-You discover a new document in your “completed” folder. It’s 20k words of fantasy and adventure. You have no memory of writing it.
- You take a sip of your coffee and set it down to type. After a moment, you take another sip only to find the cup empty. You have written ten words.
- You go to take a shower and discover writing on your skin. Dialogue, character description, tips for edits. You don’t remember bringing pen to flesh.
- The cursor blinks at you. You blink back. Time stretches as you blink, back and forth, back and forth until, at last, you both stop blinking entirely. Nothing gets written.
- The same word appears three times in the same paragraph. You edit them out, only to find them, again, three paragraphs down. You close your laptop and decide to go shopping. You stare at the word flashing by on the way to the store. You feel followed.
- Your pen carves vicious corrections onto a printed copy of your story. Later, you will not remember the way you grit your teeth while editing or why calling a character effervescent is “superfluous.”
- There are words scrawled on receipts, on post its, on torn out scraps of paper all over your room. You recognize your handwriting on most of them and choose to ignore those bits in handwriting you do not.
- Your mom asks about your day. You do not know how to explain the exhaustion in your bones or the way your neck aches with the weight of eyes you’d tried to leave on the page or the way your fingers are still typing phantom words against your thighs. You tell her nothing happened.
- Your roommates are concerned. You have not spoken in days. You wonder who it was you were whispering to last night as you scratched out another outline at the kitchen table.
- Your computer screen goes dark while you stare at your last sentence, trying to think of where to go next. You did not know that your lips could curl like that or your eyes could look so black.
Here’s the thing: authors know when they get a rec on an older story. There’s a telltale uptick of kudos (with a 10-15% comment rate if you’re lucky) in your digest email.
The thing is, there’s no way to know where these people are coming from. In the before, when fandom was more in the corners we all knew about, you could search LJ or a message board or whatever social bookmarking site we were using. You could join the community and participate.
You could get a little dopamine hit by seeing someone tell their friends why they loved your story.
Anymore, those recs are hidden in discords, or in tiktoks or instagram slideshows that you can’t search for. They’re inaccessible, not discoverable unless you’re already there. You may never know why 27 people left kudos on an old story of yours, what they liked and found in your writing. You just get the thumbs up and a kinda lonely feeling, cause these could be your people. You could like them, maybe. You could be friends.
But you’ll never find out why they stopped by, or what people are saying about you behind your back, and that’s sad.
So thank you to the people who still do public rec lists on this webbed site. You are my sunshine, and I’m appreciative of all of you.
I have a massive cleaning project thus weekend and I'm hoping the spirit of procrastination productivity will push me to write more when I'm taking breaks as the WIP list is not getting any shorter...
Heated Rivalry/Gamechanger, Hayden Pike is a good friend, Hollanov, this is extremely cute
*
Hayden should be stronger than this.
He's been through the gauntlet with his children and managed, with Jackie's help, to stand strong against any and all begging. He has said no to everything from extra desserts to skipping school. They don't even have a dog and that has come up every six months practically since the twins were born.
But apparently Ruby and Jade have nothing on the fever cloudy-tear filled eyes of his best friend.
"Fine. Fine, I'll do it, give me your phone."
And Shane does. Hayden takes it gingerly and makes a mental note to wash his hands as soon as possible.
He dials out and the call is picked up quickly. Hayden hears the man on the other end take a breath and jumps in immediately.
"Hey there, Lily," Hayden emphasizes.
A guttural Russian mumble greets him, probably profanity.
"So you know how your boyfriend said he had a head cold, but he was fine, and he was totally okay to go to practice today?"
"Okay," Rozanov -Ilya- replied. "So what are you saying? Why are you on Jane's phone?"
Hayden sighed. If he hung up right now Shane would yell at him but if he answered Rozanov would yell at him.
Either way he was getting yelled at. But Shane was already crying and that tipped it.
"Your boyfriend got dizzy on the ice and fell. Don't freak out, he's fine, mostly, but he hit his head. The medics did say it wasn't a concussion but they want someone to keep an eye on him just in case. I offered me and Jackie, or even his folks, but he insists on you." Hayden rushed through his speech but he was still surprised Rozanov didn't interrupt.
"Lily," he called, looking at the phone screen. The call hadn't dropped. "You there?"
Shane began to paw at Hayden's hands.
"Give me. Hayden, give me the phone."
Hayden waved him away and pretended not to see his best friend pouting.
A clatter rang through the phone line and Hayden lifted it to his ear again. He heard a door, scuffing footsteps, and more muttered Russian.
"Where are you," Ilya asked, a car door slam in the background. "Arena? Gym? I will be there soon."
The car started and Hayden panicked. "Don't hang up, we're at my house. I told coach I'd watch Shane-- he's resting on the couch but he wanted me to call you."
"Ah. Okay. I will be there soon."
Hayden snorted. "Yeah, I figured. Shane refused to even take his shoes off, said you'd get him."
Hayden heard a huff over the phone, almost a laugh. "I always will do this. Tell him I will be there soon and tell him--"
Ilya said something in Russian and forced Hayden to repeat it until it declared it 'good enough'.
"Okay, okay, fine," Hayden said. "I got it and I'll tell him. Now are you headed to my place?"
Ilya laughed. "I am halfway there already. Thought I would be walking in the door by the time you learned easy phrase. Tell Jane what I say and I will be there soon."
"Sure--" Hayden said before the call cut off.
Rubbing the phone screen against the front of his sweatshirt, Hayden turned to see Shane lying on the couch, a pillow clutched to his chest.
"Is he coming," Shane sniffled.
"Yeah," Hayden signed. "Yeah buddy, he's coming." He nudged Shane's legs to make some room before taking a seat on the end of the couch. "Had a message for you too."
Hayden repeated the Russian carefully and he felt pretty good about his delivery.
Right up until Shane started giggling.
Giggling.
Shane Hollander, giggling.
"What did I say? Shane? What the fuck did i just say."
Shane only grinned. "Swear jar, Hayds. Like, a lot. A lot, a lot."
Hayden groaned. "Oh my god, you two deserve each other."
Shane's grin faded to a softer smile and his eyes got even more teary. "You mean it?"
Hayden patted Shane's knee. "Yeah, man. I don't even know where he's coming from and he managed to get halfway here in minutes. I'm pretty sure if you were on, like, the moon and you wanted him he'd find a way to get there.
"That's all I could ever want for you. I give Rozanov a lot of shit and I'm not gonna stop but he makes you happy like I've never seen before."
"Oh my god, Hayden," Shane sniffled. "You're such a softie."
You all seem to like these, so here is another batch of writer asks! These questions are a little more relaxed than the last two. Followers can send an ask with a number OR you can reblog and answer everything like a Q&A.
I always see a lot of “idk if i’m a writer” in the tags for these so let me just say in advance, yes you are and you can play.
What is the crackiest* thing you’ve ever written? (*I mean this with great affection)
Has writing a fic ever changed your opinion of a character?
Tell us about a headcanon you invented for a fic
Have you ever written a fic inspired by a tumblr post?
How do you know when you’re finished writing a fic? At what point do you call it done?
When do you title your fics? Before you write them? As you write them? While posting to AO3 and that “Work Title” field is staring at you?
Navigate to your complete list of works on AO3. What are your top 5 Additional Tags?
Tell us your shortest and longest titles of all time
The two fandoms you’ve written the most have been suddenly crossed with each other! What AU are you writing?
What’s a phrase you catch yourself using in multiple fics, not necessarily on purpose?
Oh no! You’re posting a fic to AO3 and completely forgot to write a summary. What is your summary-writing strategy?
Do you write in order, jump around the draft, or a mix? Something else?
Congratulations, you’ve just finished the WIP you’ve been working on for months! How are you going to celebrate?
Is there a word or phrase you intentionally use in every fic?
How many times has someone nodded in your current WIP? This is for posterity so be honest
Describe your current WIP with just emojis
When you get a new fic idea, what does that look like in your mind? Does it play out like a film? Do you imagine lines of dialogue or a certain moment? Does a character just sit there staring at you?
If you have noticed themes emerging in your writing, what are they? What broad themes and topics do you enjoy exploring?
It’s a lovely morning in fandom land and a horrible goose is running rampant through your folders. How many WIPs is it going to step on?
What’s the story behind your pen name?
Without getting into any discourse, just thinking as a writer approaching characters, would you ever write about your NOTP? If you did, do you think that would change how you feel about it? (If you’ve done this, how did it go?)
Do you have a fixed writing routine, or do you write when you have time? Is there a time of day when you prefer to write?
What is your #1 distraction when you’re trying to write? If it’s a pet, post a pic
What colors, sights, sounds, textures, etc. inspire you? Do certain environments make you feel more creative than others?
Someone you know outside of fandom has heard that you’re a writer. “I’d like to read something of yours!” they say with sincere enthusiasm. “Where can I find it?” What’s your answer?
Do you have a routine you run through before you write?
Share a random sentence from a WIP. The less context, the better. Be confusing.
You’re out and about, nowhere near your home, when a fantastic story idea pops into your head! What do you do?
Have you ever actually remembered one of those 3am “I’ll remember it in the morning” ideas?
Finish this sentence with your fandom’s variation(s): No beta, we die like _________
"hey toast you stayed up past midnight because you were working on the fic and not because you were procrastinating by making a hideous pattern for a joke cross stitch" have you never met a writer before
Something so funny about rereading one's own unfinished fics. Like wow this is pretty good! Almost as if was written exactly according to what I personally like in fact! Someone should finish it!
Ah folks, we are in a bit of a writing slump. I have a fat stack of WIPs and I can't do a damned thing with them. Between work and other projects I have been a little overwhelmed but that should wind down soon so hopefully...
me: okay, but Heated Rivalry as a Good Omens AU. Angel Shane playing hockey because he loves earth but its So Loud and on the ice everything feels quiet, Demon Ilya skating because it's the closest he can get to flying. Shane does what he can, Ilya does what he must. They need to avert an apocalypse together (the Metros/Raiders) with a scrappy group of helpers (the Hollanders and the Centuars.)
things that always make me happy: serial commenters. there are three types
1) reading a longfic chapter by chapter, leaving an increasingly emotional comment on every chapter, descends into keysmashes near the end: outstanding
2) read one fic by accident, clicked the author name, now working steadily through the backlog and commenting on everything, I wake up to an AO3 inbox full of enthusiasm: precious beyond words
3) the longterm serial commenter whose comment begins with I don’t even know this fandom but because they have followed me from somewhere else: stunning. humbling. magical.
these are all *chef’s kiss* and I want to add one more:
4) left a comment a while ago, comes back and leaves another comment on the same fic, telling you that they’re coming back to reread the fic: angels. blessings. lifesavers.
Stranger Things, post-Vecna, pre-Steddie, just three young adults hangin' out
*
The last joint had been finished off, burned down to the bitter end, and the air was thick and hazy. Steve was surrounded by familiar colors and shapes but no detail. He wasn't sure if that was the effect of the smoke on his eyes or his brain, he also wasn't sure whether he liked it.
"Why do we say high as balls, anyway? Balls aren't even high." Eddie's voice mused as the guy gestured towards somewhere between his groin and his knees.
Steve giggled to himself. If that's where his balls are then Eddie must not be very high at all. Not that Steve thought about Eddie's balls very much.
"That's not true," Robin yelled from her place lying on the floor.
Steve had a moment of panic thinking he and Robin may have finally broken the last barrier and she could actually hear his thoughts before he saw her hand in the air pointing accusingly at Eddie.
Steve couldn't see her face from where he was sitting but he could picture her expression all scrunched up and indignant.
"How the hell would you know, Buckley, you big lesbian," Eddie crowed, sending Steve into giggles.
"How dare you, Eugene, I--"
"That is not my name! You know that's not my name! Rob-- Roberta!"
Steve curled tighter into his corner of the sofa as Eddie leaned over slapping idly at Robin. Her blue polish tipped fingers swung at Eddie as well, the two of them making Steve think of kittens engaged in a play fight.
Suddenly Robin lurched to her feet, one of the abandoned couch cushions in her hands to be brought down onto Eddie. "I have seen! More! Weiners! Than! You!"
Steve, startled, tumbled over the armrest and fell to the floor even as Eddie coiled up laughing under the onslaught.
"Noooo," Eddie crowed. "I give, I give! You, Robin Buckley, have seen every weiner in Hawkins!"
"Oh my god," Robin squawked. "No, that's gross. Not every weiner, like, I have not seen Hopper's weiner."
"Can we stop saying 'weiner'," Steve muttered into the worn upholstery of the couch.
"No, wait," Eddie said, struggling back into an upright sitting position. "Because I have seen Hopper's," he looked to Steve. "Dong?"
"That's not better," Steve groaned.
At the same time, Robin demanded, "When?"
"I don't know," Eddie said. "I was smoking a j in the woods and he came out to piss against a tree. I don't think he knew I was there." He paused. "I hope he didn't know I was there."
"If Hopper thought you'd seen his... y'know," Robin laughed. "He'd kill you and then kill us for knowing about it."
"Well," Eddie sniped. "You said you've seen so many... things... but how am I supposed to believe that."
Steve groaned. "Just say weiner. It's fine."
"No, no, Stephanie," Robin crooned. "We must protect your delicate sensibilities." She turned a glare on Eddie. "Now then, Edward. You were saying?"
Steve pressed his forehead into the side of the couch. The evening had been going so well. He probably wasn't sober enough to leave but maybe if he held his breath long enough he would pass out?
They threw out a few names before they agreed that Hellfire and band didn't count. Steve didn't even know some of these people. He clambered his way back onto the couch, interrupting their debate.
"Does it even matter who the weiner belongs to? I thought the whole point was who saw more of them," Steve groaned. "Even though this is stupid because I have for sure seen the most weiners."
"Sports don't count," Robin whined. "You've probably seen every weiner in Hawkins."
Steve grumbled but he couldn't argue.
Eddie lunged up from the couch, pointing at Steve and Robin accusingly. "He has not see my weiner! I don't play sports and I never dressed out for PE."
Robin leapt to her feet. "We have all seem your weiner, Eddie! You mooned Higgins at graduation and your pants fell down."
Eddie collapsed back to the couch. "Oh man, I'd hoped that was just a weird dream."
"Nope," Robin confirmed. "It wasn't the full show but it was-- there was weiner."
"'Fraid so," Steve confirmed, patting Eddie's shoulder. "But hey, hey man-- you don't have anything to worry about."
Robin looked confused. "What does that mean, dingus?"
Steve shrugged, trying to ignore how hot his face felt all of a sudden. "Just... y'know. It's good. His whole... situation."
Steve tried not to look directly at Eddie but he could see him moving and felt the couch cushions dip.
"Harrington approves of my weiner. My my, I am flattered. I would return the compliment but I'm afraid yours is one of the few weiners in this town that I haven't seen."
"It's fine," Robin said flatly. "Like if you're into that kind of thing?"
"Oh my god, Robin," Steve groaned.
"When, Buckley? When did you see Steve's junk? He used to shower in a stall. No one's seen his--"
"Were people trying to see my junk," Steve gasped. "What the hell."
Eddie waved him away. "When Buckley? Robin. My dear, dear friend. My dear good friend who wanted a stick and poke and I said no but maybe I'll change my mind."
Robin just shrugged and dropped onto the couch, finding the narrow gap between the arm and Steve and shoving him closer to the center, to Eddie.
"It was no big deal. He thought he had a--"
Fuck. Steve remembered this story.
"Nothing. I didn't have anything. It was... I had to pee and she saw it and that's fine. Thank you for sharing, Robin. Yes. I have a perfectly fine penis."
"'Penis'," Eddie repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "Awfully formal language, Stevie." He leaned forward, looking past Steve to Robin. "Is that what happened, Buckley? Did our good friend whip it out in front of you for such a crude reason?"
"Ha," Robin crowed. "He wishes!"
Now Eddie looked intrigued.
Steve shook his head and reached for the edge of the couch to pull himself up. "I'm gonna get chips, you guys want chips?"
A firm grip on his shoulder, Robin surprisingly, hauled him back down. "I've got it. You tell Eddie how I had to check you for ticks."
"Oh my god, Robin," Steve groaned.
She only laughed as she got up and walked towards the kitchen.
"Ticks?"
"It's not," Steve started. "Look, everything is normal." He could see Eddie shake his head from the corner of his eye.
"You'll forgive me if the past year has given me an odd view of what you consider normal, Stevie. This isn't some kind of... you know."
Steve... doesn't know how to answer this. He doesn't know how the evening even got here. He's supposed to be falling asleep in front of a terrible movie by now.
Not... whatever this is.
"No, Eddie. You think I had an Upside Down tick or something?"
Eddie scoffed. "I don't know. The way you're acting I have to admit I'm concerned."
Steve waved his hands. "It's not that serious, really. I just-- there was this lump and I was maybe a little worried to look and Robin is my best friend so--"
"Did you tell him about the Skittle yet," Robin mumbled around a spoon, ice cream tub clutched to her chest.
"Skittle?"
"Okay, so Robin was throwing candy at me and I guess accidentally--"
"Next day he thought he had a bug or something on his weiner so he made me--"
"--I did not 'make' you--"
"--made me look at his weiner and there was a Skittle stuck down there. Nothing to freak out about."
Robin dropped back onto the couch, shoving Steve closer to Eddie, almost in the other man's lap.
"You know what," Steve said. "I'm gonna get something to eat. That seems like a good idea."
Robin boo'ed through her mouthful of ice cream but Steve shifted to stand up anyway.
Before he was able to move strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and hauled him back down again, this time fully into Eddie's lap.
"Hey, now, Stevie," Eddie crooned. "No need to run off, nothing to be embarassed about here."
"Sure," Steve huffed. "I freaked out over a piece of candy. Very normal."
Steve felt a dull prod at his back and turned to see that Eddie had rested his chin on Steve's shoulder.
"It is normal. You were scared, you asked for help. That's normal, healthy even. I'm proud of you, Steve."
Eddie's voice was soft and serious in a way Steve wasn't used to.
"Oh my god," Robin moaned. "I cannot believe you two."
Steve turned to face her, feeling Eddie shift against him to do the same.
"What?"
Robin had dropped her spoon into the ice cream and her eyes were wide and damp.
"This is way too cute. I can't handle it."
Steve felt Eddie start in place before he began shaking.
"Are you laughing, you asshole," Robin cried. "This is supposed to be a nice moment. I'm too high for this."
She looked down at the ice cream and groaned. "Noooo."
Steve leaned forward honestly concerned.
She sighed and tipped her head back against the couch. "I forgot the chips."
Eddie's laugh got louder, and Steve finally stood up.
"It's okay, Robs. I'll go get the chips. And maybe some water?"
As Steve started walking towards the kitchen he heard the couch creak.
"I'll come with you," Eddie said. "I could go for a snack." He caught up to Steve and got a few steps ahead before he turned back and winked. "Maybe candy."
