#I usually make him repeat sixth grade lol

[sp0o0kylights]

Gareth didn’t know who had “almost running over a bloodied and very clearly drugged survivor of--if said survivor could be believed-- a mall fire” on their 1985 bingo card, but he’d like a fucking word.

Particularly considering Steve Harrington kept panicking anytime either he or Eddie even hinted at taking him to a hospital.

Instead he insisted, like some kind of bad action movie hero, that he was “perfectly fine” and that it was “not nearly as bad as it looked.”

Both of which might have been believable had he not twice gotten distracted by Gareth’s drums (sitting next to them both, on account of Corroded Coffin having played at the Hideout that night) asking rambling questions that constantly outed him as being high as hell.

Nevermind the fact that Gareth kept finding more blood.

“Really, it’s--mm.” Steve said, wincing as Gareth found yet another wound. “Not bad.”

“I don’t know how a fire even did this.” Gareth shot back, trying to figure out what stain he needed to press on without taking Steve’s shirt off.

Harrington raised a hand. “Service elevator.” He identified.

He made a whooshing noise, following his hand as it dropped back to his chest. “Slammed right into the floor.”

Gareth winced.

“There was a lot of shit in that elevator besides us.” Steve added, and it was moments like this where Gareth could almost believe the guy was sober, until Harrington followed it up with yet another rant about Russians and Russian Truth Serum.

Right as Gareth found another wet spot.

“Fuck the speed limit, Harrington’s bleeding out on me back here!" Gareth called, voice loud and frantic. 

Sure that might have been dramatic but then, so were Steve’s injuries. 

"Sorry babe." Brown eyes, pupils blown wide from drugs stared up at him with an easy smile, at odds with his beaten face.

In a tone so unimpressed, a middle school teacher would have envied him, Gareth said; "That is not my name."

Harrington didn't even blink. "I know. It's Gareth."

That took him aback.

"I really don't know how to feel about you knowing that." He admitted, half to keep Steve talking, and half as a distraction when he finally figured out which wound needed pressure the most (and then pressed on it.) 

Apparently whatever the hell made up “Russian truth serum” was some strong shit, because in a tone so utterly honest (and thus entirely unlike the Steve Harrington that had ruled Hawkins High halls) Harrington said; "Good things, I hope."

Then winked.

What the fuck.

"Eddie drive faster!" Gareth yelled over his shoulder. “I think he’s dying!”

(He wasn’t, but given the flirting, Gareth wasn’t taking any chances.)

[and-i-uh]

6? 22? Any other number you wanted to answer?

6- i dont have any stim toys, ive never really delved into that stuff, i was never really given the chance to explore stuff that would help me out with stimming and such. I also dont think i would like stim toys? Maybe i just have to try some but idk.

22- idk any specific songs i stim to. But ive stimmed while listening to mcr, and honestly i just stim to alot of the general songs i listen to. I really like singing along, i think thats a stim of mine, and some songs just listening to them is like stimming (anything with drums and/or guitars)

2- i like blankets a lot. Even if im hot and dont really need one, ill subconsciously grab the blanket on the couch and put it on my lap, and on my bed. There was one day i grabbed a pocket-sized beanie baby and put itin my hoodie pocket, and just knowing it was there made me happy. Also when i was with my friends one of them stuck their hands in my pocket and i panicked and like moved it out of their reach bc i was scared to get made fun of lol, it ended up being fine. I sleep with stuffed animals a lot. I think thats it

3- my school experiences were,,, not fun at all. Theres a lot to unpack there. My schools all had this thing called a “504 plan” or whatever. And it’s supposed to help people with certain disorders/disabilities. Mine only acknowledged my adhd as far as i know. Maybe my anxiety too. Some of the things that were supposed to ‘help’ were moving me to the front of the room, i got extended time to complete stuff (supposedly), extended time on certain tests (which i only saw on the act, literally i got no other extended time to do anything else. And after i got extended time on the act my scores shot up. Imagine the potential if i was given my actual extended time shit) and the meetings were hell. They started to have meetings with me in middle school, sixth grade i think. Having an administrator there, and my parents, and at least one teacher was terrifying to me. I think i cried every meeting. Honestly it felt like an interrogation to me, esp with all the damn eye contact and shit. My dad asked me if i wanted to continue it this year and i was immediately like fuck no nuh uh not happening. And whether or not I actually needed to be in the front of the room depended on the class, teacher, the people in there, but a lot of the time i would just be moved to the front and i would hate it. In eighth grade my math teacher moved me from the back of the room (a favorite seat in that class) to the front of the room in the middle of class for like a week. It was honestly humiliating and the only time i was eventually able to express my opinion on the 504 shit. Actually my freshman math teacher did that too. Ahaha moving on now before this gets too long.

4/5- three negative and positive things about being autistic.

Pros-

(1) i dont really have a chance to not have a hobby. Ive always got an interest to keep me entertained and i like that.

(2) stimming is nice, i like it, im not afraid to let myself stim. Makes me feel better.

(3) im unique and shit. I have a different pov than other people and that allows me to have different ways of thinking. I think outside the box ig. I also have this weird version of confidence and objectivity that I appreciate in myself

Cons-

(1) its hard to feel like i belong somewhere, bc im so different. Im getting better at it but im not good at getting close to people.

(2) i also like,, dont have certain permanence? Like object permanence? A lot of the time i dont really miss things/people unless im somewhere that reminds me of them. Idk if it’s negative really but its something,, even a spin, like bts, i dont really miss them that much until i do. Theyre still very important to me but yeah

(3) people dont really get me the same way other people get other people. And its hard for me to explain it to people. And theres certain people i get more than others. Its weird.

7- people need to give autistics a chance to be heard. Apply the accommodations you “give” them. Dont put them in the spotlight and give them space when needed. We are what you might call “picky” too. Eating, learning, socializing, we have our own things we need to be able to do shit. Learn them. Let us stim. Encourage us to learn about ourselves and remind us that youre there for us. But dont try to help us unless we ask or we actually need help. Dont trigger meltdowns on purpose, stop using the r word even in passing like its not a big deal. Be more than aware of us, accept us, appreciate us. Dont be a bystander.

8- i dont have much experience with meltdowns? I think? If i have i didnt have chances to recover. I had to go back to class or something. Idk how to recognize them in me either.

10- showering. Thats a big thing that even though i kinda need i forget to do. Except during school. I had a whole routine in the morning and i was super punctual. If i didnt shower i would be late, miss the bus, forget something.

12- meat. The way it feels. Disgusting. How do people eat it and not feel like dying? Same with lettuce. Spinach is fine but every time i try to eat lettuce I almost throw up. Bell peppers, pickles, vinegar, mayo, eggs usually, cheese sometimes. Just off the top of my head. One time i tried putting lettuce on my burger, was feeling adventurous, and after biting down i had to just take the lettuce off. Another time, my stepmom (newly married to my dad) made slads for us, and i was skeptical. There was white stuff all over the salad and she wouldnt tell me what it was. I tried eating a little carrot stick thing and almost vomited. Thats when she learned I cannot eat mayo. Even if idk that its mayo i still cant fuckin eat it. She forced me to eat bell peppers one time. Didnt go well at all. At all.

(Not gonna do the spin one bc ive already talked about them and if i do again itll be too long)

15- yes! I only do big stuff(?)(like yelling n shit) when im completely alone. Like if im home alone. Bc i get so loud. Sometimes ill hum in my room or sing to myself in my room though. Its so fun. As for phrases i repeat, ill repeat anything i find interesting. In a movie or song, or even something a friend said. One time my mom said the phrase “tough titty said the kitty but the milks still good” and i went around the kitchen repeating it until she got annoyed. Also sometimes something in the room will have a constant sound and ill like think a phrase to that sound repeatedly. Idk how to explain it lol. Idk if thats echolalia either

16- rocks. Typical i know, collecting rocks. But i just cant help it. I see a rock i like, i pick it up, take it home. I used to collect sticks. And when i was in elementary school, i used to pick shit up off the playground. Beer bottle caps was a favorite. Apparently the school called my mom about it bc they found my stash and thought it was from home and my parents were drinking excessively. 😬 oops

18- introverted?

19- kinda depends. Idk. I really cant tell wow. I would probably say hypersensitive. Just cause i have a ton of sensory issues and a lot of stuff bothers me. Like types of clothes. And how things are resting on my body. Yeah i guess i am hypersensitive.

20- i used to struggle with self love a lot. And sometimes i still kinda do. But in the past few years ive really started appreciating myself and trying to learn a lot about myself. Its going well id say.

21- empathy. Hmm. I think im very empathetic, actually. I can always tell when someone is feeling uncomfortable in a situation. And when i should tell people to back off of them if they wont say it themselves. And im very uncomfortable when theres secondhand embarrassment. And bullying, in something im watching or reading. Yknow, I actually cant watch mean girls. I just. I tried, i had to walk away bc I couldn’t take it. It also kinda triggers me so theres that. Bc of the bullying. But yeah im very empathetic. Otherwise socially im not good at that.

23- nope. Ive got like no support system other than tumblr and online friends. Apparently my dad refused to acknowledge im autistic and hes my favorite parent. Thats his big flaw though. And if i “came out” to him and said it myself he would probably come around. I know hes not completely nt either. My Opa has ocd, so nuerodiversity runs in the family ig.

While making this i got distracted and went on insta for like an hour oops lol

24- steampunk cosplay? Or college dorm tips? The steampunk one was freshman year, and the college dorm one was fifth grade. It lasted well into sixth grade and seventh grade.

[ashleyspinelliburnbook]

S1E7: I Will Kick No More Forever/The Kid Came Back

It was bound to happen eventually, but these two were...not as good as the others? I don’t know, y’all. I didn’t feel fulfilled or inspired watching this pair of episodes. But I tried...for one of them, anyway.

I Will Kick No More Forever

Well, okay, there was one inspiring thing. Gretchen and Gus doing commentary for the kickball games made me think they should probably do a podcast together. So here’s a sports podcast that happens to be about the plot of this episode!

(I’m just going to write this all at once and see what happens. I have only ever written TV scripts, so I’m just winging it. Forgive me.)

GRETCHEN: I’m Gretchen Grundler.

GUS: And I’m Gus Griswald.

GRETCHEN: And this is “I am in Sports.”

[theme music]

[theme music fades]

[nat sound: kickball noises]

GRETCHEN: Kickball. Or as it’s known in most of Canada, “soccer baseball.” A sport of humble origins, and today, one of the most popular recess games in the United States.

GUS: You might not know all the names of some of the great kickballers in the storied history of the sport, but today, we’d like to introduce you to one in particular who took the playground by storm.

[nat sound fades]

ANNOUNCER (SOT): “Here comes Vince ‘The Foot’ LaSalle!”

ANNOUNCER 2 (SOT): “Kicks lefty, throws righty...”

ANNOUNCER 3 (SOT): “And that ball’s not coming back! A home run!”

ANNOUNCER 4 (SOT): “The undisputed, single greatest kicker that Third Street School has ever seen.”

GRETCHEN: Vince LaSalle. A fourth-grader in name only, he made everyone from kindergarteners to sixth-graders quiver in their kickball shoes whenever he stepped up to the plate.

GUS: His trajectory was storied. He was the only known kindergartener in Third Street School history to be invited to play with the first-grade kickball team, and by second grade, he was challenging sixth-graders to play.

GRETCHEN: This confidence was impressive. Inspiring, even. But it wasn’t meant to last.

VINCE (SOT): “Okay, everyone! Outfield in!”

GRETCHEN: It was a regular Tuesday, bottom of the ninth inning. Recess would be over in about two minutes. Ashley Q. was at the plate, fresh off a phone call, and Vince made the call to bring the outfield in.

GUS: It would be the last time anyone on the playground would trust him for a long time.

ANNOUNCER 5 (SOT): “That ball is up! And up! And up! Good golly, that ball is gone! It’s out of this world! Ashley Q., ladies and gentlemen!”

- SOT -

VINCE (on phone): “It was...horrible.”

GUS: “Horrible?”

VINCE: “When you make a call like that, bringing the outfield in, bringing everyone in, you don’t...that’s not what’s supposed to happen.”

GUS: “What is supposed to happen?”

VINCE: “Well, the opposite of that.”

- END SOT -

GRETCHEN: The next day, Third Street School received a long distance call — very long-distance. This call was from a busy street in Beijing, China.

PRINCIPAL PRICKLY (SOT, on phone): “They said they found our ball. I was like, what? What ball? And the man on the phone explained, you know, your ball. It says your school’s name right here.”

GRETCHEN: Ashley Q. had recorded the longest kick the school had ever seen. And Vince? Well, he didn’t take it so well.

- SOT -

VINCE (on phone): “I just started whiffing.”

GUS: “Whiffing?”

VINCE: “Everything. Just, missing everything. The next game, you know, the ball would be rolled to me just like usual. Kicked it right back into the pitcher’s hands. Kicked it foul. Missed it entirely.”

GUS: “What about after that game?”

VINCE: [sighs] “You know what’s worse than being picked last?”

GUS: “Not really. I’m picked last a lot.”

VINCE: “Have you ever not been picked at all?”

GUS: “Wow, no. How did that make you feel?”

VINCE: [laughs] “Well, after that, I left the sport.”

- END SOT -

[brooding music]

VINCE (SOT): “I am announcing my retirement from kickball. I will kick no more, forever.”

[brooding music fades]

GRETCHEN: Vince was distraught. Even though he was sure in his decision to leave the sport he loved, he didn’t take the transition well.

GUS: We visited him after school one day — a day he’d missed, we weren’t sure why — and found him in front of the TV, drinking root beer and eating doughnuts. It wasn’t pretty.

GRETCHEN: He kept repeating something, we didn’t know what at first. We tried to ask him to speak more slowly, articulate, enunciate. And then Gus finally figured it out.

GUS: “I was outkicked by an Ashley.” Over and over again. Just...gut punch.

[SFX - EXPLOSION]

- SOT -

GRETCHEN: “So we are...in my bedroom right now. Me, Gus, TJ, everyone. And I just showed them [crash in background] — Guys, what was that?”

TJ: “Sorry. Lost control of the Flubber again.”

GRETCHEN: “Glorp. It’s called glorp.”

TJ: “Yeah, whatever it is, it’s awesome. This should do the trick.”

- END SOT -

GUS: It was supposed to be a science fair project, right?

GRETCHEN: Yes, it was one of my attempts to invent a substance to replace liquid soap. But what I got instead was a bouncy...well...glorp.

GUS: And remind me what the plan was?

GRETCHEN: The plan was to create a diversion and switch out the kickball with the glorp ball. It’s much easier to kick, and it goes a lot farther. We just wanted to give Vince his confidence back, even if we had to bend the truth a little to do it.

GUS: My job was to switch the ball after Mikey and TJ created the diversion, from the kickball to the glorp ball.

[spy music]

- SOT -

MIKEY: “My foot! My foot!”

TJ: “Mikey! Are you okay? Can you play?”

MIKEY: “No! But if I don’t play, you’ll have to forfeit!”

TJ: “I’m sure there’s someone else we can use.”

- END SOT -

[spy music fade]

GRETCHEN: [laughing] Okay, it was a bad plan. It was not the best plan. But it worked.

ANNOUNCER 6 (SOT): “What’s this? Vince LaSalle, disgraced kickballer, appears to be coming out of retirement to replace the injured Mikey!”

TJ (SOT, on phone): “I was just trying to tell him, like, ‘If you don’t kick, we’ll lose the game,’ and he goes, ‘Yeah, well, get used to it.’ And I go, ‘Well, the only thing that makes you a loser is not trying.’ And it did the trick.”

ANNOUNCER 6 (SOT, CONT.): “He’s kicking righty today, maybe a revamped routine to make this try at his career go a little better, and...Oh my! Oh my word! That ball is gone! It’s in the stratosphere! It’s past the stratosphere! Where is that ball! No one knows, but Vince LaSalle has done it! He’s won the game!”

GRETCHEN: Here’s the thing. We all felt incredibly guilty after the fact. Because it was just the glorp ball. It wasn’t Vince. And still, we couldn’t tell him. But then it turned out we didn’t have to tell him.

GUS: I remember this moment so well. I was running back from the bathroom, wondering why the game was over.

GRETCHEN: And we were wondering why you were out of breath. You weren’t the one who had just kicked the ball into parts unknown. But then we learned the reason was...

GUS: I didn’t make the switch. I went to the bathroom, left the glorp ball outside, and when I came back, it was gone.

GRETCHEN: Vince had done it all on his own. His confidence was real.

[SOT - “Vince! Vince! Vince!”]

GRETCHEN: The world’s greatest kickballer was back in business.

[fade SOT]

[theme music]

- SOT -

[phone rings]

PRINCIPAL PRICKLY: “Hello?”

HAROLD STEVENS: “Hey, Principal Prickly, this is Harold Stevens at NASA. Look, I just wanted to reach out and say we won’t be charging you for the damage because this seems like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

PRICKLY: “Excuse me? Damage? What did those kids get up to this time?”

STEVENS: “Oh, well, the kickball dent on the space shuttle. It won’t be a problem.”

PRICKLY: “What?”

[click]

- END SOT -

[theme music fades]

Takeaway: I need a Gus and Gretchen podcast YESTERDAY.

The Kid Came Back

Look, everyone. The previous recap was so long, and I don’t want to overshadow it by going too deep into this one. This episode was just...a baby thriller, you know what I mean? All the elements of a creepy story tailor-made for kids, but absolutely no payoff. It was an insult, frankly.

In short, a kid no one has seen before starts following the gang around, and bad things start happening to them. They decide it’s because of the kid, so they tell him to buzz off, and he starts crying. The gang’s takeaway is that, oops, our bad luck wasn’t caused by this kid! And so they go apologize, and then they learn he has other friends anyway. The lesson is not to tell kids to buzz off...or so we thought, until another mysterious girl shows up at the very end and the gang runs away from her immediately so as to not engage. We never learn what’s causing their bad luck.

Just...skip this one. I hope the next one is better and that we’re not rolling down an infinitely long hill. Who haven’t we checked in with in a while? Have we had a TJ-centered episode yet? I’d be fine with that.

Takeaway: I need to tighten up my scriptwriting so I don’t run out of steam before even getting the chance to make fun of a bad episode, lol.

[rivertellsstories]

Have some fear, something’s here.

A spoopy Sprace story. Sprace isn’t actually important lol, I just thought the story went best with them

Words: 1310

"Oh stop it", Race says and slaps his boyfriend playfully on the chest. "You know I'm right", Spot counters smugly, keeping his eyes on the road. "Doesn't mean you get to say it", Race sighs and leans his head against the car window. The landscape glides by slowly, a consistent picture of dark trees against an evenly dark sky. The slow pace of the car combined with Spot's humming in the background is a perfect mixture to make Race's eyes droop. "Ya sleepy?" Spot asks, startling Race awake. The effect lasts about two seconds before he can feel himself slipping off again. "Yeah", he mumbles and he thinks he hears Spot let out a little laugh. "Then go to sleep, loser."

The sound of thunder and Spot cursing wakes Race up once more. Sleepily, he yawns and rubs his eyes. "What's going on babe?" This time it's Spot who startles and Race gives his annoyed boyfriend a small grin. "The car broke down. I think the engine broke", he grumbles and Race groans. "Man, it's still a journey of three hours before we get home. I just wanna sleep."

"I know Racer", Spot shushes him, letting his fingers trail through golden curls before playfully tugging on one particularly stubborn curl. Race hisses at him in discontent, but doesn't move, unwilling to change his sleep inducing fetal position. His annoying boyfriend is not going to mess with his comfort, hell no.

"I'll go look for a gas station. With some luck, we'll be back on track in no time. Does that sound like a good plan?" Race nods. "Yep. I'll stay here and catch some more z's, if you don't mind. Also, I've been hearing about stereos getting stolen, so for the sake of our stereo, I'll stay here." Laying his hands on his chest in attempt to look wounded, Spot exhales dramatically. "I have the most wonderful boyfriend. More concerned about his stereo instead of his boyfriend venturing out in the woods."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever drama queen. Go get some fuel."

"Aren't you charming?" Spot remarks dryly before pressing a kiss to Race's forehead. "Get some rest, you look more awful than usual, bitch." Before Race can start a tirade of protests, Spot presses a swift kiss to his lips. "Love ya, sweatie."

"It's sweetie, you dick! I'm not sweaty!" Race yells as Spot exits the car. "Whatever you say love. Keep the doors locked and be safe." Race waves his boyfriend goodbye. "You too."

Race sleeps for another two hours before the storm restarts and he gets once again woken up by the sound of the rolling thunder. He looks around in search of Spot before remembering that the other man has gone out. Shrugging his shoulders, he rearranges himself in attempt to go to sleep again.

Morpheus doesn't come for him again and Race is left waiting for his boyfriend to come back with only the howling of the wind accompanying him. Gnawing at his bottom lip, he decides that the woods have a very different vibe about them without Spot at his side to make stupid jokes about them. Loneliness and something else threatens to creep upon him. Unwilling to get freaked out by a bunch of trees, Race puts on the stereo and stubbornly sings along to Laura Pausini's 'La solitudine'. Nothing wrong with some Italian 90s nostalgia to beat spooky woods.

The trick works and for a solid half hour, Race amuses himself by singing along to Spot's "secret" collection of Disney cd's. But then, halfway through Hellfire, the stereo starts malfunctioning and the only sound that comes through is the repeated "mea culpa". As Race stares at the system in disgust, even that sound abruptly gets cut off and the last thing he hears are the words "Kyrie eleison" and the meaning of them, combined with the fact that it doesn't sound the way it always does, makes Race shiver.

The sudden halt of the music, forces Race to listen to the pitter pattering of the rain and the occasional clap of thunder. But ever so slowly, the raindrops on the roof of the car stop sounding like raindrops and Race's mind starts wandering. Is that truly nothing more than the sound of the rain? His thoughts take him back to the previous evening, where'd spent his time looking up videos of black-eyed children together with Spot.

They knock on car windows, he remembers as something persistently goes tip-tap. Is it nothing more than the rain or are those the tiny, hesitant steps of a child? He can hear her now, a little girl getting closer to his car. Tip-tap. Those are her footsteps for sure. Within seconds, she'll reach for the door handle and try to open it. When that will turn out futile, she'll tap on the window. Eyes wide open and curls framing an innocent looking face, as she'll asks that one faithful question. "Won't you open the door, sir?" Tip-tap. And there it is. A tiny knock on his window. Race really doesn't want to look, but humans are nothing if not slaves to their own curiosity. Slowly, he turns to face the window.

In the darkness, he can't make out a thing, but when he lays eyes upon the tree close to his car, his heart rate calms down. It was probably just a twig hitting his window. He ignores the fact that the tree has very short branches and that none of them could've been long enough to hit his window.

"You're a crazy one", he says to his image in the rear-view mirror. He swears he can see something behind him move, but he ignores it and stubbornly stares into the mirror. If he doesn't turn around, it isn't really there. God, playing Bloody Mary in the sixth grade wasn't as scary as this. How did that game go again? Say her name three times and she'll show up or something along those lines.

'Bloody Mary', Race thinks, unwilling to utter the words, but his brain still curious and stupid. He doesn't want to see her, doesn't want to know whether the urban legends are true or not and yet, his brain defies him by staring deeply into the mirror and thinking the forbidden duo of words a second time. Who knows what happens if you only think it? Surely, that wouldn't be enough to summon her? Or would it? Morbidly curious, Race keeps staring at his reflection. It doesn't look like him. Of course the face is the same one, but the aura around it is different.

He tears his gaze away from the mirror before he can think the words for a third time. A cold gust of air hits the back of his neck, making the hairs there stand up. It feels like a breath, soft and delicate, but one that's as cold as the inside of a tomb.

Unwilling to dwell on that thought any longer, he thinks back to everything that happened this week and tries to remember something funny. His worry about Spot threatens to overtake any and all activity in his brain, but Race successfully represses that. He retreats back to Tuesday, where they had dressed Kid Blink up as a pirate. The guy had swung his hook in a lacklustre way and had said 'ar' in the most deadpan manner possible. With a smile, Race tries to ignore the sound of something scratching his car and a voice whispering: "Let me in." Shaken and worried, Race falls asleep.

When he wakes up the next morning and still sees no sign of his boyfriend he doesn't know what to do. Before he leaves the car, he takes a deep breath to steel himself.

After opening the door, he's at a total  || || |_ for words when he sees the scene in front of him.

Man door...hand hook

Car door

Tag list:

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@newsies-more-like-gaysies

@sure-as-a-star

[galadrieljones]

Writer’s Interview

thanks for the take @a-shakespearean-in-paris!! <3

Q: What is your coffee order?

Usually just a cappuccino? I don’t usually like sweet things in my coffee, except for at Christmastime when I order exclusively peppermint mochas lol.

Q: What is the coolest thing you’ve ever done?

Tbh the coolest thing I’ve ever done is probably be a fake socialite for like a portion of my late twenties and early thirties. My husband’s great uncle, who passed away last year, was quite wealthy and a huge, well-respected philanthropist for the LGBT community and gay rights. He lived in Palm Springs, and any time he had a gala or a fabulous event to go to, he would invite my husband and I to be in his entourage. We got to go to the GLAAD Awards about five times, including VIP events and cocktail parties with like, Leonardo DiCaprio, the Getty family, and Michael Jackson’s daughter. It was decadent and ridiculous but a fun role to play for a little while in my life. 

Q: Who has been your biggest mentor? 

My biggest mentors have been my professors from graduate school, both of whom are fantastic writers that taught me how to respect the work, stay grounded, and focus on making writing an important, central part of my life, no matter what comes. They taught me and my colleagues a very “purist” approach, which I appreciate to this day, revolving around the concept of inevitability: writing for love, writing for vision, writing in secrecy, ignoring the world as I grew and developed, and viewing The Industry as but a secondary factor that, when focused on with too much intensity too early in a writer’s career, can and will spoil their outlook and creative struggle forever.

Q: What has been your most memorable writing project?

I have several? My MFA thesis is memorable, because it was weird, and I was doing things back then in this very raw way that I can see and feel coming back to me now, eight years later, as a more mature writer and person. My Solavellan longfic The Dead Season also stands out as hugely memorable, as it took two years of my writing life to complete, and I believe it single-handedly improved my writing skills in ways I am only just now beginning to appreciate. 

Q: What does your writing path look like, from the earliest days until now?

I have no idea lol. I have been writing since I could read. I started when I was very young, filling notebooks with horror stories and christmas stories and bad poetry and world building ideas. It was literally just notebook after notebook after notebook. I started typing my writing on a computer probably in fifth or sixth grade, and using it more consistently when I was in eighth or ninth grade. I wrote some fanfiction for boybands when I was in middle school, but that was short-lived. I continued to invent worlds and write shitty poetry all through high school lol, and then my senior year I started writing short stories. I went to college, majored in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. Taking workshops honed my short story writing and gave me lots of practice, and then I won a little prize money out of it which helped me pay for my graduate school applications. All I ever really wanted to do was be a writer. I took a year off after college and worked as a bank teller back home in Wisconsin, and then I got real lucky and got into a very good MFA program which moved me out to California when I was about 23. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I met my husband, who was one of my colleagues at the workshop table. We moved in together. I finished my thesis, he finished his. Then we went to Montana for a little while, and we got engaged. I published some stories, mostly in small places, a couple big ones, too. Then we got married, had a baby, and I came to fandom out of boredom and frustration with the mainstream, and I’ve been toiling away here every since.

Q: What is your favorite part about writing?

I agree with @a-shakespearean-in-paris that for me, the best thing about writing is discovery. Discovery of language, ideas, characters I love. 

Q: What does a typical day look like for you?

Uh, wake up. Feed child. Snuggle with child. Derp around on tumblr. Drink coffee. My husband and I switch off mornings and teach on opposite days of the week. If I have to teach that day, I’ll lesson plan, go teach, maybe have office hours for my students, come home, hang out with my fam, put the child to bed, and then I get my nights. Mondays and Fridays the kid is in preschool and I don’t teach, so on those days I try to be as productive as possible with my own writing and also art (if I don’t have to comment on too many student papers lol). I write when I can. I don’t have a set schedule. My grown-up life has taught me the importance of speed and the kill instinct as a writer. Like when you have the chance to write, fucking just do it. Don’t hem and haw. And when you feel the need to finish something, don’t stop.

Q: What does your writing process look like?

Lol. Who knows. I consider music to be a big part of my writing process. I always use playlists that I keep on repeat whenever I’m not writing. I also do a lot of my drafting in the notes on my phone, a lot of the time in bed at night, right before I fall asleep. When I sit down to write, I usually have something in mind. I know what I need to do. At this point, once I start, I can go for a long time and write a lot of words in a very short timespan. It’s just getting to that point where I’m sitting down. But once I’m there, I can kind of just go.

Q: What’s the best advice you’ve gotten?

Stay in the room. I got this advice from one of my professors in graduate school. It literally just means: Once you’ve made the decision to write, don’t leave the room. Stay in the room. Because if you leave the room, you’ll lose your momentum. He always said the biggest challenge for any writer is staying in the room, ie: forcing yourself to do the work. Thinking of writing as work and as something that is not always pleasant but must be done anyway was very important to me. It taught me not to be so precious about my work and to just do the thing and let drafts be drafts. I also learned from him that the best thing you can do when finishing your writing day is to write one more paragraph. So when you think you’re done, write one more paragraph. It’s usually there that the best discoveries are made.

Q: What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned?

Don’t focus on publishing. Writing is not a well-paying gig. Even those who get grand book deals are rarely living large. Unless you’re Stephen King or equivalent, you’re still having to teach and apply for grants and do other shit to get by. I’ve learned that the only true satisfaction that comes from writing is pleasing others, pleasing readers. Having readers at all. You can toil away on a story for months, publish it in a lit journal, and never hear about it again. It’s pure vanity. I’ve learned from fandom writing that there is nothing more gratifying than the response from and interaction with readers. Actually touching peoples’ lives with my characters, inspiring and affecting them in some way. That’s what writing is all about. It’s an exploration of the self, but it is not self-serving. It can bring real joy to people, and that’s the thing I want.

Q: What advice would you give someone who wants to start writing?

Just write. There’s no reason not to. In fandom, there is a lot of concern over not being good enough, I think, because of this culture of constantly sharing everything we make, and notes, and kudos, etc. But if you want to write, you have to just write. You can’t say, “Oh, well, I’ll never be as good as so and so, so what’s the point?” Writing is a journey of many choices. The first choice has to be: I will now write. Don’t compare yourself to others. Find a niche that works for you. If you like to work alone and avoid showing your work, that’s okay. That’s how most writers start out. You don’t need a “beta” or a workshop team, particularly not when you’re just beginning. Share your work when you feel comfortable. It’s not important to always be sharing. It’s important to always be writing. And try not to get ahead of yourself. You must write for your own reasons and not to impress others. That is a toxic mindset that will only bring you down. And write. And write. Skip the over-planning. Skip the worksheets and the organizational worldbuilding software. Just write. It’s the only way to find out what you actually have to say.

tags for @thevikingwoman @bearly-tolerable @idrelle-miocovani @pikapeppa @littleblue-eyedbird @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul @buttsonthebeach @ellstersmash and anyone else who’d like to do this!! <3

[audreysl0ve]

Happy Valentine’s Day, Alexia!

Written for the Love, From OQ project!  @oqcelebration

 Happy Valentine’s Day to @the-notsoevil-queen!  I’ve had fun talking to you!

I know you are a sucker for this verse, so I wrote their first Valentine’s Day, with a little tailoring from your questions:

Angels (sweet) or demons (sexy) : demon (sexy)

Family friendly or hot and heavy? Hot and Heavy 

satin or lace?  satin

Pop (straightforward fun) vs indie rock (feelsy with a backstory): indie rock (feelsy)

Pick a friendship” HookedOutlawQueen or SnowOutlawQueen - HookOutlawQueen (lol) 

Pure Fluff or Angst with a payoff: pure fluff (I tried man, I tried)

They don't celebrate Valentine's Day.

Not usually, anyway.

Regina had never been much for any holiday that wasn't Christmas. Robin had slowly chipped away with that — first with Thanksgiving, then with Halloween, followed by the Fourth of July. Easter had been a hard sell, until a two year old Roland toddled on chubby legs around Mary Margaret's backyard, searching for eggs hidden by the Easter Bunny. She hadn't been able to resist his smile, and giggles, and absolute delight in the magic of the holiday. So he had won Easter.

But Valentine's Day comes with its own particular hard memories, and he realizes how it hits her and all her insecurities hard. As a child, her school would exchange Valentine's Day cards and gifts and candy. For a few years, her classmates would fill her desk and cubby with treats and valentines. But Regina could only offer them a card in exchange, if she had the time to make something homemade out of construction paper in time..

Because Cora did not allow candy in the house, and certainly didn't allow Regina to bring in such things for other children. There's nothing more ironic than a holiday that celebrates love filled with treats that only serve to wreck your figure and make you entirely unlovable. That Valentine's Day mantra was repeated often in the Mills household, grilled into her from a young age. Any candy Regina was gifted with on that day was sniffed out by Cora in some way or form, and all the delightful heart-shaped candies and chocolates covered in bright pink and red wrappers were dumped into the trash.

It didn't take long until her classmates stopped giving Regina a gift altogether. Now, when she thinks back on it, she knows it wasn't cruelty that had them skipping her. It's just that they had probably known she could never reciprocate, and possible knew she could never truly enjoy the gifts she was given (she was too afraid to even eat candy at school, for fear Cora would smell the chocolate on her breath). So perhaps the children skipped over her for her own good, not realizing that being left out just reminded her of how isolated, how lonely her life was.

There had been one year, in sixth grade, when a sweet little boy named Jeff gave her a homemade card. There were scraps of lace pasted together messily in some heart shaped form with the words "Will you be my Valentine, Regina?"

She had loved it had gleefully accepted his offer. They were attached at the hip for about a week, until her mother found the Valentine's Day card, hidden under her bed. She ripped it up in front of her before forbidding her to see the boy again.

"He's a vile boy, Regina." Cora had told her, "his parents are in and out of jail. I believe he's in foster care now. He's no one you should be talking to."

She ignored the holiday altogether after that, took a sick day from school if possible, could not look at homemade cards or valentine's day candies without feeling sick to her stomach, and her idiot mother had added fuel to the fire.

As she entered her teenage years, she continued to let her mother down on the holiday with her particular lack of suitors.

"When I was fifteen, I had seven boys ask me to the sweetheart dance," Cora had bemoaned. "And here you are, fifteen and no boys take an interest in you. I do wonder if you're a bit too bold and manish in your ways, men don't like that, you know.

And maybe she was right, except….her senior year in high school Daniel found her, and he was every bit as enchanted with her so-called manish and bold ways.

But Daniel's father had died on Valentine's Day, so while she dated him, they fueled each other's hatred of the holiday, resolute to never celebrate something so manufactured and idiotic.

After they broke up, she carried the hatred with her.

She's shared all of this with Robin, she's shared so much more lately. They started therapy immediately after New Years and it's amazing how much he still had to learn from her, and how much she still had to learn from him.

So he gets it. Understands why she hates the holiday.

But the thing is, Robin is a romantic. And the other thing is, they haven't even been back together for two months yet, and they are still very much in a honeymoon phase of sorts, and he has this persistent need to constantly dote on her. And hell, Valentine's Day is all about doting, isn't it?

And he really just wants to give her a good Valentine's Day. He can't give her everything she deserves in this world, but he can at least give her good memories to replace bad ones.

So when he approaches the subject he's unsurprised when she shoots it down immediately.

"Please," he begs, wrapping arms loosely around her waist as he nuzzles into her hair. It's a bit unfair of him, using these soft touches that she loves and still craves constantly after their separation, but he's never been much for playing fair.

"We've never celebrated Valentine's Day before," Regina points out, "why ruin a good thing? It's working for us so far."

"We didn't celebrate Valentine's Day last year, and it was miserable," Robin reminds.

He's got her there, if the look on her face is any indication.

But then she groans, an exasperated little thing. "It's such a sappy holiday, and the restaurants jack the price fix menus up to ridiculous levels, and..."

"And there will be pink champagne, no doubt, and pathetic little rose petals everywhere, and every woman will be in a red dress….including you, I hope…" He's never smiled as broadly as he has now, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. She shakes her head and lifts it up to look at him like this, shit-eating grin and all, and she releases a smile before she can try to hide it, tucking her chin back down into her neck, but still easing into his hand, which has moved to stroke her cheek.

"I want to do this." He says just above a whisper, rubbing little circles around her cheek with his thumb, "We were apart for a year and I just….I want to give you everything. I want something good to come out of that bad year. But it doesn't have to be this. I won't push you, Regina."

She hums gratefully and lays her head against his shoulder. "Let me think on it a bit."

When she picks Roland up from daycare on Friday, he's giggling excitedly about a Valentine's Day project for next week, and she feels her resolve crumble.

When Robin comes home, he finds his son and wife poured over a kitchen table filled with lace doilies, glitter, construction paper, glue sticks, markers and safety scissors..

He chuckles a bit, drawing her attention towards him. She meets his eyes and tries hard to keep her own laughter at bay, rolling her eyes in defeat.

"Daddy! We're making Valentine's Day cards for all my friends! Do you see? Momma showed me how to cut a perfect heart, you fold the paper like this, and then you…"

Roland is still giving him the Valentine's Day tutorial, but Robin can't help but look up to meet Regina's eyes.

She nods her head slowly, shrugging her shoulders. "Fine," she whispers. "You win."

"Do I?" He asks, sliding next to her, grabbing some cotton balls to add to a particular card Roland is making. This activity should keep him occupied all weekend what with the attention and time he gives to each card.

"Mmhm," Regina says, bumping her hips against his. "You may take me out to a cliche Valentine's evening full of manufactured romance and watered-down champagne. Assuming you can even find a place that takes reservations this late of notice."

"I might have made a reservation earlier," he smiles, "you know, just in case."

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