planning on making the stop they wanted me to visit them and they wanted me to bring my girlfriend to meet them. I hadn’t wanted to ask then, things were kind of awkward between the two of us, but they kept insisting. It’s like they didn’t believe I could’ve bagged a girl like her and they were willing to call me on it. So, I had no other choice but to ask.

***

You understood where Steve was coming from, truly, your own parents were rich and demanding. Plus, something about seeing your fake boyfriend waiting at your door after a night sleeping with someone else really made you susceptible to his request.

And really, there wasn’t a universe where you would say no to a request from Steve Harrington, so of course you were going to meet his parents.

***

MAY 6th, 1984–NEW YORK CITY, NY—30 ROCKEFELLER PLAZA

“So I heard you’re meeting the in-laws,” Eddie plops down in the makeup seat next to you

You’re backstage at The Nightly Show with Chris Palmer, getting ready for one of the few media appearances Hopper had managed to schedule during the band’s short stint in the city.

You can tell by the pinching between Eddie’s eyes and the snarl in his tone that he’s not in a good mood. You chock up his demeanor to the same thing that has dampened yours: the upcoming interview.

The lack of media appearances had been a welcomed change during the band’s time on the road and the adjustment back to them have been rocky. You, for one, are on edge at the idea of having to sit down with the smarmy, sexist, Chris Palmer who, on his late night show, had already taken a few swings at you for laughs and the thought of him having the chance to do so to your face, made you sick.

Which was why you barely responded to Eddie’s attempt t goading you and instead, shrug in response, tightly, “I guess.”

His eyes flit over you and his demeanor shift to one approximating concern. “Hey, you doing okay?” He moves closer, but not enough for it to be noticeable to anyone but you.

“Yeah,” you try to smile but it comes out a grimace, “just out of practice I guess.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I have an extra copy of Baldwin that I brought on accident if you want a distraction,” the book flashes in your periphery and this time your smile comes out genuine and unprompted.

While you can’t be one hundred percent certain, you’re familiar enough with the guitarist’s ways to know that this was no accident—he brought the book with you in mind.

You make a grab for it but have to keep yourself from leaning in for a hug at the risk of the others’ scrutiny and your makeup artist’s ire. Not knowing how else to communicate your appreciation, you give his shirt a quick—and hopefully discreet—tug. He seems to catch your drift because his fingers graze yours purposefully as you move your hand away.

The brief touch shoots electricity through you.

“Thanks,” you murmur before watching him jaunt away to his spot between Argyle and Jonathan, both of your moods seemingly lifted, if only for a moment.

You’re grateful for the distraction although it barely keeps your attention and instead end up thumbing through the pages anxiously to the chagrin of your makeup artist who is clearly relieved to pass you onto hair once the final touches of lipstick are applied.

You thank her profusely before moving next door where, to the surprise of exactly no one, you’re sat next to Steve. Or at least you think it’s Steve you’re sat next to given how little you can see through the thick mass of hairspray clouding the air.

“They don’t call me ‘The Hair’ for nothing, right?” He says when you catch his eye through the fumes.

His hair stylists laughs a little too hard for your taste and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I thought you hated that nickname,” you say, settling into your chair, ready to play your part as the doting girlfriend.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “there are worst things to be called.”

You scoff in response, your previous concerns regarding tonight’s host bubbling up again, “I am sure there are.”

Steve turns to you fully now, offering a charming apology to his stylist that leaves her a giggling puddle, and you can feel his eyes scanning you in assessment.

He suddenly reaches over to the vanity in front of him, “The vending machine in the hall is totally broke, it gave me four candy bars. Do you want one?”

You look over at the bars in his hand which he has fanned evenly and is waving as if they’re a wad of cash and you grab one out of his reach.

“These are my favorite,” you point out as you smooth a hand over the wrapper, remembering all the times you would raid the vending machines at venues or backstage before an interview for them.

“I know,” he says, impishly.

“Harrington, be straight with me, is the machine really broken or did you get me my favorite candy bar just to butter me up?”

He nods, self-satisfied, like a little kid happy to be caught doing something that they’ll know they’ll get away with. Your joint hairstylists coo in adoration at your dotting “boyfriend” and you can’t help but roll your eyes affectionately.

“You seem a bit nervous,” he explains, “and candy usually helps.”

You exhale a laugh at this and admit that he’s right, “candy usually does help,” before nibbling on the bar carefully for the sake of your lipstick.

“So, what’s up?” He asks after a beat, while the hairstylists are preoccupied cleaning their tools, “are you nervous about doing our thing again?”

He says the last part with an overly-dramatic eyebrow waggle and you giggle.

What do you mean?” You ask, avoiding his glance.

He almost rolls his eyes at this but catches himself, knowing better.

“You just seem off, like nervous almost? But not in the usual way you are nervous about interview, but like different. Normally you’re just nervous because you overthink it but now it’s like you’re dreading it.”

You snort at the way he saw right through you.

“It’s stupid but, Chris Palmer has made jokes about me in the past, you know, about my dating history and things like that and I’m not really looking forward to hearing what he has to say tonight,” you explain, bashfully.

“What do you mean? Do you and Chris know each other?”

“No,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably in your seat, “he just is, you know, one of those comedians who pokes fun at celebrities and he loves making fun of women who ‘get around’ or whatever and well, that was my reputation before you… and the band.”

You see realization dawn on Steve’s features, it’s almost like he doesn’t believe anyone could ever be mean to you. Realization quickly turns to anger.

“And you think he’ll make fun of you tonight in the same way? In front of everyone?”

You shrug at this, “maybe, he’s not exactly known for taking it easy on his guests, but I’m used to it, it’s annoying though.”

Steve shakes his head aggressively at your dismissal and bolts up from his char, “No, I’m going to go talk to Hopper or something, have him tell Palmer’s people he needs to cool it or we won’t perform.”

He’s marching down the hall now, purposeful and quick. You make a beeline after him running ahead to cut him off.

“Woah, hey, Steve, you do not need to do that.” The last thing you want is the band being labeled as difficult to work with this early on.

Standing in front of him with your hands flat on his chest, you suddenly become very aware of all the eyes peaking out of the different green rooms to watch the exchange curiously, band mates and crew alike.

Steve grabs one of your hands lightly in his and gives it a tepid squeeze.

“I’m sorry but I am not sitting up there tonight and listening to anyone say anything bad about you. That’s just not going to happen, okay? Please trust me, I won’t do anything crazy, I’ll just talk to Hopper and we’ll figure this out. I have your back, remember?”

You study his face as he says this and are caught up in the earnestness etched into every corner of it.

“Okay,” you finally say, softly and back away from his path, “thanks.”

And you watch him go.

***

STEVE: Hopper hadn’t known about the Palmer thing. He wouldn’t have booked us if he did. When I told him, he was pretty peeved and we immediately went to go talk to the stage manager—some smarmy guy whose name I don’t remember.

Told us essentially, that it was no use, that Palmer wrote his own material fresh before each show.

Well, after that, Hopper and I track down Palmer in his dressing room and, you know, we give him a shake down. Old school style. Like back when Hopper was on the force. … he did most of the shaking down, don’t get me wrong, I was definitely going to get in there, but he seemed to really enjoy it. Plus I had just gotten my hair done.

***

When Steve reappears in the green room half an hour later, Hopper is trailing him smiling giddily.

Coming up to your side, Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans into your hair to murmur, “We took care of it.” The giant grin Hopper is sporting lets you know that they had and you exhale a sigh of relief, curling a hand against his bicep gratefully.

You spring back a few seconds later when you feel Eddie’s heavy gaze from the spot he occupied next to you, eyes boring into all the places your body is touching Steve’s.

You can sense Steve’s confusion at the lost contact but before anything else can be said or done, the stage manager appears to move escort the band to the sound stage saving you from having to navigate the complex social dynamic of interacting with your fake boyfriend who wants to be your real boyfriend and your band rival turned friend-with-benefits. Gratefully, you allow yourself to believe for the first time, that maybe luck would be on your side and tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

***

NANCY: Do I think Chris Palmer had a personal vendetta against her? No, not going into that night, anyway. I think he was just a misogynistic idiot who didn’t know what to do about a talented and beautiful woman who also did whatever she wanted. His mind couldn’t wrap around that.

That was true for a lot of men back then. And now too.

JONATHAN: It felt like Chris had a personal vendetta against her.

***

The first half of the interview went well enough.

The band was welcomed with great fanfare and everyone filed towards the couches in the center of the stage next to the large mahogany desk Chris sat behind. You and Steve were, of course, together at the forefront and you could hear the collective cooing when he helped you down the platform.

The interview started out mild, questions about the tour and being on the road. Thankfully, Steve took the helm for most of them with the band weighing in throughout.

To your surprise, Chris directs his next question to you and Eddie.

“You two are the newest additions to the band, how has the transition been coming from working as a solo artist and from a band of a whole different genre to the Downsides and what made you want to make the change?”

The question was surprisingly insightful which took you a second to process and come up with an answer that wasn’t “Well, Chris, we were forced to join The Downsides at the risk of our careers ending completely.”

Eddie beats you to it, “The royalty checks are better than they are when you’re in a metal band for one—“ it takes the audience a second to realize this is a joke, but when they do the laugh pays off— “but honestly, I like the stability. What they don’t tell you, kids, is that too much rock and roll can be bad for you.” He says this part directly to the camera with a devilish grin.

“What about you?” Chris turns to you once the laughter subside, “do you miss being a free agent?”

You ignore how pointed that feels and smile in response.

“Not at all, the band has been super welcoming and there’s something really rewarding about working together to make something great happen.”

“Don’t miss your old duet partners at all?” The host needles.

“No, not really. At the risk of sounding cheesy Chris, I think I found my forever duet partner,” you punctuate your response with a pointed smile at Steve.

The audience eats your response up but you can tell that Chris is not ready to let it go. Luckily for you, a well-timed commercial break saves you from further questioning.

When the cameras start rolling once more though and the segment is reintroduced, Chris flashes you a wolfish smile.

“So, does this mean you’ve settled down a bit more, now that you’re a one-duet partner type of gal?”

The question makes your throat run dry because you know that there’s another, much tricker question behind it.

“No, not at all. It’s nice to be a part of something,” you respond placidly.

Chris barely lets you finish before launching into, “well the press sure does miss writing about you! Did you know that, in the last year, you were one of the most mentioned stars on Subrosa, popping up a total of 65 times only rivaled by one Evelyn Hugo in 1967.”

You don’t really know what to say or where this is going but the feeling of dread in your stomach grows.

“In fact,” he continues, “why don’t we play a game that we cooked up with the help of your Subrosa mentions?”

Games were something Chris did with his guests pretty frequently and they varied in execution but in nature there was always something a bit embarrassing to them and tonight was no exception. But instead of going after the band as a whole, this game was targeted specifically at you .

It was a guessing game, “Simple enough,” Chris touted as his assistants bring out giant blown up headshots of various male celebrities, guess which of the men you had been involved with according to the media and which ones you hadn’t been. The joke of course was that you had been linked to all the men whose pictures had been provided.

The looks of shock on your bandmates’ faces perfectly countered the one of self-satisfaction painted on Chris’s smarmy face.

You felt Steve stiffen beside you, leg twitching as if he was getting ready to stand up and leave. Or punch Chris. Before he can, you place a stabilizing leg on his thigh and giving a squeeze. You didn’t want this to diverge into a fight and you refuse to let this vile man make a fool of you on live television.

“Well, this won’t do,” you smirk at Chris. “You only have half of my list out here, Chris! You’re missing quite a few other fellas. I thought you wanted to make this difficult.”

“Oh?” The host is clearly not expecting your response but has no choice to lean in since you clearly have the audience’s attention, “and who could we possibly be missing?”

“The crown prince of Monaco, for starters,” you respond, evenly, “and the entire Harlem Globetrotters ‘83 starting lineup—“ the crowd guffaws at your clear exaggeration, “—and most importantly, this guy,” you reach over to grab Steve’s chin and affectionately squeeze his face. At this, laughter turns into applause and from where you are sitting on the shared couch, you see Chris’s jaw tighten.

“Is there anyone who’s hasn’t made the list?” he cries, trying to turn the joke back on you.

“You, for starters,” you respond playfully, and then add before he can say anything, “but who knows? Maybe this band thing doesn’t work out and in a few years time I’ll become washed up and lower my standards and you and I can give it a shot.”

Before Chris can retort, Steve cuts in with an over-exaggerated, faux-jealous, “what about me?” That kicks off a jokey bit of banter between the three of you that takes the show all the way up to comercial.

***

NANCY: There was a second part to the game.

ROBIN: Yeah, that second thing was just mean. It was essentially the same premise as the first guessing game but instead of guessing different men she had been associated with, it was different nicknames she had been given by the media. They were not very nice names either, “Siren of the Strip”, “Heartbreak of Hollywood”, “Pop Music’s Maneater”, you get the gist.

Of course, like with the last “game” the joke was that it had been all is them.

***

The names had been a surprise. You didn’t know how to react and neither did your bandmates although you’re pretty sure you can feel the heat from Eddie’s glare from the other end of the set.

Still, you kept your cool and immediately admitted that all of them seemed familiar and instead turned the conversation into criticisms of each of the names, which was gaining too many laughs for Chris to try to stop it.

“See this one I don’t like at all,” you say, pointing to Malibu Minx that had been professionally printed on a giant poster board in newspaper font.

“Whys that?” The host asked wolfishly.

“Malibu Minx? Are you serious? Anyone with half a brain knows I’m from the Hills, not Malibu. Honestly, it’s a little insulting.”

“Come on, they can’t be that different,” Chris still plays along, even though your comment did not go where he wanted it to.

“Not at all! The Hills is where all the directors and actors live, Malibu is where divorced dads take their kids during their monthly weekend visits. It’s like, here on the east coast… well, I can’t think of an East Coast equivalent. Chris, help me out, where do you take your kids during your monthly visits?”

***

ROBIN: You should’ve seen his face when she said that.

NANCY: His first divorce had just gone public a few weeks prior. Guess it was still a sore spot. Not that he didn’t deserve it, he did, but he wasn’t used to his guests fighting back like that. The rest of the show was… tense and then after the show ended Palmer lost his cool.

STEVE: Honestly, I wanted to punch the guy since he brought out his stupid little games, but I was willing to leave things as they were that night, especially after she had put Palmer in his place, but we get backstage after the show and he starts yelling at her about having “embarrassed” him or something like he hadn’t essentially called her a bunch of names on live tv. Before any of us could even do anything though, Hopper had him pinned against the wall, saying stuff like “I thought we had come to an agreement about the jokes, Palmer.”

He gave him a good shake down, you know how intimidating Hopper can be. Plus Chris looked like he had never been in a fight in his life so he was shaking in his boots immediately. Security had to come to get Hopper off of him and we were all thrown out after that.

ROBIN: Yeah, we were never asked back after that not that we would’ve gone back.It was a shame for him, really, that 1984 episode of The Nightly Show with Chris Palmer was one of the most viewed episodes in the ten years he was on the air.

***

You return to your hotel room in the early hours of the morning, after having gone for celebratory drinks with Hopper and the rest of the band. Everyone had been thoroughly impressed with the way you had held your own against Chris and even previously-icy Robin seemed impressed and warmed by you.

You hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to Eddie throughout the night, something about the undecipherable expression he wore most of the night had left you curious and you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe hearing your entire history splayed out like that in front of him and the rest of the world had soured you and he no longer wants anything to do with you.

As you’re getting ready for bed, the ringing coming from the hotel phone jolts you.

“Hello?” You breathe out, harried and confused into the handset.

“Hey, I didn’t wake you did I?” Eddie’s concerned question statics over the line.

“No,” you respond, relief coloring your tone, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really, I was just thinking how hot it was when you told that dickbag off and I was wondering if you’d be up to me showing you that.”

“Showing me what, exactly?”

“Showing you how hot I think you are. If you’re up for it, of course?”

25 minutes later, with Eddie’s face buried messily in your pussy you’re near inching closer to release when you hear him muttering into the soft skin of your thigh while two of his skilled fingers begin pumping in an out of your tight heat.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, seeing you all hot and desperate to come on my fingers like this would make me think you are a minx.”

Hearing him call you that so low and growly, left you burning all over and you keen into his hands. Knowing his words had the intended effect, Eddie smirks into your thigh and speeds up his fingers.

“Only for you,” you respond once you can find your voice again.

Eddie give a low moan at this and in an instant he clamors up onto the bed and moves to replace his fingers with his dick.

“Say that again,” he challenges as he swipes his tip through your folds and you cry out.

“I’m a minx for you,” you nod along to what you’re saying, hoping that it makes him more eager to stop teasing and finally push inside you.

He does exactly as you hoped and pushes his hips into you hungrily, setting a punishing pace, “Only for me right?”

You nod along, fucked out and on the verge of coming agian, “Yes, only for you, Eddie.”

You don’t make it back to your hotel room that night either.

***

MAY 11TH, 1984–BRIDGEPORT, CT—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

“Are you sure the’d still want to meet me?” You ask Steve one evening, brushing your hair standing in the doorway of the door that separated your hotel room from his.

“Yeah, of course! Why do you keep asking that? Wait… do you not want to meet them anymore? It’s okay if you don’t,” Steve is already trying to hide his disappointment.

“No,” you rush to correct as you follow the sound of his voice to the bathroom, “it’s not that at all it’s just that, well with all the Minx stuff in the news, I worry that maybe they won’t think I’m worthy of the Harrington brood or whatever.”

You’re of course referring to the drama that had followed the band’s appearance on the Chris Palmer show where Chris had given an interview to Subrosa after you had affectively embarrassed him on his own show calling the band talentless and you worthy of every bad name that the press could call you and more.

In response to the interview—and partially inspired by your encounter with Eddie following the interview— you had gotten the word ‘Minx’ embroidered on the back of your favorite suede jacket which you made sure to wear to all of your subsequent interviews and media appearances for the rest of the band’s time in New York.

“First of all,” Steve begins, rubbing shaving cream over his chin “neither of my parents would ever dream of reading a gossip magazine and even if they did, they hate Chris Palmer, always said he was too ‘blue’ whatever that means. Plus, historically, dinners with my parents haven’t been the most enjoyable affairs, so having you there would really mean a lot to me.”

You smile understandingly at him through the mirror and suddenly the whole domesticity of it all strikes you. In another life, the two of you could’ve simply been a couple discussing meeting one another’s parents in the bathroom of a shitty apartment the two of you shared.

The fantasy is interrupted abruptly by a bright cacophony of knocks at your door.

“That must be Eddie,” you explained, “he’s coming over to write.”

(He really was.)

With all the fucking the two of you had been doing, writing music had fallen to the wayside and as the end of the tour was insight and Murray’s quota of songs still not met, which meant you had to get writing.

You scramble over to your door and let Eddie in. He almost leans in for a kiss but catches himself when he notices the open door leading into Steve’s room where he is very much watching the interaction with prying eyes.

The two nod at each other in greeting. You linger in the middle between either sides the awkwardness tangible in the air. You look at Eddie’s urging eyes and then flash back to Steve whose puppy dog gaze and newly received information about his parents make you do something that is surprising even to yourself.

“Do you want to help us write, Steve?”

The situation is awkward at first, especially with the glares Eddie seems to shoot you and Steve’s shy insistence that he’s no good at writing music but eventually, after two bottles of wine, the tension subsides, at least a little.

Eddie and you had presented Steve with a few songs that were very close to done but just needed a bit more work on the melody hoping that maybe he had suggestions.

He scans over a song that Eddie had primarily written, “Wild Ride”. Steve had an idea for a rhythm that could match the song and before long, he and Eddie were fully invested, both of them bent over their guitars trying out the rhythm and shooting notes at each other. Arrangement was definitely not your strong suit, however, you were more than happy to watch the two guitarists work

Steve was fascinatingly somber when it came to writing. He would play the notes over and over again until he found what came next, treating the whole thing like a puzzle that needed to be solved and running his hands through his hair when he was particularly stuck on something. His eyes would close while he was thinking, his lashes fluttering on his cheeks and then blinking open prettily when he had finally thought of a solution.

Eddie was much less delicate and would play around with notes, sometimes scrapping what he had all together and starting new. He tucked a pen behind his ear and was constantly scribbling and crossing out. When he focused on playing, his tongue would stick out from the corner of his mouth a bit.

They worked well together, never talked over each other, and were always willing to listen to what the other had come up with. As Eddie would write notes down in his notebook, Steve would lean in really close, so they were almost cheek to cheek looking down at the paper together. It almost seemed like they’d forgotten you were there and you were too busy refining some lackluster choruses to notice.

Eventually, they hit a wall in their writing and more drinks were ordered through room service, and soon the three of you are sprawled across your bed, drinking French 75s and watching a late night marathon of “Night Court”.

“Hey Harrington, you excited to see your folks soon?” Eddie asks during a comercial break.

You turn to look and see Steve grimace at the question. You know Eddie means well in asking, but the question ruffles Steve nonetheless.

“Not really. We were never really close on account of them sending me away to boarding school when I was eleven and then when we were together my dad’s favorite pastime was criticizing me and my mom’s was drinking,” Steve says, finally, “seeing them once a year is probably the most I can stand, honestly.”

A beat of silence settles over the group before Eddie finally speaks.

“Sorry to hear that man. If it makes you feel better, my folks weren’t exactly parents of the year either,” Eddie responds.

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, my uncle took me in. He’s a great guy. What about you, Princess? Were your parents the perfect image of love and support?”

You scoff. “Barely. I went back to their house right before the tour started, to get some of my things, and they thought I was breaking in and called the cops.”

“Well,” Eddie bristles, “looks like being a terrible parent can happen across all tax brackets, huh?”

“Yeah, we kinda got fucked over, a bit,” you say and the other two murmur in agreement.

The three of you stay silent for a bit, processing what had been shared and how to possibly move past such a heavy topic.

It’s Steve who finally breaks the silence, “Do you guys think Dan and Christine will ever get together?”

“Oh, yeah.” “Definitely.”

***

“This restaurant is obscenely nice,” you shift uncomfortable in your chair, taking in the surrounds and the unfamiliar unease of being somewhere where you felt out of place. Of course, you had grown up in fine dining establishments in California, but East Coast wealth seemed like a different beast entirely.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Robin huffs next to you, “but what else can you expect from Stan and Carolyn? They’re obsessed with letting everyone know how rich they are.”

She of course, had the advantage of knowing Steve’s parents after over a decade of friendship and it made sense that Steve, wanting as much of a buffer between himself and his parents during this dinner, had invited her along as well. So far, she had only been a little hostile towards you which was a personal victory.

The two of you spot Steve entering the restaurant at the same time along with two middle-aged companions that, based off resemblance alone, you knew were his parents.

Steve’s father had the same starkly defined chin and nose as his son, but none his face didn’t turn up into a natural smile like his son. He stood stately and stern, eyes surveying the room with little interest. His wife, Steve’s mother, was made up of refined, delicate features offset by the bright eyes that were clearly passed on to her son. Her entire outfit was meticulously perfect in a way that almost seemed artificial.

Steve introduces you with fanfare and pride that you don’t consider yourself worthy of but you smile along anyway and graciously shake Mr. Harrington’s hand and exchange dotted cheek kisses with Mrs. Harrington.

You exchange niceties and think to yourself maybe they won’t be so bad.

“Stan, Carolyn, it’s so nice to see you again,” Robin grits out through a tight smile.

Carolyn pats her on the shoulder in response and says,, “Please dear, call us Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. We’re out in public after all.”

***

ROBIN: Yeah, Carolyn and Stan hated me. It was like they could smell the gay on me. Or the poor. From the moment Steve had invited me over to spend spring break with them in the Hamptons they did not like me. They despised the idea of their son’s best friend being some scholarship kid whose parents were public school teachers. However bad they were to me though, they were far worse to Steve, which is why I ever even bothered going to these lunches. I didn’t want him to have to suffer through them alone.

***

“Sorry we’re late,” Mr. Harrington drawls as the three of them take their seats at the table, “our idiotic son forgot to bring cash for the valet.” His statement is punctuated by a mirthless laugh and you can tell by the matching expressions on Steve and Robin’s faces and the way Mrs. Harrington makes a grab for the bottle of wine on the table that this level of disparagement is normal for the Harrington household. You remember the comment Steve had made a few nights ago about his father’s favorite pastime

“Don’t worry,” you respond with a smooth smile, “we’re so used to having drivers back in LA—“ a lie “—I can see why Steve forgot about valet. Although, I’m sure you both know what that’s like.”

Mr. Harrington stalled. Everyone at the table—including you—knew that the Harringtons were nowhere near wealthy enough to afford personal drivers but if there was one thing insecure men, like Stan Harrington would never do is admit that they couldn’t afford something.

You were familiar with these types of ego games from your youth, although you took no pleasure in them.

Your youth was spent tucked into your mothers skirts during luncheons and tea and fashion fittings, listening as the women would eviscerate each other with laser-edge precision. If there was anything your mother had taught you was how to sow the seeds of insecurity in someone and although it did not come naturally, you could make an exception for Stan Harrington.

***

ROBIN: It was easy to forget most of the time that she came from money but damn, the way she handled Stan that night made me think that some politician was missing out on having her as their cutthroat third wife. It was like watching an artist paint or someone do sleight of hand magic. He would say something mean about Steve and she would just turn it right back around on him but she would be smiling and batting her eyes the entire time. Even with that though, it wasn’t an easy lunch to get through.

***

“It’s so nice that Stevie was able to make something of himself through his little music,” Carolyn fawns. She means well, for the most part, but the four glasses of wine she’s downed during the last twenty minutes makes her words come out just a tad but demeaning.

Her husband sneers in response, “You say that now, Carolyn, but soon he’ll be back here asking for a spot in the firm.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” you giggle in response running a hand alongside Steve’s arm, “the studio wants us recording our second album as soon as we get back and then we’ll be touring again and we’ll need him for that.”

“But darling, you can’t possibly expect to do that for the rest of your life,” Mrs. Harrington sighs, “eventually the two of you will want to settle down and have children, live a normal life.”

“Well, yeah Mom, but that’ll be a long time down the road—“

“Making music is our life, we don’t want to ever stop—“

You and Steve halt your explanation once you realize what the other is saying. The two of you exchange blank, confused looks and it’s not until Robin says, “I’m sure that they’ll decide what their next move is when the time comes. We still have plenty of time.” That the two of you jolt back into the conversation.

“Right,” you add, “plus with the royalties deal we just secured on this new album, we will be pretty stable financially.”

The rest of the lunch is spent fielding Mr. Harrington’s questions about financials and Mrs. Harrington’s questions about grandchildren. It’s exhausting but the three of you come out mostly unscathed.

The five of you part ways outside of the restaurant, and not a moment too soon. The wave of relief that washes over the three of you once the Harringtons have been sent on their way in a taxi is palpable.

You and Robin offer to buy Steve a drink for having survived the lunch and Steve offers to buy the two of you a drink as a thank you for playing roles in that. Soon, one drink each turns into multiple rounds of drinks spent recounting all the agonizing points of the lunch.

This leaves the three of you stumbling into your hotel in the early hours of the evening, completely and utterly drunk. You ride the elevator together, a mess of laughter and then bid goodbye to one another in front of Robin’s door. She’s ready to sleep off the drinking and you do not blame her.

This leaves you and Steve to stumble back to your joint rooms together.

“You know, seeing you today having dinner with my parents and my best friend almost made the whole thing feel real,” Steve says lowly, standing in your doorway.

“Steve don’t,” you plea softly.

“I just don’t get it,” he cries in response, “we would be so good together. We are good together: we have so much in common and we just make sense, everyone thinks so except for you. Just… tell me why wouldn’t you give us a shot?”

You’re in your room now, perched on the edge of the bed , teary eyes focused on everything in the room other than the man who stands in front of you.

“Steve that’s not fair. It’s just never going to work, why can’t you accept that?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Steve blurts out, “and I know I may not be your first choice, but if you give me a chance I will prove that I’m good enough—“

“Steve, stop please don’t say that, you’re plenty good enough for anyone,” you stand now, to face him.

“Just not you,” he says devastated.

“No, listen, it’s not like that. I just, I don’t know if I can be with someone in the way that you want me to, okay? You want someone to eventually settle down with and I’m not that girl. I’m the fucking Minx for God’s sake not someone’s future wife. In another life maybe, we could’ve made each other very happy, who knows? But in this one, I can’t be what you want.”

The two of you stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Steve moves, walking past you to sit in your vanity chair.

“Is there someone else you have feelings for?” He asks, timidly.

“No, no,” you insist. “I told you, I don’t do that.”

He laughs mirthlessly in response, “I think you’re wrong about that. I think you’ll find someone, maybe not now or in a year or in five years, but eventually you will find someone and they will make you want to try and you will love them and I will have to watch you fall in love with them and we will both realize I was just not worth it.”

PLAY NEXT TRACK🎤

Taglist: @rexorangecouny , @persophonekarter @mystargirl-interlude @brinleighsstuff @thegaysaretired @nothing2-see @harrysvirgogf @Prior-antidote @stardustofyesterday @buckleyverse

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wishcamper · 2 months

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Heavy Lies the Crown: Rhysand, greatness, and the pressures of power

Or: the librarian’s daughter, former playwright, licensed counselor mashup of my nightmares dreams because I am vast, I contain multitudes.

No content warnings and no real HOFAS spoilers, I don't think, other than that he's in it but I feel like you know that by now. Spoilers for Breaking Bad (lol).

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In working on my current fic (on ao3 here!) I've been thinking a lot about Rhysand and how he really goes off the rails in ACOSF and HOFAS. It's easy to chalk it up to poor writing, but I like the challenge of trying to make it make sense. What are Rhys’ motivations, truly? What would explain the vast array of heinous shit he does the text tells us is justified?

Rhys is shown over and over to be quite Machiavellian ('ends justify the means' dude, who was maybe writing satire). It's easy to list the times he shows this. The 50 year Velaris hostage situation. The bargain UTM with Feyre. The Weaver's cottage. Stealing the Book from Tarquin. CLARE BEDDOR. Infiltrating people's minds. Torture. Assassination. Allying with Kier. Concealing his wife's medical information. Being an ass to people in general. According to Mr. Machiavelli, any action is warranted if it the goal it achieves is morally important enough.

It seems like Rhys can justify anything to himself if he believes it will serve the greatest good at the end of the day. He does so many things with the air of “it’s for your own good” or “you’ll understand why one day” but that day never.. comes? Not yet anyway, which begs the question: is he that unself-aware, or is there a longer game he’s playing that all of these minor skirmishes are leading up to? What if he knows what's coming? And what kind of cause or threat would feel so great he could justify everything he does up to this point?

Okay I'm gonna talk about Aristotelean literary structure, please don't leave me.

The idea of a tragic hero is a character whose downfall is inevitable but who fights against it anyway. Hamlet is a classic example of a tragic hero, Oedipus being the de facto first, Walter White from Breaking Bad a more modern version. We see Walt learn he’s going to die in the first episode, in the middle he does a bunch of stuff to prevent his physical death (cancer) and metaphorical death (failure/obscurity), and then both his body and reputation die in the last episode as a direct result of his attempts to avoid fate. It’s blissful Aristotelean symmetry. *chef’s kiss*

Every tragic hero has hamartia, more commonly known as a ‘fatal flaw’. In Hamlet, his fatal flaw is procrastination, and his delays create space for all kinds of the fuck shit he was trying to prevent. It’s important to note that hamartia is by design a neutral term - not so much a flaw, but a trait, motivation, or decision that sets off the chain of events the character is trying to avoid. Tragedies have occurred equally from too much love as too much hate, and doing nothing is just as much a decision as doing something. The word itself comes from the Greek for ‘to miss the mark’. To try and fail, the backbone of tragedy.

One of the most common hamartia is hubris, a modern synonym for arrogance but which more specifically means an outsized belief in one’s ability to affect and control the future. Well-known tragic heroes taken down by hubris include our boy Walter White, Tony Soprano, Viktor Frankenstein, Achilles, Jay Gatsby, Kendall from Succession. It exists in real life, too: Lance Armstrong is a perfect example of a modern tragic hero brought down by hubris. And what do all these men have in common? Power, via money, fame, strength, the state, intellect, violence etc.

I’ve been enjoying looking at Rhysand through this tragic hero lens because while it doesn’t really make him more sympathetic, it does make his actions easier to understand logically, which is its own kind of humanization. If Rhysand is aware of a prophesied or fated event sometime in the future and is pulling the cosmic strings now, it must be incredibly important, like annihilation-level important, which is so much pressure.

So he grows to maturity with an understanding that he will one day have to face this intense evil that could completely destroy his world, and it plants in him a hubris. He believes that his immense power grants him a certain amount of influence automatically. And honestly, is he wrong?

And this is where it’s important to think about how power makes people weird. Power gives people a false sense of confidence in their actions and choices, because their status and privilege protect them from so many more consequences. In this way it’s easy to see how someone can get a big ego - no one is stopping me, so I must be doing well! Or: everything is going well for me, so I must be really killing it! I know I feel that way in the first tingles of hypomania, but hypomania is fundamentally a distortion of reality and I believe so is power.

Power not only gives people confidence but also access to make decisions for others. They begin to think they should share the success they’ve found by leading and guiding others to see how great it can be if you do what they say. Just look at one of those cringe 'billionaire morning routine' videos to see what I mean. It’s a very patronizing form of altruism, because the leader genuinely believes they have the people’s interest at heart. And I use the word patronizing intentionally - leaders have often referenced feeling paternal towards their people, Winston Churchill + FDR, 'God the Father'. Power and fatherhood have been linked for a long time. And direct from our girl Wikipedia, "paternalism is action that limits a person's or group's liberty or autonomy and is intended to promote their own good".

I was talking with a girlfriend of mine recently about how I think some men don’t have the experience of other people depending on them in a significant way until they get married and/or become fathers. Like, afab and femme people learn very early to be considerate of others, to think about how others feel, to act in ways that keep others happy, etc. This plants in us a sense of duty to perform in ways that please others, to smile, to create comfort and provide caretaking in every environment we enter. So by the time we get to marriage and motherhood, we already know how to put others’ needs before our own because we’ve been doing it from the jump.

For men, however, this can be a completely novel experience. And it seems like it's SO HEAVY FOR THEM. George ‘Father of his Country’ Washington just wanted to go back to Virginia the whole time he was President. So many men talk about the pressures of being a provider and their families depending on them in a way women don’t, and I think it’s because for the first time others truly depend on them and they don’t know how to handle it.

In response, they either shove down their emotions as patriarchy demands and have a midlife crisis, or they abdicate that responsibility and go completely absent physically and/or emotionally to continue living for themselves. (Obviously there are good men and dads out there, and bless you if you’re lucky enough to know, have, or be one.)

And this aspect of power feels relevant because from the text it seems like Rhysand is unraveling. Between Feyre, the baby, the Trove, Nesta and being threatened by her power, Koschei, Bryce, the whole High King shit - I think he’s starting to crack under the pressure. And honestly, I’m kind of surprised it didn’t happen before now.

According to Aristotle, the tragic hero must:

Be significant (virtuous/capable/powerful/important etc.)

Be flawed

Suffer a reversal of fortune.

Rhysie boy definitely ticks the first two. I wonder what it would look like to get to three? I don’t think Sarah has the balls, but it’s definitely enhanced my reading experience and given me a lot of interesting things to think about.

Okay that's all I've got. Love ya, see ya soon xx

#prythian university #acotar #acosf #rhys critical #sjm critical #tragic hero #lit crit #i love thinking way too deeply about things

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coquelicoq · 8 months

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you guys would not believe the multitudes i contain. on the one hand i found myself thinking today "pachelbel's canon fucks. like, severely." on the other hand my 17yo cousin thinks i am "really cool" (he doesn't know about my pachelbel's canon opinions). i tried to go up the down escalator at the airport and didn't realize for SEVERAL steps, then tripped on my suitcase at the bottom and exclaimed "LORD ALMIGHTY!" in the middle of a large crowd of people who had watched this happen. a guy at the airport today saw me writing a crossword and came over to talk to my mom about it because apparently he had been on a flight with us a few days ago and saw me doing the same thing (he asked her if i was "coding". on graph paper, bro??). i wore a long, full-skirted floral dress to a wedding and did a little photo shoot of me manspreading and looking disaffected under a neon sign reading "let's party" and my entire family is obsessed with it. i brought a card and a pen to the wedding and made all of my relatives (including the bride lol) sign it for my grandmother who was unable to attend, but i was also super rude to my mom and had to apologize a few hours later after i had calmed down. a baby puked on me and it made my day. my sister said i have "really good taste in music" (she also doesn't know about my pachelbel's canon opinions) but also i am apparently the person who introduced her to janelle monáe, so point to me. the 17yo who thinks i'm cool seemed reluctant to stop talking to me at the wedding because he was afraid we would not see each other again to which i should have been like "dude do we not have telephones? and the internet?? and are we not both members of this family that gets together every few years???" but instead i was like "i know your address! i'll send you a card!" (he wants to be a dentist so i'm now congratulating myself for having saved every "i got my teeth cleaned!" sticker i was ever given as a child, because now i can send them to him and give him all of my very important anthropomorphized tooth clip art opinions.) walt whitman whomst.

#i think pachelbel's canon is good and guess what it probably actually is good. but i do feel very basic for liking it so much #like anyone who's ever played the violin is going to think very pretentious thoughts at me now that i've admitted this #whatever! i don't know anything about it except IT FUCKS! END OF STORY!!!!!#this post is incoherent but guess who was out of it enough to try to go up the down escalator?? so it's not really my fault actually #that was like an hour and a half ago so as you can imagine i am even less coherent now #i should be in bed but i remembered i needed to read some french and now i'm procrastinating. i make such good decisions when i'm tired <3 #i did successfully fill a grid for a crossword at the airport though!! and it has reflectional symmetry which i found very difficult #Good For Me #my posts

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chumpovodir · 5 months

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You are so right. Where is my respect for short chad Hector 😔

(also Isaac is absolutely the type to wear high heels even if he's already quite taller than Hector. Just to make his life harder. A king ❤️)

dhsjsdw calling Hector a short chad is so funny considering he is ALSO actually pretty tall for the average 1500s dude (i don't have the chart on hand but wasn't he like 6ft 5in there? again i have to ask: drac WHAT are you feeding these boys....)

and to gush for a minute, i ADORE the detail of Isaac already being a 7ft tall freak of nature and he still wears like 4in heels (especially when compared to Hector's very conservative, but practical, armored kitten heels)

there's something about the contrast with Isaac ironically being the more put together and 'proper' forgemaster, but he also so obviously leans hard into his physical 'abnormalities'

if he's already freakishly tall, he adds on to it by wearing heels. if his hair is an unnatural, 'evil' color, he proudly wears it longer and lets half of it cover up his face. and you could argue despite his height, he's not exactly the picture of masculinity, all pale skin and a somewhat waifish build - but Isaac still takes any opportunity to show off his body, marked head to toe with intricate tattoos

he's just. he's proud, but self-loathing. defiant, yet obedient. he's such a fucking hypocrite through and through, that it even comes out in his design.

he is such a fascinating character containing multitudes and i wish we got more of him dhdjsjsdklakd

#this has been an isaac laforeze appreciation post #castlevaniaposting #castlevania

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monsteraficionado · 2 years

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Hey everyone!

A lot of recent happenstances have made me consider everything that is Ryan Bergara, and what a wonderful, wonderful man he is.

I know I don't have to really tell y'all this, because I know my dashboard is full of fellow Bergirlies, but still, so often it feels like the fandom and the world at large could appreciate Ryan and all he does for us much more.

So! Why not have a Ryan Bergara Appreciation Week? This event will be running from Monday, November 21st leading up all the way to Ryan's 32nd birthday on Saturday, November 26th.

Please join me in posting any and all forms of love for Ryan Bergara: fanart, gifsets, moodboards, screenshots, edits, fanvids, playlists, text posts and everything else you may think of!

Though really you can post anything anytime throughout the week, I have thought up some prompts for each day, if you are in need of inspiration:

Monday, November 21: Ryan Bergara is a talented creator, so it's time to speak up about the things he makes that you love the most! Perhaps it's one or more of his shows, perhaps it's his acting(tm), or perhaps it's the Unsolved voice, let's celebrate everything!

Tuesday, November 22: Ryan contains multitudes, and this day is dedicated to not only the ways he is, but also, the things he wears and the ways he looks. Do you love his incredible attention to detail, and the way he sacrifices himself for the good of the internet? Maybe you wanna celebrate his beautiful, beautiful bergiggles, or maybe you want to make a collection of posts where Ryan is wearing his orange ghost hunting beanie!

Wednesday, November 23: Dedicated to the things Ryan says, because he is a funny guy and his turns of phrases are honestly, really unique. How did Shane put it? Bergaraisms, if you will. What are your favorite Ryan quotes? Time to share!!

Thursday, November 24th: Whether it's all the oaths he and Shane have taken, his competitive friendship with Steven, his devotion to Mari, the way he took almost all of his Unsolved family over to Watcher, Ryan is beloved by many people, and so, this day is dedicated to his relationships to the people who love him, and to Ryan, looked through the lens of them.

Friday, November 25th: Ryan is many things, but one of them is being a passionate dude about a variety of things. Let's celebrate all the things Ryan loves, be it basketball and the Lakers, films (especially horror ones!), theme parks, Paddington, and even his newly found love for baseball!

Saturday, November 26th: Finally, we come to our final day: Ryan's birthday! This is the day for anything that you feel didn't quite fit in the rest of the week, as well for sending Ryan the bestest birthday wishes!

Be sure to tag your posts celebrating Ryan with #ryanbergaraappreciationweek2022 so everyone can easily find them and so I can round-up and reblog all of them!

As always, if you have any questions, be sure to shoot me an ask and I'll do my best to clear them up. I hope everyone is able to participate!

(Also, a big thank you to Sophie, Mariah and Emily for helping me with inspiration for the prompts, much love to you <3)

#ryan bergara #watcher #watcher entertainment #ryan bergara appreciation week 2022 #ryanbergaraappreciationweek2022 #ghost files #buzzfeed unsolved

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ladyluscinia · 1 year

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Idk if it's just a coincidence, but all of the sudden I keep seeing those "Izzy stans are so obsessed with this random white guy that they ignore or flatten every other character (especially poc)" takes all over and it's annoying me so much. So:

First, I'm going to link bromelads most recent attempt to get some actually constructive dialogue going about fandom racism because it has a whole section on this point. Technically two sections if you count the linked drive file as separate.

And then I'm going to ask all my fellow Izzy Hands lovers to add on to this post their favorite deep thoughts / burning questions / fun headcanons / etc. about your favorite non-Izzy characters. I know you all have a bunch of them. Bonus points for other side characters instead of Edward or Stede.

I'll start.

---

So I'm fascinated by the glimpses we get of pirate culture / the Queen Anne / the general environment that Edward is coming from and still half enmeshed in because I personally find the narrative push and pull there a lot more interesting than the whole running from one world to another that Stede (and to a lesser extent his crew) has going on. Which naturally leads to me finding Fang and Ivan so fucking interesting.

(Mandatory moment of sadness that Ivan won't be in season 2, because I was really hoping to see where his story was going 😭)

Not sure if I can really hypothesize many "hidden" depths to Fang because the show openly hit a pretty wide range. He cries over his dog and nude models for Lucius, but also skins a man with a snail fork and seems shockingly chill about Edward making an abrupt 180 to "maroon all your new friends to die". He's an obedient henchman in 1x02 and 1x04, but he also takes basically no prompting to go for the jugular on humiliating gossip the moment Edward seems disinclined to enforce Izzy's authority. The man contains multitudes already, minimal sleuthing required.

I am really looking forward to how S2 addresses his loyalty to Edward over the crew. Like at the end of 1x10 Fang and Ivan don't even really look that conflicted??? They were buddy buddy with these guys yesterday - moreso Fang than Ivan - but also seemed fully aware that Blackbeard could decide he was done playing around at any moment and then he did. Whoo boy. I mean, one genre of fic I'm usually not interested in is "Lucius in the walls" fic (I know he's alive, I just don't really care for that approach), but I will make an exception if it really explores Fang specifically hiding him because that's a big thing given he is openly afraid of defying Edward.

Like... Fang is a pretty friendly dude, and I can't imagine someone to fool around with was that impossible to find on Blackbeard's leatherman express. So it's really cool that despite very much not being, like, his true love or whatever, Lucius is apparently offering Fang something novel on the acceptance and connection front but maybe not something that wildly diverges from what he's had before. And I do think it's interesting to rotate how that tension could be playing out in his mind. He's got to be used to the whole flow of making and losing connections - that's just pirate life, nbd - except this time it's supposed to just be whatever, only... it's not? He actually misses Lucius and those other fun guys??? Maybe even enough to stand up to Edward over it?!

And Ivan! Man, Ivan has all kinds of potential stuff going on that I feel like people could talk about. I would probably talk about it more, only with the news he won't be in S2 it always makes me wonder how they are going to get rid of him and what that's going to imply about him (which might be contradictory to what they were intending). Which makes me sad.

Probably the biggest thing is like... I don't think Ivan actually likes Stede or the Revenge crew much? I mean on a personal level. Like, his only real friendship bond appears to be Fang, he's not noticeably trying to make new ones, and he's kinda fed up with Stede's people a few times? I'm thinking of rooting to kill them after 1x02, and scoffing at them during the raid in 1x05. And to me this is a really cool trait. I love it when "good" side characters have independent personalities enough to find the protagonist mildly annoying or something, instead of every single one of them perfectly correlating "good person" and "protagonist's friend". It prevents protagonist POV from becoming tunnel vision and accidentally making them seem like the center of the universe. (This is part of why the spn fandom loves Kevin.)

Not liking Stede isn't a character flaw, you know? And if you analyze Ivan's POV with just kinda not being impressed with these guys as an option, that leads to some really interesting places. Because in 1x06 he's actively encouraging Edward to just kill Stede like he said he would, not just following Izzy's lead, and then in 1x07 and 1x08 Ivan and Fang disappear. They don't show up again until Izzy does, but they also aren't seen leaving with Izzy or showing up in scenes like Jackie's bar like you would expect if they were just his loyal henchmen or whatever. So what are they doing in that gap???

I've said before that the adventures of Fang and Ivan is a completely wild story squeezed into the background and gaps of this show with two fascinatingly insane guys at the center of it, and I still think that's true. Fang goes right into becoming besties with the crew while still definitely thinking Edward is going to have him murder all of them in a few weeks. Ivan watches Izzy get banished, sleeps on it, and then fucking bounces with his buddy to go meet up with him... And then they praise Edward's punch and mutiny Izzy later! It's fun to think about!

...but I suppose my interest in Fang and Ivan does connect back up with my Izzyposting fairly often (since I like analyzing how characters interact and relate, and these two interact with Izzy), so how about another character?

Oluwande.

Now obviously the well trodden path here is TealOranges thoughts and feels. Plenty of drama, development, struggles, etc. But actually what I most want to know about Oluwande is how he and Spanish Jackie know each other???

Like what was up with that??? 👀👀👀

Their interaction gives off sorta inner circle vibes to me. Jackie clearly suspects / knows he betrayed her, but she calls him over to chat like old friends and Oluwande is expected to play along to act normal. So like... Was that normal? Did he regularly sit at Jackie's table and chat about life with her? Jackie does not have the time of day for her own husbands' problems most of the time - she seems to reprimand Geraldo for expecting more attention than the others - but immediately asking after Oluwande's life doesn't ping "oh she's definitely onto us" for him???

I don't think he's a husband (feels like it would have been addressed) and them being related seems unlikely. He's got a good head on his shoulders but he's clearly not some notorious pirate or outlaw of great skill. Like Oluwande is just some guy! But also some guy that Jackie was personally invested in!

And then bringing Jim into this... So Oluwande is just some guy in Jackie's inner circle, finds out the new barmaid is out to kill Jackie's favorite husband, and just helps them out??? My dude??? He doesn't even get whirlwind romance privileges. He did all that for a mysterious yet compelling stranger and no shit is this man crazy enough for the Revenge.

My headcanon re: the murder is that Alfeo was universally loathed and literally only Jackie and his gang liked him. So when people (and let's be honest Jim is not the most subtle of assassins so probably more than just Oluwande) realized someone was legit after him, they pretty much shrugged and sent them good thoughts. Also I think Oluwande and Jim had a solid plan to get away with killing Alfeo that went completely sideways, which is how they ended up hiding on a pirate ship pretending they knew how to sail. Oluwande didn't actually intend to completely ruin his status with Jackie and he does lowkey regret it in some ways, so he's gonna be thrilled when Jim tells him all about how they are cool with Jackie now and he can go back to the bar to hang next time they are in Nassau.

Anyway that's another big thing I want from S2 Jackie is Oluwande backstory, because that would be such a treat.

#our flag means death #people add your stuff!#(also i find it bitterly amusing that people use the passion with which izzy takes are defended as proof of bias)#(like i will argue izzy can read way harder than anyone argues the frenchie is just faking being illiterate headcanon)#(but that's because frenchie takes get 'lol awesome' and izzy takes get 'how dare you imply he's better than everyone else like this?!?')#(and i fight for my life every day to give edward the same or greater depth i give izzy 😔)#anyway my compelling side characters are #fang ofmd #ivan ofmd #spanish jackie ofmd #ladyluscinia #oluwande boodhari ofmd

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sylviaarkaine · 7 months

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Dude,why the actual hell did you like my post that was literally tagged as anti Ulquiorra saying characters like him aren't bad boys but abusers when you deadass ship him Orihime

My bad, didn't read all the tags. But also why does me just liking the post matter? I didn’t reblog it, and even if I did, it *still* wouldn't matter. It's a show and a manga character. And while I like them together, I can also understand your points and agree with them. We all contain multitudes of opinions and analyses on characters and such. Just because i like these characters together and separately doesn't mean I don't see or understand all that they are and could represent. Just because I like one cake does not mean I can't like another completely different one

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we-return-in-waves · 11 months

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📝

holly <3 your good omens au is gonna take my breath away. as a thank you for my faves, i'm dropping in a piece containing your faves ;) from one of my wipyho fics, The Grapes of Debauchery, since i DID technically start this last year!

emojis for the melodramatic, anyone?

Somewhere off to his left, both Tenten and Hyūga Neji argued in rapid, hissed whispers as they fought back-to-back with a group of four.

“I’m telling you, it’s a good idea!”

Gaara, let me out you little shit—

“It��s not, you’ll get both the enemy and us killed!”

Shut up, Shukaku.

“Neji, come on, you’ve never lost to him!”

We could take all these weaklings if you just let me take over.

“Tenten, we are not trying out an unpractised technique in the middle of—”

Tenten swore, something guttural in a slew of sharp syllables that didn’t match any of the languages Gaara knew but he needed no translation for. He really didn’t have time to focus on their conversation with a multitude of enemies surrounding them, but their volume had increased to the point it could no longer be ignored.

They’d shut up if you let me out, ya know.

Shukaku wasn’t helping his split concentration either, and he ultimately needed to sidestep a flying kick that bypassed his sand while trying to concentrate in four directions at once.

Unacceptable. A whirling scream of sand pulverised the unfortunate ronin with a nasty crunch.

Lee, a good thirty metres away from the loud conversation, knocked two enemies into trees with a loud cry of “Leaf Hurricane!” then turned and, with enough volume to freeze every person in the entire clearing—Gaara included—bellowed, “Tenten! There is no reason for such language!”

You’re fucking kidding me, right?

Lee had interesting priorities, that Shukaku and Gaara could agree on.

You’re the one who actively writes him letters. Dude.

“Oh, for the love of—” Tenten growled under her breath. “Is that what you care about right now!?”

Across the clearing, Kankurō cackled.

“What would Gai-sensei say about such foul words!?” Lee shouted back.

“What the fuck?” said one of Gaara’s opponents. Gaara had half a mind to agree with him.

“You know what?” Tenten said to Neji. “Fuck this.”

She then turned and bolted across the field.

#ask game #winterberryholly #writing gronp hours #gaalee #nart #ao3 #fanfiction #this scene is truly so fucking funny i cannot wait to smash it out

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fugengulsen · 10 months

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youtube

Today and tomorrow, and yesterday, too The flowers are dyin' like all things do Follow me close, I'm going to Balian Bali I'll lose my mind if you don't come with me I fuss with my hair, and I fight blood feuds I contain multitudes

Got a tell-tale heart, like Mr. Poe Got skeletons in the walls of people you know I'll drink to the truth and the things we said I'll drink to the man that shares your bed I paint landscapes, and I paint nudes I contain multitudes

Red Cadillac and a black mustache Rings on my fingers that sparkle and flash Tell me, what's next? What shall we do? Half my soul, baby, belongs to you I relic and I frolic with all the young dudes I contain multitudes

I'm just like Anne Frank, like Indiana Jones And them British bad boys, The Rolling Stones I go right to the edge, I go right to the end I go right where all things lost are made good again

I sing the songs of experience like William Blake I have no apologies to make Everything's flowing all at the same time I live on the boulevard of crime I drive fast cars, and I eat fast foods I contain multitudes

Pink petal-pushers, red blue jeans All the pretty maids, and all the old queens All the old queens from all my past lives I carry four pistols and two large knives I'm a man of contradictions, I'm a man of many moods I contain multitudes

You greedy old wolf, I'll show you my heart But not all of it, only the hateful part I'll sell you down the river, I'll put a price on your head What more can I tell you? I sleep with life and death in the same bed

Get lost, madame, get up off my knee Keep your mouth away from me I'll keep the path open, the path in my mind I'll see to it that there's no love left behind I'll play Beethoven's sonatas, and Chopin's preludes I contain multitudes

#youtube

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hunterarden · 1 month

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Another comment from The Witcher fandom which I’ve seen here that I dislike is people snarking about how the show abandoned Geralt’s autistic representation. Some said in season two and others said season three? I get the person posting may be autistic, but FYI even autistic people, certainly those over a hundred years old, contain multitudes lol. People can not talk for a long time and be perfectly capable of talking depending on the situation—even articulately. It doesn’t mean all non speaking people are that way at all, obviously.

We see Geralt not talk to too many over the years (though we only see snippets of his life, not every waking second). He’s not a big fan of large crowds or Jaskier and those who don’t stop talking. He speaks to Yennefer and a few others fairly “normally” (in contrast to people who say he only speaks like regular normal dude in season 2 / 3). He and Ciri don’t talk much, but being around her so often, he talks (to a human) more than usual. (He of course has talked to his horses plenty.) Even if he still grunts.

In season three he continues to be somewhat taciturn, though obviously speaks more to Yen and Ciri, in spite of trying to ignore Yen. (Thus… still speaking less than usual.) He still has no interest in large groups, bluntly dismissing everyone he encounters at the ball. He does give a few speeches—but he’s been capable of that for a while, it’s just they were usually a bit more acerbic.

Anyway, just not a fan of seeing almost non stop narrow mindedness from The Witcher fandom, which again stuns me since I thought the show at least was about alterity. And difference. As opposed to “if you don’t fit my stereotypes exactly, you deserve to have bad things happen and are objectively a horrible writer.” Which I’ve repeatedly seen posed as legit criticism.

So yeah there’s my take on autistic Geralt and how not all autistic people are identical or static. I know dunking on the show might feel necessary or good, because it seems like mocking it is almost a requirement when mentioning The Witcher (yes the Netflix version). But you really don’t have to, especially if what you’re saying isn’t true or makes no sense. You can write that down in a diary, never publish it, or say it to your friends, instead of publishing it for the world to see and for white supremacists to like and reblog. (Last part is for real lol.)

#Twn #The Witcher #the Witcher Netflix #Geralt #Netflix #autism #autistic #speaking #Talking #I know my bitterness is unattractive but it is what it is lol #the point isn’t supposed to be my bitterness but just to let people know that diversity exists #particularly to let the Witcher fandom which has an extraordinary sense of group think #More so than any fandom I’ve been in willikers #Or not even fans but viewers or people who are aware of it and express how they feel and create content about it #they are often incredibly closed minded and anti diversity INCLUDING to my surprise ‘leftists’ on tumblr #obv in a different way and not nearly as perniciously as the alt right ‘fans’ who flood the media with their takes #but they also take the word of a lot of these alt right bozos WAY more than I expected

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abelllia · 9 months

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3, 10, 12 !!

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

Oh hmmm genuinely hard because I like to mind wipe whenever I see a bad take. The *one* that I remember was from twt too. I'll describe it anyway even if I have talked about it here before. It was something implying that Jon wouldn't take another character's trauma seriously. Since it's the violence ask I'll mention that the other character was Martin. The first time I saw it I genuinely blank-screened in a negative way because it did NOT compute. It was set in S1 but even then I can't imagine Jon not having at *least* an "oh, shit" moment. Especially since Martin's trauma in the thing was childhood trauma. Got me going 😒

10. worst part of fanon

Originally, I had three whole paragraphs about aspects that I dislike but I realized they all just point to one thing— flattening.

Flattening of characters, of morality, of the concept of the entities, yadda yadda. This has happened in every fandom since time immemorial for either comedic purposes or sorting purposes. We love putting things in neat little boxes because it just makes things easier to digest and communicate. Martin is the sunshine one, Jon is the tsundere, Tim is the flirt, Sasha is the Girl™️, Elias is the Ad Campaign Villain with a twirly moustache. It's easy to understand but just less...interesting? I don't want to rag on stuff made for fun/memes, I like funny haha fandom memes. It just feels like a lot of fights about the characters boil down to ignoring the multitudes they contain. The contradictory aspects which make them who they are.

Everyone has probably already said their piece about character flattening so I'll go about the morality thing and how people really like to fight about who's in the right and who's in the wrong. Guys, this is tma, they've all done bullshit. No one is ever going to be completely in the right in this show they've all been shitty people to each other at one point, that's what's *fun* about it. My favourite part is that how, even though I may disagree with a character's actions, I can understand *why* they do it. It makes them feel more like people to me. For an easy example I'll just choose the Gertrude-Michael thing. Yeah, Gertrude sacrificing a human being to an entity who tore his who from his what is pretty shitty. One strike in the wrong. However, from how Gertrude and literally everyone else understood the world at that point, her actions can be considered heroic because in their mind, she just stopped an apocalypse! Saved billions of people from becoming Fear Food. One strike in the right. However, as we soon will know it was basically useless. Gertrude will find out that the Ritual would have never worked anyway so all the sacrifices she did (Michael, Jan, who knows who else) were in vain! Yeowch! Two strikes in the wrong. Ain't it fun? Yet I still see Gertrude interpretations that act like she just did it for fun or something, not that she thought the whole world would end if she didn't sacrifice this one dude to the Distortion.

Honestly I'm not satisfied with this ramble and I think there are plenty of flaws in it but I don't want to write anymore and I don't want to think. Yeah, flattening stuff is fun sometimes but not when it seeps into serious-ish discussions.

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

Look hear me out– Basira and Peter Lukas.

Basira to me is compelling to me for so many reasons. She's the most mentally....secure? character in the show, like she logic'd her way out of the *Unknowing*, and it's implied that she's had to be like that from a young age. Based on her S3 pre-Unknowing statement about how that's how her father raised her. But, she's also so controlled by her emotions. Most clearly and notoriously with Daisy, but another example is when her fondness for Jon in S2 overrode her goal to catch him for potential murder. Her emotions matter to her but also calm logic. Which can lead to a lot of interesting and *frustrating* contradictory moments. Again, notoriously with Daisy and how she treated her vs Jon in S4. She's so incredibly flawed and I love it. She's so secure in her own mind that she doesn't even challenge her own biases and instead present them as fact. It's *such* an interesting character trait and it would be so fun to dig into. However, I also realize that probably also the exact reason why people dislike talking about her. She's a hypocritical murder cop accomplice and that can give anyone an incredibly sour taste in their tongue thinking about her (it gives me a sour taste rn like, should I really be writing about her?)There's just so much I want to pick her brain about though. Insert thing here about liking her as a character does not mean I like her as a person.

Peter Lukas is a piece of shit, but he's a funny piece of shit and I like that. He's living apathy and he's so useless and skfjejcjsnnd

Yeah I can't even defend him he's just such garbage, but I find him fun to bully. Someone once pointed out that when he lost the bet with Elias he acted like a little kid throwing a tantrum and I found it so funny. This man isn't doing anything, he's not even the captain of his own ship in anything but name, Tadeas does all the navigation shit. He really is just some rich kid. A sad strange little man and he's unwillingly a fave because of it.

#abellasks #choose violence ask game #thanks for the ask i'm still scared but it was fun #def not maintagging this #negativity #long post

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the-most-character-i-ever-saw · 1 year

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The Most Character Ever Tournament - Round 1 Set 26

In this tournament, we will be searching to find the most character ever! I challenge you to decide on an adjective before you see the characters and stick with it throughout all the polls. I go a bit more into detail in this post.

Dennis Reynolds from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Claimed to be the most (Emotionally Repressed) Babygirl by the person who submitted him

“Dude who manipulates people around him because he's afraid of letting go of control. Represses his emotions because he can't understand them, so people always think he doesn't have any even though he has so many of them. Has so many serial murder allegations (in fandom) but when his dad tricked him and his sister to dig up their mother's corpse he cried like a baby and yelled out for his mommy. Designed a dress and when he couldn't find a model to fit his vision he wore it himself and added breasts the size of balloons.”

Harry Du Bois from Disco Elysium

Claimed to be the most “He's the most... Uhhhm. He's... He's the most uhhh. *makes vague hand gestures* He's. The most *Something*!” by the person who submitted him

"So if you've seen posts talking abt how he's like the saddest pathetic-est man out there they're not lies I think. This guy... Uhhhh. He has Problems. My favourite thing about him is that he's extremely eccentric [fucker wears clothes out the garbage. He talks to his tie. He just Says Weird Shit to people and they don't question it if u play ur cards right.] but also he's just. So deranged? I don't know How to describe his personality because how he *is* depends on how you play the game. You can turn him into a living breathing Omen Of The World Ending. You can turn him into a sorry sad sack of shit that literally dies if even Slightly insulted. You can give him a god complex?? It fucking Depends. Actually I don't think him dying if insulted is based on how you play no matter what bc if someone says something mean to him he Does take damage and if ur not careful he can just fucking die from that for real but I digress!! HFHFHDJDJF He just. Contains Multitudes! But primarily on Tumblr he is Thee Poorest Little Meow Meow Pathetic Sopping Wet Beast Of A Creature Of A Man. And he can canonically be that in the game!! Amazing!!!”

#the most character ever #the most character ever tournament #poll tournament #polls #poll #tournament poll #dennis reynolds #it’s always sunny in philadelphia #harry du bois #disco elysium

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jihopesjoint · 1 year

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okay i choose rose but i'm not interested in hearing about your romantic crush i want to hear you wax poetic about either ur biggest bts crush or general fandom crush you have thank u so much

matchy is choosing chaos in the inbox tonight as if i needed an opportunity to wax poetic about park jimin. jimin THEE stallion

IN HONOR OF FACE DROPPING TONIGHT I AM POSTING MY ANSWER

i was actually talking to @eoieopda recently about how i feel bad sometimes about having jimin as my bias because i think hyung line always needs more credit than they get, and i don't want the assumption to be made about me that i don't love and appreciate EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE MEN. i'm not gonna get too deep into that conversation, but it basically came down to "you could write essays on jimin." and i CAN. and SO I SHALL!!!!!!

jimin is the love of my life. in this essay, i will- tell you why.

i'll start easy. surface-level. have you seen him dance? idk. idk idk idk, he just puts me into a fucking trance every time. that black swan solo in mots on:e brings a tear to thine eye. he is the swan, that song is one of his biggest fears. he's got "youth" and "young forever" tattooed on him. you can age out of dancing very quickly if you're not careful. I'M ALREADY DIGRESSING OKAY ANYWAY. he has not let his background in contemporary dance hold him back in any way when becoming an idol. in fact, he's made a point of making his background his strength. hip-hop, but make it ~pretty~.

*ahem* jimin has been defying gender stereotypes since day one. 🗣️ yes, he felt pressured to express his gender identity in a hypermasculine way because that’s how bts was presenting at the time. and he was trying SO hard. but even outside of that, he was always going against stupid ideas of gender. i always think of that moment in bon voyage 1 (i think?) when the members were saying that men don’t check their selfies. and jimin was like, “there you go again. what on earth is masculinity?” i feel like we can attribute A LOT of bts’s transformation from the school trilogy to every era afterward to jimin’s presence in the group. he’s been there the whole time telling the members to challenge their views of what it means to be a man. they support each other, so when jimin wanted to express himself in a more authentic way, they encouraged him. they also learn from each other, so when they saw jimin leaning into that blend of the masculine and the feminine, they saw that they could do the same because it’s all fucking arbitrary. jimin still identifies as male. wearing the color pink and jewelry and makeup and openly showing affection don’t take away from that.

AND THAT’S WHY JIMIN’S VOICE IS SO FUCKING INTEGRAL TO THIS GROUP. oh my god dude. the range that he fucking has? and the majority of the time he chooses to sing in his upper register and falsetto? who the FUCK ELSE is doing that? not your fave, i’ll tell you that much.

jimin provides a level of comfort that i aspire to (and we should all aspire to). the members are all close and have individual relationships with each other, of COURSE. but jimin just seems to make each member feel uniquely special to him in their presence. i don’t know how else to word that. i truly think he is the glue that keeps bts together (not that i think they would disband without him or anything). but he's a libra (with a cancer rising). libras are mediators. libra prioritizes harmony, and cancer prioritizes comfort. and then his gemini moon, which prioritizes connection and communication. so i would imagine that the members just naturally gravitate to him for that kind of comfort and connection. AND THEN HE ENDLESSLY GIVES THAT SAME AMOUNT OF COMFORT TO MILLIONS AND MILLIONS OF PEOPLE ALL THE TIME LIKE HOW??????

and then OH AND THEN he's just the funniest person alive easily like he's just so silly and light-hearted and how does one person just contain so many multitudes you know? there are so many sides to him (dare i say... faces). and i don't need to get into all the ways that i specifically relate to him because i think so many of us do. but i'm just so happy for him as he continues to understand himself and exhibit more sides to himself and HE IS THE LOVE OF MY FUCKING LIFE OKAY YOU CAN TELL THAT I RAN DRY HERE AT THE END BUT I JUST CAN'T PUT IT INTO WORDS ANYMORE PARK JIMIN I LOVE YOU

#this message in my inbox is like 2 days old i'm so sorry #MATCHYYYYY #park jimin

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