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augustjustice · 4 months ago

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you wanna feel how it feels? (let's exchange the experience) 3/?

Part 2 | AO3 Link

Notes: Sorry it took a minute for the next chapter of this one! I spent a lot of June and July focused on some event fics and then had a small bout of writer's block after. School's starting back up soon, so updates may continue to be slow going--but they will come, I promise. This fic is a personal favorite, so it remains a top priority for me.

After a brief kerfluffle of Steve taming his signature hair until it was styled to suit him–using the emergency Farah Fawcett spray he kept in the Beemer, and, oh, Eddie had no plans of ever letting him live that one down–they were off.

As he backed out of the Munson’s drive, Steve slung his arm across the back of the passenger’s seat, the same way he always did, and Eddie told himself he definitely didn’t get the same fluttering butterflies in his stomach as he always did at the gesture. Because it was ridiculous on a good day, to feel that way over such an innocuous thing–and even more so given their current situation.

Now that they were heading for Dustin’s place, an awkward silence fell between them. The tension in the small space of the car was only intensified by the fact that things were usually so easy between them the rest of the time.

But…these weren’t exactly usual times. A fact that was damn near impossible to ignore when it was quite literally staring them in the face.

Steve kept tapping his finger nervously at the steering wheel, hand stroking his chin as he very deliberately and obviously turned his face towards the driver’s side window. Eddie couldn’t stop fidgeting in place in his seat, reaching to fiddle with his rings before he remembered yet again that they weren’t there and found his thoughts tailspinning once more.

As the car rolled towards town, they couldn’t stop casting curious, sidelong glances at each other, both of them flinching and turning away quickly each and every time the other one caught them at it.

To busy himself, Eddie took to flicking through the radio stations, trying to find anything decent to distract him. He didn’t bother hiding his disgruntled noises every time yet another pop hit started blaring from the speakers.

“Come on, dude, quit it,” Steve finally snapped, slapping Eddie’s hand away from the dial, “You’re gonna give me a headache. Besides, you’re the one who always insists it's the driver who has total control over the music.”

That, at least, felt normal, except–the hand that had connected with Eddie’s own was wearing a ring. His ring. And the feeling of smooth metal grazing over his skin was just foreign enough it felt like a shock, the surprise reminding Eddie yet again of the bizarreness of their situation and causing him to jerk.

Steve’s eyes snapped down to his hand, grimacing as he seemed to register what had tripped Eddie up. He flexed his fingers–Eddie’s fingers–once before yanking his hand back.

It was like an invisible force field had fallen down between them, dividing them each to their respective sides of the car. Eddie felt his chest clench at the thought, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Look, I get it, man, it’s fucking–completely and utterly bizarre, right?” The words burst from Eddie’s mouth in a rush, incapable of being contained a second longer. “But, I don’t see why we can’t–talk about it? I mean, it’s happening to both of us, so…who better, right?”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, body collapsing back against the driver’s seat, like all he’d needed was Eddie’s go ahead for the tension to drain out of him.

“Oh my God! Eds, it’s so weird!” he exclaimed in agreement.

Eddie smiled, that same relief running through him, too, like they were sharing it.

“It’s goddamn crazy! And you and me? We have seen our share of crazy shit, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well, me more than you, rookie,” Steve teased, the small smile he sent Eddie just enough to make Eddie’s dimples appear.

And even though it was his own eyes looking fond, crinkling at the corners in amusement, Eddie still felt warmth settle in his chest, being on the receiving end of Steve’s particular brand of gentle prodding.

Still–he couldn’t let Steve’s words go unchallenged. Flustered, he blurted in protest, “Nope! Absolutely no sports talk in my body, Harrington. Fucking blasphemy, is what it is. That’s rule number one.”

Eddie gave an exaggerated, full body shudder.

Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, dude? How the hell is rookie sports talk?”

“The fact you even have to ask that proves just how much of a jock you are, man.”

Steve’s face slowly broke into a grin, big and bright and mischievous, and, god, Eddie really hated being on the receiving end of his own ‘about to start shit’ face. It was a wonder he ever got away with anything at all, really, since his smile was apparently the world’s biggest giveaway.

He jabbed a finger at Steve. “Don’t you dare do it, dude. I’ll walk this handsome ass body of yours straight off a cliff, I’m not even joking.”

Dropping into a stern coaching voice worthy of the height of his high school glory days, Steve called out, “Hey hey hey! You call those free throws? Work on your stance and tighten up that form! Let’s see a little hustle here, I want to see nothing less than a 110% out of all of you!”

Eddie’s face twisted in horror, and he covered his ears with both hands as he shouted, “Lalalala!”

Steve let out a loud, full-bodied laugh, not as wild as Eddie’s usually were but just as free. “I’m just getting started, Munson. I could do this all day.”

Eddie shot him a betrayed scowl. “I can’t fucking believe you, Steven. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, you know, and I–”

Steve shook his head, still chuckling.

“Man, did anyone ever tell you you care way too much about what other people think of you? Especially for someone who’s supposed to be ‘breaking the social order,’ or whatever.”

Eddie hated that–Steve making those stupid little air quotes with one hand, parroting the exact same speech he’d heard from Dustin and Eddie himself a thousand times over right back at him.

“I hate you.”

“You definitely don’t, dude. Which is already bad for your precious reputation, by the way.”

“Oh, well, uh. You’re totally worth that, I guess,” Eddie admitted, before letting out a long sigh. “Even if you are gonna make everybody we know think I’ve gone to the dark side.”

“Trust me, man, you’ll live,” Steve reassured him, giving him a conciliatory pat on the thigh.

The gesture was enough, though, to make Steve notice that Eddie had pulled his legs up into the seat out of habit, sitting–as he tended to do–at what was basically a crouch while tapping out an uneven rhythm against one knee.

“Dude, put your feet down,” he complained, giving Eddie’s leg a light, ineffectual shove, “you’re gonna get dirt all over the upholstery. I swear to God, you’re as bad as Dustin sometimes.”

Suddenly, Eddie’s lips quirked up into a wide, mischievous grin, a thought occurring to him. Revenge was a sweet, sweet flavor.

“Technically, this is my car.” Leaning over the console into Steve’s space, Eddie tapped himself once on the nose. “Check out this mug, man. Matches the name on the car title to a T. You need me to show you some ID?”

He made a production out of reaching for the wallet he had tucked away in the back pocket of Steve’s jeans.

“Whatever, Eds. Don’t be annoying,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Aww, Harrington, I was born annoying.”

The light that suddenly shone in Steve’s eyes practically spelled trouble. “Wait, so. If the Beemer’s yours…that means the guitar’s mine now, right?”

“Oh, absolutely not, Harrington! Don’t bring my sweetheart into this.”

Steve shrugged, infuriatingly casual. “Hey, you’re the one that started it, dude. Fair’s fair.”

But the banter had done the trick and broken the ice. Even if it was about the morning’s weirdness, it got them all that much closer to some sense of normalcy.

The rest of the ride to Dustin’s passed in easy chatter.

—

That peace was short-lived, however, once they pulled up in front of the Hendersons’ place.

The car had barely stopped rolling before Dustin was bounding out of the front door to meet them. When Eddie gave him a wave from the passenger seat, he openly gawped.

“You let Eddie drive your car?!” The words, spluttered in disbelief, were the first thing out of Dustin’s mouth when he climbed into the backseat.

“Just letting Eds take her for a test drive. Everybody deserves a shot behind the wheel of a ride this sweet at least once. Isn’t that right?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows at Steve, Cheshire smile expectant.

Hanging his head, Steve only sighed–not nearly as long or loud as Eddie suspected he would have liked to–and turned off the engine. Clearly, he was resigned to his fate of trading places with Eddie and letting him drive his car yet again.

…There’d been a lot of that going around this morning.

In the rear view mirror, they could both see Dustin open his mouth to speak.

“Not you, big guy,” Steve jabbed a finger in his direction.

He was lucky, really, that they made giving Dustin a hard time such a shared pastime. That meant they could easily pass off “Eddie’s” sudden defensiveness over Steve’s car as just his usual ribbing, the pair of them keeping up a united front as always.

“That is so unfair!” Dustin whined as they both stepped out of the car. “I’ll have you know, I’m a very responsible driver. Or, at least…I would be, if you’d just give me a chance!”

His pleas went ignored.

When their paths crossed in front of the hood to switch sides, Steve tossed the keys to Eddie with one quick, smooth flick of his wrist. Eddie jerked forward clumsily to catch them, warm metal hitting his palm…before he subsequently fumbled them to the ground. Squatting down, Eddie snatched the key ring up from the grass and jingled the set with a sheepish grin. The gesture made Steve simply shake his head in what Eddie was going to tell himself was fond exasperation.

Dustin, on the other hand, was at the ready with his own snarky commentary as they clambered back inside.

“Okay, seriously, what was that, Steve? Miss your Wheaties this morning?”

“Guess I’m out of practice, since my glory days are over. Old age will do that to you,” Eddie drawled, ignoring the withering look Steve shot him.

“Hey, hey. Need I remind you, I’m older than you,” Steve grumbled snarkily, arms crossed over his chest.

“That is true. Only you must bear the burden of being a third year senior,” Eddie sing-songed, before quietly mumbling, “for now, at least.”

A line appeared between Eddie’s own eyebrows, the patent Steve Harrington expression of concern. But before he had a chance to say anything, Dustin stuck his head between them, like a particularly curly-haired mole popping up out of his burrow.

“Eddie, I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he chirped, sounding excited as his face swiveled to look at Steve.

“Well, you know, Steve said he could use an extra set of eyes to look after you little hellions, so…here I am.”

The flourishing hand Steve tacked on to gesture at himself was a nice touch…even if there was an obvious beat in there where he was clearly remembering to do it.

Then, he pressed a palm to Dustin’s chest, gently pushing him into the backseat. “And sit back, dude. What do you wanna do, fly out of the front windshield if we crash?”

“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence in my driving skills, man.” Eddie thought he had Steve’s dry exasperation down pat, if he did say so himself.

…It was just poor timing that had him taking a corner only a tiny bit too sharply, tires squealing for what was probably no more than a single second as he just missed brushing up against the curb.

In answer to Steve’s pointed glare, he could only smile contritely and mouth, Shit. Sorry.

Besides, despite the impatient energy that still seemed to thrum through him, Dustin had done as Steve instructed and sat back. So, their passenger on board remained safe and sound.

“Whatever the reason, I’m glad you decided to join us. Especially because…I’ve got a question for you.”

It took a beat for Steve to realize he was the one being spoken to, the silence stretching just a hair too long before he jerked his neck quickly to look back at Dustin. “Huh? What?”

“I’ve been thinking about the layout of the dungeon at Castle Ravenloft–” Dustin started to chatter.

Oh, shit. He and Steve knew each other pretty well at this point, sure…well enough to put on this charade, at least, when they were wearing basically impenetrable disguises. But this–this was a true test of skill, and Eddie didn’t think they’d be forced to try and navigate it quite so soon.

So when he glanced over at Steve, he fully expected his own brown eyes to have gone wide, to find Steve wearing a fear-stricken expression as he looked back at him. Instead, Steve had a single eyebrow cocked, looking calm, cool, and unimpressed.

“Seriously? Like I’m actually gonna tell you anything,” Steve dismissed him easily. “Pfft, get real, Henderson.”

“Come on,” Dustin protested, tone petulant and needling. He held up his fingers, practically pinched together. “Not even when I’m positive I’m this close to solving the last puzzle?”

Eddie couldn’t help but snort. The party wasn’t even remotely close.

Oh, the arrogance of babes.

“Honestly, uh…fat chance of that one, big guy.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Steve,” Dustin rolled his eyes, an exaggerated show of bratty teenage exasperation. “In case you forgot, you weren’t even there last night.”

That glib dismissal–Eddie couldn’t help but take it like a blow to the chest, though he did his best not to let it show.

It was just that…the words stung for a couple of reasons.

First of all, he still couldn’t fight back a flicker of disappointment that he hadn’t managed to convince Steve to join them for even a single night of Hellfire.

And on top of that, it stirred up memories of the many times Eddie had found himself the odd man out in school, excluded on the basis of his freak status before he learned to fully embrace it. Though the feeling was familiar, it wasn’t one he was accustomed to experiencing over something so quintessential to a part of his identity, who he was at his core.

But…D&D really wasn’t Steve’s thing. So, Eddie shouldn’t have been all that surprised commenting had gotten that kind of response out of Dustin.

…Right?

“He’s right, you know,” Steve interjected, coming to his defense. “That dungeon is like…super fortified.”

Coming on the heels of his own internal reasoning, Eddie couldn’t help but send Steve a startled, owlish look.

What? Steve mouthed, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a small, satisfied smile. I listen.

“But I–” Dustin gave it one last go.

“No ifs, no buts, no coconuts,” Steve playfully taunted, waving him off with a hand. “Give it up, dude.”

Eddie shook his head, settling comfortably into their usual rapport with a wry, “This kid.”

“I know.” Steve fell right into step alongside him, tone commiserating.

Lower lip jutting out into what could only be described as a pout, Dustin muttered something that sounded suspiciously like butthead babysitters.

And even if Steve hadn’t already been his very own mirror image, there was no question in Eddie’s mind that, in that moment, the amused look Steve shot him perfectly matched his own.

As Dustin stewed in silence, the two of them picked up where they’d left off before, back to bickering over the radio. Eddie reveled in the opportunity to chastise Steve when the opening chords of Mötley Crüe’s “Shout at the Devil” started to play and his friend automatically reached for the dial.

“Ah, ah, ah, Munson,” Eddie clicked his tongue, waving an admonishing finger at Steve. “You know the rules. Hell, you were the one who reminded me of them just this morning, remember? Driver gets final say on the music.”

“Just wait til we’re back in the van, dude. It is so on,” Steve warned in a low voice, eyes gleaming as though Eddie had just issued a challenge.

The sudden image of Steve, still in Eddie’s visage, rolling down main street as he shouted Madonna lyrics at the top of his lungs swam into Eddie’s head.

Before he had a chance to discourage that horrifying future from coming to pass, however, Dustin spoke up again.

"Steve?"

"What is it now, Henderson?" Steve answered on autopilot, not even bothering to look up.

Neither of them registered the mistake at first.

But when Dustin didn’t charge on ahead, Eddie glanced into the rearview mirror to find him frowning. From the passenger seat, Steve caught Eddie's eye, his casually amused expression having morphed into panic. With nothing more than a jerk of his head and a pair of widened eyes, he sent Eddie the transparently obvious, silent message of Do something!

"What can I do for you, Dustin?" Eddie asked quickly, cutting off their backseat passenger just as he opened his mouth.

Instantly, he worried that he had sounded too much like himself, and not enough like Steve.

"Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” Dustin demanded. “You guys are acting weird."

Christ, the kid was suspicious. Sure, Eddie couldn’t blame him, after everything, but–it had only been one slight mix-up. It was…plausible, at least, that Eddie could have just been answering for Steve.

…Probably.

"No we're not," Eddie and Steve said in unison, which…okay, that wasn't their most convincing moment, Eddie could admit that.

“I don’t know why you don’t just tell me,” Dustin said with exaggerated exasperation. “Especially when you know whatever it is, I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I wouldn’t count on that one, smarty pants.” Steve murmured wryly. Despite how they’d fumbled it, that spark of humor was back in his eyes when they caught Eddie’s, like they were sharing an inside joke. Then, he hurriedly added, “Because there’s nothing going on.”

“Fine, whatever,” Dustin harrumphed. “Go ahead, you can try and keep your secrets…for now. What I was trying to tell you, Steve, is that…it’s just going to be Lucas today. Oh, and Erica, too. No Max, though. She’s having a girls day with El.”

Eddie hummed in acknowledgement. “And what about mini-Wheeler?”

“Nance is bringing him,” Steve explained before Dustin had a chance.

“I already told you that, Steve,” Dustin snarked automatically.

But, not even a beat later, he gasped, his head shooting up between the seats once more. When he turned to Eddie, there was obvious concern radiating from his face, his brow wrinkled and eyes squinting. Dustin gave him a quick slap on the shoulder.

“Watch it, man, he’s trying to drive,” Steve complained, though the comment didn’t phase their young companion for even a second.

“Shit, shit, shit, what the hell, Steve?! Wait–you’re not having memory issues and not telling me about them, are you?”

Eddie couldn’t fight back a bark of shocked laughter at such a serious overreaction from Dustin. First the paranoia, now this? Maybe they all really did need that trauma therapy Owens kept hinting about. “Dustin, man–Jesus Christ, what the hell are you talking about?”

Steve groaned. “Come on, Henderson, just…chill out, alright?”

Like before, their words went ignored, Dustin back to bulldozing ahead.

“Because that would so not be cool!” he tapped a finger into his palm emphatically. “If this kind of thing is happening, I need to know about it. I’ve done all kinds of research on post-concussion syndrome, and that shit is really serious.”

“Trust me, dude, he already knows that,” Steve said, sounding exasperated yet fond.

“Well, obviously, he’s not taking it very seriously, Eddie, if he’s just sitting here, ignoring potential symptoms!”

“While your very touching concern has been noted–I’m totally fine. I promise. Shit, man, I just…forgot for a second. That shit happens. Thankfully, Eddie here was around to remind me, so. No need to call in a team of specialists to poke and prod at me just yet.”

To be honest, Eddie had had quite enough of that already, when Owens had demanded a full examination after he’d been pulled from the Upside Down. Even if it wasn’t quite the same circumstances, he wasn’t about to let Steve–or even just his body, for that matter–be put through the same thing, not when it could be avoided.

Which was yet another reason to avoid having this whole thing come out into the open, especially when it might just right itself tomorrow without any extra intervention. Dodging the possibility of the pair of them becoming the former lab’s next science experiment was a top priority, as far as Eddie was concerned. He might not be totally sure what was going on, but it seemed like the kind of thing Owens and his team would have a field day with.

“I reminded you, too,” Dustin grumbled.

“I know you did, buddy. Thanks for that.”

Reaching out, Eddie gave Dustin a noogie through his hat–and Steve’s hand wasn’t far behind, replacing Eddie’s the instant he pulled back and doing the exact same.

With that crisis thankfully averted–for now–it wasn’t long before they made their way to the Sinclairs.

No sooner had Eddie turned into the driveway before brother and sister were out the door in a flash, piling into the backseat while Dustin scooted over to give Erica the spot in the middle.

“Hey, Steve!” Lucas greeted brightly. When his eyes caught on Steve sitting in the passenger seat, he blinked in surprise before adding, “Oh, hi, Eddie, man! I didn’t know you were coming along, too.”

“Why are you surprised?” Erica asked dryly, shooting him an unimpressed look. “They go everywhere together, like some kind of old, outdated comedy act. When was the last time you saw one of them without the other?”

There was one silver lining to the statement, Eddie guess. At least this way Steve wasn’t being forced to explain his presence yet again. Still, he felt his cheeks heat slightly and hoped Steve didn’t catch what Eddie knew from experience was a pretty, rosy blush spreading all over his face.

Because…shit, was he really that obvious?

“Last night at D&D,” Lucas shot back succinctly, always happy to get one over on his sister.

“That’s only because Steve doesn’t want to hang out with you dorks in full nerd mode.”

“Erica!” Lucas’s exasperation was transparent. “You were literally there, nerding out just like the rest of it!”

Erica simply sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Eddie couldn’t help but marvel at how much she and Dustin acted just like little mini-Steves sometimes.

“I said what I said.”

Their brother-sister back-and-forth had distracted the pair enough they hadn’t actually settled down and buckled up, not even as Eddie started to pull away from the curb.

"Seat belt," Steve chided.

Old habits died hard, clearly.

Erica snorted. "That's rich. We've all seen the way you drive, Eddie. Bargain bin Evel Knievel over here."

Eddie clapped a hand against Steve’s borrowed chest, crooked smile teasing as he turned to him.

“Christ, went straight for the heart with that one, didn’t she, Munson? Erica Sinclair, fucking brutal as always.”

“Just the facts!”

"Pretty sure the last time Eddie took us to the arcade, he was like…crouched in the driver's seat the entire time," Lucas agreed, the Sinclair siblings for once on the same page. "I don't even get how his foot touched the pedal."

Steve shot Eddie a loaded, sarcastic look, back at it with the silent communication. Eddie knew he wasn’t quite as good at deciphering the meaning as Robin was, but he still thought he could read, See? Do you see what a bad influence your bullshit is on our kids? pretty clearly between the lines.

"You’re absolutely, 100% right, Erica. I should be way more careful when I’m driving,” Steve agreed pointedly. Then, he jabbed a warning finger into the backseat. “Just like you guys need to buckle up. Harrington's car, Harrington's rules, alright?”

"Uh, that's not what you said last week, when you changed the tape deck like six different times," Dustin said, voice full of patent 'well, actually' disbelief.

"Oh, well…not Eddie's fault I think bubblegum pop is the height of musical innovation," Eddie quipped, shooting Steve a wink and a shit-eating grin. There really was an upside to all of this, it turned out, because Eddie was having way too much fun with it.

At least, he was until Steve leaned over and nudged him hard in the side, the jab making Eddie let out a punctured little oof. Shit, Steve hadn’t been kidding when he’d bitched about Eddie’s pointy ass elbows–those things were sharp as shit. Eddie was pretty sure, with Steve’s jock reflexes now wielding them, they should be categorized as certified weapons. For the sake of the safety of others, if nothing else.

“Told you,” Steve hissed. The expression he shot Eddie suggested he was an idiot for ever doubting him.

“...Dude, what are they talking about?” Lucas asked. He was clearly attempting to speak in an undertone, but the sound carried to the front of the car nonetheless.

Dustin shrugged, answering him back in the same sort of stage whisper. “I’m as confounded as you are. They’ve been acting weird since they picked me up this morning.”

“I still really don’t get how that’s all that damn surprising,” Erica countered, flat and unimpressed as she inspected her nails. “They always act weird.”

“Hey, what can I say?” Eddie interjected. Though he was having his fun, it wouldn’t hurt to try and steer this renegade boat back towards the shore. “Guess maybe Munson’s just starting to rub off on me.”

You’d like to rub off on something, the little voice in the back of Eddie’s head piped up, ever unhelpful. Just maybe not right now.

“When they got to my house, Eddie was driving,” Dustin informed the group, clearly offering a counterpoint.

“You let Eddie drive your car?” Lucas exclaimed, the disbelief in his voice evident.

“That’s exactly what I said!”

“Sure I did,” Eddie answered, smile as wide as the cat who’d caught the canary when he turned to Steve, “Eddie’s an excellent driver.”

…Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that great at resisting the temptation.

“So not helping,” Steve muttered, in clear support of Eddie’s own oft-silenced inner voice of reason.

“…Maybe Steve lost a bet,” Lucas reasoned.

All three of them hummed in unison, considering this.

Steve huffed. “No one lost anything, alright? Just–mind your business. Didn’t anybody ever tell you guys curiosity killed the cat, or whatever? You’re all way too damn nosey for your own good.”

Eddie wondered if Steve’s jock pride wouldn’t allow them to slander his good name like that, by suggesting he didn’t come out on top in a competition.

But he backed him up nevertheless. “You heard the man. That’s quite enough out of the peanut gallery for now.”

“Besides, you need to stop worrying about whatever new bullshit those two are up to, and start worrying about how I’m about to kick all your asses at Dig Dug,” Erica said succinctly, the air of finality on the subject clear in her voice.

Eddie laughed. “Have I mentioned today that, out of all you snot-nosed little brats–you are totally my favorite, Erica Sinclair?”

As Erica grinned smugly and the other boys started to shout out a variety of protests, Steve inclined his head in approval. “Yeah, okay. See, now you’re starting to get the hang of it.”

—

When they pulled up to the arcade, the kids scurried out of the back, rushing inside with the same speed they might have if a Demogorgon was hot on their heels. Steve and Eddie moseyed up the sidewalk behind them at a much more slow, leisurely pace.

Since they were out of eyeshot of the party, Eddie took the opportunity to hold the door open before Steve got to it, doing his customary flourishing bow to indicate he should go ahead of him.

“After you, oh noble King of the Freaks,” he teased, eyes twinkling as he winked at Steve.

“You’re ridiculous.”

But though Steve’s tone might have been deadpan, that did nothing to hide the amused smile quirking up one corner of his mouth, Eddie’s dimple giving him away instantly. It might have been a little weird to see from the outside, but those things were honestly starting to come in handy.

Once they were inside, it didn’t take long to spot the pipsqueaks all congregated around Wheeler Jr., Nancy standing not far away.

Steve raised a hand in greeting before trotting over to her, Eddie only a few steps behind.

“Hey, Nance!”

“Oh, Eddie. Hi!” Nancy blinked at Steve in obvious surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He shrugged helplessly.

“Yeah, there’s, uh…kinda been a lot of that going around. But, you know…I’m a wild card like that, yeah?” The flash of his smile and the way he spread his arms aloft, like a magician revealing a trick, was clearly meant to be bombastic. But even with Steve’s perfect disguise, Eddie could see the hint of an effort behind it, privy as he was to the man behind the curtain. “Never really know where I’ll turn up next.”

Nancy’s brow furrowed, her smile a touch puzzled. Now, whether it was her usual bewilderment at Eddie's shenanigans or something more–that was kinda hard to say.

Eddie threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder, coming to his rescue either way.

He tried to be a lot more conscious of himself than he had been in the car, this time. Eddie had been in high school theater, after all–before he dropped out, at least. Plus, he had a whole cache of NPCs on rotation that he improvised weekly. Performing was what he did.

So, when he went to speak, Eddie did his best to adopt Steve’s patent blend of fondness and exasperation for the kids.

“You know what a pain in the ass those little shits can be. So, I just thought–might as well call in the cavalry, get the most sought after babysitter in town…after yours truly, of course.” Eddie patted a hand against Steve’s chest. “Don’t worry, man. With enough time and my specialized training, you might just reach the same great, babysitting extraordinaire heights as me.”

Okay, so maybe there was a little too much theatrical flare on that last part–but every actor liked to put his own signature spin on things, right?

Besides, Eddie could feel it, the way Steve relaxed against him, before he huffed out a laugh. “Can’t wait, dude. Tell me when and where for the first official meeting of the Babysitters Club, and I’ll be there.”

“Well, hopefully it’s not too soon,” Nancy interjected, playing along, seeming amused by their antics. “Since I’ll be seeing you at the library tonight. Right, Eddie?”

Steve flashed her a sweet but confused smile. Internally, Eddie couldn’t help but marvel at the way he still managed to make that look cute, even while wearing his face. “Wait, wait, sorry…what about tonight?”

“It’s Sunday,” Nancy said pointedly.

“Yeah…” Steve dragged out the syllable, darting a searching look at Eddie, “and?”

Realization hit Eddie, right between the eyes.

“Oh, fuck, that’s right!” he slapped both his hands against his forehead, pressing Steve’s hair flat. “We–shit, I-I mean, you and Nancy have your weekly study session tonight. Right?”

“You forgot?” Though the question was clearly directed at Steve, Nancy’s eyes never strayed from Eddie, studying him carefully.

“Yeah, I guess my brain’s just been a little, uh…” Steve sucked on his lips, expression self-deprecating as he spun a finger next to his temple, “scrambled today.”

Understatement of the century there, Harrington, Eddie thought, and had to literally bite down on his lips to keep from saying it out loud.

…And he tried not to get too caught up on it, the knowledge that that was actually Steve’s plump bottom lip his teeth were digging into.

“Is memory loss contagious?!” Dustin called out from several yards away.

Steve sure had these kids pegged–nosey didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Okay, what is he talking about?” Nancy asked. Thankfully, she looked far more amused than concerned, if the losing battle the corners of her mouth were fighting was anything to go by.

“Steve forgot one thing, one thing. And then I forgot another. Apparently,” Steve pitched his voice louder, making damn well sure that the munchkins could hear him, “Henderson thinks that’s cause to alert the national guard, or some shit.”

One hand settled in its new perch on Eddie’s hip, he shrugged and then threw his free arm out towards Dustin, Harrington code for, What can you do?

Nancy shook her head, nose crinkled, mirth having won the day. “Well…sounds like it’s a good thing we ran into each other, since it gave me a chance to remind you. I guess I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“I’ll be there,” Steve agreed, sending her off with a finger gun.

Once she was out of sight, disappearing through the door with a final bye, guys and an admonishment to Mike to behave, Steve’s shoulders slumped, letting out a long groan.

“Oh my God, just when I thought having to study was finally behind me.” He dragged both hands down Eddie’s face, honestly looking a little nauseous at the prospect.

“Sorry, dude,” Eddie said in an apologetic undertone, casting around to make sure the others were too caught up to listen in again. “I, uh…totally forgot about the significance of the day, what with everything else going on.”

Steve instantly softened. “No, man, you don’t–look, it’s–whatever, it’s not that big a deal. I’ll get through it.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’ve been helping me out with those flashcards, huh? Gonna come in handy after all.”

Because as much as Steve was bemoaning the prospect of having to prep for tests now, he had been more than willing to give Eddie a hand getting through his studies on more than one occasion. And, sure, the pressure wasn’t quite the same, when he wasn’t the one who was expected to perform.

Still, it warmed Eddie a little, knowing that Steve had been willing to do it even though he was clearly far from enthused about anything remotely scholastic.

“Looks like it. But, I mean, that’s kinda my point. If I’m there in your place, than how are you supposed to–”

In a flash, Steve clamped his mouth shut tight. The culprits for his sudden hesitation became apparent pretty much immediately, when Eddie saw that both Henderson and Little Wheeler were headed their way.

Long legs outpacing Dustin’s, Mike made it over to them first–and Steve wasn’t quite able to hide the shock that came over his face, when the younger Wheeler wrapped a hand around his wrist and started tugging him along.

On instinct, Eddie reached up to try and hide his bemused grin behind his hair, grappling for a second when he realized his mistake.

Steve really couldn’t be faulted for the reaction. Even though Eddie knew full well that he would willingly die for any of those kids, and that Mike held way more admiration for his sister’s-ex-turned-party-babysitter than he would ever let in front of Steve, their entire dynamic was basically built upon an artifice of begrudging tolerance.

“Come on, Eddie. Join our party for round one of Gauntlet. We could really use you to help us get past the first level.”

Crossing his arms across his chest smugly, Dustin fell into step beside them. “Plus, maybe now I’ll almost have some real competition.”

Arrogant little brat, Eddie thought fondly.

“Oh, Henderson, you are so on. Better watch your ass, man. You can kiss that high score goodbye,” he ribbed good-naturedly.

The whole thing was their typical sort of shit talk…which only made Dustin’s answering scoff of disbelief come as even more of a shock.

“I know you’re joking. Right, Steve? What would you even know about it?”

He’d gotten a taste of it this morning, sure, but Eddie was so flabbergasted by the harshness of Dustin’s condescending tone–the superiority of it all–that, for once, he was struck speechless. Luckily, Steve was at the ready, prepared to pick up his slack.

“Whatever, dude. Don’t be a little shithead just because Steve kicked your ass last week at Pac-Man.”

Mike snorted just as Dustin spluttered in protest. “Sure, yeah. But Pac-Man doesn’t exactly count as…a real arcade game, now does it?”

Eddie felt like he’d been doused in a bucket of cold water. Dustin’s smugness had taken the final veer straight into asshole territory without so much as a pit stop.

“Pfft. What’s that even supposed to mean?” Steve demanded.

And even though he wasn’t letting Dustin get away with it unchallenged, Steve still seemed way too nonchalant about his dismissive, imperious tone for Eddie’s liking. Almost like…he was used to it.

“Yeah, I’d sure as hell like to hear his explanation for that one myself,” Eddie agreed, crossing his arms over his chest now and wielding Steve’s disapproving babysitter stance for all it was worth.

Stopping in his tracks, Dustin’s head swiveled back and forth between them, mouth agape as he took in their wall of solidarity.

“Eddie–come on, back me up here. I thought you of all people would get what I meant. Right?”

Eddie did was the thing. He got exactly what Dustin meant. That didn’t make him right, though, or anything less than a complete and total shithead–just like Steve had said–for thinking it.

And sure, in the past, maybe Eddie had waxed poetic about the wonder of a fantasy arcade game that established intricate world-building and lore. Like with D&D, there was something to be said for immersion, pulling the player into not just gameplay but a story. And it was fun to argue over things, make a case for which game or character or book was your favorite. But that didn’t mean there had to be some kind of hierarchical system created out of it. He thought–he’d hoped–he’d done enough to make that clear.

…Dustin, though, might be living proof that he hadn’t.

Steve shrugged, casual. “I seriously don’t, dude.”

“Dustin’s right, it doesn’t count,” Mike agreed flatly, “now, can you guys just hurry up so we can actually start playing?”

“What the hell is taking you losers so long?” Erica’s voice suddenly demanded.

She stood a few feet away, Lucas right behind her, looking beyond fed up. Clearly, the Sinclairs had gotten sick of waiting and wandered over to see what all the ruckus was about.

“We’re just debating the merits of playing one of the ‘lesser’ games in the arcade here,” Eddie put air-quotes around the title, before adding, his tone mockingly conspiratorial, “Turns out, Pac-Man evidently isn’t good enough for these two.”

Erica scoffed. “Well, that’s just stupid.”

“Besides, what are you even talking about?” Lucas’s face screwed up in outrage. “Pac-Man’s cool!”

“Finally! Thank you, Sinclair!” Eddie threw his hands in the air. “Good to know that at least some of our charges see reason.”

“Like I said,” Steve shrugged nonchalantly, pinning Dustin with a cooly judgmental look that would have ended at least a dozen of his former classmates, “sore loser.”

Dustin wilted slightly, shoulders slumping. It seemed, like Steve’s peers, he wasn’t entirely immune to the Harrington dismissal, either–or, well. The Munson one, technically, right now.

“Whatever,” he muttered, still stubborn as ever despite it, “no need for you guys to be such assholes about it.”

Was this kid serious?

“Uh,” Eddie held up a single finger in challenge, “I really don’t think we’re the ones that started that, big guy.”

“What’s next? You gonna say My Little Pony is just for little girls?” Erica asked, tone accusatory as she looked straight at Dustin.

Lucas clapped a commiserating hand on his shoulder with a quiet, “Best of luck to you.”

He didn’t look all that sorry, though–as well he shouldn’t, in Eddie’s opinion.

And Erica’s piercing gaze did manage to make him falter, slipping past his defensiveness. “That…that’s different.”

“Uh, different how?”

“This is so dumb, we’re getting totally off track.” Rolling his eyes, Mike turned to Steve. “Are you gonna come play with us, or not?”

“Nah, man,” Eddie waved a hand at him in dismissal, wrapping the other around Steve’s elbow. “Eds is gonna stick around over here, playing Pac-Man with me. You’ll hardly miss him. Too busy playing something serious, right?”

“Eddie?” Mike demanded, like there was no way his Dungeon Master would agree to this.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, dude. Like he said–I’ve got more important shit to do.”

Mike and Dustin openly gaped–as if he and Steve hadn’t both been actively pushing back against their asinine bullshit since the moment it got started. It was like they just expected Eddie to turn on Steve at the last second, shout out a Just kidding! and laugh in his face, or something.

The possibility that they might didn’t sit well with Eddie at all.

“There’s four of us anyway,” Erica pointed out. “What were you planning to do, let him steal my spot? Like hell!”

“Stealing is a gross exaggeration.”

“It was just for the first level anyway,” Mike added mulishly.

Seeing that their babysitters weren’t budging, the group began trudging back towards Gauntlet, still arguing amongst themselves.

That sort of morale didn’t bode well for their future quests. So, being the benevolent gamemaster that he was, Eddie decided to send them off with some parting wisdom.

After all…he couldn’t let them get in the last word.

“Oh, but! Before you go. If I may make one teensy, tiny suggestion. I mean, you can do what you want…but. If you were smart,” Eddie spread his hands wide, a gesture meant to draw attention, “you’d let Thrya lead the charge. Only makes sense, right? Her shield’s the strongest, after all, and her sword delivers two times the normal damage.”

Four heads swiveled as one to stare at him with varying levels of shock and suspicion, from Dustin’s gawp to Erica’s careful, narrow-eyed gaze.

Her expression was the first to clear, however, undoubtedly pleased by Eddie’s suggestion that she should be at the head of the pack. “Damn straight!”

“We know that,” Mike huffed snippily, despite the fact that their earlier conversation made it clear they hadn’t been thinking of Thyra at all, “but how the hell would you?”

“Hey, I listen,” Eddie shrugged, shooting for Steve’s nonchalance. “Besides, Eddie never shuts up about the damn thing. I was bound to pick up something eventually.”

Steve jerked his head towards him, that patent Harrington look of concern back. But it was no more than a flash, there and gone almost as quickly as it’d come.

“Well, I mean–that just makes sense, doesn’t it? Thyra goes first, and then, uh…” Steve snapped his fingers together, “Thor can flank her, yeah? Since he’s the best fighter one-on-one.”

Eddie could not turn to stare at Steve, owlish and open-mouthed, without raising more suspicions than he already had–but, Christ, did he want to.

The boys were already nodding, taking on board this latter piece of advice with ease, while Erica tapped her foot impatiently in the background.

“Now, shoo. Off to your battle stations, the grown ups will be over here playing a real game.” Tightening his grip around Steve’s bicep, Eddie practically dragged him away.

Once they were near the Pac-Man machine, at a safe distance away from the party, Eddie finally spun on Steve, what he was sure could only be described as pure glee animating his face.

“Harrington, you dirty dog!” he slapped his arm. “What the hell was that, good sir?”

His surprise clearly delighted Steve, if the smirk turning up his lips was anything to go on.

“What? I told you, I actually do listen to you, you know. It’s just that, sometimes, some of it goes,” Making a whooshing sound, Steve swept a hand just above Eddie's unruly mane, “Right over my head. A couple things actually manage to stick, though. I mean, like how I know you always play that wizard dude, Merlin, yeah? With all the cool spells and shit. Which makes sense, since he’s like…the most magical one in the game.”

“You saying you think I’m magical, Harrington,” Eddie teased.

Steve shrugged. “Well, I mean…what else would you call it? Coming up with all those worlds and characters and stories like you do for your campaigns? Sounds a lot like magic to me, dude.”

There was such plain certainty in his tone, like what he was saying just made sense. Eddie felt his cheeks go warm instantly at the praise–and while he’d certainly admired that sweep of pink on Steve’s face before, was he always this easy to blush? He had a hard enough time not giving himself away as it was, without having to worry about that little telltale sign of exactly what he was feeling.

Steve nudged his shoulder into Eddie’s, a gentle bump. “Just because it’s not my thing doesn’t mean I can’t tell how good you are at it, Eds.”

Tragically, Eddie couldn’t even fully enjoy the sweetness of the moment. Not when the mere thought of just how much certain people seemed to think Steve not sharing those interests meant they could talk down to him automatically darkened his mood.

“Well, uh–just because it’s not your sorta thing also sure as shit doesn’t mean those little chuckleheads should talk to you like that. Jesus Christ. Henderson, man–I knew he had a mouth on him, but he kept acting like you were…”

“What, like I’m an idiot? Yeah,” Steve sighed, trying to rub a hand over the back of his neck and still clearly surprised by the tangle of hair that prevented him, “I know. Dustin’s a little shit sometimes, but…I guess I can be kinda stupid, when it comes to certain things.”

Eddie felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“No, Stevie, you’re not. Not at all, man,” he protested immediately, tone insistent.

“Yeah, no, I know, I know,” Steve agreed, harried. “It’s just…I mean, I totally don’t know jackshit about your nerdy stuff.”

“So? Me, I know fuckall about sports,” Eddie jabbed both thumbs towards his chest, emphatic. “You think that makes me stupid?”

“A little,” Steve answered, smirk teasing.

Letting out a bark of a cackle, Eddie shoved him in the side. “Harrington, man, shut the fuck up.”

“You know what the kids are like. They can be total assholes, when they wanna be, but you just…gotta ignore them, mostly,” Steve tsked, waving a hand through the air in the way one might bat away a particularly annoying swarm of insects. “That’s what I usually do. That, or, you know, give them a little taste of their own medicine, when they really deserve it.”

“Oh, they’re plenty deserving. It’s fucking…mind-bogglingly ungrateful, is what it is. They’ve got no right to treat you like that,” Eddie stewed, his rage from earlier boiling back up anew. “And I hope that little stunt was worth it to them, cuz I’m gonna have Henderson and Wheeler rolling at a disadvantage for the rest of the year.”

Steve turned his face away for a moment. It was that sudden shyness that he sometimes seemed to get around Eddie–the kind he never saw from Steve back in high school–like he couldn’t quite look at him.

“Thanks, man,” he said quietly, patting a hand briefly, gently in the small of Eddie’s back in a show of gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

Especially since Eddie was worried he might have in some way contributed to the problem, the guilt of that possibility gnawing at him.

Letting out a quick sigh, Steve chewed at his bottom lip, clearly still thinking. “With Dustin–I mean, he’s like my little brother. We give each other shit all the time. And that’s fine. I get it, it’s our thing. But, it–it was weird, you know? He was so excited to have me–to have you here. It felt…I don’t know, kinda like it used to? When he still looked up to me.”

Eddie sucked in a breath, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. “Christ, man, I wasn’t kidding when I said he never shuts up about you. He still looks up to you, no question.”

“Sure, but,” Steve shrugged, his small, brittle smile devastating, “guess it’d be kinda nice to have him do it to my face, once in a while.”

In the hospital, during the aftermath of everything, Steve had confessed that he’d been jealous of Eddie too.

At the time, Eddie couldn’t imagine why, but–he got it, now. It had to have felt like Eddie was replacing him, from the outside looking in. Which was fucking…ludicrous, when Eddie knew deep down Dustin hero-worshiped Steve every chance he got. That all the kids did. The way they used to go on and on about the former King of Hawkins High during Hellfire sessions had annoyed him to no end, before.

…But, it turned out that Steve wasn’t actually on the receiving end of those lavish praises, apparently. It was just always out of earshot of the man himself.

“Fuck it,” Eddie smacked a hand against the arcade machine, resolved. “When we’ve got ourselves all sorted out again, I’m gonna need to have a serious talk with that kid. Wheeler, too.”

“Eddie…” Steve drew out his name, his voice wavering, uncharacteristically hesitant, “you seriously don’t have to do that, dude.”

He shook his head, expression steely. “Oh, I’m going to, Stevie. It’s non-negotiable, at this point. After all, I mean–they besmirched Pac-Man’s name. What other choice do I really have?”

That was enough to get Steve to smile–a real one, this time, without even a tinge of bitterness. “Aww, yeah. I love that hungry little guy.”

And at his genuine enthusiasm, Eddie couldn’t help but grin back, wide and toothy.

“Me too, man. Me fucking too.”

“Speaking of–” Steve tilted his head towards the game as he leaned up against it, arms crossing over his chest and his smirk cocky, “you ready to get your ass kicked by me?”

Eddie’s eyes glittered. “Oh, Stevie, buddy, you are so on.”

—

As the machine let out its sad little game over noise, Eddie clenched a fist against his mouth and swore, the neon high scores that popped up on screen making it clear he still hadn’t come anywhere close to beating out Steve.

With an exaggerated hiss and a wince, Steve slapped a hand against his shoulder, condescendingly jocular. “Yeah, better luck next time, dude. Not your fault you’re facing off against the Pac-Man champion.”

Eddie was in the process of revving up to smack talk him right back when Lucas bounded over to them, the rest of the kids shockingly not in tow. As he squinted over Eddie’s shoulders at the scoreboard, Lucas’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, hey, you’re beating Steve!” he gave Steve a congratulatory pat on the back. “I thought that was pretty much impossible.”

And, to the unknowing eye, it certainly looked that way. Despite their own competitive natures, he and Steve had both agreed that switching names would be for the best, lest they at some point attract an audience of onlookers amongst the party–or anybody else, for that matter.

So SMOKINSTEVE was currently taking up the number two spot, a name Eddie had cheekily chosen after vetoing Steve’s own suggestion of just plain Steve as far too boring. EDTHEBOLD sat right above it. When Eddie had explained that he’d stuck with his title of ‘Ed the Banished’ for the past month or so, Steve had just hummed in acknowledgment–and then entered in the alternate he’d chosen without so much as a single comment.

Looking at it made Eddie’s heart clench a tiny bit.

“Sure, okay. I’m in the lead…for now,” Steve conceded. “But give it a couple days, Sinclair. I’ve got a feeling Harrington’s set to make a total comeback. I mean–he’s got game, you know?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that. You’re the nerd, after all, man,” Eddie flashed Steve a too wide grin while he bopped him lightly on the end of the nose, reveling in the rare opportunity to call him such. “This is supposed to be your area of expertise.”

Turning to Eddie, Lucas smiled, bright and hopeful. “Speaking of game–hoops after this, right? We’re still on? I’ve been working on my three pointers, but I could still use some tips from the former co-captain.”

And if Steve using his voice to call out sports terms had stunned him, Eddie honestly felt a little like his brain was flatlining now that he was clearly expected to respond back in jock speak.

“Uh…”

Luckily–or maybe it was the ultimate sign of Eddie’s complete lack of luck, it was kind of hard to say–Steve leaned across him and cut in.

“Of course, dude, he wouldn’t miss it. Steve’s been telling me all about how much better you’ve gotten, even just since you first started out practicing together a few months back.”

“Really?” Lucas’s face lit up, looking at Eddie. "You think so?"

“Totally, man,” Steve answered for him. “He’s, like, super proud of you.”

And he really did look chuffed–every inch the bragging babysitter that he was, even if Lucas was none the wiser.

Come to think of it, Steve definitely had mentioned something about that in the past few weeks. Anything athletic tended to go straight over Eddie’s head–but, for all his protesting, he’d been making an actual real effort to pay closer attention, even when he understood less than half of what Steve had to say.

Because Steve was into it, and he looked so cute anytime he started excitedly rambling on about balls in baskets. Not to mention his general…everything kind of put a real kibosh on what the Munson Doctrine had to say about jocks in general. So Eddie’s code was currently under revision, much like his entire worldview had been ever since Spring Break. As much as he might still put on a show–especially when it came to protesting Steve hijacking his own voice for nonsensical sports jargon–he really was trying to learn, do better.

Which meant that, when Steve elbowed him–not nearly as subtly as he thought–with a pointed, “Isn’t that right, Steve?” there was really only one answer.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. You know, it’s like I always say, you’re, uh, uh…you’re a natural, Sinclair.”

Well…that was a good start followed by what he assumed was a crit fumble when it came to stealth, as he’d tried to come up with a word to describe any specific athletic skill and drawn a total blank.

…Maybe he hadn’t done too bad, though, based on Lucas’s answering beam. And that look on the teen’s face made his piss-poor attempt at bumbling through things all worth it.

“Awesome!” Lucas bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet. “Erica said she wanted to come too, but just to watch. I’m pretty sure she’s planning to heckle us from the stands.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Eddie commented, swallowing hard as he sent Steve an anxious look.

With him out on the court, she’d certainly have plenty of material to work with.

“Guess that makes four of us, then,” Steve gave a quick nod, like he was checking off his mental headcount with all the attentiveness of a parent heading up a school field trip, “since I’m going, too.”

“...You are?” Lucas asked. Unlike the shitshow with Dustin and Mike earlier over the mere suggestion Steve might know a thing or two about arcade games, he didn’t sound condescending or disapproving–but he still blinked over at Steve in surprise.

Which was…totally fair, Eddie wouldn't have believed it either. In fact, the only thing that could tempt him into an amateur basketball game on any normal day was the chance to subtly ogle Steve.

“Sure I am,” Steve answered easily, “wouldn't wanna miss out on Harrington's stellar moves. Isn't that right, Stevie?”

He shot Eddie a wink, leaning into his space with an uncanny imitation of one of Eddie’s Cheshire wide smiles.

They might have bungled it a few times thus far, but that–shit. That was actually a really good impression of him.

…A really good, really flirtatious impression of him.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, did that mean Steve knew Eddie’d been pretty shamelessly flirting with him basically every chance he got since Spring Break?

He let out a somewhat strained laugh, trying to cover for the sudden swirl of confusion inside him at the possibility. “Right. Absolutely, man. Can’t wait to uh…shoot those balls?”

With a flick of his wrists, Eddie did his best imitation of the tosses he’d seen Steve make back in gym class. Even for pretend basketball, he was pretty damn sure his aim was totally off.

As Lucas rushed off to deliver the news to Erica, Steve let out a sound that could only be described as a giggle–a genuine one.

“Don’t sweat it, Munson. I promise I’ll show you the ropes.”

Then, he gave Eddie a quick, firm slap on the ass–the exact same kind he had sometimes seen the jock guys giving each other at the end of a long practice.

No sooner had he felt the sting of it than two deep, red spots bloomed bright on his cheeks.

…Eddie was so fucking doomed.

Part 4

If I accidentally missed you on the taglist, or you'd like to be added or removed, please let me know!

Taglist: @tinytalkingtina @sidekick-hero @thefreakandthehair @lingeringmirth @eriquin

@grimweathers @too-efn-old-to-be-here @stevesworldxx @themellowyellowmomma @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @ellietheasexylibrarian @sharingisntkaren @a-lovely-craziness @highkingpenny

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie bodyswap au #bodyswap au #my writing #my things #my stuff

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xxsycamore · 1 year ago

Text

"I can't have sex with you Arthur, I don't have enough diamonds!!"

Arthur Conan Doyle x f!Reader • rating: M (MDNI) • tags: Breaking the Fourth Wall; Crack; Implied Sexual Content; Suggestive Themes • wordcount: 580 • masterlist

a/n: I've had this crack fic idea since FOREVER, but I think it's relatable at any given time... Tagging @ikemendood for crack content 👉🏻👈🏻

It has been one of these days, when it feels like you and Arthur have been locked in the universe of some kind of action movie. Bizzare and dramatic things have been happening all day long, some that led to miscommunications between you but quickly got resolved with the power of love...

Naturally, eager as you both are to once again prove your love for each other, things begin to get heated at the end of the day.

And then you gasp panically in realization.

"I don't have enough dia for the epilogue!!"

You find yourself pushed down on the bed, but in the last second you manage to block Arthur with your hands so he can't get on top of you yet.

"Hmm?~What did you say, Luv? You know, I've been waiting to have you sprawled under me allll day..."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you let out an agonizing whine at having to disobey your own need. You turn to your side and reach for your cellphone that has been charging on the nightstand.

Arthur blinks, still perplexed that you're using this thing at all. While you could charge it just fine, he wondered what you're using it for in this day and age.

Not to mention at a time like that. While he's right there, ready to devour you.

"Dear?"

You appear to be tapping hurriedly on the thing, blue light illuminating your face as some strange music is produced from the bizarre piece of technology. Without looking at your lover, you struggle to mutter an answer.

"It's- You wouldn't understand."

Arthur remains frozen in his place, observing as the screen flashes, your fingers dancing on it. He sees... test tubes aligned on the screen. They're ...filled with different colored liquid?

You rush to sort them by color as if you're being held at gunpoint. Arthur has never been so confused in his life.

"Luv, you're right, I don't understand. But you could just say if you don't feel in the mood for-"

"NO! I MUST GET THE EPILOGUE AND HAVE SEX WITH YOU TONIGHT!"

"...?"

The sultry conclusion, the epilogue of your day spent together, he figures. His writer's vocabulary might be rubbing off on you. That's kind of endearing, but...

Arthur sits down on his haunches perplexed. Is this some strange form of bedroom roleplay you're introducing him to?

"I must have you, Arthur, I even saw the preview and it was so hot-"

"The preview? You're saying you had a naughty dream about us making love and you want to see it come true? Dirty girl..."

Arthur's distracting words make you mess up in your game, and you have to restart the level. Just a few more and the game will give you a reward in diamonds, then all you need to do would be to watch those annoying daily ads and then it should be enough...

Seeing that his dirty talk has no effect on you, Arthur sighs and moves away from his position. Instead, he lies down next to you, becoming your big spoon as he looks over your shoulder at the game you're so consumed in, seeing that you're not going to pay him any attention before you're done with it.

"It's some kind of puzzle game, isn't it? Maybe you should leave it to me, Luv... in the meantime, why don't you tell me more about that 'preview' you saw of our intimate time together, hmm?"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @princess-pray-a Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp crack #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen fanfic #ikemen crack #ikemen #ikemen series #otome #otome fanfic

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 5 months ago

Note

Have you ever felt the fanbase itself has become too crowded with people who act like they "know better" then the show?

I've noticed this, specially with artist, that while they claim they're "fixing designs", most either "over-complicate" the designs (Despite them looking good) but they also seem to have a little arrogant over it.

I don't hate redesigns, that's not what I'm saying, but seeing people claim they're "better" or are "fixing" designs while over-complicating a design that's supposed to be "simple".

This is a complex question because fan content that attempts to re-imagine some part of canon has traditionally always been called "fix it" content. The term "fix it" has also always been treated pretty neutrally in fan spaces. Traditionally speaking, saying something is a "fix it fic" just means that the fic is directly addressing canon in a way that other works don't. It's the creator saying, "I want to give you a different take on something that canon did." That take usually exists because the creator doesn't like something in canon, but at the same time, it doesn't necessarily mean that the creator thinks that canon should or even could have done the fix. It just means that they want to share their ideal take on the idea.

Because I come to fandom with that history in mind, I don't see a statement like "fixing Ladybug's design" and interpret that to mean, "This is how the show should have designed her as I've taken into account all of the concerns that one must address in animation." I interpret that to mean, "I wasn't a fan of Ladybug's design, so I did my own take on her," because that is traditionally what "fix it" was shorthand for. It's not a technical evaluation or competitive standing. It's a genre.

This history seems to be ignored in parts of the Miraculous fandom and that completely threw me off when I entered the fandom. It still throws me off! I have no idea what's going on around here!

While many Miraculous fans are using "fix it" in the traditional sense, there also seem to be groups that see "fix it" as some sort of direct letter to the writers/designers showing them what they should have done. To add further complications, one sub group of Miraculous fans is USING "fix it" in that context, which is an issue I will get to in a minute. The other sub group is INTERPRETING the words "fix it" in that context and I can't change that. I can just tell you that this is straight up bizarre to me because what are you supposed to label fix it content if we can't use the words "fix it"? Why are you ignoring decades of fandom history? You are reading way too much into those words!

I don't know if it's because Miraculous skews younger or if it's because of fandom drama that predates my entry to the fandom (I'm a COVID convert, so I didn't get here until after season 3) or if I've just been lucky in the past, but both the reverence and the hatred towards Miraculous canon is highly unusual compared to what I've seen in other fandoms. I'm more used to fanworks having a tone of loving irreverence or mild annoyance where canon is seen as a series of optional writing prompts that you can do with what you will. The reason for that tone has a lot to do with the fact that it's wildly unfair to compare canon to fanon, especially when it comes to visual media.

The fun of fandom spaces is that we can create without the limits that stifle professional productions. It doesn't matter if our stories are marketable or if the designs we come up with fit a theoretical budget or if we only produce a new chapter/drawing once a year. This means that, yes, fan works often have the ability to surpass canon! At the same time, it's rarely fair to make that comparison on a technical/competitive level. I will criticize Miraculous for many things, but here are some of really basic challenges that the show writers face that I - a fanfic writer - never will:

I can use as many sets as I want, the writers are limited to the settings that have been animated

I can make my stories as long or as short as they need to be, the writers have to make the story episodic enough to fit a 20-minute run time while also drawing things out for at least 8 seasons

I can write a story that doesn't have an akuma attack, the show has a very clear rule that every episode needs to contain a fight sequence

I can put the characters in whatever outfit I want, the writers cannot because every outfit needs to be animated

I can take my time plotting out my story from start to finish and even go back and edit things if I feel like it, the writers have hard deadlines and things get set in stone very quickly

The list goes on, but it can be summed up to: as an independent creator, I can do anything I can imagine. I am only limited by my own talent. Meanwhile, the writers of an animated show for kids have to follow very strict guidelines due to things beyond their control such as budget concerns and network rating guidelines. We are not the same. You should not compare us on a technical level.

This is where we circle back to the whole "using fix it as a way to directly criticize canon and show the creators what they should have done" thing. That's not a take that I'm ever going to be comfortable with because fix it content rarely tries to fit the same confines or deal with the same instability that canon is subjected to. If you use fix it like that, then you are taking the concept too far. You're also being quite arrogant.

If I see someone do this, I tend to assume that they're pretty young or that, at the very least, they know absolutely nothing about how TV shows work. What you see on the screen is often not what the creator would have given you under ideal circumstance. Some of the best examples of this come from times when a creator was given pretty ideal conditions only to then have less than ideal conditions when the property was revisited as that highlights that you really can't just blame the writers. The most well known examples that come to mind are Avatar the Last Airbender vs its sequel Korra and Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings vs his Hobbit movies.

For a really in depth discussion of LotR vs The Hobbit, you can go watch Lindsay Ellis' fantastic documentary for free on youtube. For this post, I'll just go into the high level stuff of Avatar vs Korra.

Avatar asked for three seasons and magically got three seasons. Korra was supposed to be a 13-episode miniseries, but was expanded to four seasons after season one was done. The show then had budget cuts that messed with the last season due to poor performance. Shockingly, Avatar was the better show. I wonder why? Just imagine what Korra could have been if it had been given four seasons from the start!

At the very least, I can guarantee you that writers wouldn't have ended all of season one's plot lines in the season one finale, leaving them to start from scratch with season two which is generally considered the worst season. Once again, I wonder why?

Because of all that, I wouldn't be surprised if there's a fix it fic out there that takes all of Korra and reworks it to make everything flow better. I wouldn't even be surprised if I find that fic to be better than canon because the fic was only limited by the writer's talent. On the other hand, the actual show was massively limited by things beyond the writers' control, meaning that it's overall quality issues are less a condemnation of the writers and more a representation that even awesome writers can't perfectly adjust on the fly when networks meddle.

Of course, Korra doesn't have extremely fundamental writing flaws like Miraculous does, but the principle remains the same. I can point out Miraculous' flaws with certainty, but I cannot necessarily fix them with certainty. That's assuming too much.

But there are different types of criticism and different ways of engaging with the source material. What I do on this blog is mostly focused on high level discussion of the show's flaws and spit balling ways to fix them without really committing to anything. I'm not telling you how the show should have been written. I'm just pointing out flaws and talking about the things I think the writers could have changed or accounted for, though it is always possible that I'm wrong and this was caused by something outside of the writing circle.

That's why I rarely mention anyone by name. I cannot point a finger and say "this is the person who ruined Lila's potential and this is why they did it." I can just tell you that Lila was poorly executed when she didn't need to be. I don't want you to send this blog to the writers, but generally speaking, it is the kind of feedback that I'd be comfortable giving them if they hired me as an editor or script doctor. When I act in those roles, I'm much nicer than I am on here because I know that the writer will actually read what I say, but I am just as brutal about pointing out flaws because that's what I signed on to do. I'm not here to stroke your ego, I'm here to work with you and help you improve your story.

When I write fix it fics - and I have several - I am engaging in a very different type of criticism. I'm not discussing specific flaws in canon and telling you how to address them within the limits of the show. Instead, I'm giving you my ideal version of a given concept from the show so that you can hopefully enjoy it and maybe even use to find some catharsis for a thing that you also didn't like. I'll also change things about the show just to keep things interesting or to be highly self indulgent. For example, I avoid umbrella scenes in my stuff even though I think that the canon umbrella scenes are cute and well written. It's because they're so iconic that I do something different! Why revisit them when I have nothing to add? I'd just be copy canon! It's more fun to do something new since there are other ways to have Marinette and Adrien fall in love.

It's a very nuanced type of criticism because it's true that these stories only exists because I'm saying that canon did something wrong and I want to show you how it could have been better. But I'm also not limiting myself to the confines of canon or even just improving canon to make my argument, so it's impossible to compare them on a technical level. That's not why I write fix it fic, though. I have this blog so that I can discuss writing concepts and how to learn from Miraculous' failures. I write fix it fics to have fun and indulge my imagination. For example, I have a fic that's basically my ideal take on Chat Blanc and there's no way that would work in the context of canon. In the context of canon, I'd suggest far more minor changes or even tell them to scrap the episode all together.

Be it fix it content or more high level critical analysis like I do on this blog, it's important to remember that canon isn't going to change. Even if we could sit the writers down and convince them of everything that they did wrong and everything that they should do to fix it, they can't actually enact those changes. The story is already out there and time machines aren't a thing. But that's not what fandom content is about. Blogs like this are for people who enjoy thinking about stories critically and discussing how and why they fail. Good fix it content is all about saying, "I didn't like canon and think it would be better if X happened" or even "I liked canon, but got this idea about how it could be different" and then sharing the idea with other fans. This is because any and all fan content is for the fans (and former fans), not the creators.

So yes, I think it's valid to make fan content that "improves" canon. I even think it's valid to compare it to canon in a casual manner as that's just a natural thing that humans do. Give me two versions of something and I will automatically compare them and probably even pick a favorite. The thing that you need to be careful about, the nuance that you have to keep in mind, is that fandom is a casual space to have fun with other fans and to create whatever our talents will allow us to create. When we use terms like "fix it" or say that we like something better than canon, that context needs to be kept in mind. I will never be concerned by a reader telling me that they liked one of my stories more than they liked canon or that they wish that canon had also included a concept I've played with. That's just a statement of preference. I only get concerned when I get comments about how "the writers should read this so they can learn from you" because I didn't write it to teach them. I wrote it to have fun with my fellow fans and that is true for every bit of fandom content I produce.

I know that was long, but hopefully it answered your question? My main draw to fandom spaces is fix it content, so this is something I'm pretty passionate about. If I think that a piece of media is perfect, then I don't seek out fan content for it. I only join fandoms on those rare occasions when media hits that sweet spot of good enough to grab my attention, but bad enough/lacking something to not fully satisfy me.

#ml fandom salt #ml fandom critical #nuance!#momo-neko #I'm gonna start doing that asker tag thing I see other blogs do because I wanna be like the cool kids #Never really got the whole “write for yourself” thing especially in the context of fanfic #If no one was reading my stuff I'd switch to original fiction #Which isn't to say that writing fanfic for yourself isn't valid #It's just not why I write fanfic

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utilitycaster · 11 months ago

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@just-a-moon-phase replied to your post “I have a lot of things in fandom I'd call "Brown...”:

please OP, where is the theory... I am listening...

re: having a theory about why using non-canon nicknames cor characters specifically tends to be technically harmless and minor but also is really frequently a signal that someone's takes will be bad:

I think it's that it's both a quick shortcut to indicate intimacy, but it's also really generic and often out of character for those doing it.

To use Caleb as an example: not only did various German speakers in the fandom (of which I am not one) say that it's just not really a common thing linguistically/culturally, the nicknames people tended to use (usually at the time for Veth) were intended by the writers to be fond and platonic but were often either the sort of thing you'd only say in a romantic context, or else were nicknames very much intended for one's own children.

However, more importantly, Caleb very, very specifically doesn't really use nicknames in canon. He in fact frequently calls Beau "Beauregard". During a very emotional moment at the time of her transformation, he specifically uses Nott/Veth's full name. He refers to two of the characters we know he had romantic feelings for, Jester and Essek, by only their last names on at least one occasion, which reads to American audiences as either formal or perhaps fratty, but distinctly not romantic. As @essektheylyss said at some point, Caleb tends to use epithets a lot though mostly when talking about someone in the third person (eg: "our Kryn friend,") and the closest we ever get to any term of endearment is him saying "my friend," which again sounds quite formal. Caleb in general gets more formal with those he loves, not less. It's a great character detail, and anyone who peppers "spatz" into their fic like it's going out of style kind of comes off as, to put it kindly, not very good at finding characters' voices. Unfortunately, that is in my opinion literally one of like two things you cannot fuck up in fanfic for it to be good; if you don't get the voice right, then even if it succeeds as a story it fails utterly as fanfiction.

Anyway Caleb is a really good illustrative example because it's so clear from canon that this isn't his voice, but it applies anywhere. It's a sign that this person is cutting corners instead of actually establishing a base from which there will be a rewarding payoff.

(will say: this also, bizarrely, often applies to people who called Trent Ickythong/Ickythot or people who call Ludinus Luda, though it's much less reliable there. I feel it's similarly like, people who rely on shortcuts and the idea that the fandom will agree with them because these are clear villains, and never actually go deep enough to come up with an argument. Like in the end it always just feels like a cheap and insubstantial discussion.)

#just-a-moon-phase #cr tag

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azelmaandeponine · 3 months ago

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Why I M O, Pokeshipping is dead. ( kinda hot take, sorry pokeshippers. ) So, pokeshipping. The very 1st ship in the Pokemon anime’s history. I personally am not a fan of it, I did watch the original anime, and I personally don’t like misty’s character. It was off putting to me.

Now as to what your here for, what killed pokeshipping. There are 3 main contributors to the death of pokeshipping.

1.) The length of time from when misty was replaced to now,

2.) Serena and Amourshipping

3.) The Pokémon sun and moon anime

The length of time from when misty was replaced to now. Now while this might not have been much of an issue if the other 2 bullet points didn’t exist, it has been over a decade at this point, since we last saw misty, meaning that we have a severe lack in character development, and that gives time for other potentially better ships to be created, which leads me to my next point,

Serena and Amourshipping. Possibly one of the biggest ships right now, (which at this point isn’t going to fizzle out anytime soon. ) With Amourshipping going so far, as to introduce a major plot point in ash’s story by having Serena be his childhood acquaintance, many other points that multiple poketubers like Catch ‘Em All Saul, bring up in their videos from years past, to the kiss, and even the writers basically confirming the darn thing.

Amourshipping Confirmed?

So at this point, ( unless they throw all that away, which please. Don’t. ) there is next to no hope of pokeshipping to ever become cannon, which is only further proven by my last point,

The Pokémon sun and moon anime. Now, this is honestly the iceberg that sank the ship, because Brock and Misty returned twice in the Sun and Moon anime, which I’m pretty sure was for let’s go promotion. Now this is where all hope is lost for pokeshipping because even though they returned twice, Misty had literally zero emotional moments with ash whatsoever. No pokeshipping pandering, no flashbacks, nothing. Here’s another video explaining that further.

They did Misty DIRTY!

Now while the only good thing to come out of the re-return episodes was Brock possibly finally finding a girlfriend,

Brock x Olivia

This was the point of no return for Misty and pokeshipping in general. Misty, even though she returned twice, in the most recent anime, had literally no development, and nothing to show how she grew as a character since her absence, her return seems pointless and devoid of substance, and with another ship still gaining popularity at an exponential rate, I’m sorry pokeshippers, but,

It’s time to pay your respects, and move on.

RIP pokeshipping

1997-2023

This is so weird.

I watched the anime, and I found Serena far more off-putting than Misty, since...she inexplicably had some bizarre backstory with Ash (despite being from Kalos), and that backstory was "she knew him for like five minutes but still has a crush on him for some reason". It doesn't help that instead of talking out her issues with Rhyhorn Racing with her mother like a normal person, she just bitches out her mom. But I figured, hey, a point for growth!

Then that didn't happen. Her crush ended up so overblown and obsessive it didn't feel natural (especially not for a ten year old), and her mother was proven right in the end about Serena giving up on stuff too easily. Also, the person Serena ACTUALLY had chemistry with (Shauna) was shoved aside in order to try and force @mourshipping.

Also the idea that Pokeshipping is dead due to Misty's return in SuMo (years ago) is...a wild take.

Additionally, Misty also returned in Journeys.

Also Ash isn't even in the anime anymore???

Anyway! Since this is pretty easy to check:

Pokeshipping is the top Pokeani ship on AO3. It's followed in second place by Journeyshipping. The platonic relationship between Ash and Pikachu has more fics on AO3 than @mourshipping does. If Pokeshipping is REALLY dying out in favor of @mourshipping, then why does @mourshipping have less fics on AO3 than BOTH Pokeshipping AND Journeyshipping?

#anon #fandumb #ao3 #pokemon #pokeani #anti amourshipping #pokeshipping #unhinged anon #i have my suspicions abt this anon

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novantinuum · 4 months ago

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Which one is knowing, loving, being? Is that one about the blorbo Steven?

Yessss ahahah, this is the one with the Gem Steven design I won't shut up about on discord XD

(thank you for taking my bait and asking me about this fiUSHKFNSUGJH my evil plan worked)

E eeeeee *cracks knuckles* time to RAMBLE! I am so excited about this one, lmaooo. If you're wondering where all my "Crack the Paragon update progress" energy went these past few months, I am so sorry besties- but it got funneled to this project instead. I need to finish this goddamn fic by the end of the year like I need air.

The tl;dr of it all is that this story is my adult human!Steven/gem!Steven/Connie propaganda piece, and also a place to explore my personal take on how Steven works like,,, biologically,,, as a bizarre hybrid of two beings who are fused but also Not Really. Certainly not in the way fusion works for OTHER people.

Mind you, this fic is very NSFW, as will be the snippit I share- so the rest of my rambles will go under a cut. You have been warned.

Okay, so the broad strokes. This one's gonna be 4 chapters-

Chapter one will focus on a recently married 23 yr old Steven heading out to Rose's Room so he can work through some mental bullshit regarding the split he experienced as a kid. That trauma still lingers all these years later, and there's still so much he doesn't fully understand about... about what happened. About being outright cleaved in two. He ends up having the Room conjure a cloud version of his Gem half- the most unfamiliar and alien one of the two, to him- so he can try and talk out his confusions.

Chapter two features Steven nosediving into an obsession over an impulsive kiss he shared with that friggin' cloud version of his Gem half, and one thing kinda just leads to another, and well- said obsession ends with his component halves briefly split apart so they can fuckin' bang to work through whatever crunchy ass emotions they've got all stewed up in there. Progress wise, I am at this part of the fic right now, and I am having a lot of fun making this segment as "emotions and stimuli all mixed together" and intentionally confusing as I can. I am taking the depiction of "split POV" we had in Change Your Mind VERY seriously and literally, because I haven't seen too many writers dare to try.

Chapter three is mostly like, an interlude chapter- it's the aftermath of chapter two, where a confused and sheepish Steven opens up to his wife Connie about what he just experienced. In my head, my version of Steven is VERY demisexual, so he's like... just as "huh" as anyone else about what just took place. He and Connie talk shit out, and then Connie is basically like "baby. sweetheart. love of my life. why the HELL would you rip out your own gem like that, and MORE IMPORTANTLY, why would you ever do that when i'm not here to help you if things went wrong??" By the end of the convo though, Steven extends an open invitation for Connie to join in at some point and enjoy some intimacy as the three of them, both of his component halves and her.

Chapter four is entirely about that precise encounter, both the planning and the actual sex. The broad purpose I have in mind here is to showcase how such an encounter is something that's innately healing for them as a couple, in the way they get to re-contextualize this scenario in tones of love and trust and willful choice... as opposed to the horrid experience of being ripped apart by another's hand. I also just want them to get WEIRD about it, because like. Come on. Steven's half-alien. He (and the organic and Gem who combine to MAKE him) deserves to be weird about himself and the way he interacts with his own sexuality. And you just KNOW Connie would be into that. There is a lot of genital shapeshifting here, and they have a fucking great time.

I have overtly had the extremely general sketch of this idea floating around in my head since 2019, but never had the guts to actually tackle it until now. Now, though... I've actually gotten some practice with writing smut and feel confident in my ability to swing these scenes in the way I envision them, AND I finally have a circle of people who are down to talk about Steven being really goddamn weird about himself lmafo. Like, it's 2024, I'm allowed to ship selfcest if I want, fuck you.

But yes, chapter 1 is already done at 5.3K words, and I've got a solid 7.4K on chapter 2 (and rising.) For my actual WIP share, here is a snippit I recently wrote for chapter 4, working ahead a bit-

“So this is your idea of a big finale, huh?” he says with an impish smirk as he reads the last item on the list, a healthy dose of humor lightening his words. “Both of them fucking like rabid animals in heat as you merely lounge on the bed and watch?” “Oh, shut up,” she bites back, unable to even look her dear husband in the eye as she clunks her head down on the kitchen table, her cheeks burning like she’s destined to crumble to cinders amidst her own personal inferno of runaway lust. But Steven, damn that ridiculous man, won’t let her live this down. Ugh. Of course he wouldn’t. “Now, tell me… how long have you been secretly dreaming of this scenario?” She groans, mumbling her shameful little response straight into the table mat. “Only like… every other night since I saw you fall apart…” His rumbly chuckle— brimming with unquestioned warmth and just a tinge of bashfulness at the sheer risqué inanity of this never-before-spoken revelation— rings loud and clear, coating the whole room in its dense, chocolatey tenor. “What?” Connie whines as she snaps upright, her hands fidgeting on the table in the throes of such excruciating embarrassment. “What exactly’s so funny about that? I’m being very brave and vulnerable about this, you know!” He raises a placating hand, pushing himself through the final notes of his laughter before moving to respond. “Sorry, sorry, I promise I’m not making fun, it’s just— I guess you never really struck me as the, uh… the voyeuristic type?” “Does that… bother you?” she frowns, tilting her head a little. “The idea of me just… watching? I— it’s only a suggestion, we can always take it off, if you—” “No, I’m okay with it. Depending on how we set things up, I think it could be pretty hot. In fact…” Steven grabs for a pencil, and— waggling his eyebrows at her— begins to write one last line on their collective beat sheet. “I actually have a little idea of my own that I think would be fun to try out during this…”

#nova rambles #ask meme #2024 is my selfcest supporting era

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emeryhall · 5 months ago

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Ten Questions for Writers

Thank you @artsyunderstudy @messofthejess and @roomwithanopenfire for the tags!

How many works do you have on AO3? 12

What’s your total AO3 word count? 393,555 (and I only started writing in March 2023!)

What fandoms do you write for? Carry On and Harry Potter (specifically wolfstar)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Hell fucking yes. Comments are my bread and butter. I love hearing people's thoughts on chapters; sometimes they even influence choices I make in the story (see @thewholelemon's Bleak House/spontaneous combustion suggestion in ALBD). I feel like if readers are taking the time to leave comments, I need to take the time to respond. That's what builds community, and community may be the most important aspect of fandom.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? no

Have you ever co-written a fic before? YES! I see most people are answering "no" to this question and I want to encourage y'all to try it! @hihimissamericanbi and I co-wrote our little Drarry baby PWP, show me how you like it. Apart from the fact that kudos-wise it is the most popular thing I've written and my only fic to have over 10K hits, it was really fun to write together, and I think Celine and I got to know each other better in the process. We beta-ed each other's sections, and I know she improved mine. So yeah, the next time your mutual posts "I think I might write some Drarry smut," you should always respond with, "I've got this idea that involves a Pensieve."

What’s your all-time favourite ship? snowbaz or wolfstar (sorry! don't make me Sophie's Choice this)

What are your writing strengths? comedy, smut (or as I like to see it, not smut for smut's sake, but smut as a driving factor in the plot and emotional development of the characters), dialogue, action sequences, plot development, descriptive language, unique and sometimes bizarre concepts

What are your writing weaknesses? I would like to continue improving my plots. Honestly, I think I might step out of fandom for a moment and write my own characters because I think it's so easy (and necessary) to shorthand characterization and character development in fanfic. I'd like to force myself to begin a character from the ground up, so I'm not relying on readers being already invested in them.

First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter/wolfstar

Tagging: @bookish-bogwitch @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @cutestkilla @thewholelemon @hihimissamericanbi

@monbons @mooncello @shrekgogurt @orange-peony @larkral

#tag game

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lady-phasma · 2 years ago

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Phazzie could you please explain the appeal of Aemond? In great detail please and thanks

I can and I would be honored! I have been saving this one until I could really dig into it. Thanks for your patience, anon.

I'll start with the hair and get it out of the way. Targaryen hair. Now that's done we can move on to why Aemond is such an appealing character for so many in the HotD fandom.

Aemond doesn't have very much screen time and that makes him a bit mysterious. It also makes him fun for fic writers because there is so much blank space to fill in until the next season. You asked for "great detail" so I think the best place to start is with younger Aemond because that part of his character sets a solid foundation for aged-up Aemond who is the primary focus of the Aemond stans.

This kid is complex! Not going into controversies about bullying or whether his actions were justified, objectively Aemond was designed to be more than a one-dimensional character. Your question wasn't about why people hate him but I have to mention that his claiming of Vhagar is the point where fans seem to begin to disagree. However, that such a moment can be so divisive is evidence that it is crucial to his character development.

Back to his appeal. Until this decision is made Aemond is a kind of privileged underdog. He shows disappointment that he was not expected to fulfill any princely duties as his brother is. He is pushed aside as a second son. He isn't a true underdog because, well, he's a Targaryen prince but he has been given a hurdle that is perceived by other characters to be a major disadvantage: he does not have a dragon. For Targaryen royalty that's an embarrassment as well. We all know about the Pink Dread but it's deeper than that.

He makes a rash decision to claim Vhagar at the first opportunity. He's a kid, they act before they think. But he succeeds. Vhagar allows this princeling to ride her. I may not be a good judge of character but dragons are, they know if the rider has the mettle it takes to ride them.

So here's this kid, who lacks for nothing but a dragon, and he finally gets one... under the most inconsiderate circumstances possible. Yup, at Laena's funeral. Kids aren't smart or thoughtful as a rule. Regardless of the 'why's and placing blame, little dude ends up losing an eye by the hand of his nephew Lucerys. Now Westeros is no longer his oyster. A damaged prince, a "cripple" as Bran Stark puts it, and a second son who will have even less duty placed upon him. He's still not to be pitied and he is still privileged beyond imagining, but now his complexity becomes more interesting.

Let's jump ahead. What makes this bizarre, cocky, one-eyed price so likable? Especially when about half of aged-up Aemond's screen time is sass and being rude and literally shoving people. All of that, that's what.

Aemond's appeal is his lack of fucks. He has none to give. He lost them all with his eye. Yes, he loves his mother, honors his father, brother, and sister (don't come at me I'm sure he loves them too). He also worked hard to make sure that he could be arrogant. He didn't wake up a badass. He strove for it. He earned his cockiness. He doesn't give a shit about tourneys because tournaments are for pretty knights who wear armor and ask for favors. He needs no armor, he even discards his shield and still bests a man wielding a morning star. He antagonizes his nephews immediately because he is hyper-aware of his surroundings and planned his words carefully to instill the most insecurity in them as possible.

You might be asking 'how on earth is that appealing?' Well, because the average viewer has to give fucks, day in and day out. His air of superiority is something very few people can get away with without alienating everyone around them. This is why fiction is fun. He is superior and he knows it.

He has no plans to overthrow his brother for the crown but this man knows, and I mean knows, that he is better suited to be king. He knows he is better at everything. Is he right? That's irrelevant for most fans. This grandiosity is sexy. Not only in a sexual attraction kind of way. It's gravitas.

Yet all of that comes from this thin, graceful, precise young man with only one eye. Can you see the juxtaposition, the contradiction, that has been set up for this character? He is, by Westerosi standards, a broken thing. He inhabits a nebulous space, a space not yet concretized by the series, that requires nothing from him while also requiring everything from him.

On top of all of this is a fierce need to rectify what he sees as injustices. He is an ass when he makes his 'strong' pun, as princes can be. He isn't a lovely, compassionate person who rises above, takes the 'high road,' or 'turns the other cheek.' That is appealing as well because it's not how viewers get to navigate their own world. They have to bite their tongues and be the better person. Aemond doesn't have to at all.

To wrap up this monster answer, I want to skip to Storm's End and no, not the chomp, a bit before that. Viewers see Aemond as this rakish, cavalier, sexy Targaryen but I have my doubts that he is viewed that way in the narrative. Lord Borros's daughter isn't fanning herself and melting into a puddle at his feet. He might have Targaryen hair (you knew I couldn't mention it only once) but he is not at all "traditionally" handsome, not as he could have been perhaps, again by Westerosi standards, if he had not lost his eye.

Viewers see him as extremely sexy, again that gravitas as much as his appearance, but aren't frightened of him. The fourth wall protects the viewers from the frightening aspects of Aemond's personality, shields them. And that is the space from which all the appeal emerges. I think I've done pretty well so far to not say "I like this or that" about Aemond. I'm going to do it now. I find him appealing because he is unpredictable. I could very well be frightened of him. I'm not special. I only have a special viewpoint: from behind the fourth wall. His unpredictability makes him interesting (like claiming Vhagar at a funeral) and it makes him a bit dangerous. Of course I think he is beautiful, but that's not the je ne sais quoi of him. What Aemond does that few characters in HotD seem to be doing is making viewers genuinely curious. How that curiosity is expressed is as varied as the fans. Some hate him because he is enigmatic, others love him and project their needs onto him, some want him to be one-dimensional and perhaps evil, and nearly all of them wait with bated breath to find out what he will do next.

#aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #asked and answered #hotd #house of the dragon #Targaryen hair is a sexuality #no teams just a crazy dragon soap opera that i am obsessed with #vhagar #ewan mitchell

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wispmotherr · 5 months ago

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so a couple days back @signalterminated responded to my call for prompts with an idea about III or IV transforming into a monster/eldritch horror type situation and while a horror writer i am not, i had a loose concept/scene from a fic that i ultimately chose to not pursue that i doctored up a bit and turned into something that's meant to come off as 'IV descending into madness as he slowly realizes he's joined a magical cult and why are we wearing masks now? or something'. i don't think it's exactly what you were after, my friend, but it's what i came up with, for worse or worse. enjoy.

Vessel had never been very forthcoming about what might happen to them, if they devoted themselves to Sleep.

At first there had only been promises, vague and hopeful and so, so enticing. Promises of belonging and finding purpose and the insinuation of happiness and that had been enough for the three men to join him and forego any questions, enough even for them to drop the names their families had given them and pick up the numerical mantles the man who had only ever called himself Vessel gave them.

‘What’s a name, anyway?’ he’d asked as he told each man their number. ‘Besides an anchor to the things that haunt you?’

And they’d agreed. They’d agreed and accepted their new names and everything seemed fine because, for a while, it was. Because it didn’t take long for them to find those things Vessel had promised, that he said Sleep could give them.

Of course they all found them in different ways, in different degrees but they each of them had their belonging and purpose and happiness so it didn’t bother them that they were living these new lives in an ancient, crumbling manor hidden away in the woods, kept apart from the world at large. They had each other, they had Vessel and they wanted for nothing; their only work was carrying out and aiding in the bizarre but seemingly harmless rituals as their enigmatic prophet instructed. It seemed like there was no price to pay for these new lives, outside of their professed devotion to Sleep and their obedience to its high priest.

But one day, things changed.

It started with II, when he went missing for a week.

It was as though he’d utterly vanished from the manor and the grounds and while IV and III searched for him, pleaded with Vessel to tell them where he’d gone, to call the authorities, to show a modicum of concern that their friend was gone without a fucking trace, the tall man simply told them that he was finding himself, and he’d be back soon. III had raged at the man, and in the moments where III threw insults and accusations at Vessel and the other man said nothing in response to any of the vile things hurled his way, IV couldn’t help but feel a sense of lurching dread seeping into his bones. Because as III grew more and more angry, he could hear the anger in his voice begin to fester into fear, and soon his words were loud and teetering on panicked and each slice of his words fell on an indifferent, stoic target and that’s what unnerved IV the most. That Vessel seemed so beyond concern with what III was saying or what might have happened to II; it felt like a complete 180 from the man who had shown so much compassion for them, who had brought them together in this place.

But even with his deepening dread, something in III’s bladed words stirred something in IV; it was like a veil shifting in a delicate wind, and with each shift of the veil, slips of that wind reached IV, caressing his mind as if to shake him out of a dream and allowing him to think clearly for just a moment before a fog eagerly rolled back into his thoughts.

Had Vessel always worn that mask? What did he look like beneath it?

Why was Vessel’s skin painted so dark? It made him look like he was made up of the spaces between stars, endless and cold. How long had he been painting his own hands and forearms the same way? And III?

Why did it not feel like paint on his skin? Why did it stain him so thoroughly? Why did this change not frighten him?

When had he last heard his name? What was his name? What were III’s and II’s names, why couldn’t he remember them?

When did II get back, and why was he wearing that mask?

That last thought stuck hard and the shifting veil and the wind ceased to exist as IV barked out a sound of surprise, cutting off III’s vitriol. They rushed forward to their friend, taking him by the shoulders and chiding him for not telling them where he’d gone, for making them worry. II only gently, placidly patted III’s face with his hand, his eyes unfocused and dream-like behind his mask as he murmured that III would understand for himself soon.

And as if nothing had happened, II stepped past the two men and silently followed behind Vessel, leaving the others alone in the large, empty foyer of the manor.

IV looked to III, dread still crawling in his veins and the taller man was staring at his hands, a distant and troubled look on his face. When he looked up to meet IV’s gaze, his expression was stark and unreadable and he stared and stared at IV.

The next week, III went missing.

IV had torn through the grounds and the manor proper, calling for III. He never once saw II or Vessel and as his search grew longer and longer, tears stung IV’s eyes, born of frustration not aimed so much at the fact that he felt so profoundly alone in his search, in his corner for the other man, but at the creeping realization that he was trying desperately to hold onto the panic and worry and fear he knew he should be feeling, that he vaguely recalled feeling when II had gone missing.

Now, though, he somehow couldn’t quite hold tightly enough onto those feelings and they slipped from him like sand through fingers, or a fish from a palm. Only when he rounded a corner and saw II standing outside the library was he able to fully hold onto those feelings and they crashed into him all at once - overwhelming and staggering, the sensation of it all rooting him in place but chasing reason from his mind. The shorter man was watching the closed doors, as if he’d just knocked and was waiting to be let in. In silence he turned to IV, preemptively holding a finger in front of his mask where his mouth should be.

At the same moment, something crashed loudly inside the library behind the closed double doors and IV was instantly back to himself and his worry flew to the front of his mind. Worried, worried, worried… for what? No, no, no… for who. He’d been looking for someone, he needed to find them…

III.

IV pressed his weight against the thick oak door, opening it to reveal the expansive room and his mouth dropped at what he saw inside.

The library was a disaster; shelves demolished or torn from the wall, books in shreds and scattered, the floor and walls streaked with dark, ink-like stains that shone in the faint light. Something moved near a far corner of the space and IV’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of it, blind panic taking control of him to freeze him in place.

Whatever the… thing before him was, it was long and serpentine, black scales iridescent in the waning light. Its massive, thick body was coiled up on itself, constantly moving and writhing as if in pain, as if staying still would somehow hurt it. Along its body he caught sight of claws on long, hawk-like legs, the tips of the obsidian-dark talons digging into the wood floor, clawing deep gouges into the planks. A rattling growl shuddered through the beast’s form and IV traced his gaze along its body, finally finding the head of the monster, swaying in the same perpetual motion of its body. Despite being curled into itself, the thing was easily twice IV’s height, if the other two long, talon-tipped legs were any hint. From where he stood, he could see that the front-most set grappled at the floor, splintering wood and paper beneath them. Above those limbs, a ruff of feathers circled its cylindrical body; draped on its shoulders as if it was wearing a mantle made of shards of an oil slick. Above that, on a short neck hidden by the feathers, rested a skull. It was some sort of animal, too big to be anything real and short snouted and full of blunted teeth, with large fangs towards the front of its mouth. A larger set sprouted from the top jaw while a smaller but no less fearsome set jutted up from the bottom. The jaw of the thing opened and closed as if to imitate speech, and the clatter of bone against bone echoed in the otherwise silent room. Eerily, its skull wasn’t the usual stark white; instead it was a dull stone-black, giving it the appearance of being carved of rock rather than being composed of anything organic. Its eye sockets were empty, but the dark within them seemed alive in a way that IV could not and did not want to consider.

The beast had pressed itself into the corner of the library, its entire body heaving with every panting breath it took; the dark hollows where its eyes ought to be fixed towards the doorway where IV and II stood, its true focus far beyond it. The shorter man gently grabbed his elbow as if to pull him back, but IV, just as gently, pulled his arm from his touch.

Even in the low light cast from candles that hadn’t fallen victim to the beast’s evident rampage, he could now tell that the dark stains he’d spotted upon first opening the door was blood smeared all over the floor, and his heart thudded in his chest. Where was III, and who did the blood belong to?

A low growl from the monster dragged his attention back to it and he watched as it seemed to coil tighter onto itself, the sound emanating from it rattling and needling: like a winter wind through dead trees, like a pebble skittering against other rocks. The monster made the sound again, a little louder this time and there was an anger at the foundation of the sound, an anger that was teetering into fear.

Despite the ice-cold panic the sound roused from him, despite the terror the thing before him invoked in him, IV stepped into the room. No response from the monster. He took a tentative step towards it, unable and yet also unwilling ot take his eyes from it. There had been something... familiar under that last rattling growl. Something pleading in the warning it seemed to carry.

“I can hear you,” he said quietly to the beast and it shifted again. IV paused, thinking it might have moved to put itself in position to strike at him, to end him where he stood but somewhere deep in his mind the veil shifted.

It was moving as if trying to get further away from him, as if it was afraid of him.

It growled again, this time the sound edged with a sadness that IV knew he’d heard before. Flashes of the first nights they’d all spent in the manor, when they’d laid their souls bare for one another. IV would never forget the way III had sounded as he’d told his story, the despair that tinged every word, the sadness that had been at the core of him, then. IV frowned a little and took another few steps towards the monster, it’s scales flashing red and gold and orange in the faint, flickering light. “This is…”

“IV, don’t-” II’s voice was tight, and IV turned to look at him. For a moment, the two men locked eyes and there was a clarity in II’s gaze that IV thought might have been missing lately, but the sinking horror of that realization ebbed in him like sand in the wind. In a thought that moved through him as if it were trapped in mud, IV wondered what the other man knew and wasn’t telling him, what he hadn’t told III.

IV could feel something like rage flare in him but it was gone in the same moment, II blinking placidly at him. IV turned back to face the thing, its rattling growl filling the room again. IV let his gaze wander over the entirety of the beast, taking all of it in, letting the pressure of its existence rest against his senses as he tried to fully comprehend it. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the monster’s blood-splattered jaw, from the way its entire body heaved irregularly; as if it were out of breath. A viscous, oily liquid welled over the edge of its eye sockets and IV couldn’t help but wonder if monsters could cry.

IV’s thoughts began to fly, and he couldn’t find one to hold onto. He was struggling to understand what he was seeing, the connections his mind was beginning to make and how this creature could feasibly exist within the bounds of reality. This was impossible. Whatever hell they’d trapped themselves in, in this manor, whatever had happened to II when he’d been gone…this monster. All of it was impossible but here before him was finally something tangible: something that was breathing, writhing, crying and bleeding all over the library. He felt himself slip from his own mind for just a moment but a cold jolt dropped down his spine and dragged him back to reality. There was no way it could be true, but a sudden thought lodged itself in the front of his mind and he couldn’t shake it free. Was this…

“III?” The man said, voice barely a whisper. The beast’s breathing skipped a beat, its unblinking, empty stare shifting to focus on him for the first time, as if finally willing to perceive him. IV held a hand out, as if to touch its stone-black face. When it didn’t pull away from him, finally didn’t move at all except for that crawling, eternal writhing of it’s body he pressed his palm to the side of its skull. It was large, so much larger than it should be and unexpectedly warm. For a long moment both of them stayed still, as if waiting for something to shift, for permission from something beyond them. And then, the monster spoke.

“You found me,” it growled, the same rattling sound overlaying a distorted version of the voice belonging to the human it used to be. It came from within and without the beast, echoing in IV’s mind and he wondered if II could hear him as well. The sound was impossible and horrific and heartbreaking and when IV only nodded in response, the beast pressed his head into IV’s touch. The action was so much like III; it was something he’d done with IV dozens, hundreds of times before that IV couldn’t not see what - rather who - the monster before him was.

“What…. what happened?” he murmured, stepping back to take all of him in again.

“The debt-“ A choked off sound of pain that was neither human nor animal rumbled through III and he shook his head as if to clear it, then bowing it as if in atonement. A moment later he lifted his skull and a shiver pulsed through his body. The action unnerved IV and he took another step back. III spoke again.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this, didn’t want anyone…” he rattled, the coiling length of his serpentine body still in subtle, perpetual movement. IV frowned, letting his hand move towards III’s body, towards a dark, shining patch of scales half hidden by the feathers. III flinched violently at his touch and IV quickly pulled his hand away, fingers coming away bloodied.

“Were you trying to…?”

“I don’t know how to change back. I thought…” III said plainly, voice trailing off. He sounded so much more human in that moment that it summoned a tightness in IV’s chest that stung him. He didn’t want to think the implication of the other man’s statement was the truth of it. IV could only tug III’s beast-skulled head closer to him, and without thinking he pressed a kiss to the point between the dark wells where his eyes should be. The skull was so warm… just like III had been warm. The pulse he could feel in that bone felt like the man’s heartbeat he’d spent so many nights listening to, its rhythm more familiar to IV than the cadence of his own breath. How could this… monster… be the man he’d come to love so dearly? How could this be real? How could this be happening? Again, IV fought to hold onto the terror he knew he should be feeling, desperate for that tenuous connection to reality.

“This is a dream, it’s a dream, III. We’ll wake up and we’ll get out of here, we can’t stay… I’ll fix this, I’ll find a way to help you and-“

“No need.” Vessel’s voice was smooth and somewhat bored as it interrupted IV’s increasingly hysterical words and the man turned, keeping himself between III and the masked man.

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit! Look at him!” IV stepped forward, ready to lay the taller man out. The wind and the veil were within him again and it felt like the veil had been ripped away from him entirely: rage and fear and desperation flooded him, coalescing into a panic that rendered him blind to anything but the figure in front of him, his void-black skin eating the light around them. It seemed as if a shadow loomed behind Vessel, tethered to him.

“I see nothing wrong with him.”

Vessel’s voice was like a pinprick of light in a pitch dark cave, and IV sprang for it, desperate for a lifeline out of his panic. He blinked and was back in himself; Vessel standing before him, II not far behind, gaze calm and fixed on a point behind IV’s back. IV turned and saw III behind him, just as he remembered him: whole and human and watching him with a placid, gentle gaze from behind a stone-black mask marked with gold.

“Are you alright?” III asked, reaching for IV to trace along his jaw, his touch gentle and tender. Something in IV writhed and in the moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or if it was desire. Maybe they were the same. Maybe they were all the same, anymore. IV nodded and let III press his mask to his cheek in mimicry of a chaste kiss and that same co-mingling of desire and fear welled up in him. He wanted to ask what had happened, why they were all in the library, why Vessel was looking at him like that but the root of his questions was withering away faster than he could preserve it. Suddenly, none of it mattered.

“You’ll understand, soon.” III said, dropping his hand from IV’s face and turning to follow II and Vessel from the room, leaving IV alone in the blood-stained, ransacked library. He felt words rise up in him, words that might calcify his unease into true horror of what he and the others had become trapped in, but when he opened his mouth to give them life, he couldn’t make his tongue move to free them from his mind. And for the briefest, sharpest moment, IV realized Sleep had finally named its price.

#sleep token fic #prompt fill #thank you for the suggestion my friend i do sincerely appreciate it

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boundinparchment · 4 months ago

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I'm a genshin fanfic writer, and I'm starting to feel like my followers only view me as a content farm. I've tried to prompt them into interacting with me, but it never works...It's disheartening.

Hi anon.

I’m not wholly certain if I’m the person to really discuss this. I can say that for a long time, I dealt with the same thing, and that ultimately, this is one of the brick walls I hit face-first when I’m burnt out.

Social media, including tumblr, skews a lot of perspectives as far as what fandom and creating is about. This platform has changed over the years and other social media sites and apps have trained people differently. Fandom is more mainstream, treated as content, and thus prone to both parasocial elements and isolation from fellow creators and fans alike.

Most of my fic posts here, whether it’s a chapter post with a link or the entire one-shot, end up with more silent likes than reblogs. Sadly, that this the nature of fandom thanks, in part, to how other platforms have transformed the way people engage with fan works.

It’s why I post to AO3, and essentially set it and forget it. It’s an archive. People will come across fics as they browse and there’s no algorithm or anything to interfere. If you tag it, someone will find it. It’s also why I reblog the fics I can, both mine and those I enjoy; reblogging is the core of tumblr and how people find stuff! It’s important to me that if I enjoyed someone’s hard work, I would want others to see it!

Some of this comes down to being willing to put yourself out there and engage with others. You get out what you put in. It’s not like the old saying of “make it and they will come.” That saying died when people got too saturated with content but it was also never a saying about fandom.

Fandom is community. Human connection. Always has been.

This isn’t my first writing blog but over the years since writing for Genshin in particular, I’ve come to the realization of two things:

I am here for fun

I do not have a personality that is charismatic or engaging, nor do I want to cultivate it, because I do not want it

I’m not here as an influencer, I’m not looking to grow a fan base; I write for the emotional catharsis and creative expression because otherwise I will be haunted by ideas for the rest of my days.

That other people have found my stories, enjoyed them, and that I’ve gotten to meet people because of this blog? That’s awesome! And I’m very thankful for every friend and every follower!

But it happened because of years of writing and being present and just doing my own thing. I found requests to be very time consuming and not enjoyable in the end when I did them.

The Genshin fandom is fickle and people come and go with the new characters. People have moved on to other hype and other games in the meantime waiting for their fave to appear again. If you are looking to be a writer or engage with people, and only doing that based on requests and engagement alone, you will always be chasing and pivoting and never getting to what you want. You will be basing your creative expression and ideas off of what others want. One’s self-worth cannot be defined by others, otherwise you’ll never value yourself.

I find purpose in other things. In the work I do day to day. In going outside, reading a book, seeing other people. In time with my loved ones and accomplishing meaningful tasks. Logging out is often the best thing I can ever do for myself.

So, I think it’s worth asking yourself: why are you writing, drawing, creating? Are you chasing the weird bizarre idea of fandom clout and attention? Or do you find satisfaction in the process and merely looking to share, looking to make friends, and have a community you partake in?

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aurora-313 · 25 days ago

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For the fic writer asks meme! :)

a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

a trope you’re really into right now

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

2. A character whose PoV you're currently exploring:

Right at this very moment, that would be Rukia. I'm working on the next chapter of OMTSYA and she's subtly attempting to investigate if Kaien is in fact his own reincarnation, functioning as my vehicle to explain how his situation works and the taboo behind it. Of course, that means she's reckoning with the fact he hollowfied as a human in the previous chapter (bringing back uncomfortable Meta!Kaien memories), Ichigo's blasé reaction to it and generally WTF is up with these two.

Naturally Kisuke knows precisely the answers she's looking for. But he's also weaving his own elaborate cover story for why the boys are as powerful as they are. Can't exactly say "they're the shinigami-hollow-quincy hybrids I've known since birth, whom I'd hoped would slurp up all your power so I can transform them into weapons against Captain Aizen", can he?

Nor can Urahara confirm that he knows Kaien is his own reincarnation, or his studious efforts attempting to complete that reincarnation process to A) save his life, and B) bring another pawn back onto the board either.

12. A trope you're really into right now:

I think For Want of a Nail, Peggy Sue and Reincarnation are a given. But if I had to pick; Merger of Souls is a pretty big one I've always liked for some bizarre reason. Two - no three of my current major projects have involved this trope in some way. Either as resolution to a problem or a source of conflict.

18: If you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic:

This is a Black and Blue deleted scene. For context: after Ichigo's surprise Quincy reveal during the Visored training, Kaien seeks aid and answers from Ryuken, who he figures out is a Quincy by extrapolation.

"My respect for privacy goes out the window when that privacy endangers the lives of my family. I'll spare you the detailed diatribe but I've been training Ichigo Kurosaki recently. In the midst of our training, he manifested Blut Vene and a reishi construct I'd only ever seen in my clan's history books. Then promptly went berserk trying to kill us all." Shiba leans forward, hands clasped loosely in front of him. Ryuken observes Isshin’s nephew critically. "You're a Quincy and a human, I'm a Shinigami and a Hollow. We're natural enemies and you owe me nothing. That said, I would sincerely appreciate anything you'd be willing to share in spite of that." Ryuken considers him. Then after a long stretch of silence, lowers his pen and folds his hands. "What would you like to know?"

Thanks for the ask~! :D

#writing #my writing #bleach #kaien shiba #ryuken ishida #bleach au #writing ask

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meta-squash · 3 months ago

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@callivich came up with this idea of doing DVD commentary for fic on @shamelessdvdcommentary, which I think is brilliant because I love reading the thoughts and creative process of other fic writers, so I want to try!

The Needle And The Burning Body Summary: They're supposed to be running away together. Ian hates whatever fucking nurture-over-nature compass Fiona somehow instilled in him that means the one thing he's running back to is never the thing he wants to want. That Mickey's love makes him want to run away as fast as he can because this thing, this solid thing is so much. And he's already so much on his own. Mickey had two burning torches for hands but he knew what to do with them. Ian's head was on fire and all he knew was how to run and keep running. How to find a cliff and jump off. How to make Mickey chase after him, again and again. And in a cold cell in prison, Mickey catches him.

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc) I wrote it in winter of 2018. I switched laptops around that time so I don't have the metadata for exactly when I made the doc/how long it took, but I remember bashing it out fairly quickly. I tend to get a flash of inspiration and then bang out fics in a couple of sittings. This one is a one-shot, 10,623 words.

What was the initial inspiration for your story? I wanted to explore Ian's POV, why he went all the way down to Mexico with Mickey and what made him turn around and go back. I had this idea that the way Ian grew up, so dependent on his family, put a compass inside him that always pointed back to them, even when he'd rather it point somewhere else. And that metaphor just took on a life of its own.

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character? Ian is so WEIRD and hard to pin down and I wanted to try. Part of it is the Shameless writers' bad writing, but I think Ian also goes through such drastic and traumatic experiences that he has no control over, and it really messes with the way he acts. A lot of what happens to him has less to do with his choices or actions and more to do with either his mental illness or just circumstances. Plus he's actually the quietest of all the Gallaghers, which is kind of crazy. I wanted to try and explore why Ian is so often contradictory or weird. I also really wanted to explore his confusion and insecurities that he doesn't voice.

What was your favourite scene to write? The moment where Ian is sitting in the prison cell waiting for Mickey to get back and thinking about their past. I came up with imagery of Ian jumping off of a series of cliffs with Mickey chasing him to try and catch him at the bottom completely in the moment of writing, and it's one of my favorite things.

How did you come up with the title? I'm terrible with titles, I usually end up using song lyrics or a bizarre jumble of words, but this one is so straightforward. Ian gets the needle metaphor in this fic, and Mickey's metaphor is being a constant burning. So it fit.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice? I have a line in there, "Ian was better at finding whole things that weren't his and clinging to them. Mickey could make wholes from the smallest of pieces." I think it's a way of looking at their relationship that really explains well why it was the way it was pre-season 9.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this? The smut. I don't tend to write smut because I either find it unsexy when it's not done well or when things logically would be uncomfortable/physically impossible/unhealthy in a not-even-sexy-in-the-moment way. If I write smut I like it to be poetic and for it to mean something in terms of moving plot along. I tried to make it both sexy and poetic, and tried my best to infuse every action with emotion and also intent. A bit like the advice my drama teacher gave us in high school: a character should not move from point a to point b for no reason. If you want to go to a different spot, you have to have some sort of reason or motive or intent. In this case, it's more about sex than walking, but it fits. I think I did pretty good in this one, but I think the smut I wrote in my other fic Proof Of What You Want was better.

Favourite line in the story? Well, it's more of a paragraph: It had all felt so far away when he'd asked, foggy and dull, ready to push. You gonna want to be with me even if I don't? Everything far away. Watching everyone for betrayal the way Monica taught him. So Mickey's sigh had no written all over it, and that no meant reading all the other signs wrong. But when you think you've lost everything except an identity you never wanted to have in the first place, you're bound to misread things. Really, the sigh was the same Mickey always seemed to breathe into his mouth. The same way he'd mutter jesus fucking christ like he was so annoyed even though he wasn't, and then he'd hold on and jump after him.

Did the storyline change in any way as you wrote the story? A lot of times I start a story in the middle and work outward, or start with whatever scenes popped into my brain first and work to connect them. I think this was one fic I actually wrote linearly from start to finish. I always intended the first half to be the ride to Mexico and the second half to be Ian and Mickey in prison together. But the metaphors and imagery I used really solidified as I was writing it. I had Ian's compass needle from the start, but Mickey as a pair of burning hands didn't come until later, and a lot of the other imagery just developed as I was writing. I didn't know I was going to have the two of them sit down and have an actual Talk about their relationship, and I'm glad I had Mickey basically saying like, 'I love you and I still want to be with you, but things are still fucked up and we gotta work on them.'

If you are writing a particular trope or genre, was it your first time writing this? This was my first time writing solely Ian's POV (as opposed to an omniscient POV or Mickey's), but it's not a specific trope or genre.

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc) The metaphors! I'm sooooo happy they worked the way I wanted them to and came together so well and I'm soooooo proud of the last paragraph of the fic, which literally gave me chills as I wrote it.

Are there any deleted scenes that didn’t make it to the final story? No, but I tend to do the opposite. I post the fic and then reread it once it's already posted and add to it. So I'm fairly certain there are at least a few sentences if not a whole paragraph in the fic on AO3 that doesn't exist in my original doc.

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a characters head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line? The one I quoted above as my favorite line came about because I always felt like Mickey's reaction to Ian's questions in the breakup scene aren't a rejection at all or even disappointment or whatever. It felt to me like that sigh and Mickey's body language were more in line with his actions in 5x09 with the b vitamins and stuff. Like he realizes that he'd rather have Ian in whatever way and he'll be there for him, whether he's on his meds or not. It's not a sigh of "no I don't want to be with you", it's a sigh of "I'd rather it was some other way, but I'm not going anywhere." And I wanted to have Ian realizing that, and realizing that he'd interpreted Mickey's actions in the context of his siblings' actions, but Mickey's motivations and feelings are totally different from the Gallagher siblings. He doesn't have the context of growing up with Monica and he's willing to stick beside Ian, manic or not.

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add? I don't think so. I actually frequently read back stories in the months after posting them and add bits and bobs. There's a oneshot fic I have in a different fandom that I wrote in 2015 and have been adding to ever since as inspiration strikes. So I tend to just add things if I decide something should be added. This fic in particular came out pretty much complete, though.

Would you ever write a sequel to this story? I don't think so. Especially considering where canon went with the storyline of them in prison and their relationship in general.

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc? Not in this one. Mostly because it's the only fic I've written solely in Ian's POV. And all the easter eggs I use for Shameless fics are for Mickey's POV, so I couldn't easily slot them in here.

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity? This was my most popular story for a long time, and I'm not at all surprised. It's the one I'm probably the most proud of in terms of all the imagery and also the denouement.

Were you nervous or excited to post this story? Oh, excited, definitely. All the other Shameless fics I'd written before this one were shorter and more straightforward, less poetic. This was the one that felt the most artistic and that I felt really inspired the whole time I was writing it.

(This was really fun, I might do this with my other Shameless fics! Thank you so much for the idea @callivich!)

#shameless #shameless meta #shameless fic commentary #shamelessdvdcommentary

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c-is-for-circinate · 1 year ago

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I would love to hear more mike wheeler - Steve Harrington masculinity thoughts (also whatever happened to Hopper to make him action guy my beloathed)! Also will we get a mike chapter for and they were married?

Okay yes! I am fascinated by Mike and Steve as narrative contrasts, and I always find myself looking for fic where the two of them meaningfully interact, and I keep meaning to write about them.

(Also: Mike deserves his own chapter of that fic, but he's getting folded into Dustin's. What Mike really deserves is his own fic that takes place in that universe, because I know what his deal is there and it's a doozy, but that is a very different post.)

Anyway! For starters, I don't think that Steve and Mike are intentionally meant to be foils. There's an element of it in the first season, where Steve exists to support Nancy's character, and Nancy and Mike are meant to be foils -- Steve is the Popular Kid, the antithesis of Mike and his friends' little group of nerds, he and Tommy and Carol are written into the same category as Troy but older and less actively murderous, and the fact that Nancy's dating him says things about her -- but they end up occupying oddly similar spaces and cool parallels come out of that anyway.

A core thing about it is that Steve and Mike are both the guy in their respective age group casts on the show. The Guy. The central one, the normal one, the presumed-to-be-straight one -- and yes, this is fandom and we have Opinions about that, but the Duffer brothers think they're both straight, and that matters here. They're white, they're able-bodied, they have money. They are, in a sense, normal.

Narratively, they very often act as central/POV character for scenes they're in, at least once Steve gets past the fistfight in S1 and awakens to the fact that he's a person who can make decisions. And that makes sense, because being The Guy also means they're the closest to the classic TV protagonist archetype, the guy who does the hero shit and gets the girl in the end. Hopper is also The Guy, and always has been: in S1 it's just him and Joyce, but even as we add more adults, the only real challenge to his The Guy status is Bob (which is of course why Bob had to die). Murray is a bizarre conspiracy nut, and queer-coded besides that. Owens is an affable bad guy. Alexei and Dmitri and Yuri are all Russian.

Being The Guy comes with a certain amount of baggage. All three of them have to be romantic leads, and have to be crossed in love about it. All three of them are protectors in one way or another. And all three of them are on occasion assholes who have one hell of a time with sincerity and affection.

And this is where we get into Toxic Masculinity, because again, while I don't think the Duffers intended a pile of parallels between these three guys, well. Firstly, The Guy as an archetype is built on a pile of toxic masculine stereotypes, so that's often there to begin with. Secondly, it's the same writers, so certain themes rhyme whether they're intended to or not.

In particular, one of the core tenets of toxic masculinity, not just in ST but as a thing in the world, is when and where it's acceptable to experience soft emotions of affection, care, and vulnerability. The first rule of toxic masculinity is don't. The second rule, the caveat rule, is a little asterisk saying 'except, occasionally, with a female romantic partner, if you absolutely must.'

And so we actually see a lot of unfolding of this in Steve! One thing we know about Steve, without precisely being told, is that he's deeply lonely -- for a popular kid he sure seems to only have two Actual Friends when the show starts and they hardly seem to even like each other. He has a new Favorite Person every season, and he clings to them with the joy of a devoted golden retriever. His mental image of happily-ever-after is a house full of kids with enough siblings to never get lonely, family vacations about close quarters and spending time together. We never see his parents. For all a lot of the 'horrible abuse' fanon is very much fanon, Steve is inarguably a lonely kid. And where do we see him reaching out for affection?

It's not Tommy and Carol, although until they break up he's constantly in their company unless he's alone with Nancy. They hardly even seem to like each other very much, and yet they've stayed at his empty house enough for Tommy to know about his mother's fireplace and Steve to insist he do laundry while he's here. No, the person who Steve is allowed to feel things with and for is Nancy, because she's the caveat, she's the exception. This is why Steve is consistently focused on getting Nancy back, getting a new girlfriend, getting a date. That's the rule!!!

The really fabulous thing about Steve's arc across the first three seasons, and even into S4, is that this quest for romantic affection and vulnerability is both thwarted and rewarded again and again. He tries to apologize to Nancy, to win her back: by the time he sees her again, Nancy's got a new boyfriend, but Steve has a new brother. Dustin is Steve's favorite person by the start of S3; he gets Steve's haircare secrets, he gets Steve's loyalty, he gets Steve's joy. In S3, Steve tries to pour his whole heart into a different girlfriend, and Robin turns him down flat while also simultaneously opening herself up with such vulnerability that they instantly become best friends. Robin is S4's Favorite Person, but the great thing about these relationships being platonic is that Steve gets to have more than one! He gets to have both Dustin and Robin in his life! He gets the other kids as part of the package! Bit by bit, instead of a girlfriend who Steve is "allowed" to be soft with, Steve gains actual friends who he gets to be real with whether it's allowed or not.

And the really tragic thing about Mike Wheeler is that he's doing the opposite. Mike starts out with three friends, three best friends, absolutely devoted to one another. As kids, they're young enough to be free of most of the stranglehold of toxic masculinity yet, although of course it's starting. And then there's El.

Mike charts a really interesting course over four seasons, and the shape of it is not a straight trajectory from 'Mike adores and is BFF with Will' to 'Mike thinks only about El.' Hell, from what we see of S1, the Party are all best friends pretty equally before Will goes missing -- Lucas is the one ready to break into a government lab for him, not Mike. Mike's trajectory is far more 'I derive the bulk of my personal self-worth from protecting other people, and as soon as somebody needs to be saved I go fully into Paladin Mode, making me feel worthwhile and important." It just so happens that the two people in Mike's field of vision who most generally need protection and saving are Will and El. Which leads to Mike's intense Will-focused devotion in S2 (El is gone but Will is also in really significant need, and Mike just straight-up activates, jumping immediately into solicitously taking care of his friend because Something Needs Doing And I Can Do It). And Mike's intense El-focused devotion in S4, where El needs a literal quest to come and rescue her. And just a lot of Mike in general.

The problem with all of that is the part where, unlike Steve who keeps forging new platonic relationships, Mike keeps neglecting his more and more. The S3 Will fight is so good at illustrating that, because look -- we all know Will has a crush on Mike, but at no point during that fight does Will ask, even subtextually, for romantic attention. He's asking for platonic attention, which Mike is absolutely failing to give. "Where's Dustin right now? You don't know, and you don't even care." But as Mike says, they're not kids any more -- and this is how growing up is supposed to work!

(Note: I don't want to say that it's toxic for Mike to be in love with El, or really caught up in that relationship -- he's fourteen! she's his first girlfriend! he thought she was dead! But Mike's an asshole in S3 because he's caught up enough to not notice his friend's feelings until they explode at him, and yeah, I do think part of that is because he knows he's Not Supposed To.)

S4 is a lot, because here's where we're really seeing the culmination of a lot of what Mike's been unfortunately moving towards. We've hit a point where those vulnerable feelings that Mike's allowed to share, at most, with his girlfriend, feel like too much to even share with his girlfriend. He can't say 'I love you'. He can't even talk to Will. The conversation he does have with Will is honestly mostly about Mike and his feelings of inadequacy, of not measuring up, not being special, but it has to be couched in the context of El. If there's a reverse-Bechdel test to be done on S4, past the very first episode I'm pretty sure Mike fails it -- I don't think he has a single conversation that isn't about his girlfriend in one capacity or another.

In contrast, S4 Steve is, yes, pretty focused on girls-in-general and Nancy-in-specific, and yeah, there's a little bit of backsliding going on there. But he's also having conversations with Robin about her fears and longings, having weird little interludes where Eddie's the one bringing up Nancy rather than Steve himself. He's hurt at the end when Nancy is clearly still with Jonathan, but he's able to move on, to go fold clothes and care about Robin's love life instead of his own -- his optimistic happy ending in S4 is that his best friend is going to get the girl, not him.

I think there's a lot more to say, which I only brushed on briefly here, about other aspects of Mike and Steve that work in parallel or contrast -- their protector thing, which feels very intrinsic but shows up very differently in both of them, the way Steve says 'I love you' so easily and Mike has trouble saying it at all, the way they are both very much extremely normal guys, at least on paper. There's so much to say. I think that has to be a different post.

I will say, in terms of Hopper: Jim Hopper is what it looks like when those pent-up feelings that you aren't allowed to express to anybody other than a romantic partner sit and fester for decades. Fuck, there were things about Vietnam he didn't even tell his wife, that sat like poison both emotional and biological between them. When we meet him in S1, he's processing grief with drugs and drinking and processing fear with rage. He has spent so much of the past four seasons processing fear as rage.

Of course Joyce is the one person he's allowed to, sometimes, on occasion, be soft with. Of course nearly his every interaction with Mike is macho dominance posturing. Of course the entire trajectory of his relationship with El is a push-pull of Hopper retreating into authoritarianism and anger instead of the terror of honesty, and then getting to see the consequences of that when his daughter pulls away. Every season has broken him down a little more that way, but then the yo-yo pulls back (Season 3 whyyyyyyyyy). By Season 4, he's been beaten and starved and frozen and shattered enough that we get maybe the most honest monologue of his life, to a Russian prison guard, because they're about to die so what do the rules matter any more. It's a clear window into an endless pit of self-loathing, because for twenty or thirty years Hopper's been letting those feelings eat in instead of out, and bit by bit they've been devouring him.

El is hope, for him, and Joyce is hope, and the cracks that broke open in Kamchatka to maybe let in a little more air that might not seal right back up again are hope. But it's hard. It's hard! It makes him an absolute asshole, including and especially towards the people he wants most to protect. (And there's that protector thing again.)

Anyway, I am on the record as liking Steve a lot and having very little patience for Mike and Hopper, but like. They're not that different, at their core. They just put the pieces together in a different order.

#stranger things #driveby meta attack #asked and answered #shit this is really making me want to write those D&D class breakdowns I keep promising #maybe I'll get to one or two of those this weekend #mike wheeler #steve harrington #jim hopper #at least a bit

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