#this is for fun no one asked for an art critique

[luckthebard]

If I reblog art and you leave a rude comment or a dig at OP’s skill or art style in the replies to the artist, know that:

I, the person who reblogged it, get a notification of your rudeness.

You have now embarrassed me because I am the cause of unnecessary rudeness coming into OP’s house.

I will block you if you keep doing this. Seriously what is wrong with people.

[sleepinglionhearts]

have there ever been an equivalent of rap beefs in the art world? Like Michelangelo was sending diss paintings to someone?

I mean, like, beefing and disses have been a thing forever, so of course there have been!

I highly recommend looking into the rivalry between Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo, who both already butted heads in the "established artist vs younger prodigy" way.

The peak of this absolute nonsense comes in the early 1500s when both men were commissioned in competition to paint separate scenes in the same council room and that goes about as well as you could expect. I'm not saying that there's proof of it or anything, but knowing what we know about each man and his preferences for artistic style and personal approach to life, I'm willing to bet that there were definitely rude notes and/or paintings going on in the peripherals of their constant one-upsmanship that happened on their primary canvases.

[evandore]

wait actually i hate this. (just remembered why i always abandon any account when i get a few follows)

[wurdulac]

.

[sirfrogsworth]

Do you remember that Aussie sword guy who used to talk about medieval weapons?

And, like, he seemed pretty good at talking about swords and shit. He seemed to have a good grasp of the history and tactics. He'd analyze movie weapons for their realism and that was fun. He did demonstrations with real weapons. For a time I really looked forward to his videos popping up in my feed.

He seemed like a harmless sword-fighting aficionado.

But then I guess he wanted to spread his wings. So he started down an anti-woke path. Giving questionable critiques about media and feminism. He started defending boob armor by showing historical examples even though most of those were decorative and not battle ready like in the games.

Then he admitted he was a fan of The Daily Wire.

And that was disappointing.

I missed him nerding out about swords, ya know?

Well, Shad decided to spread his wings again.

He has become...

*bad French accent* An artiste.

You see, he types words into a little box. Then a little robot does a google image search and steals a bunch of art. Then that robot reconfigures that art to be nearly indistinguishable from the source material. Well... aside from the occasional artist watermark.

Whoops!

A.I. art is very difficult. Sometimes when you type words into the box you get a woman with 5 lopsided anime tiddies. Or 20 fingers on one hand. It takes time and effort and experience to type in the perfect magic words so that you get something close to your imagination that doesn't belong in some sort of Lovecraftian horror ripoff.

For example, check out this cool "pirate hat" I asked A.I. to place on my head.

Clearly, I am not skilled enough at typing words into a box to get a proper pirate hat.

It. Is. Not. Easy.

I heard someone say you have to type things in a box for 10,000 hours before you start getting truly masterful generations.

I mean, you can't type "marathon runners" and expect that to actually work.

THIS REQUIRES SKILL, PEOPLE.

And I am a lowly amateur. I can only dream of becoming the box-typist Shad has honed himself into.

The thing is... Shad is very upset.

He is upset that you don't like his "art" and he is ready to die on this hill.

So... before he croaks on a mound of bullshit, he has something to show you. He has created something truly brilliant and when you see it, he is convinced you will validate his considerable efforts.

Before I show you his "Not. Easy." artistic masterpiece I'd like you to sit with what he has said for a second.

Ruminate in the verbiage.

Process the ideas and points of view presented.

Digest his plea for you to accept and love his hard won battle after typing words into a box to manifest his imaginings.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Have you sat?

Ruminated?

Processed?

Digested?

Okay, here it is...

[orionsangel86]

There is a phenomenon happening on Tumblr right now which may be a product of the Twitter exodus or maybe its just modern fandom mentality vehemently rejecting the old, but you guys have GOT to stop being so damn MEAN about fandom.

There are posts circulating on Tumblr right now hating on so many aspects of fandom. Yeah we all know the incorrect quotes format can be cringe and most of the time its the same quotes used for every fandom ever reducing the characters to stereotypes. Yes we know most fandoms scramble to ship the two basic white guys over all the other characters. Yes we know your blorbo probably Does Not Fucking Say That. Yes we know A/B/O is weird AF (especially now its breached containment and found its way into mainstream hetero erotica). Yes we know SuperWhoLock was ridiculous and attempts to make modern shows into a new SuperWhoLock have got old fast.

But do you have to constantly drag these things all the time? Why is it suddenly cool and popular to ridicule and criticise and hate on peoples fun?

Let people be cringe

Let people play in the fandom sandbox

Let people have their fun

Not everything has to be an intellectual critique and it doesn't make you a better person to constantly shit on fandom ON THE FANDOM WEBSITE

Fandoms can be problematic, toxic, and infuriating at times. But all the negativity isn't making things better. Yeah okay some aspects of fandom can be annoying, but must we have so many call out posts go viral on here specifically for hating on parts of fandom culture? Yet people wonder why fandom creators are quitting and there isnt as much art and interaction on here as there used to be.

If you see another negative post shitting on aspects of fandom cross your dash, maybe think before you reblog it. Maybe ask yourself if that post may be hurtful to a mutual? Perhaps youve got a mutual who writers A/B/O or CharacterxReader fanfiction who doesnt wanna see your reblog of the callout post stating reader×character fanfic is gross, or perhaps your mutual creates fun text posts applying quotes to their fave characters and youve just reblogged a 90k+ note post calling them cringy and overdone.

Just THINK please. Its not necessary. We've got to be KINDER to each other. Please don't let this place become like Twitter. Twitter was a toxic cesspool where no one had anything worthwhile to add to the discussion, no one created, everyone was just screaming angry rants into the void. Dont let tumblr become like that, because it will be the death of this place. And where will you go to find fanart and gifsets of your blorbos then?

[artdcnaldson]

ok remember when I said that last ask was the horniest thing I'd ever written? Well scratch that bc this is a new record. (Obligatory disclaimer if you don't like it feel free to delete/ignore it)

Imagine- if you will- tashi bringing you to one of arts games. And you're in a sweet little tennis dress and you sit next to her and watch art, not even paying attention to the game just taking in his form, the shine of sweat, the concentration on his face, the little grunts and moans. And obviously you start shifting around in your seat, because, what are you supposed to be??? Dry???? No! So, it's the last break and tashi takes you to the bathroom and makes you lean over so she can check on the situation, and your white panties are so wet they're basically see through (in an ideal world she would've banned you from wearing any just to torture you but unfortunately they're famous and with the press and everything it's too much of a risk 😞 ) and you're really hoping she'll help you out but she just goes "hmm" and takes you back to your seat. And the breaks not over, arts noticed that yall were gone and he's making eye contact with tashi and she just. Nods at him. And he's already winning but for the rest of the match he's on fire, practically wiping the floor with the other guy.

After it's over and he's won and done all the press and stuff, you ride back to their hotel, with tashi in the middle bc she's the only one who can be trusted to keep control of herself. You and art are practically vibrating, with desire and exhilaration respectively. So you get back to the hotel room and tashi tells art to go sit on the couch. Then finally, she gives you a little jerk of her chin and you scramble to put yourself over his knee bc you know that he's always antsy after a win but tashi will want to go over everything while it's as fresh as possible, so you just hang out there and let him play with your sopping cunt and ignore you, just feeling him hard against your stomach but satiated for now since he has something to do while he listens to tashis critiques. When she's done she'll give you further instructions and maybe reward you for good behavior.

(am I gonna become a smut writer this is kinda fun)

I’m so fucking obsessed. I’m on my knees. Anything to keep Artashi happy 😁🫵 just look at them

Rating: E(18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, face sitting, fingering, mild mommy/daddy kink, mild dom/sub dynamics) that’s it that’s the story. Just porn without plot

your brain is just sooo fuzzy and mindless while art’s playing with you. The cute shorts you wore beneath the dress tugged to the side, his fingers stuffed inside of you, your own juices smeared down your thigh, spilling more with each slow thrust of his fingers. It could be a few minutes, or an hour. You just know that you lose yourself in the rise and fall of Tashi’s voice as she runs through her notes, in the warm pressure of Art’s thighs pressing against you.

You must’ve gotten too loud, because Tashi’s kneeling in front of you— holding your chin in her hand, forcing eye contact. “Baby, how’s Art supposed to focus when you’re acting like this, huh? Tomorrow’s match is important, he needs to hear this.”

You whine. Big mistake. Tashi meets Art’s gaze, makes a face you don’t understand. And then Art’s slipping his fingers from your warm, needy cunt. “Clean him up,” Tashi instructs.

You wrap your lips around his fingers, sucking on them, cleaning any evidence of your arousal off. You take them deeper, feeling the brush of his fingers at the back of his throat. You moan softly— Tashi grabs your hair and pulls you off.

“Do you have any critiques for Art?” She asks. You blink slowly. Critiques?? What was there to critique?? “You were at the game. Show Art that you were paying attention.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times as you looked into Art’s eyes. God, he was so pretty. And then your eyes traveled down, and he was so hard in his shorts that it was tenting the fabric. You just wanted to mouth at him through them, make him feel good. “I— I don’t.”

Tashi sighed, almost disappointed, but not really. Tennis critiques weren’t what you were there for. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” She patted your thigh. “Go lay down on the bed.”

You obey so sweetly— hands by your sides, fisted in the duvet so you won’t be tempted to touch yourself. Your thighs rub together as you seek friction, need pulsing between your thighs, adding to the mess of wetness.

It’s five minutes (which you know, because you count) until Tashi and Art join you. Art’s down to the fucking obscene briefs Tashi makes him wear, straining against the fabric obscenely. And Tashi’s wearing fucking agent provocateur, so beautiful that you could die happy just at the sight of her.

“If you paid attention to the match, we would’ve been really sweet to you,” Tashi hums as she takes off your dress. The shorts are soaked so badly that she practically peels them away from your cunt. “But all you could think about was getting fucked, huh?”

You nod as she presses two fingers between your lips, pushing all the way until she hits the back of your throat and you gag around them. She stays like that, thrusting her fingers between your lips, smiling every time your eyes fill with unshed tears and your throat constricts. “It’s been a long day. Just let mommy and daddy use you.”

And you do, because that’s all you can really ask for. Tashi slips off her lingerie, putting on a show without even trying. She straddles your face, knees planted on either side of your head, and sinks onto your waiting mouth.

You moan at the taste of her on your tongue, hands eagerly grabbing at her ass to pull her closer. Usually she would scold you for being greedy, but it was the farthest thing from her mind while she was benefiting from said neediness. You eagerly alternated between lapping at her dripping center and giving her clit the attention it needs.

And then there’s Art. He pulls apart your thighs and pushes into the tight, wet heat waiting for him there. You moan against Tashi’s cunt as he sinks inch after inch after inch inside. He groans at the feeling of your pussy gripping him, pulling him in, in, in. His grip on your hips is so tight it feels bruising.

You lose yourself in the two of them— brain going fuzzy and empty. All you knew, all that mattered in the moment was Tashi, and Art, and how good you felt.

And Tashi’s moaning above you— relishing in your need to please. Even with her husband balls deep inside of you, even with your mind so fuzzy, you keep your attention divided so fairly. You were so fucking nice, she didn’t even have to take the reins— she just got to sit there and let you work her with your tongue.

You were in fucking heaven. Art wasn’t content just using— it feels better when you cum while he’s inside of you. He moves you like a pretty little doll, adjusting you just right. He puts your legs over his shoulders so he gets deeper, kissing your cervix with each deep thrust. His thumb presses against your clit, rubs in slow circles.

Tashi cums first— hips stuttering as she grinds against your face. You relish in it, licking at her center as she comes down, until the lightest brush against her clit makes her twitch with overstimulation. She moves off of you, kissing you with slow, sweet laps of her tongue. You give a shuddery gasp into her mouth.

“Is daddy making you feel good?” Her words are cooed against your ear. You nod wordlessly, only capable of pretty moans or needy whines. She turns her gaze to Art, who’s already close as is, without the attention of his fucking perfect wife.

“Close,” Art groans, meeting her gaze. Her lips turn into an amused smirk as she pushes his thumb off of your clit, and replaces it with her own lithe fingers.

Your back arches as she works you with her fingers, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Art continues to fuck into you. Each thrust is accompanied by lead, near pornographic sounds— the squelch of your soaked cunt swallowing his cock, the slap of his balls against your ass, the fucked-out moans passing his lips.

Your climax overtakes you suddenly. Your back arches off the bed as you cum. Your pussy clenches around Art’s cock as he continues to fuck into you, and your release leaves an obscene, creamy ring around the base of him. Tashi’s lips are on yours, swallowing down the moans and cries falling from your lips as Art fucks you into overstimulation.

Art buries himself within you as he cums, spilling into you with a few shallow thrusts. You whine when he finally pulls out and some of cum dribbles out, making an even bigger mess of the duvet.

Tashi pets your hair sweetly, kisses your sweat-sticky forehead. Art leaves to grab a towel— you hear him dampening it in the fancy en-suite bathroom. “By the way, I thought you shouldn’t get to cum.”

Art laughs lightly as he returns, cleaning you up between your thighs. “I told her I’d throw the match tomorrow, it always works.” He kisses you deeply, and you moan against his mouth. God, he was a good kisser.

“I can always just stop believing you,” Tashi reminded him. “Maybe I was in a giving mood.” Art snorts, you meet her gaze through narrowed eyes.

She’s right where she belongs. Art’s head is on her shoulder, yours rests on her chest. You’re all just a tangle of sweaty limbs.

TASHI DUNCAN I WONT U SO BAD 😚🫵

Sorry to Art he truly is a racket and a dick in this fic

[kyri45]

I've always kinda kept my observations about the things I read to myself because I get worried I interpret things wrong. But with the last few updates of the bio parents au, I keep thinking the same thing over and over and I gotta compliment you for it even if I'm wrong.

I love how you haven't undone the care and love that Tang and Pigsy gave MK to raise him to uplift and make Wukong and Mac look better. Even if we see them less then shadowpeach (which is understandable the AU is about them and MK, that isn't a critique at all), every time they've shown up you can just feel how much they love their son. Like I said, I know the AU is focused on Wukong Mac and MK, but the way you've made every interaction outside those three feel so deep and with history is super cool and I love it a lot. It shows how much thought you've put into everything and also how much you've thought about these characters, or at least how well you know them if not.

I hope this ask isn't too long, and I hope you have a great new year with lots more art, fun creativity, and lots of love.

Awww tysm!!

Being sure that it was clear that Pigsy and Tang are the "main" parents let's say was one of the most important things for me when making the comic (late nights only thinking about this)

And also that, even though we love the father-son dynamics MK and Wukong had in the show, they are nothing compared to the fact that Pigsy raised him since he was a kid.

The whole comic timeline is across 6 months, and only like, 3 hours ago MK called them Baba and Mama for the first time. I really wanted to be a "slow burn" for the father/son relationship because... it's a relationship still. It needs time, patience, ups and down, knowing each others, trust.

[whiskehorange]

Could you please write for platonic reader wanting to learn crafts/abilities from Morticia & Gomes, and as many characters from the hellboy movies as you possibly can please? (Sorry I just love them all)

Morticia

I have a strange feeling Morticia makes her own perfumes in her spare time. With all the pruning and gardening she does, I can only imagine the kind of... "witchy" concoctions she's able to make up

She'd gladly take you under her wing and not only show you and let you wear her own, but would take this as a sort of arts and crafts approach. She gets it, her scents might not be the best fitting for you, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have what you might be looking for!

Morticia was absolutely over the moon when you came to her with your very own fragrance the first time. You had spent weeks watching and planning out some with her and finally had the time to make one with your very own fitting profile of scents. She couldn't get enough of the smell at first and even showed them to Gomez

Although, this is another very slippery slope that leads to her delving into gardening with you, if you're in that. But, let's be honest, we're down to do anything if it includes some one on one bonding with Morticia

Gomez

Gomez couldn't be more ecstatic to hear you have an interest in his hobbies. It's different for you to watch him or ask him questions about it but actually wanting to take the time out of your day to spend it with him? Your the best-est friend he could ever ask for

His hobbies are either malewife activates or medieval dueling, and there is absolutely no in between But it really surprised him when you want to take up fencing.

It's something you've watching him do in his spare time, but you never noticed how much strength and control it took, but he was as patient as ever and was always there to correct your moves or give you tips on how to better your posture and stance

Each time you'd pull something new out of your sleeve from what he's told you he's as proud as ever, staring at you with wide eyes and an equally wide grin. You're learning, and even it it might take a while, he's just happy that you're taking it seriously

Hellboy

Genuinely, what does he even do in his free time besides lay in bed, smoke, and do crossword puzzles? When you first asked him about what his hobbies are he really couldn't even answer you, he just stood there in his room and looked around cluelessly

I think, your best case in this scenario, is to just watch him for a while, you'll notice the things he does in his free time that he never thought about or classified as a "hobby"

You notice though, occasionally, that he divulges into whittling. Typically after a slow day he'll just kick back and mindlessly carve away until he makes something remotely into a familiar shape. It's not perfect, by all means, but it's something. When you ask him about it he says it's nothing but you insist

From here, he teaching you it like it's common sense. Correcting you how to hold the knife, how to hold the wood, resorting to just taking it out of your hands and showing you how to do it in the very beginning. Eventually, it becomes to casual to the two of you that even he's begun doing it more often and the two of you bring new pieces you're either working on or have finished for each other to playfully critique

Abe

Annnnd on the other hand, there's too much that Abe does that it's really hard for him to say when you come to him, curious to do something new out of boredom. It takes him a while to think before he just spews out anything and everything he can think of that he's ever done

One of the biggest things though, I think he finds the easiest to ease you into would be scrapbooking. You can't tell me he doesn't entire stickers and little postcards and massive, thick journals just creatively dyed and crafted to a certain theme

But, it's easier than reading dead languages for fun, alright?

It's something he see's a fun and would love to have someone else he can share them with from time to time when he feels particularly crafty. He's ready to supply you with anything you could ever need - he's got plenty of spares

Bound journals, fountain pens, cards, and ink. Anything you could think of that you'd want to get crafty with, Abe's likely got it. Especially when it comes to ink and pens. And calligraphy? Abe teaches you that before anything else and gives out practice sheets like homework. So be ready to bring them back the next day for a stamp of approval

Johann

There wasn't much that Johann had time for if it wasn't work, but he always appreciated a friendly visit from you in stressful times. Of course, when you first ask him about what it is that he really just does in his personal times, only one thing could come to his mind: his Bonsai's

Now... Johann is a bit more restrictive in what he's willing to teach you - at least for the more hands on things, that is. He has only a couple himself, ones that he takes precious time out of his day and schedule to trim and prune to his liking and he does it very meticulously

He grows delighted whenever you step in to see him now, taking it a slight break in his studies and research to lull you over to his small collection and teach about their varieties and their history

When you show your genuine interest for them he's over the moon, but very stern with you. No, you cannot have one of his and no you cannot prune his, absolutely not. Get your own!

But, he's all ears for the questions you may have and will answer them quickly and correctly. When you get your own, however, he's definitely going to have a lot to say. Harsh worded critiques, but he means the best (for the plant, at least). You might be one of his only regular friends, but that doesn't mean he's going to sit by and watch such a beautiful plant die!

Liz

Liz can be a bit standoffish when it comes down to you wanting to really be a part of her needed alone time, but what she really needs is that person to share it with from time to time. Even she recognizes that it's not ideal to spend ALL of her time alone.

Annnnnd as on the nose as it may seem, the only thing that comes to mind for her to teach you would to be woodburning. OKAY LISTEN listen, I can see it as a small, therapeutic way for her to really get out some of her pent up energy and stress in a more controlled way

Although, the first time you sit down with her to start she realizes... well maybe it's easier for her to just do it from her fingertips than you. She shrugs it off and apologizes for not being able to really teach you anything, but deep down she was a bit sad there was nothing you could do

But the smile that slowly spread across her face the next day you showed up to her room with a woodburning kit in your hands was worth more than anything in the world. There was certainly a learning curve for her as well to see how your tools worked

It's not too hard for her to give you tips, however. It's a few more buttons and control than really only having using your thoughts and a single finger, but almost all of her tips and tricks apply!

Nuada

You're not catching a break. That's all I'm going to say. No matter what it is you wanna learn from him you are not catching a break. it's like you're back to taking 15 highschool AP classes at the same time and each gives you 7+ pieces of homework a night

You always knew one of the more passionate things he was interested in was weapon smithing and craftsmanship. Whenever you had taken notice to the fine detailing of his knives and swords, he was eager to boast about how many of them were made by yours truly

It was when you kept admiring his work when he had a small inkling that you might be interested in learning yourself, and boy was that all he needed to get you straight to work. It's easy for the first few sessions you guys have, just learning the basics of different materials and how best to using them, but it doesn't take long for him to throw you straight into some manual labor

You're bent over a anvil and sweating your ass over making the most rinky dink ass knife you've ever seen that likely won't cut a piece of bread. But you better hope it cuts something or else he's going to make you come back and try again. You work a 9 to 5 now

Nuala

God, what can't she do? She's just perfect, chefs kiss

But something that she can't get enough of is learning herself, so seeing you before her asking if she could tech you something she's got up her sleeve leaves her speechless - in a good way, of course! The two of you usually spent your time together kind of quietly, with your nose buried in books from all over the world and ages, but what you could never grasp was how Nuala could read most of them

You wanted her to teach you more languages than your own and she couldn't be more excited to teach you. Unlike her brother, she's much more mellowed out when it comes to helping you learn some more of the common languages in their elven cities and doesn't get onto you too hard if you struggle at first, she gets it

This is something she didn't realize she was passionate about - her ability to communicate with just about anyone, and she was more than happy to be your teacher. However, she can't help but laugh when you don't quite catch onto the more dead languages she tries to teach you about, but she'll just smile and save those for later

[makeyoumine69]

Flesh n' Bones | Hospital AU (INTRO)

PAIRING: Doctor!Patrick Bateman x gn!Nurse!Reader

SUMMARY: My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm 27 years old. I live in the American Gardens building on West 81st Street in New York City. I work as a surgeon at St. Pierce's Hospital—one of the most upscale medical centers in Manhattan—which happens to be owned by my father. And even though I hate my job, sometimes I can find a little bit of fun in making the experience of my patients in the hospital really unforgettable. Not to mention the dozens of missing nurses who definitely regretted crossing the threshold of St. Pierce's Hospital, but who cares—I was the best thing that ever happened to them.

CONTAINS: Swearing, medical procedures, evil plans, gaslighting, pain, blood and injury, interns & internships, power dynamics, flirting, perversion, pet names, Patrick Bateman's POV.

WORDS: 2.4k

A/N: Hello my dears! This story is based on Hospital AU by @peepoo79! Since the first day I saw her Hospital AU comic I was obsessed with this idea so I decided to write it! Since I am not a doctor myself, some things might not be that accurate to medical standards, but I am always open to critique. As always, I hope you enjoy it! Also, many thanks to @mothhmannn for the amazing Patrick art!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

October 28, 1987.

Today started so shitty that I didn't even want to go to work, but how could I? I was a fucking surgeon who was supposed to save lives, and when I finally arrived at St. Pierce's Hospital, several nurses crowded around me and started bitching about some shitty stuff I didn't even care about.

"Dr. Bateman, your intern has arrived and is waiting for you in your office," one of the nurses said, handing me a folder of papers. "They seem to be very shy, so please treat them right."

Scowling, I took the papers and nodded. "Uh…Thank you."

Without further ado, I walked past another nurse and down the long corridors, avoiding all of my coworkers as I tried to concentrate on the music blaring from my Walkman headphones. Stopping at the door to my office, I made sure my hair was neatly slicked back before opening the door and stepping inside to see a beautiful person sitting in the chair. The blue medical uniform fit them so well that I even wanted to compliment them, but I stopped myself and just offered them a handshake instead.

"Well, hello there, my name is Dr. Bateman," I smiled and continued to examine my new plaything. "It's...uh...nice to see some young blood in our hospital these days."

You were embarrassed so quickly, probably from such a warm welcome, which was more of an exception for me than a regular thing.

"Thank you, Dr. Bateman...it's an honor to be your intern," you replied politely, trying to hide your nervousness as your hands visibly shook. "This hospital is so...amazing! Literally everything I have seen so far is amazing...including this office!"

The office did look luxurious. Everything screamed wealth and prestige, including the wooden desk and a high-end clock on it, the way you looked at the white leather couch in the corner of the room probably sent shivers down your spine, and somehow I really hoped it did.

"So...when can we start?" You asked as you watched me flip through your portfolio, my face stoic, blank, and absolutely unreadable.

As I stopped flipping through the documents and frowned to add some tension between us, I looked at you stealthily out of the corners of my eyes, and when I saw you chewing on your lower lip, I smiled in wicked satisfaction, but that smile never reached my eyes.

"It's very inspiring that you're so eager to get started," I said, placing several pages on the desk, then picking up my Montblanc pen to make some notes. "I see you've been studying pretty well...considering your grades."

Another shy chuckle fell from your lips at my words. "Oh, I did my best," you replied, settling more comfortably in your chair. "Although I didn't really want to reflect on my college years."

"Why?" I asked, writing down all the personal information I could get from your file, including your address, phone number, blood type...

"It was..." your voice wavered and you paused, causing me to look up at you again. "...hard as hell."

"As it should be. Our jobs require hard work as we carry a huge responsibility on our shoulders," I grinned, closing the folder before I could see the name of the college.  "So where did you study exactly?"

Just as you were about to answer, a loud knock on the door rang through the office and I couldn't help but grumble in anger.

Can I have a break, for fuck's sake!

"Come in," I almost barked, my attention shifting away from you as I saw a nurse - one of the hottest hardbodies in our hospital - walk in. "Courtney? What happened?"

"Dr. Bateman..." She walked over to my desk, completely ignoring your presence. 

"Yes, Courtney?" My patience was about to explode if she didn't answer right away.

"I know you told us not to bother you with non-emergent cases, but other surgeons are busy," she stammered as our gazes met, her blue eyes seeming to brighten even more. "We have a girl whose hand is so full of broken glass, can you please examine her?"

I sighed before glancing quickly at you, a little impressed that you still hadn't said a word. "Does she have insurance? How old is she?"

"Uh," Courtney hiccuped, looking at the patient's medical card. "I checked her insurance, it's valid and... she's nineteen."

"Nineteen?" I replied, suddenly feeling excited. "Well, I think this can be a good start for your internship. What do you think?"

Courtney seemed to finally notice that we were not alone, her plump lips pursed back into a thin line, and I really wanted to laugh at her reaction, but I told myself to stay professional. 

"I'm ready when you are, Dr. Bateman," your suddenly confident voice sounded so challenging that it struck a chord in my chest and brought back a long forgotten feeling of thrill. "I'm sure we'd make a great team under your guidance."

How sweet.

I managed to hold back puke at such a silly, saccharine statement. It reminded me of the cliché every doctor used whenever someone asked them why they chose to work in a hospital.

'Oh, we want to save people's lives! And we're not doing it because doctors have almost the highest salaries in the country!'

I grinned insistently, reveling in my own sense of superiority.  "All right then," I stood up and put on my doctor's coat over my custom-made scrubs with my initials on them. "Courtney, give the medical card to the intern."

The woman froze in shock. "But...but I thought I would assist you..."

I rolled my eyes as I checked myself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of my scrubs and pulling up the sleeves a bit to reveal my Rolex. "I think I made it very clear that your help won't be needed this time.”

If we were alone, I would probably just boff her before doing my work and that would help me get rid of her until the next time, but hell no, now I had a pain in the ass. And why should I have to teach an intern when I didn't even ask for one?

Meanwhile, you were waiting for me at the door, holding a medical card to your chest as if Courtney or I were about to snatch it from your hands. After I was completely satisfied with my appearance, I pinned my ID badge to my chest and walked to the door, trying not to stare too much at Courtney's ass while she was doing something at my desk that I never really bothered to know.

"You know what," I stopped suddenly before leaving. "Wait for me here," the blonde nurse turned to look at me, still bent over the table. "We'll discuss your new assignment."

A few minutes later, we finally entered the Surgery Division, and since you were a newbie here, I had to guide you all the way, telling you some things from time to time, and at some point I realized that I didn't really hate it, because I could blather on about being a super professional surgeon, and this whole place being mine.

Just like the whole hospital.

"I think this is our ward," I muttered and opened the door to let you in. " C'mon, don't be shy." I pushed you forward a bit before closing the door behind you.

The patient—a young red-haired girl with big green eyes whose tight top stuck to her chest so that her nipples poked out—looked at us the moment we entered the ward. 

"Oh, finally," she mumbled in sheer annoyance, her right hand covered in blood-stained bandages. "I was beginning to think everyone had forgotten about me."

Still nervous, you cleared your throat and quickly looked down at the medical card. "Sorry for the long wait, Miss...Miss Ray," you managed to smile, even though you looked like a patient who was afraid to get treatment, but not her, "My name is (y/n) and this is Dr. Bateman, he's one of the best surgeons in this hospital."

One of the best?

Your slightly incorrect comment made me furrow my brow, but in the next second I was smiling seductively at the girl whose scrutinizing look I couldn't miss. She was pretty attractive, hell, just the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra made her attractive. 

With practiced ease, I put on medical gloves after washing my hands very meticulously. Then I glanced at the patient's medical card, not taking it in my hands, but letting you hold it for me.

"Can I take a look?" I finally asked, taking a seat next to the examination table and putting the mask on. Carefully I began to unfold the bandages, the little whimpering the girl made gave me undeniable pleasure. "Well, that doesn't look too bad," I said when I could finally see the wound, and several pieces of glass had sunk quite deep into her flesh. "How did you manage that?"

The girl blushed as I began to examine her forearm, moving higher up to her shoulder, though it wasn't really necessary. I just loved how soft her skin was, as much as I could tell by feeling it through the elastic material of my gloves.

"I...I accidentally broke the mirror." She replied, her breathing uneven and her pulse quickening as I took a moment to check her. "My name is Liza, by the way."

I chuckled charmingly before turning to look at you, as you stood behind my back, watching my work very intently. "Can you bring me forceps? And...a scalpel?"

"Scalpel?" You replied a little confused.

"Yes," I confirmed and repositioned Liza's arm for better access. "And I'll also need a suture kit."

The girl tensed at my words that I would need a scalpel. "Is it...necessary?"

"Hmm?" I hummed, asking her a silent question while you busied yourself with preparing the instruments. 

"A scalpel...are you going to make an incision?" Liza asked, giving me a pleading glare, her fear was palpable in the air and I couldn't help but savor it.

"I just want all the instruments to be close by in case I have a need for them, that's all. Now please relax." I murmured this with fake sympathy before resuming the examination, pressing down on one of the shards and making Liza whimper. "Shh, it's okay."

The redhead frowned in pain. "It hurts...doctor...it hurts so much!"

When I heard you return, I removed my fingers from the wound. "All right, no nerve damage and that's good." I smiled, obviously lying, my hand was already extended, ready to take the forceps.

"Your forceps, doctor," the way you said 'doctor' made my eyes glow with a mischievous spark. "Clean and sterilized, just like the scalpel and suture kit."

"Very well," I replied, feeling a chill in the metal in my hand. "Put them here," I tapped the spot on the examination table, wondering how you would do that. "And where's your mask?"

Confused, you stuttered. "Oh...yeah...sorry," you mumbled in embarrassment before putting on a mask. "I'm still a little nervous."

Liza knitted her eyebrows in a skeptical way that almost made me burst out laughing.

Okay, now I'm really starting to like this.

"Don't worry, my pill fairy," I watched you place a metal tray with instruments on the spot I showed you. "It's your first day in the hospital...it's...always a little nerve wracking."

As soon as I said it, you stopped in your tracks, and even though your face was covered by the mask, I was pretty sure you were so damn embarrassed that I was going to burn my finger off your cheek. You didn't make any comments though, which made me a little frustrated, but I didn't show it, I took the forceps more comfortably in my hand and began to remove the broken glass from Liza's shaky arm. The way I used the instruments was always mesmerizing - a work of art - as some nurses said, including Courtney, but today I was trying my best because I wanted to impress you. Shard by shard, I took them all out without causing any pain, something I usually couldn't find anything to be proud of.

"Done," I muttered, throwing the last piece of glass into the steel bow. "You took it so bravely."

The redhead smiled tiredly, trying not to look down at her hand. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," I allowed you to clean the wound with the antiseptic and dab it with a swab. "It's my job, after all. Now, (y/n), can you please show me how you were taught to make stitches?"

"Of course, Dr. Bateman," you replied without hesitation, and this kind of obedience seemed to become my personal drug.

Standing up, I took a moment to admire how your uniform accentuated all of your curves, especially the roundness of your ass and the arch of your hips.

Shit, maybe I shouldn't have let Courtney stay in my office?

With these thoughts I leaned against the white wall and took off my mask as I suddenly felt a strong urge to smoke, luckily I still had the box of cigars my father had brought me from Cuba. I imagined inhaling the sharp scent of snuff when Liza's sudden whimper pulled me out of my trance.

"Can I have an anesthetic?" She asked, squirming in her place as she watched you prepare a suture kit.

"Just a local one," I muttered, a bit annoyed. "That will be enough. (Y/n), what should you do before using anesthesia?"

My question made you freeze. "Ask the patient about any allergies?"

"Right, but in this case you can find all the information on the medical card," I took off the gloves and took the card in my hands. "Well, I don't see anything that would prevent us from using bupivacaine."

As Liza sighed with relief and I watched you take a syringe, I had to admit that I was amazed at how carefully and attentively you worked.

Maybe you're not gonna get kicked out of the hospital as fast as I thought.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[volcanocraft]

hiii how did you like the wild life finale?

This seems to be a really contentious subject for the fandom and that's wonderful! I always enjoy when opinion is extremely diverse on a topic, i genuinely believe it contributes to a safer and more creative environment.

I think a lot of people forget that critique is ultimately derived from hope and love, it takes real time, dedication, and focus to understand and verbalize what they mean. Both parties want to see their series doing well. It would sincerely suck if everyone was so indifferent to the ending that one opinion homogenized the consensus of the fandom. It would be even worse if no one was allowed to voice their concerns or favourite moments in fear of betraying an established community narrative or attacking the ingenuity of the games.

Negativity comes from the same place optimism does. I have seen opinions I both agree with and heavily disagree with fundamentally, and I am ultimately very grateful to see both!

Thanks for asking my opinion. I don't think I would've written anything about it if you hadn't asked. Here you are!

The Good

Grian, Jimmy, and the ever present Cain Instinct

"It was always going to be this way, Jim." <- Said by someone who has a very normal relationship with a man hes known and attempted to nurture for around a decade.

I have to remind you that this is the second time Grian deliberately intended to end Jimmy’s life series, the first time is when they were Southlanders and he "snapped" at him for not taking his warning seriously.

I literally can't say anything that Grian hasn't said himself. If you watch his finale episode, he's constantly staring at Jimmy and thinking about how he could kill him right here and now. He switches to his sword, fidgets, stays silent while Jimmy and his group prattle on. Literally licking his lips and thinking about what to do. Ultimately, he chooses to strike without any chance of retaliation in the one place Jimmy feels safe in. And then when Jimmy is dead, Grian assumes he's watching him and says to his literal ghost "I love you"

Zombie Mechanic

I think this was a genius way of reintroducing the members who died early on. I don't think the series would've been the same without their revival. It was a super fun mechanic and their reduced health and commodified status balanced it out for me. You watched them lower your friend's casket into the ground but the next day he's back and he hugs you and you do not see any warmth in his eyes.

The Powerful Homo-eroticism of GemJoel [Canonized Edition]

The influx of gemjoel art was one of the best things in the entire world for me. Can you fucking believe i predicted it too. Now people refer to Joel as Gem's wife. This is everything I could have ever wanted. I've done three lines in celebration. Their dynamic was amazing too and i love that my inbox got flooded with anons as soon as any one of them said something incriminating. it's too bad they didn't battle it out for winner at the end with blood and tongue...

Good-FUCKING-Bye Canary Curse

I started getting really annoyed with how this specific fanon interpretation of Jimmy began to bleed into every single analysis of the series, creating relationships between characters and themes that were not there. I would argue that Jimmy himself barely believes in this supernatural phenomenon. I'm a hater and I only like it when I can fetishize watcher lore in a biblical sense.

The Bad

Leading Cause of Death... Snails

"You either loved the snail mechanic or you didn't" I say as someone who neither loved or hated it. But I think the fact that the snails ended so many peoples finales and contributed to so many deaths is a very valid criticism. I will say that Lizzie's snail and Skizzlemans whole episode kind of make it worth it, because it was just so fucking funny

I Wouldn't Have Attended Trivia Night

This is ultimately the point where I dropped off engagement wise. I think the trivia should have been minecraft-mechanic related and not about traffic life. "How many crafting recipes use wool?" Some of the questions were niche which makes sense because they were about specific moments. It doesn't matter if we think that lilac and poppies were important, no CC is going to, and the pool gets even smaller when you eliminate everyone who wasn't involved in that moment.

Conclusion

Personally, not my favourite. I think it lacks a lot of nuance the other series really cultivated with their simple mechanics which relied a lot on the ingenuity of the player themselves rather than situational opportunity. You could probably tell I lost interest because not even gemjoel could save me when I stopped posting about it. I got a lot of casual enjoyment out of it but that's it. I also eventually started feeling sore that the deaths were very coincidental. If you want a taste comparison, my least favourite life series is Secret Life and my favourite is Limited Life.

Some of the complaints I've heard is that there was not enough time for players to create alliances, flesh out cross-faction dynamics, or hold meaningful conversations. I disagree. There was a lot of motive for the players to collaborate and figure out the gimmicks together. They would even frequently congregate on the field at the bottom of the mountain. I think the wildcards helped make every conversation count and they could've talked at length if they wanted to (the G's did pretty often; as did Cleo and Bigb during the eating episode). There were a lot of chances to immediately take one another out but they decided instead to wait. Alliances were established and kept: the bamboozlers were ride or die for eachother, the spanners were tragi-comedy incarnate, and if cooperation's not your thing, you had team BET barely holding it together. People frequently encountered one another. I thought it was good.

Despite how I personally feel about it, I actually think its one of the best life series "objectively" in terms of content and watchability. There was genuine anticipation in seeing what happens each week. Each perspective was very personal because at that point it was about reactions and adaptability. If this was my first introduction to the life series, I'd be really pleased. But it does set up a kind of false impression of what the general theme of the series is. I guess you can think of this season as like... the beach episode [extended edition]. I did not get the impression the players were tired of the mechanics. The advent calendar format kind of does lend itself to a forced and rushed wrap-up finale.

[pinkeoni]

Introducing Conversations in Fandom: A Byler Fandom Journal

Title and cover design not final

In my last semester of undergrad, I worked on my school's literary journal. It was a lot of fun working in a group on the project and seeing all of the cool work that went into it, so I wanted to create something like that for the byler fandom.

What I aim to create with this project is a collection of well made fanart, fanfiction, analyses, theories, critiques and other fan creations that showcase unique ideas and promote healthy debate and conversation that pushes the boundaries of fandom work.

With a team of people, these works will be put together in an online journal, creating one piece of art that displays many different fandom voices together.

Below, I have used some of my own work to create an example of what this might look like (click images for better quality):

Does not reflect final layout or journal content

Submissions will open in early November

If this sounds like something you would be interested in, be on the lookout for a post regarding submission rules and guidelines.

If you would like to keep up with this project, I will be using the tag #byler journal for everything related to the journal. You can also follow the official account for this project @bylerjournal for updates and to ask questions.

EDIT: You can now submit to the journal HERE

[blueraith]

What does fanfiction mean to you?

I'm asking this question because today I came across some ugly, mean-spirited, catty behavior towards a fic author that I haven't seen in a very, very long time, and I think it's important we discuss it as a community.

Y'all know how long I've been doing this? Fanfiction, that is.

Eighteen years.

I've posted across different platforms, on different handles, in different ways for a long, long time. More than half of my life at this point, from fourteen years old.

Fanfiction is how I personally engage with fandom the most. It's THE most important thing to me, frankly, because it is the common thread between each and every single fandom I have ever participated in.

It's self-expression to me. Folk art. Collaborative and fun. I truly hope that most people who engage in fanfiction learn what it is to beta for someone even if you don't write yourself. It can be a fantastic experience in and of itself. Being the backboard to someone else's ideas, watching as they take genuine joy out of spinning a story together to put onto the page, seeing it come to life before anyone else and feeling almost as proud as the author themselves after they finally post it.

It's ultimately why I decided to make this post far more positive and productive than the angry, grumpy, blood boiling rant that I initially was churning over in my mind after the horrible posts I saw earlier.

I'll detail them here purely for context because I think it's important to recognize toxic fandom behavior when we see it. And speak out when we stumble across it.

The first post lauded itself as an 'honest review' of a popular fanfiction in a community I am a part of. That honest review was nothing more than a pop-critique filled with a sort of catty, snarky write up that is so popular nowadays online purely to gain clout more than to act as actual, constructive criticism. It was unnecessary and acted as though the fanfiction author was a professional, New York Times Bestseller rather than someone devoting hours of their free time and effort into a hobby that is ultimately meant to be fun and pleasant.

The second post by the same person claimed that their friend had challenged them to write their own version of the premise of this fanfiction under a read more cut. It spent some time applying a thin veneer of so-called respect to the original author, but was merely nothing more than contempt really. I simply fail to see the need to ever do this while publicly attaching an author's name and work title and arrogantly parade your own work as superior to their own. Why tear down someone else?

I pushed back against them directly on this post, they took it down, but not before childishly trying to excuse their actions and claiming that 'if someone is publicly posting, then they should be able to handle vocal criticism.'

But you know what? One, what that person was doing was not constructive criticism. I think back to the beta session I had with a friend right after this incident and I think to myself, how sad must it be that this is what this person thinks is valuable criticism. That this is the way they chose to engage with the fanfiction community and thought they were in the right to do so.

Two, and perhaps even more importantly, people are accountable for the things that they post. The things that they say. It would have cost this person nothing to never make those posts in the first place. To never risk an author coming across a mean-spirited and malicious teardown of the work they put hours into and risk harming their self-esteem, mental health, or confidence in their own writing.

Because we do not know who these people are behind their handles. We do not know if they're new to writing. If they are experienced but going through a tough time. There are real people who write the content you choose to consume.

Fanfiction is a collaborative process. Writers provide the free content, and it is the reader's responsibility to know when their input would be valuable.

Is what you have to say helpful? Is it kind? Is it necessary?

If the feedback you want to provide does not hit at least two of those things, what you have to say does not matter. Period.

And I daresay that in the vast majority of cases, kindness should be considered mandatory out of the three.

In return, writers will often throw in ideas they've read out of reviews, they'll reach out to their most ardent followers for things like beta-ing or joining a discord server nowadays. There's always been a give and take in this community.

Fanfiction is a cornerstone of fandom for a reason. And it is particularly important in the queer community, going all the way back to actual physical magazines in which people mailed in their KirkxSpock fic decades ago. Over time we've experimented on the process, moved to countless different platforms, survived collapses of all sorts of communities, only to rally over and over again around each other to be able to tell the tales we wanted to see but were not getting as queer folk amongst mainstream media.

And in that time, it's been long agreed on in this space that you do not tear down another writer to build yourself up. Ever. Period. This has long been the only thing in fanfiction that has been aggressively policed, called out, and nipped in the bud when experienced members of this community come across it.

It will not be tolerated.

I shouldn't have to make this post, but I suppose this is the changing of the guard, so to speak. We have a new generation of fic writers and readers coming into the space daily and while so many of you are wonderful, creative, and welcomed members of this space that has been here long before me or anyone of my age, there are some who do not know how to act in the fanfiction community.

And it is up to us to make it clear in no uncertain terms that they will need to either get with program or be pushed out.

To become the best version of yourself as a writer requires hours of work, of posting again and again, of experimentation, of putting hints of your own life and experiences onto the page. The vast majority of us will never be published, and that's just fine for most of us. We engage in this hobby because of how joyful it can be to write something dear to our hearts, share it with the world, and be validated that others enjoyed the work that we put in.

Frankly, readers will always owe it to us to respect that process and work. To be respectful and kind when interacting with authors. Constructive criticism can be welcomed but perhaps ask if the author is open to it and do not take it personally if they are not. And if they are, then learn how to give it with the writer's best interest in mind rather than your own ego.

I don't ordinarily request reblogs to my posts, I rant into the void and it doesn't matter to me if anyone really interacts on an ordinary day lol. But today, I want to ask that people share this message out in your fandoms, because I will be tagging it in the fandoms I interacted in, both past and present. Because fanfiction is a common thread that unites so many of us, and I think this is an important reminder on how we need to be respectful and kind to one another in this space.

If you feel comfortable, I would also love to hear how fanfiction is important to you. How you got into it. Why you love to either read, write, or beta it.

This is hobby that is meant to be fun, so let's have fun.

[psychotic-nonsense]

NOW WITH A PART 2 AND PART 3 !!!!

Not sure if this is anything, and feel free to critique or add on or clarify and all that, but...

A few weeks post-Starcourt Steve, absolutely wrecked by the Russians and Billy. He's healing, little by little, but he knows he needs to put his pain aside to help out The Party. Especially Robin, who has not been coping with the trauma well. She's taken to spending the night at Steve's most of the time, and they help each other manage. She's not the best with physical comfort, nor is Steve with verbal comfort, but they're managing.

Yet despite the constant offers of help, Steve always refuses to "ask for too much" and often downplays his pain, forcing a smile to keep anyone from worrying. He's bottling up everything - probably handling it worse than Robin, even though he insists he's used to it and knows how to fix himself. Every day he gets a little worse, and every night he brushes off help.

It's during one of these late nights that disaster finds them again. It's Steve and Robin in his living room, and they're just about falling asleep on the couch when the ground begins rumbling, hard. An earthquake, shaking Hawkins and getting the entire Party in a frenzy. The radios are blaring with the kids' voices and Steve's trying to get Robin to stop screaming into the walkie, when suddenly there's a hole opening up in Steve's living room, and the earthquake stops. Steve and Robin go quiet, and the kids are urging for a response as they all rush to meet up at Steve's.

But he and Robin can't speak, too busy staring at the hole. One that looks way too similar to the Gates... but it glows blue instead of the usual red. Steve, ever the protector, is carefully stepping around the hole to grab a fire poker for defense. The second he does, the Party bursts in, just in time to watch the hole suddenly crack open further, sucking Steve in and closing itself behind him-

As Steve Harrington lands in the bedroom of Post-ST3-release 2019 Eddie Munson.

Eddie's living rough, bunking in his childhood friend Ronnie's basement. An orphan, can't hold a job, in his second senior year of high school purely because he knows he has nothing else to do after it. His only source of comfort so far has been DnD - either the DM hosting he does at the local library for the other poor lost suckers, or the one Netflix show with its elements that has captured his heart.

Eddie's a pretty big Stranger Things fan - it has its faults but is otherwise a really fun and interesting show - but ever since ST2, he's especially been a Steve Harrington fan. He feels like he goes mad just thinking about the implications of what that man has gone through, what all those kids have been through, and how Steve has put aside himself to focus on the kids. How much Steve has changed, and how under appreciated he is.

Since binging all of ST3 the day it released, Eddie's had a field day on breaking down this newest reformation of Steve. He adores Robin - clocked her as a lesbian from episode 1 - and loves that Dustin and Erica have been bringing out his bitchy side, while still keeping him in check. The Russian torture and strange parallels with Billy have made him cry on more than one occasion, and Steve's half-high speech in the bathroom legitimately felt like Steve finally acknowledging his change, even if for but a moment.

Ronnie's teased Eddie way too much about his "obvious crush on Joe Keery" but this feels way too personal for him to just be crushing on an actor. This is Eddie falling for the Fallen King of Hawkins himself, and it's much more embarrassing. Steve Harrington becomes his muse in every form of art; drawing, writing, character inspiration and improvisation. The Duffer brothers aren't the greatest at the rest of the show, but they've damn well got this guy down.

Hell, Eddie was halfway to crossing the last personal barrier to outright obsession (x Reader fanfiction) when the earthquake hit. In hindsight it wasn't the worst thing in the world, but Eddie had never experienced one before. He immediately dove right under his bed, covering his ears and curling up in a ball like a coward ("Nancy Wheeler would be ashamed," his weird ass brain supplies). He hears rumbling, things falling over, wood splintering and the world seemingly cracking apart all around him-

When a body suddenly lands hard on his bed with a loud scream of fear, cutting off as the whatever it is rolls straight off to the floor, and the world gives one final strain before going completely silent.

Terrified, Eddie's eyes are shut tight, cowering as the body on the floor just a foot away from him groans and gasps for air. It takes a sudden hiss of pain for Eddie to finally, carefully, crack one eye open.

Only to come eye to eye, through the gaps of his bedsheets, with the very muse he'd just been thinking of. Steve Harrington.

There's an immediate scramble of panic; Eddie bashing his skull into his bed frame trying to get out and away from the obvious hallucination, while Steve wobbles on his feet to defend himself against this strange humanoid Upside Down monster.

"What are you?! Where am I?!"

"What am- Are- You- No, you're not real- JESUS H. CHRIST MAN, GET THAT AWAY FROM ME!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you're gonna see how real this is if you don't tell me what's going on!"

"You think I know?! You fell into my room!!"

"Yeah, from your Gate!!"

"WHAT FUCKING GATE- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!!"

That gets them both to shut up, just staring at each other. Eddie pressed up against the wall in fear with his hands up and out wide, Steve with the fire poker pointed straight at his neck and his hand held up cautiously. Eddie sees it, smells blood in the air, and ignoring everything, reaches out for it. Steve jabs at the air with the poker, but it's halfhearted, his energy clearly draining, too exhausted with the whole situation to try much further. Finally his arm drops, but Eddie doesn't move, watching Steve's face crumple in a way that aches everything inside his heart.

"Where am I...?" Steve pleas, tone just as desperate as the one from the Russian bunker, even when lacking its power.

Eddie fumbles for the words, but eventually just sighs. "Somewhere you wouldn't believe, my friend."

High and complacent on adrenaline and shock, Steve and Eddie just move in silence. Eddie grabs a wet cloth to clean the blood, Steve cutting off a bit of his sweatpants to use as gauze. It's just a gash from falling with the fire poker, nothing drastic, but the two stare at the cut in Steve's palm, easier to see than the one who's hand is on theirs.

Introductions are exchanged when they can finally stop shaking, and Eddie somehow drops the bomb on where and when Steve is, and what his entire existence is to this reality. Steve has a very brief existential panic attack about it, but is strangely comforted by Eddie's confidence about it all - "Even without El's powers, those kids are smart as hell. They'll figure out a way to make their own Gate and get you back home."

Then Steve just spends the next week or two in a reality almost 40 years in the future, where he and his entire existence is a sci-fi TV show. Some funny exchanges I've been thinking of:

Steve: Wait, so we're characters in a show, right? That means we have actors.

Eddie: Oh, uh, yeah, you do...

Steve: ...Think I could see them?

Eddie: Uh- Sure, I guess? Not sure what you're expecting, it's a live action thing, they look just like you.

Steve: Never getting used to your future phone... Huh, Joe Keery? Looks like a cool guy- woah, is that what my hair looks like short??

Eddie: Yup, again, literally just you.

Steve: Funny how we both have the most basic names too. Steve and Joe? Like, look at Dustin's actor, what kind of name is Gaten?

Eddie: Rude, the guy plays your little brother.

Steve: Quit bringing your fake show theories into my actual life.

Eddie: It's true though.

Steve: ...Yeah.

----------------

(Steve goes crazy after a few days of being locked in, and begs Eddie to take him out to "see the future." While they're walking around town, a group of girls suddenly freak out and rush them)

"It's Joe Keery! Guys, look it's Steve Harrington, from Stranger Things!!"

(Eddie's halfway to panicking, but Steve immediately handles the situation)

Steve: Sorry to disappoint, ladies, not him. Don't worry though, I've been getting that a lot since the show came out.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! Hope we didn't make you uncomfortable, mister..."

Steve: Mark, and not at all! I get asked this a lot too, but do you girls want a picture? For bragging rights, getting to meet "The Steve Harrington?"

(They agree, Eddie takes it for them, the girls go on their way)

Eddie whispering: That's gonna be everywhere in 5 seconds, I hope you know.

Steve whispering: Eh, it's a crowd my actor didn't have to deal with. Besides, felt pretty good.

Eddie: Familiar experience?

Steve: For a better reason.

-------------

Steve, showing Eddie's laptop screen open to the FunkoPop website and the Scoops Duo, halfway to tears: They make figurines of me and Robin?

Eddie: Yeah, of all you guys. I've got a little Dustin on my desk.

Steve, beginning to cry from how adorable he finds it: YOU DO?

---------------

(Ronnie comes back from work early while Steve and Eddie are talking in the living room. Eddie freezes as Steve makes eye contact, and Ronnie just stares)

Ronnie: Um, hi?

Steve: Oh, hey! You must be Eddie's roommate, nice to finally meet you! I'm Mark.

(That allows a breath to finally enter and escape Eddie's throat in a bit of a laugh. Steve's really leaning into this Mark persona)

Ronnie: Ronnie, and likewise... Sorry if I'm acting weird, you're just a really good cosplayer. Thought you were actually Steve for a second.

Steve hesitantly: Nah, just a doppleganger.

Ronnie, shrugging and walking away: Well okay then, I'm way too tired to talk much more. Eds, just keep your nerd shit out of the sink-

Eddie: And stay quiet, yeah yeah, go rest, breadwinner.

(Ronnie goes upstairs, out of earshot)

Steve whispering: What's a cosplayer?

Eddie, suddenly also very tired: Tell you later.

I'm thinking that Eddie had sketchbooks, notebooks, and Word Docs absolutely stuffed full of ST character evaluation, which he immediately hid upon Steve's arrival. Maybe Steve gets bored when Eddie's out for whatever reason, and snoops around. That's when he finds it all crammed at the back of Eddie's closet. The kids, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Joyce, Hopper, hell Billy and Murray are in the pile. Drawings of them in their adventures, active and mundane alike. Pages upon pages of character description, Eddie's handwriting gushing about the parts of the show and characters he loves, hates, wishes was fixed, all of it.

But the part that gets Steve is one specific sketchbook and notebook, both dubbed the Steven Soliloquy. It's the same type of information as before, but only about him, and it's filled to the brim. Eddie talking about his development, his change of heart, the complete shift that Nancy and the Upside Down and the kids allowed him to have. The affects of his trauma, and how much he stuffed it down in favor of everyone else. Talked about his relationships, ones he cherishes, loathes, never thought of or never got the chance to make. Talked about "AUs," alternative realities where he got everything he ever wanted. Eddie's words, his sketches, devolve into adoration-fueled envy, wishing he could be near such an amazing man, that he was strong enough to be such an amazing man. How much his heart aches for Steve.

And if this were a normal situation, Steve would be uncomfortable, creeped out. But knowing the context of it all, Steve can't help but be enamored. That his family's journey, his entire story of survival - even when fictional to Eddie - is so valued makes it all feel a little more worth it. That there was someone out there during all of their terror, rooting for their victory, crying with their pain, screaming with their fears, understanding them because he lived through it all right beside them.

Eddie finds Steve in his room later that day, surrounded by those books. Staring at what Eddie considers his WIP magnum opus; a half-finished colored pencil recreation of the Last Supper with the entire Party, including all of the people they lost, happy and healthy. Eddie's two seconds from apologizing for how creepy it all must be - seeing how many of those books are open - but then he sees the tears in Steve's eyes. Gratitude and adoration and care, all bundled up and very suddenly staring right at him with the widest smile he's seen.

They talk about it. Eddie finally admits his minor obsession with the show, and how much they've helped him come to terms with being a self-dubbed loser. He honestly gushes way too much about what he owes to them about his life, but Steve listens to it all with complete adoration. At the end of it, Steve asks Eddie about the possibility that they've been adamantly ignoring for Steve's entire stay: actually watching Stranger Things.

And that's how they spend their last week. Starting from season 1, they sit in the living room and binge the entire thing. Steve learns an entirely new perspective about his family's adventures, not only from the show's canon, but from Eddie's theories and rants in between monumental moments. Eddie holds his hand during the scenes that focus on his worst nightmares; the Demogorgan in the Byler home, the breakup, his fight with Billy, the Russians. Steve provides his perspective on how he felt during it all, finally admitting to the pain he's gone through instead of just focusing on the others hoping it'll all go away.

Not sure where exactly it goes from here. Maybe some codependency grows between them. Maybe Steve falls a little in love. Maybe they just stay friends, the only ones who understand each other aside from their Platonic Soulmates.

Maybe, when another earthquake finally hits, opening up a Gate in Ronnie's backyard, Steve and Eddie finally must go their separate ways. Eddie promising to keep watching over them from across the realm, Steve promising to make a happy ending for their story.

Or maybe, Steve can't help but see what little Eddie has, how special Eddie actually is, and offer to bring him along. Into the very show he loves so much. Maybe Eddie convinces Ronnie that he'll be okay, swearing to be entertaining should he join the show in an important way, and making her swear that if he doesn't survive to bring him back in as much fanfiction as she can write. Maybe Eddie enters Hawkins, Indiana, and becomes a bit self aware about being in a TV show. It takes a while for everyone to warm up to the future man - and for Eddie to get used to Midwestern US in the 80s - but he becomes a close member of the Party quite easily. Maybe his involvement in season 4, his death, is avoided, and maybe it's not.

But his adoration for Steve Harrington never goes away. Not in canon, or in fiction.

[some-triangles]

I found a video essay which is about Neil Gaiman but is also a critique of fandom culture from the left. It's fun! My guy dresses up as Death from the Seventh Seal and talks about Roland Barthes in rhyming couplets. It's too long and overly pleased with itself but hey, leftists.

I took a break while watching it to go on a milk run to the bourgeois grocery store (might as well not abbreviate it under the circumstances) and saw this:

Given that the video was just talking about Gaiman being more a brand than an author I took this as a sign to share my two cents.

The cents are these: beyond considerations of fandom, parasocial attachment, Death of the Author and capitalism, which the video covers admirably*, can we posit that the art you find yourself the most attracted to as a teenager might not be stuff you should be buying as an adult?

*(they do quote an Alan Moore article from The Fucking Guardian in which he says he hates the growing trend of treating authors as "part of the costumed entertainment" without pointing out that the man wears a costume at all times, which is part of his branding, just like Gaiman. Also maybe given the company he keeps we should start asking more questions about Lost Girls. But I digress.)

Do you want to live in the moral universe of C.S. Lewis? J.D. Salinger? J.K. Rowling? J.R.R. Tolkien? (Maybe going by one's initials is the problem here, actually.) A grown person who thinks for a living shouldn't be going around saying that Neil Gaiman is one of their heroes. Even if you like his books, you've got to admit that the dude's mostly style and reference, that his actual insights don't go beyond those of a bright teenager. It's commodified rebellion for rebellion fans, sitting on the shelf next to Rowling's commodified conformity for conformity fans. We can still have fun with pop but we have to understand that the people who make it are in the sales business. (Yes, even Kendrick.)

The reason this stuff is constantly sold back to you is that it's really easy to sell things to children. The less like a child you become, the harder it is to market to you, so it's in the interests of money to draw you back to your childhood in a million different ways. So: grow up and get some esoteric, contradictory tastes, just to fuck with them. Cut out the hero worship - don't respect people for their "talent" any more than you would respect them for being rich. This will make you less likely to be starstruck enough to follow around a third-rate tumblr daddy dom who thinks he's a wizard.

(no, not me)

Finally, because I'm also a leftist, here's the overlong and self-satisfied part. I read a lot of Gaiman in high school but I also read a lot of one of Gaiman's heroes, Harlan Ellison. He was my favorite! I liked him because he was stylish, aggressive, arrogant and brutal. Teenagers like power and he had it. The fact that none of his stories had real people in them and that he seemed to have a problem with women in particular was nothing to me in the face of his Muscular Prose. Then I went to college and met some people who were smarter than me.

I ended up dumping Ellison for what was in his work, long before I knew much about all the other stuff. Same thing with Gaiman. So if you're worried about being let down by one of your heroes, I suggest looking at all of them carefully. Particularly at their feet. (Not for horny reasons.) And then maybe stop looking at them at all and go do something else.

[ot3]

A while back there was a post going around about how you shouldn’t rate or leave negative comments in your bookmark tags on ao3 because the author could see it. But it kinda shows a weird discrepancy where the diehard fanfic folk want fanfic to be seen as a legitimate art form but also can’t handle criticism of it because “it’s for fun.” Anyway there’s fanfic I like but don’t think is particularly well done and I don’t think I can ever comment that without getting eaten alive on ao3

To add onto my last ask about criticism on fanfic. I think ultimately any piece of art you put out to the world is going to be criticized no matter what. And as any artist or writer you should probably prepare for that

i definitely agree that anything public is subject to criticism but i dont think that necessarily means it's a free for all. my stance in the case of hobbyist works is that you're allowed to be as critical as you like in your own spaces but if you're somehere where the creator is almost guarantee to see it, that's just kind of a dick move more than anything else. i dont think fanfiction is beyond criticism at all and am in fact constantly bitching about how i also think its almost all bad. but i also don't think its really productive or cathartic in any way to say this to peoples 'faces' so to speak.

i'm not super familiar with the ao3 bookmark system so i don't really know what the etiquette there but maybe its kind of analogous to tumblr tags, in the effect that it's supposed to be Your commentary and Your organization system but also op also has immediate access to it. i definitely don't think you should go around tagging people's art just to rag on it, so i dont think i'm super in favor for doing that in bookmarks either.

its lke if you were someone who doesnt exercise a lot and you got into jogging would you want some sort of Running Expert filming a tiktok directly next to you about how your form could be improved? i don't really think it would matter how constructive or well intentioned they were it would still probably kinda feel like shit. but then on the flipside i think they have a right to go home and post to their #RunningTok or whatever the fuck about how they hate these annoying mistakes beginners always make.

i agree that 'any artist or writer' should be prepared to deal with a level of negative feedback for their work. and the people who turn around and write a post about how fanfiction is important and transformative queer art one moment then follow it up with a post about how if you ever have anything bad to say it you're just being a nasty little hater and need to shut up are ridiculous. The 'let people enjoy things' crowd are easily one of the worst demographics on this website. But i think the level of negative feedback an artist or writer should be prepared to deal with is vastly different in the case of people who are Creating as their profession vs people who are doing it as hobbyists.

the amount of people who think they fanfiction theyre producing is Groundbreaking Literature and deserves to be lauded as such while also demanding no critique are a small but vocal minority. one that pretty much 1:1 overlaps with people who view Fandom as an identity rather than an activity. the rest are like... teens just starting to dabble with narrative writing or people with day jobs who think its fun to do every now and then.