"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."
me, whispering to the ao3 page of an author who wrote one life altering banger and nothing else: I hope your pillow is cool and your skin is clear and you find money in a forgotten jeans pocket
Plans for The Great Buckley/Diaz Un-Valentines Spectacular had been underway for two weeks and Eddie wasn't sure who was more excited Buck or Christopher, the actual child.
"Come on, Eddie. It's a great idea. You're single. Chris is single, unless he met that special someone at recess -" Christopher’s pealing laugh was answer enough.
"And you," Eddie said.
Buck shrugged. "Single and not at all ready to mingle. So what do you say? Heart shaped pizza and movies with no kissing at all? Just a bunch of single bros hanging out?"
"Bro-time," Christopher shouted from the back seat and Eddie turning to see his son fist pumping. "Bros!"
"What are you teaching my child, Buckley?"
Buck just grinned.
Over the ensuing fourteen days the plans had grown from pizza and a movie to, well, The Great Buckley/Diaz Un-Valentines Spectacular.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I'm not planning to write anything for Heated Rivalry (...yet) but Ilya Rozanov who sets up an anonymous profile on Reddit to "practice his english" (be a bitch on the internet) and has alerts set up in EVERY hockey subreddit so he can be the first person to post WOULD under pictures of Shane Hollander
I posted two stories over the past maybe week and a half and the difference in response is sort of weird. People are LOVING Croptops which of course makes me happy but its surprising because it's a little 600 word drabble where nothing really happens? But For A Good Time, Call is 4 times as long and has more of an actual story and it hasn't gotten much attention at all.
Personally I like both stories and it seems other folks do as well just sort of not sure what it says about my writing on general.
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