#i know cause i have a book of queer movie posters and i found him like “whaaa...?”

[writingforfishes]

I am SO VERY WHITE, tho! And this is actually super helpful to point out. /gen

I actually considered saying he was Chinese and Filipino (that actor's really fucking cool, btw) but I caved to the easier description figuring it was descriptive enough for this white-centric disaster world.

White J3wish* potato grapples with overgeneralized descriptors of ethnicity!

But, yeah, I live for the spit-take reactions to my writing.

And learning shit.

Hicvember: Pirate and Silent

Writing this in the post to force me to make this fic smaller than it threatens to be in my head.

Have I just watched 4 Youtube videos about pirates in preparation for Otto's trivia knowledge of rovers and privateers? Yes.

Here's to condensing my ramble!

Spoiler alert: It didn't work. My ramble is not condensed.

CW:

Unsolicited pirate trivia

Painful hiccups (ultimately)

C@rds Against Hum@nity level triggers

Waffle House

Drunkenness (mentioned: past)

Reactions to info-dumping

Otto being neurodivergent loudly

Jon being neurodivergent compatibly

Old people playing C@H

Old person joke

Me attempting to represent silent hiccups the best I know how

Margie and Cindy being the House Party Lesbians, confirmed cannon

Game night shenanigans

Mark is the token straight white cis male

This took embarrassing long to write, fuck

All that had been asked of Otto was why he brought hot cocoa to the pirate themed party Margie and Cindy were holding for Talk Like a Pirate Day game night. The next thing everyone knew Otto was talking about how pirate treasure was less often gold, unless it was Spanish coins, than it was tobacco, cocoa, and spices.

Then he got started on tricorn hats and how pirate hats were more often slouch hats or knit caps. As he ate chips and drank the hot chocolate which prefaced this, he also described other popular misconceptions.

Atticus had taken the toy musket out of their plastic scabbard and started bonking it on the heads of Mark, Ralph, and Jon (Ralph's husband who also worked at the department with them). Mark used his sword to parry against Atticus' musket a few times before it threatened to knock something over and they both withheld the spar for the sake of Margie and Cindy's breakables.

Otto wasn't fazed by the play fight as he lost himself in all of the things he knew about pirates and pirate culture from the late 1600's through the golden age and after into popular culture.

Cindy, who was dressed in a magnificent outfit utilizing her talents from her drag show days as well as her fabulous costume closet from previous years of Halloweens and Ren Fairs (which Margie participated in to increase business for her apothecary and tea shop), leaned over to Atticus from her position on the couch next to them.

"He's just gonna keep going isn't he?" she whispered in the writer's ear.

"Oh yeah," Atty said as they pushed around the cards from their hand. C@rds Against Hum@nity was languishing under Otto's wealth of knowledge. "Not a lot can stop him once he starts info-dumping. I know way more about zithers than I ever needed to know. And ships. And pigeons, for some reason..."

Cindy snorted and sat back in acceptance of the impromptu lecture and hoped the non-alcoholic rum tricked her brain into thinking she was at least a little tipsy.

"But!" Otto said with a grin. He'd stood up from his position next to Atticus on the couch as he'd gotten the hot cocoa and now stayed standing in front of his very patient audience.

"Having a par--parrot or m--mo--monkey on," he paused as his neck contracted two more times in a row and he put a hand to his chest, "onboar--d is some--someth--ing the mov--ies got--got riIGHt. Oof."

"Oh, thank god, he has the hiccups," Atticus heard Cindy whisper to herself and, beyond how aroused they suddenly were, they found the statement humorous.

"Aw, Otto, come and sit back down and I'll get you some water, hm?" Cindy said as she stood.

Atticus caught Margie startling awake as Cindy moved out of their eyeline to see her. Atty covered their mouth to prevent a laugh from escaping.

"Wait, so they actually had pets on pirate ships!?" Jon said, following Otto's form as he sat down next to Atticus who immediately started rubbing his back.

"Sweetie...no...please," Ralph implored to his partner.

"What?" the Asian man said, oblivious to everyone else's reaction to Otto's monologue. "This is really interesting!...what?"

"I just asked why Otto brought hot cocoa..." Mark said, in a bit of a daze from the experience.

"They a--lso sm--oked tobac--ac--acco from long--pipes! Not en--enough rep--represen--tation of that in--in the movies i--f you--y--you ask m--e. Shit," Otto said and caught his breath from hiccups that, while silent, were on the deeper side.

"See now?" Jon said. "That's interesting as hell. They totally should depict pirates with pipes! Missed opportunity with that! Though...I guess Disn3y wouldn't really be able to sell toy pipes in the stores, huh? Bubble pipes in Pirates of the C@ribbean wouldn't have had the same ambience..."

Everyone chuckled a little at that, including Otto who ended up jerking again with those powerful silent hiccups. Atticus leaned into his side and Otto pulled an arm around them so they could feel his body closer.

"Thanks," the clock maker said as Cindy handed him a water. It might not cure him, but he'd definitely gotten a dry throat from talking so much and his hiccups weren't helping with that.

The rest of the game Otto was less talkative. Atticus had become much more attentive to him. Cindy had, instead, started garnering more attention from the rest of the gang. It was natural for her to gravitate to the spotlight. She thrived in making people laugh and entertaining.

But laughing at Cindy's wit was making Otto's hiccups all the worse. Still, they never made a sound. In some ways, that was good. It wasn't disruptive. But in others, his body was subjected to the full power of his hiccups with no release valve of sound to take some of the pressure off. And no matter how wide he let his mouth hang open, the hiccups still remained internal and silent.

Atticus noticed he'd started grunting after each hiccup. They were soft sounds, but Atticus was so close they could hear them clearly. In some ways it increased their arousal tenfold to hear the little moans and hums of reaction. But in other ways they worried about Otto's comfort level. His facial expression was tight, though he was putting a good effort into being present and open with interactions.

When he finally won a round, it was up to him to recite the next card. He sighed when it was a two-card required answer. He'd also have to read everyone's played cards in the blanks.

He took a breath, not that it helped.

"L--ifetime pr--esents bl--b--lank: the St----ORy of--blank!" Otto said with a sigh.

The hiccups had been going on for only a few minutes now, but they were already starting to hurt. Otto bounced next to Atticus with a hand on the back of his neck.

The writer had asked if he was okay, and he just nodded with a smile.

Atticus put down two cards and Cindy followed suit, her hand crossing their lap to land on Otto's knee.

"Do you need anything, hon?" she said, southern accent always breaking out a little when she spoke words of care to someone.

Otto shook his head no and waved his hand. But Atticus spoke up.

"Do you keep apple cider vinegar in the house?" they asked.

"Yeah," Margie said. "I'll go get it."

The former bartender put down her two cards and made her way to the kitchen.

Soon, all of their friends had put down their picks. Mark looked especially mischievous about his. He wore his eyepatch flipped up after Otto had said there was no evidence that pirates necessarily wore eyepatches, at least not to see better in the dark as was the common misbelief.

Stubbornly, Otto wrangled all the cards and started reciting them before Margie came back with the vinegar, which would hopefully ease his hiccups.

"Lifet--time," he bounced two times in the middle of the reading, putting a fist over his mouth, "Sorry. Lifetime--present--s 'Pu--puberty: the St--S--Story of--a sad han--djob,' Ha! Cle--ver! Not tr--ue though." He grinned impishly.

He flipped over the next set and started abbreviating the card a little to make it shorter, "CaARnies: the Stor--y of the pro--profound--ly hand--icapped!"

Otto covered his mouth and shook his head.

"That's so bad," Atticus muttered with a snort.

No one fessed up.

"Doin' i--it in the b--utt: the..." he laughed with a wince at the rest, "the StORy of--a--all this bl--blood!"

There were guffaws and 'ews' in response. Again, no one fessed up.

"Wh--ite privile--ge," Otto started, and paused to hiccup a couple of times soundlessly before, "the Story of N--ot giving--giving a sh--it about the Th--ird World!"

"Ooh," Ralph said.

"Too true," Jon replied.

"Scrotum ti--tickling," Otto read and shook his head. He covered his eyes for a second when he read the second part, "the Story o--o--of, damn. The Stor--y of the bONErs of--of the elderly."

More laughter and the clock maker narrowed his eyes.

"As the--" Otto started, and bounced with two more hiccups, "oldest per--person here, I f--I'm feel--ing per--sonally attacked!"

"They were throw-away cards!" Jon exclaimed to more laughter.

Otto just shook his finger at him with the same narrowed eyes and shook his head. He then took a breath as he finally got to the last one, not knowing it would fell him completely.

He scanned the cards and broke down laughing. It was too much. He pointed at Mark accusingly between laughter and hiccups choking him. Everyone else was a bit confused.

"Atti--At--At--ty," Otto managed between laughing and rapid-fire hiccups. He slid the cards to them.

"O...kay," Atticus said watching Mark's grin suspiciously. "Lifetime presents 'Not wearing pants: the Story of Waking up half-naked Denny's parking lot'"

Otto just laughed harder, and Mark's smile grew to joker sized proportions.

"I--t wa--s a Wa--Waffle H--ouse, you a--ss!" Otto managed.

Cindy guffawed at that admission and soon all of them were giggling and chuckling to varying degrees.

Otto's hiccups had been fueled by his laughter as he winced at the rapidness they'd gained.

"Fuck!" he slipped in the middle of recovering.

"Mark, man, I think you killed him!" Ralph said, wide smile penetrating the dark skin of his face.

Mark's face had gone as red as nodded, laughing.

"He said...he told me he woke up and was just...fucking covered in syrup. And...what was it?"

"Mush--mush--roo--ms!" Otto managed as Atticus shoved the apple cider vinegar into his hand.

It wasn't even that they wanted Otto to get rid of his hiccups for his own well-being at this point. If Otto hiccuped any faster and his body spasmed any more seductively they might orgasm right there. Fortunately, everyone else was so preoccupied with the laughter and imagery they didn't notice how sweaty and red Atticus had gotten.

"Mushrooms! Right! Sliced mushrooms! And...and when the police asked him why he had mushrooms all over him next to the dumpster in the back of a Waffle House he said....he sa...he said I guess...I guess I got capped!" Mark shouted.

The detective remembered Otto sharing the story when Mark was feeling bad about getting drunk that one night. Otto thought it would make the detective feel better to compare his own experiences with drunkenness. Needless to say, it did. They couldn't pass by a Waffle House after that without Mark cackling and warning Otto not to get himself capped again.

"I...don't get it," Margie admitted.

Ralph, cackling wildly now, explained, "When you order hashbrowns at Waffle House you can order them smothered or covered, which is like cheese, and capped is code for adding mushrooms! Ha! Oh man! That's great, dude."

Cindy was crying with laughter, now. And Jon, who hadn't understood until it was explained either, laughed anew.

"Oh my gosh!" Margie said, covering her mouth, amused.

Atticus was laughing, too, but more performatively. Holy crap, it was hot. They took off their bandana from their head to fan themselves hoping it would look like they were just sweating from the amusement.

Fortunately, Otto's hiccups stopped nearly immediately after he gulped down the apple cider vinegar.

"I told you that in confidence, man!" Otto said, but jokingly.

Mark unanimously won that round.

As Otto was driving him and Atticus home Atty checked in on him.

"You sore?" they asked casually.

"Yeah, a little," he confirmed. "Also...umm...I have to admit something."

"Oh?"

"I...sort of put off curing my hiccups because it was kind of hot watching you struggle and...um...you were really cute so...sorry," Otto said and pursed his lips.

"...asshole," Atticus said after a pause and laughed. "I was wondering why you endured it for so long! I could tell it was hurting!"

"Yeah, being sober means trying to find thrill in more...inventive ways," he said sheepishly.

"Yeah, I guess getting capped behind a Waffle House isn't an option anymore, huh?" Atticus said with a smirk.

Otto threw his head back and laughed again.

"Listen," he said between chuckles, "when most of the stories after blacking out turned out pretty dire and dangerous the ones like that are at least ones I can look back on knowing I didn't hurt anyone or...anything. But trust me when I say I am delighted the most salacious stories I have now are getting my spouse aroused by a fit of hiccups in the middle of a game of C@rds againt Hum@nity at a pirate themed party after I bored everyone to tears with my...I really know too damn much about pirates..."

"Naah," Atticus said with a wave of their hand. "It wasn't that boring."

Otto gave them a side-eye.

"Jon liked it..." they said attempting to save the conversation.

"Yeah," Otto said, "he did. Maybe I should hang out with Jon more. Someone who appreciates my vast knowledge of history and culture."

"Mm. I could loan you out once a week," they said with a shrug.

Otto gasped, his mouth open in shock.

"I'm kidding!" Atticus insisted. "Two times a month."

"You're so mean," Otto groused unconvincingly.

"I know," Atty said.

"...can I have a massage when we get home?" Otto asked.

"Of course," they said with a grin.

[sammeth]

Accurate Gareth Emerson Headcanons (Head canons? Headcanons?)

Because none of them are actually f^ck1ng realistic.

tw: mentions of blood, broken bones, scrapes, body image issues, and some more

🕷 dresses the way that he does because HE IS CHUBBY. this man is thick. this man has extra fluff. he’s not skinny and scrawny like eddie or muscular and buff as fuck like steve. he’s CHUBBY. he has stretch marks and his protective layering shows when he sits down. big thighs and the subtle hints of baby fat on his cheeks. hence the sweaters, long-sleeves, jeans (never in shorts), and of course, the layering. he’s constantly checking his reflection to make sure he doesn’t look bad in whatever position he’s in. sometimes he stares at himself in the mirror for long periods of time and doesn’t like it, and sometimes he doesn’t look in the mirror at all until he’s fully dressed. you’re welcome.

🦝 it’s the 80s, he doesn’t know what pansexual/genderfluid/queer/gay means besides that they’re used as insults. he shies away from topics like that because he’s most likely been confused about his sexuality for quite some time. since he was little, he’s probably thought all genders were attractive, but god forbid he say it out loud. he doesn’t know the terminology or what any of his feelings mean until he’s much older.

🦇 he’s clumsy as fuck. he trips and falls and scrapes his knees and falls down the stairs and breaks bones and constantly causes his parents to have to dial 911. he had a rough childhood with broken arms and tons of stitches. been clumsy since he was a baby, probably had to have multiple surgeries because of accidents that he was the cause of. he’d probably call you crying if he sprained a single finger or something. which leads to the next one:

🦡 gareth emerson is a big baby. spunky and mean and “fuck you” on the outside, but he’s actually sweet and soft. not in the “soft boy uwu” way but in the “best friend’s older brother” way. he’d kiss your forehead a lot and let you listen to his music with him. you watch movies together all the time, but action-packed moves or really gorey horror movies. he loves horror, it’s funny to him when the cgi or effects are really bad. he likes to giggle at them with you and point out what the editors/directors did wrong in each scene. “blood’s not that color”, “it wouldn’t bleed that much”, “there’s not a thick vein there”, “that’s not what the inside of an animal looks like”, etc.

🐀 he has an animal bone collection. not the kind that you get from killing animals and taking their insides, but the kind that you find in the woods and put the miscellaneous pieces together to make it look cool. he has a big shelf in his room dedicated to animal bones, taxidermy, dead bugs, and other oddities. he likes to collect them and just look at them sometimes. he gets excited when he tries to show you his collection and he tells you stories of where he got each individual piece. “this one came from the backyard”, “this one was behind the school”, “oh, that one? found it when we bought the house”, I could listen to him for fucking hours someone stop me.

🦔 his room is probably a mess. clothes everywhere, band posters half-hanging up, drumstick graveyard in a shoebox, and miscellaneous food items all over the carpet. his parents don’t even bother anymore, he’s too messy and clumsy to keep up with his room. it smells like a teenaged boy in there, you can rarely see the floor, and the only thing that ever looks nice is his bookshelf of animal bones and the closet because he doesn’t use it. occasionally you can see the floor surrounding his drum set, but that’s about it. there’s underwear all over the place and dirty clothes in random piles on the floor. he only cleans it once a month if he’s lucky. his bed is a wreck, he keeps *everything* on there. candy in the comforter, comic books under the sheets, socks and tons of stuffed animals, pillows everywhere and the sheets are halfway off of the bed all the time. he loves it.

🦨 he doesn’t fucking listen to the neighborhood or arctic monkeys. if it was modern, he’d probably be into slipknot, pierce the veil, nirvana, green day, bullet for my valentine, and more like that. he’s never even heard daddy issues for real, damn.

kinda short but suck it, this is my opinion of him.

[starlocked01]

Second Glances

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: Roman has spent years making his aesthetic Gay TM and yet his soulmate's first impression of him is that he's straight. What has he done so horribly wrong? Nothing, but first impressions often are wrong.

Day 18 Prinxiety- Your Soulmate’s first impression of you is written on your skin somewhere

Damn it all the cute ones are straight

The mark appeared on Roman’s 18th birthday at midnight and frankly, he was mortified. He had been out and proud for the past two years and almost always had a rainbow flag somewhere on his person or belongings. How in the world could his soulmate get such an incorrect idea of him?

He interrogated all his friends at school to see if any of them had crushes on him and had thought he was straight but with no luck. Apparently they all had better gaydar than his soulmate.

Roman didn't have much time to worry about soulmates though because in just a few weeks he and his twin were moving into the dorms for freshman year of college. They packed up their entire room and wondered what their roommates would be like.

"I don't know Ro, what if they don't accept me or get uncomfortable with me?" Remus ran his fingers through his hair. He'd been growing it out almost a year now.

"Then I will kick their ass and get you a new roommate. Simple," Roman reassured Remus.

"Heh, thanks Ro," Remus smiled, still visibly nervous.

Roman grinned, "no one hurts my sibling and gets away with it."

On move-in day everything was a whirlwind. The car was packed past full and Roman was a ball of nervous energy.

"Remus, are you ready?" he called up the stairs.

"It's Renee today!" she called back down, appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Oops! My bad. Ready to go, sis?" Roman smiled broadly as she walked down, fussing with her skirt.

"Yeah!"

"Let's go! College here we come!"

Renee was unusually quiet during the drive. Roman spared as many glances away from the road as he could.

"You okay, hon?" He asked gently.

She nodded slowly, "are you sure I won't get funny looks during move in? Should I change into something masc before we get there?"

"No, you will do no such thing. It's a co-ed dorm, Ren. And I'm literally right down the hall," Roman shook his head.

Renee glanced down at her palm, "do you think I'll meet my soulmate today? I mean there's gonna be a lot of people there and it is a fem day…"

Roman smiled, "anything is possible, sis. Just keep being your beautiful self."

Thoughts of soulmates reminded Roman of his own frustrating mark. He kinda wondered what his soulmate’s mark said. Guess he'd think it sooner or later.

After the slightest confusion at sign in, he and Renee were ready to move into their dorm rooms. He decided to help Renee with her stuff first (and to make sure any roommate would know who they had to answer to). They were carrying in their first boxes and found her roommate already unpacked and chilling out at a desk with a book on existential philosophers.

The boy looked up and Roman and smiled extending a hand as he and Renee set down their boxes, "you must be Remus. I'm Janus. Nice to meet you."

Roman glared and opened his mouth to reprimand Janus but Renee spoke up first, "actually, I'm Renee!" she took Janus’ hand and shook it, "Remus is my legal name."

"Oh. Oh, my apologies! You would think I would know not to assume," Janus laughed uncomfortably, "sorry, Renee. It's charming to meet you."

"I'm Roman, her twin brother," Roman's mouth twitched. He was ready to cause a scene if things went south.

"Well, actually this is rather fortunate," Janus looked between the two twins, "I get the feeling you two will be understanding. I'm nonbinary and go by sie/sier pronouns. Again, I apologize for assuming. I hope we can get off on a better second impression."

Renee giggled, "that's so cool! I'm actually genderfluid. We can talk more later though, Roman and I still have to unpack all his stuff too."

Roman sighed in relief and turned to go get the next load of Renee's stuff.

After moving all her boxes from the car, Renee and Janus both helped Roman move his stuff into a room just down the hall from them. Even with moving Renee first, Roman’s roommate was nowhere to be found and he wondered if he lucked out with a no-show roommate and accidental single dorm room.

Renee was bubbly and excited, talking about her roommate and sier interests and opinions. Renee was already pretty infatuated with sier. Roman started to unpack his clothing.

"Ro, this is going to be the best! I'm so excited I can't contain it!" she started bouncing on the bed. Roman chuckled and pulled her into a tight hug.

Just then he saw a boy drowning in a purple and black hoodie stop at the door, double-checking the door number. He was so skinny, the only thing Roman could think was Tim Burton Reject but like Cute. The boy caught sight of Roman and Renee hugging and Roman almost thought he saw the 5 stages of grief flash through his eyes.

"Uh, should I come back later? I think this is my room…"

Roman grinned and walked over to the door, "come on in! Virgil right?" Virgil nodded, "hi, I'm Roman! This is Renee. Need help with your stuff?"

Renee waved and Virgil set his box down, "um sure, thanks."

Renee fiddled with her skirt, "Ro, I'm gonna go change."

"Okay, cool. Name when you get back?"

She skipped out of the room, "Reagan! Thanks Ro!"

Roman chuckled and smiled at Virgil, "you'll get used to them. They're genderfluid and switch kinda frequently."

Virgil nodded and started back down the hall to his car, "how long have you known each other?" His voice was tinted with barely noticeable jealousy.

"Since the day we were born. Reagan is my twin," Roman followed his roommate, oblivious to the confusion on his face.

"Wait.. siblings… ohhhh, oh thank god," Virgil was wide-eyed.

"What?"

"I thought Renee was your girlfriend. That would have been awkward," Virgil flushed with embarrassment and Roman broke out laughing.

"Wow, that's a first! I've never been told my sib looked like my S.O.! You're funny Virge!" Roman hit Virgil on the back in a friendly pat that sent the smaller boy stumbling forward.

They quickly moved the few boxes Virgil had brought into the room and both boys started unpacking. The room was tensely quiet until Reagan came barreling back into the room with their roommate in tow.

"Oh my God! You guys!! Janus is the sweetest bitch," their eyes were sparkling with excitement.

"All I did was offer to help with classwork," Janus mumbled. Sie looked at Roman and Virgil and could feel the awkwardness in the room that Reagan was oblivious to, "so, anyone know a good ice breaker?"

Roman and Virgil replied at the same time, "polar bears."

Janus snorted, trying to contain sier amusement, "not quite what I meant, but A for effort."

"Ooh, have either of you two met your soulmates?" Reagan grinned at Virgil and Janus.

"My birthday is in a couple of months, so I have no idea," Virgil shrugged, taping up an MCR poster.

Janus rolled sier eyes, "no, I'm not really trying to find them either. Their first impression of me is disappointment anyway and you know how impossible it is to correct a bad first impression."

Roman laughed, "I feel like I'm looking for the impossible! My soulmate’s first impression is that I'm straight . How?" he held up the pride flag that he was preparing to hang above his bed.

"I could imagine it if the first time they saw you, you were… I don't know, hugging your sister," Virgil coughed suspiciously.

"Well, I will quickly correct them. Shoot, I forgot to ask. Virgil are you okay with queer stuff all over my side of the room? Because if not we have a problem," Roman smiled nervously and Reagan snickered at him. He supposed he should have figured this out before outing Reagan to Virgil but better late than never.

"You're good, Princey. I might not be flamboyant but I'm definitely gay," Virgil smiled softly.

"How lucky you're rooming together," Janus smirked, "should we dismantle one of the beds now?"

Reagan howled with laughter as Roman and Virgil both vehemently denied that suggestion, faces redder than strawberries.

"Give it a month, Jan," they snickered, wiping a tear from their eye.

"Indeed, bet?"

"20 bucks says you're on."

"We're right here!" Virgil protested.

"Shut up, you know I love you guys," Janus replied smoothly.

"No. No, I don't know that," Virgil flipped up his hood to hide his face from the others and pulled out his DVD collection to sort it. Roman glanced over and gave a triumphant shout.

"I knew it! Corpse Bride, Alice in Wonderland, Nightmare Before Christmas, Beetlejuice? I knew you'd be into Tim Burton!" Roman grinned happily, "fantastic movies!"

"How? We've known each other for like an hour…" Virgil was confused.

"Ah, I think it was the hoodie. You just look like one of his characters, you know?" Roman's grin turned sheepish.

"Fair enough. That is my aesthetic," Virgil shrugged.

"So should we leave you two future love birds alone now or…?" Reagan chuckled. They could tell Roman liked his roommate a lot, even if he wasn't outwardly flirting.

"Excellent idea, Reagan. We can cause more mischief elsewhere," Janus turned to leave with Reagan following close behind sier.

The first semester of classes went chaotically fast. True to Reagan's prediction, Roman and Virgil started dating within weeks. Despite outward dissimilarities, the two made for a good couple, balancing each other's sweetness and snark and flair and dramatics.

Roman couldn’t help but feel nervous as the clock ticked closer to midnight. Winter vacation had been hard enough with Virgil on the other side of the country, but tomorrow was his birthday and Roman was anxious to figure out if the connection he felt with his boyfriend was as deep and as fated as he wanted it to be.

They were facetiming when the alarm Roman had set for midnight went off.

"Happy birthday, my chemically imbalanced romance!" Roman grinned as Virgil shook his head at the nickname, "where's the mark?"

Virgil chuckled, "can't I enjoy being legally adult for two minutes?"

"Virgillllll please?" Roman pleaded, puffing out his lip.

"Fine. I think it's on the back of my neck though. Hang on," Virgil turned off the camera to take a photo while Roman waited impatiently.

Roman couldn’t see his face but he could hear Virgil’s soft gasp, "what is it, love?"

"Did you really think that about me, Roman?" Virgil sounded upset and Roman wished he would turn the camera back on.

"I don't know, V, what does it say? Please turn the camera back on," Roman prodded gently.

The camera flicked back on and Roman could see the back of Virgil’s neck with a single line of shiny scarlet text, "Tim Burton Reject but like Cute."

"Your first thought of me was that I was a reject??" Virgil brought the camera back to his face and Roman could just make out the line of a tear cutting through his makeup.

"Virgil, it's not like that-"

"Well, it sure looks like it! Either that was your first impression of me or we aren't soulmates! I have to live with this on my skin for the rest of my life I deserve to know!"

Roman glared at Virgil, "quite hypocritical considering I have to live with the fact you thought I was dating my own sibling written across my ass!" Roman took a deep breath before continuing, "yes, my first thought of you wasn't the kindest phrasing. First impressions are so often very wrong. People aren't static pictures, they're living art. Just look at Remus; he's constantly changing. And I've seen you change in so many ways the past four months, Virgil. I would never call you a reject now. I'm sorry I did back then."

Roman watched Virgil’s face as he finished his apology. To his surprise, Virgil started to laugh, low and quiet at first but quickly growing.

"You were right though. I was so skinny, so dark, and so edgy- I think just about anyone would have agreed with you. I think you got the short end of the soulmate stick, Ro, because now you're stuck with me, the Tim Burton Reject," Virgil's smile was wide and genuine and Roman clasped his hand to his chest in relief.

"Oh my goodness, you scared me. I thought I was going to be single! Who knew your birthday was the actual nightmare before Christmas," both of them laughed at that, "goodnight love. Text me when you open your present."

Roman smiled as Virgil saluted and ended the call.

Thank the stars they actually were soulmates.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

[yikesharringrove]

So, this began several months ago like this and because I cope by putting my sweet bby through the ringer, it has risen.

Some of that sweet sweet Steve angst. This takes place post-season 3 but they burned the Mind Flayer outta Billy, established relationship.

Read on Ao3

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It was Will Byers that found him.

Steve had begun hosting DnD night after the second run-in with the Upside Down. He said it was to keep the kids out of the hair of the rest of the Party Moms, but Billy knew it was to keep the house filled with noise, light, life.

He knew Steve had been hanging on by the slimmest, teeniest little thread after this summer, so the kids were over more often than not. They would play for a few hours, watch a movie (deciding which movie usually took at least an hour in and of itself) and all the kids would pass out in the sitting room. Billy and Steve would take that opportunity to sneak up to Steve’s room for the night.

It was a typical game night when Will was startled awake. Almost a year later, he was still getting nightmares of his possession, of the Mind Flayer using him to hurt others, lure people to their deaths. He needed a minute to gather himself, so he went to the bathroom to the left of the upstairs landing, the bathroom almost nobody uses.

When he opens the door, the first thing he notices is the clumps of dark brown hair littering the counter and sink.

He met Steve’s eyes in the mirror and found them red-rimmed, filled with tears. His hair was a fucking mess. Random chunks had been cut at odd angles. Nothing was the same length and overall his hair was shorter than Will has ever seen. 

He didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

He was wearing green shorts Will recognized from the Hawkins High Basketball Team and a ratty old Mötley Crüe shirt Will would have never pictured Steve wearing, let alone owning.

He put the scissors down when he noticed Will behind him and whipped around. His breathing was fast and ragged, he had a white-knuckle grip on the counter behind him.

“Steve?” Will took a step forward as Steve’s knees seemed to buckle. He lowered himself to the ground

“Get Billy. He’s-he’s in my room. Tell him I-” he closed his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths. “Tell him I need him.”

Will booked it the fuck outta the bathroom, opening doors at random as he sped down the hall. He felt like shit leaving Steve alone in the obvious panic he’s in, but if Billy can help, then Will’s helping too.

He knew Steve’s room from the honey smell. Steve had a very particular scent Will recognized immediately, the fresh wheat of a meadow in late summer. The next thing he noticed was the giant lump of very obviously naked Billy draped across the left side of the bed. Will’s mouth was dry as he approached, but this was important. Focus Will, c’mon. He whispered out Billy’s name.

Billy was a light sleeper. He heard the door open and was awake right away. When it wasn’t Steve who was silhouetted against the hall lighting, he knew something was fucking wrong.

The second Will Byers whispered out his name in the darkness, he was up and out of bed, digging through the piles of his and Steve’s clothes strewn about the floor for something, anything, to put on.

“Where is he?”

Will just turned, motioning for Billy to follow him down the hall to the large bathroom just to the left of the landing.

Billy’s heart shattered the second he saw the devastation that was Steve Harrington in a heap on the floor. He approached like he would a scared animal, slowly lowering himself near Steve’s head, carefully keeping his movements slow and deliberate.

“Baby, it’s me. I’m here, I’m right here for you, Honey. I’m not gonna touch you, okay? You come to me when you’re ready just like always. I’m here, Baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

Will’s brain was going a mile a fucking minute. He felt like he was going to throw up. He was too worried about Steve to actually process what Billy was saying, to actually process the fact that Billy and Steve were obviously, together, in a way Will had dreamed of being with another guy. All he could think about were Steve’s uneven breaths and all the fucking hair covering the bathroom.

He began to clean it up, quietly picking up the clumps of dark hair and placing them in the trash he found under the cabinet while Steve slowly came into himself enough to crawl pathetically into Billy’s lap.

“Can you talk to me, Stevie? What’s going on?” Billy was running his fingers up and down Steve’s back, gently making patterns through the shirt Will now figured wass Billy’s.

“I wanted, I wanted it gone,” was Steve’s mumble. Will had abandoned cleaning, dropping himself down the wall adjacent to the one Billy was propped against.

“Okay, okay. Can you tell me why? Take your time, Baby. We’re right here for you.”

“Had another, ‘nother nightmare,” Steve was still taking shaky breathes, spitting out his words on every exhale. “‘Bout the-the Russians.”

“Okay, I know what happened. I understand, Baby. Just focus on your breathing, okay? Try to match mine. We’re not going anywhere.” Billy looked at Will, flashing him a small smile he sheepishly returned. Steve turned his face into Billy’s chest, closing his eyes and checking out, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Billy’s strong chest.

“Is he, is he gonna be okay?” Will was about to have a breakdown of his own. Watching Steve, someone he always saw as strong, the protector, succumb to the same panic and fear Will had felt his whole life. It was jarring.

“Yeah, kid. This happens sometimes. We just gotta give him a little extra love.” He huffed a breath. “Anyone ever fill you in about the Russians?”

“Kind of? Like Dustin told us all about being trapped in that elevator and the underground base while we were getting the Mind Flayer out of you. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Steve say anything about it though.”

“Well, you know how he is. Threw himself of the sword so Dustin and Erica could get outta there. He ended up getting- I mean he and Robin both got, drugged and, and tortured.”

Will felt the tears he’d been holding back this whole time roll down his cheeks.

“I didn’t know that, he-why didn’t he tell us? We can help him. We all l-love him a lot and we’re a family. We’re his family.”

“He knows that. He does, and it means a whole hell of a lot to him, you guys really are his family, but he’s-he’s got it in his head he’s gotta be the strong one. The one to protect all of us, so he pushes his shit down until, well, until this happens. But, kid, you gotta, you gotta promise both of us not to go tellin’ this to the other nerds, okay? You know he would fuckin’ hate it if they all knew about this, and I’m not-I’m not just talking about the attack, I mean, you know, me and him.”

“I promise! I really promise, I know what it’s like, the-the panic and, you know, the, well the other thing.” Billy’s eyes brightened.

“Yeah? You a social deviant too, Baby Byers?”

“I, well, I think so.”

“Hey, welcome to the club! Nice to know there're more queers in Hawkins. I need to give this hick town more fuckin’ credit. Good for you, figurin’ that shit out quick. It’ll save you a lotta confusion. ‘Lotta heartbreak too.”

“I think I’ve always known. Never thought about girls, not when, not when-well. I always knew.”

“Who was your first crush? That guy that just made you go ‘hot damn’?” Billy was grinning at Will. “Mine was Jim Morrison. Saw a poster of him at a record store once, and just, you know. Knew it.”

Will didn’t really know what to say. He knew exactly who it was that awoke the gay beast inside him, but he didn’t really know how to tell Billy.

“This is kind of, well it’s kind of embarrassing,” That only made Billy’s smile grow.

“You need to tell me right the fuck now, kid. C’mon, I can tell you Steve’s too!”

Will flushed. So he was doing this.

“So, he probably told you this, but um, Steve used to coach little league. And, he was my coach the summer before sixth grade, and, well...” he trailed off, not making eye contact with Billy until he let out a bark of laughter.

“Are you fucking telling me,” He shifted Steve around on his lap who made a disgruntled noise before settling back into Billy’s chest. He was entirely zoned out, focused on the rhythm of Billy’s breaths and the cadence of his voice, not registering any actual words from the other two.

“Are you fucking telling me, that Steve Harrington, this lump right here, caused your sexual awakening?” Billy was laughing.

“I mean, he was always really nice to us, and like, I hated baseball, but he made it, he made it really fun and he would always be so excited for us when we did well-”

“Plus, he’s hot as fuck.” He cut Will of, shooting him a wink, with his tongue between his teeth. Will went bright fucking red. “I’m just fuckin’ with you kid. I know he’s a sweet one.”

“He made me want to play baseball. I hated baseball. Only did it because my dad made me. He probably thought it would straighten me out.” Billy’s teasing smile dropped from his face.

“Sounds like we had the same kinda dad.” He took a breath, looking down at Steve for a moment. “He ever hit you?”

Will’s blood ran cold.

“No, not me. He used to hit Mom and Jonathan. I think they both thought that if they got hit, at least the rest of us weren’t gettin’ any. She definitely caught him slapping Jonathon around once, though. All his stuff was on the lawn within the hour.”

Billy smiled, but it was kind of, sad. “Your mom is a damn spitfire. I adore that woman.”

“I do too. She’s the best mom in the world.” Will could talk about his mom all day and all fucking night.

Steve was shifting around again, moving between Billy’s legs and sitting up more on his own.

“Hey, Baby. Welcome back to us. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He looked at Will. “I’m really sorry. I’m really sorry you had to see all that.”

“It’s okay. I understand. I get anxiety like that too.” Steve smiled at him blearily before turning to Billy. “Okay, be straight up with me. How bad’s the damage?” He swept his fingers over his hair, wincing when he felt the different lengths and random chunks.

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s not good. But I think Robin could fix it. She seems like the type that can cut hair. It’s gonna have to be short though. Real short.”

Steve whined, pushing his bottom lip out at Billy. “You gonna dump me? I’m not pretty enough for you anymore?”

Will’s heart nearly stopped when Billy leaned in to bite at Steve’s pouty bottom lip. He had never seen moments like this between two men, just sweet moments that showed how much they love each other.

“You’ll always be my Pretty Boy, you fuckin’ know that.” They were smiling at one another so softly. “You know Will and I got some nice bonding time in while you were working on your breathing.” Steve leaned sideways against Billy’s chest, slipping one hand into the big front pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah? What’d you all talk about?”

“Oh, you know. Shitty dads, first crushes, normal stuff.”

“Oooh, I already know yours is Jim Morrison, you’re old news around here, Bill. Care to share, Will the Wise?” No, Steve, he does not care to share.

“Oh, umm it was actually uh,” He reached around for a name, absolutely not ready to admit to Steve his first crush. “Marlon Brando?”

Steve’s tired eyes lit up a little. “Brando? Honestly, he was one a’ mine too. And Harrison Ford. I saw Star Wars four times in theatres. Couldn’t tell you a single plot detail. So you’re playin’ for our team?” Billy rolled his eyes and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like fucking jock under his breath. Steve elbowed him.

 “Um, yeah. Although, I haven’t really, told anyone, so if you guys could, you know.”

“Oh, yeah, discretion is key.” Steve nodded. “We’re not too bad at keeping secrets, you don’t gotta worry about us.”

“So none of your friends know? That’s rough, Byers. I mean, even here I’ve found a few people I can tell, Steve, obviously. But California, all ‘a my friends knew.”

“Well, I mean, I told Mike. Last year. And he was really cool about it, but then this summer we got into a fight, and he kinda, threw it back in my face.”

Billy and Steve both looked shocked and appalled on Will’s behalf.

“What did the little fucker say? I’ll kick his ass if he called you a fa-”

“No! Nothing like that, it’s cool, Billy. He just, well we got into it about how he and Lucas didn’t really have time to play DnD, or hang out with me in general anymore, and he said ‘it’s not my fault you don’t like girls’. We didn’t really talk about it, I mean, he kinda apologized, but it was right when everything was going down. So, I put it aside.” Steve got his Mom Face on.

“But have you talked about it since everything has blown over? Has he apologized? He shouldn’t have said that. He just wanted to hurt you and that was the one thing that probably came into his head, but that isn’t okay, especially if he was the only one you trusted enough to tell.”

“I know. I keep meaning to talk to him, but we’ve been really good lately and I don’t want to, want to,  fuck anything up.”

“All the more reason to do it now. If you two are really tight right now, he’ll probably listen to how shitty he made you feel, and feel really bad about it.” Billy was nodding along to what Steve was saying. “And, you know if you ever need to talk about shit, we’re here for you, and you know, probably understand  you more.”

“Or if you just want someone to teach the little poser a lesson-”

“I think I’ll just talk to him, but, uh, thanks?” Billy grinned. Steve leaned back into him, pulling Billy’s left arm around his chest to pull him in more. “Um, Steve, do you think I could-I mean, would it be okay to ask you what, um, all this is.” Steve’s face fell immediately, and he shrank back more into Billy. “You don’t have to! I just, it kinda freaked me out to see you like that. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay. I can’t-I can’t talk about it too much right now, I’m still a little” he looked at Billy “fragile, I guess. But, well. What do you want to know?”

“Nothing you don’t want to talk about, or, or feel okay telling me but, I mean, why go for the hair?”

Steve shifted some more. It looked as though he was trying to disappear into Billy. 

“You know about the Russians? The ones under Starcourt?”

“Yeah, Billy filled me in a little. Just generally what, what happened to you.”

Steve sighed. 

“Well, for some fuckin’ reason, the general that was, in charge of us, he, uh, he really liked pulling at my hair. He would just grab it and move my head around, or-or use it to hold me steadily while they, um, while they hit me and-when I woke up I couldn’t think. I just, I wanted it gone.”

Billy’s face was white as a sheet. He looked like someone had pulled the entire floor out from under him.

“Steve, why the fuck didn’t you tell me? I thought you-you used to love when I played with your hair. I would’ve stopped.” He looked disgusted with himself at the idea of contributing to Steve’s pain in any way. 

“I thought that-I don’t know. Maybe it would go away? That I would like it again?”

Billy looked like he could cry. A level of hurt and remorse and apology Will had never seen him exhibit. 

“Jesus, Stevie. You need to tell me when you feel shit like that. You know all of my shit and triggers and whatever.”

“I know,” Steve buried his face back into Billy’s chest, curling his body inwards again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, you know me though. You know I don’t like-”

“Having a weakness?” Billy seemed sardonic. Steve’s head shot up to glare at Billy in the eye.

“That is not what I was going to say and you know it. I was going to say that you know I don’t like being vulnerable and I’m sorry and I’m working on it. But this was, I didn’t even realize what I had done until Will walked in.” 

A look of pure horror came over Steve’s face.

“How the fuck am I supposed to hide this from the rest of The Party tomorrow? Dustin is gonna ask so many questions I do not have the answers for.” Billy chuckled lightly, all tension that may have been building between them melting away. They snuggled even closer and Will’s heart turned to a big pile of mush.

“Just stay in bed tomorrow. I’ll tell the nerds you’re sick. Plus, you always ass out for about 18 hours after a panic attack anyway.” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Will, do you think you could maybe, not tell anyone about this? I’m gonna have to come up with a cover story and everything.”

“I already promised Billy I wouldn’t. But, you know how you said I could always talk to you two? Well, the same goes for you. We all really love you, Steve. And maybe we don’t understand exactly what you’re going through, we just, we want to be here for you. We are here for you.” Steve’s eyes went even bigger and all watery when Will spoke. 

“That, that really means a lot to me. I love you shitbirds. I hope you all know that.”

“We do,” Will said quickly. He doesn’t think he could watch Steve cry anymore tonight. Or maybe ever. “We know that.” Steve gave him a watery smile, looking at Billy’s watch. 

“I think it’s time for sleep. I need a soft bed and a big man. Now.” Billy rolled his eyes, but picked Steve up as if he weighed nothing. 

“Go to bed, Baby Byers.” He knocked Steve’s foot into Will as he went past.

“Thanks, Will.” Steve’s voice was soft as Billy brought them back into the bedroom. 

Will went downstairs as quietly as possible, settling back into his little makeshift bed.

“Hey, you okay?”

And of course it was Mike, whispering to him from his own little spot. 

“Yeah. I’m good. Let’s talk in the morning.” And Mike smiled at him, and gave him a little wave, and flopped back onto his pillow.

[warholiana]

The Times (London, England)

By Roger Lewis

Huge claims are made for Andy Warhol in this massive book. He is, says Blake Gopnik, "the most important and influential artist of the 20th century", who knocked Picasso off his throne. "Andy will go down in history," one of Warhol's teachers asserts, as being "in the same league as Alexander Pope, William Hogarth, Toulouse-Lautrec and Goya as a social critic". To which the only intelligent response is a derisive: pig's bottom!

Warhol, surely, was a tiny overinflated talent, very much a product of Fifties and Sixties pop culture, whose sole insight was that lowly illustration had potential as fine art, that the transitory could be creative. Warhol believed that the "brash materialist objects on which America is built"-- such as Brillo pad boxes, Coca-Cola bottles, Campbell's soup cans, movie star posters and comic books -- had as much right to be displayed in galleries as on trash telly commercials or as props in the colourful films of Jerry Lewis.

But how did anyone think this was new? The Dadaists had been playing games with found objects, and painting moustaches on the Mona Lisa, for years. Toulouse-Lautrec's cabaret posters had long been recognised as genuine art -- and what about Alphonse Mucha, whom Gopnik does not mention? The Czech's fin-desiecle advertisements for soap or lavender water anticipate Warhol's love of packaging, his love of Fifth Avenue shopping sprees.

The Warhols, or Warholas, and before that the Varcholas, originated in modernday Slovakia, on the edge of the Carpathians. His parents emigrated to industrial Pittsburgh, where according to Warhol, "the smog would turn a white shirt black by the end of the day". Warhol was born there in 1928; as a child he was sickly -- he suffered from Sydenham's chorea (then known as St Vitus Dance), which caused twitching and bedwetting, obsessive compulsive behaviour and bad skin.

He wasn't much interested in sports -- "everybody knows that I'm a queen" -- and preferred drawing flowers and butterflies. Warhol enjoyed art class, developing, said a teacher, "a decorative quality that was very becoming". It is true he retained "a childlike directness" -- there was never anything complicated or subtle about his work. Everything is very flat.

Warhol proceeded to the Carnegie Institute of Technology, in his home city, where he did a degree in pictorial design. His earliest jobs were decorating window displays for department stores, and producing campy ink drawings for catalogues and magazines. When he moved to Manhattan in 1949, he instantly received many a lucrative commission from Conde Nast and the Hearst corporation. Warhol decorated deluxe brochures, record sleeves, and even designed a bookplate for Audrey Hepburn.

Gopnik, an American art critic, follows Warhol every step of the way, from cockroach-infested cold-water walk-ups in Greenwich Village to his later Park Avenue mansions, where the rooms, crammed with antiques, were kept locked and unvisited. He was never alone, however.

Warhol's mother came to visit, to do the laundry, and remained for 20 years. She never ceased looking for a "nice girl" for him to marry.

A large part of the Warhol mystique was his personal manner, which overcame his looks. "Andy was one of the plainest boys I've ever seen in my life," said an art dealer from the mid-Fifties, "a pimply faced adolescent with a deformed, bulbous nose that was always inflamed." Yet despite this unprepossessing head topped by a silver wig -- he got his toupee in the early Fifties to cover his thinning hair -- he became an indispensable celebrity, owing more to Quentin Crisp than Henri Matisse. He cultivated a creepy, vampiric manner -- Richard Burton called him "a horror film gentleman" -- and affected to be blank and moronic, speaking in monosyllables.

Underneath the "surface diffidence", however, Gopnik assures us that Warhol was widely read and knowledgeable, well versed in everyone from Cocteau to Fred Astaire. Although he drifted in and out of lots of parties, never raising his eyes, a friend said: "There's nothing he hasn't observed." Gopnik calls him "the world's greatest sponge", sucking up experiences and influences -- and giving nothing back.

What's peculiar is that instead of repulsing people, they were fascinated. When he expanded his studio, and named it the Factory, the place was as thronged as a royal court -- even if Warhol's courtiers were chiefly drifters and no-hopers, "drag queens and queers, street hustlers and rough trade, drug dealers and psychiatric basket-cases".

Warhol found sex (his words) "messy and distasteful". Yet he may not have been as asexual as he sometimes pretended. He underwent surgery for anal warts and took a course of penicillin for venereal disease. Warhol, though, preferred to spend hours on the phone, calling friends to get lurid details of their sex lives. A voyeur, he observed the emotions of others while experiencing none of his own.

This sounds very dead, and deadening. Yet that is the effect of his art too. His famous screen prints, where he would use rubber squeegees to slop paint around photographic stencils, were of electric chairs, car crashes and deceased celebrities, such as Marilyn or JFK -- "chaos pulled from the media". Jackie Onassis is the tragic widow. Elizabeth Taylor joined the club because of her myriad near-fatal illnesses. Everything is depicted in violet pink, orange, poison-apple green and magenta. In the 2,700 images Warhol made of Mao, the Chairman looks embalmed.

In 1968 the Grim Reaper nearly polished off the artist himself. Valerie Solanas, "a troubled hanger-on" at the Factory, shot Warhol at point-blank range, annoyed that he had misplaced the typescript of her play Up Your Ass. Luckily, at the hospital, Warhol ended up in the hands of a highly trained surgeon who knew all about bullets. But Warhol's innards were wrecked (he had a "monumental hernia" and his addiction to Valium caused constipation so bad that he needed daily enemas), contributing to the gall bladder trouble that killed him in 1987, at the age of 58, the organ having become gangrenous.

The effect of the shooting was to drive up the value of Warhol's work, and by now there was a team of assistants churning out print runs of 2,500 -- multiple repeat images of Elvis or Shirley Temple, cans and bottle tops. It was as if Warhol was insisting on the virtue of monotony and banality, with pictures that were, his dealer said, "blank, blunt, bleak, stark".

When we are informed, by Gopnik, that "Warhol always talked about his love of boredom", it is fair to say there's no surprise there: the soporific effect of his prints of stamps or banknotes; his films about someone sleeping or the Empire State Building doing nothing; his fondness for tape recording inane chatter and for taking blurry Polaroids at Studio 54 -- with Warhol, form and content were as one.

Towards the end, he dumped his riff-raff followers and sought the company of minor European royalty and the Shah of Iran, desperate to secure portrait commissions. He collected Czech folk art, decorated eggs, carpets, vintage store signs, carved carousel horses, Slavonic church icons. He packed ticket stubs, receipts and Christmas cards into 609 boxes, which he called Time Capsules, the more ephemeral the better. He surrounded himself with the bric-a-brac of his own mausoleum.

Screen prints, priced at $800 originally, now fetch $105 million at auction. The estate, its headquarters in Pittsburgh, is worth billions. Although I always liked the exquisite drawings of perfume bottles or shoes, the laces and filigree and bits of gold leaf, Warhol destroyed his archives of early commercial art. He wanted to be remembered only for his society portraits, which are tawdry. Much like this appallingly bloated book, with its naff prose: "licking his lips at the prospect", "muddied the waters", "dipped a tentative toe", "to add injury to insult", "spent a pretty penny".

Asked why she shot Warhol, Solanas said: "He's a piece of garbage." His work mostly was. Up Your Ass was finally staged in 2000.

A Life as Art by Blake Gopnik Allen Lane, 930pp; PS35

[burnouts3s3]

Controversy Corner: Mass Effect Andromeda

(Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit unprofessional blog post written by an unprofessional blog poster. All purported facts and statement are little more than the subjective, biased opinion of said blog poster. In other words, don’t take anything I say too seriously.

Author's Note: Controversy Corner is a series of articles that concentrates on the cultural aspects and whatever explicit or implicit messages the game might have. PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS NOT A REVIEW OF THE GAME, but rather an analysis of what a game says about the world and the world around it. If you wish to read a strict review, please click on the link to read it. My reviews focus more on the purely techical aspects of the game. Also note that a game's technical analysis may or may not effect the message it may or may not tell. There are bad games with good messages. There are good games with bad messages and so on and so forth. Thank you.

Additional Note: Okay, I originally wanted to do this a while back, but couldn't because I had to work and never found the time. So, better late than never, I suppose).

Controversy Corner: Mass Effect Andromeda

Controversy #1: The Uncanny Valley Effect (or Facing Controversy) (or How I learned to stop worrying and love Mass Effect Andromeda's goofy facial animations)

One thing was apparent in Mass Effect: Andromeda. The facial animation was really, really terrible.

Granted, Bioware always had trouble animating faces even going so far back as the original Mass Effect (the “dead eye” syndrome never really went away), but Andromeda makes Dragon Age: Inquisition look like the Witcher 3. Frankly, these are some of the WORST facial animations I’ve seen, I thought I was watching that creepy commercial for Disneyland’s Pandora and that animatronic robot was on. I’ll take the cartoon effects of Dragon Age 2 and SW:TOR any day over this.

Look, I won’t say Bioware was outright dishonest or lying to their customers, but it does raise the question of why they thought this game in this state should be ready for release at a 60 dollar price range.

The “Day 1 Patch” mentality has really got to go. I know that no game is perfect and has its fair amount of glitches, but Mass Effect: Andromeda’s glitches were so prevalent, you have to wonder what was going down in quality assurance.

The fact of the matter is that the facial animations are an objective measure. They can be compared and should be to other games.

There's always some argument to be had between using a technical rule measure to judge a game's worth. After all, we don't judge the quality of a book or a film by how long it is or how much content it has.

Then again, games are an interactive medium. You actively consume it rather than passively consume it.

I can no more ignore the facial animations here any more than I can ignore how beautiful the backgrounds are.

Even if ‘all’ the glitches and bugs were to be removed by next patches (they won’t), the fact of the matter is that Bioware thought to release a clearly buggy game and asking its fans, customers and newcomers to shell out 60 USD just for the privilege of playing their game. (A privilege they can easily revoke if you own a digital only copy).

Where I draw the line in the sand is when the game asks me to meet a certain level of requirements for the simple act of consuming said game. If Bioware and Mass Effect asks me to upgrade my Personal Computer to run a current generation Graphics Card as well as a high end processor as well as 60 USD for the privilege of simply playing their game, then I must ask them to meet me halfway and deliver an experience worth that price of money.

The Witcher 3, while graphically demanding, made up for it with a smooth optimization experience that more than made up for it. Indie titles such as Life is Strange or Dreamfall: Chapters, aren't as pretty but make up for it by having an aesthetic choice as well as low entry barriers both in specs and pricing. Even Dragon Age: Inquisition (which I'll remind you came out in 2014) made up for its graphical demands with a certain degree of polish. Mass Effect: Andromeda is too high end for indie games but not polished enough to meet with current standards. Standard pricing for AAA games requires standard AAA polish.

Since then, Bioware has released Patch 1.5, dramatically fixing the facial animations (as well as a number of other glaring issues) surrounding the game. Having played it, yes, much of the technical issues have been improved. You have the ability to skip the 20 second transition between planets, a majority of the facial animations have improved and the default Sara Ryder no longer looks like an inhuman muppet.

The technical fixes are only part of the problem. Fixing the facial animations isn’t going to make Cora or Liam any more than dull mannequins, both in appearance and in personality. Giving an option to remove the 20 second transitions from planet to planet isn’t going to make scanning planets any less tedious (and pointless as you can just use the companion app to get materials, research data and weapons without having to needlessly grind).

These aren’t “fix these with a patch” problems. These are “we thought this was a good design idea” problem and frankly it’s epidemic of what else goes on in the game.

Controversy #2: #MakeJaalBi

Bioware has, for better or worse, earned themselves a reputation of being a queer friendly company. So much so, they're willing to include gay characters for the sake of inclusion. This has caused a lot of controversy amongst the gaming community.

As such, it's hard not to imagine that the attacks on Mass Effect: Andromeda as an attack on LGBT characters in video games.

For those struggling to do the math, that means Female Ryders get 2 romancable males and 3 romancable females while Male Ryders get 3 romancable females and 1 romancable male. (There’s also Reyes, an NPC found on Kadera that’s romancable to both Ryders, but honestly he’s so peripheral, I forgot about him).

http://archive.is/84h95

There was a rumor going around that either Liam or Jaal was going to be bisexual and romancable to both genders. (Even Mass Effect General on 4chan's video game generals board had speculated that Jaal was bi).

Look, I never liked this idea of making ratios and quantifying how many companions are this romancable or that romancable (one because I think quantifying art takes away from the art).

The problem isn't that Bioware is making a lack of gay romancable options; it's that they're the only ones in the industry making gay options (at least when referring to the industry that still holds consoles and AAA gaming relevant).

There's clearly a demand and a benefit to having characters play minority characters in video games. The question is, why is only 1 AAA developer the only one who's willing to risk that?

Since then, Bioware has released Patch 1.08. Among other things, it makes the companion character, Jaal, romancable by either a male or female Ryder. And while I'm glad the LGBT community has another Bisexual individual to look up to, there's a nagging feeling on the back of my head that we may have opened Pandora's Box here.

The danger in making a straight character such as Jaal bisexual (again, however it was intended in the original programming and again, however progressive and forward thinking), is that it, intentionally or not, opens the door for erasing other black, female, gay or trans character in fiction. I would oppose a #MakeJaalBi hashtag the same way I would oppose a #MakeViviennewhite or #MakeDorianStraight Hashtag. I would oppose making Jaal bisexual as I would making Liam white, Suvi straight or Cassandra Bisexual.

(Also noted, this is not the first time Bioware has done this as they've taken presumably straight characters such as Kaidan Alenko and Anders and made them bisexual).

https://twitter.com/BioFanOfficial/status/872178905536495616

http://archive.is/XcoOe

These are the potential disasters that could happen if we’re careless about this.

But the hashtag itself raises a very important question, in a sea of video game genres, swimming with big budgets, there is a demand to see more queer representation in video games. So comes the question:

Why is it on Bioware to fulfill this need?

Even with female led games, how many of them actually have the main character, aka the female, initiate the romance if there is a romance at all? Not many, I imagine. Most of the AAA games like Tomb Raider or Horizon: Zero Dawn usually have leads who don’t pursue romantic relationships. Even in smaller indie titles, such as Life is Strange, only really has the ability to pursue romances as an option.

The problem isn’t that Bioware is making a lack of gay or queer characters. It’s that in the AAA video game industry with console exclusives where big budgeted games are rivaling the budgets of Hollywood movies, Bioware is the only developer that’s making any sort of these romances.

Clearly, there’s an audience for this sort of thing, even if they are, yes, gay dating sims, and the question remains why is one developer (again in the AAA, big budgeted sense and within Western Developers), the only one willing to do this. Even recent changes like in Fallout 4 pale in comparison to the numerous amounts of gay characters and the images of men kissing men or women as the player characters kissing men.

There's a phrase I want to mention called “Selling tainted water in the desert”. It dictates that when someone is so desperate for water, someone will sell them bad water to them. And just like Tyler Perry gives black audiences bad films or Stephanie Meyer gives young women cheesey romance novels, Bioware gives those wanting more queer representation 60 dollar games with expensive microtransactions and lots of glitches.

Electronic Arts (and by proxy, Bioware) knows this and promotes this by their marketing. “Buy our products to show you want more LGBT representation in the industry.”

Propping up one developer, no matter how progressive or forward thinking, as THE sole developer is not good business. And while I’ll gladly support the cause to support more representation, the fact of the matter is that all facets of the industry have done a poor job of this. Consumers need to be willing to buy the products. Developers need to be willing to make the products. And Journalists, bloggers, commentators, whatever, have to be willing to report on the product (Yes, even if it is a smaller title and you won’t get as many clicks or views by reporting on it).

So desperate, they were willing to shell out 60 USD for a really buggy mess of a game with intrusive Digital Rights Management laws.

The fact of the matter is that all other forms of media, television, books, radio and movies, all have different products marketed to different audiences. Don’t like Harry Potter? No sweat; there’s a dozen or other forms of books to get that. There are sections aimed for black audiences, female audiences and yes, queer audiences as well.

Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that some of the only forms of queer representation can come from obscure indie titles you actively have to search for or big budgeted AAA games as a peripheral element?

The fact of the matter is that Bioware is providing something to a particular audience, even if said role is to be the cheesy romance novel of the industry.

But what Irks me about the Jaal controversy, isn't the elimination of straight characters, or the potential Pandora's Box waiting to be opened, or the "Release now, Patch Later" mentality or the "Boycott until this one developer gives me what i want" school of thought (though those are some of my pet peeves). It's that for those smaller, more obscure developers that do try to promote LGBT rights are going to get overshadowed.

Before, it used to be that if someone didn't give you what you wanted, you could simply buy another item to show your support. But, thanks to the rise of Social Media and Hashtag campaigns, it's become far too easy to start a Twitter campaign, complain about an issue before said wrongdoer succumbs to your needs. That really hurts the smaller companies that DO provide lots of bisexual options and want to get in good with you.

Mass Effect: Andromeda is far from a perfect game. Far, far from it. However, there is a value in said game that does allow women characters, gay characters and persons of color to be in control. The question is, how long can audiences tolerate poor products for their representation?