Y'all... I cannot stress enough how you need to interact with things in order to maintain a fandom community.
I have seen absolutely abysmal interaction with everything I've posted lately, and it is IMMENSELY disheartening. Of course, I create it for me, but I choose to share it with everyone and want to get excited about it WITH YOU. And it seems that every other artist/writer/creator I know is experiencing the same thing.
If you're one of the people that regularly interact or just have hit a bit of a speedbump lately, then please know I'm not talking to you. I'm also not talking to other creators that have to choose between engaging or creating (and sometimes just don't have the bandwidth). I'm talking to the blogs that ask for more and then never comment or share. I'm talking to the people that sign up for tag lists and then are never heard from again. I'm talking to blogs that spam like but haven't reblogged anything since 2022. Y'all, this site thrives off of interaction. That is how it works. You have to help things circulate, and it is so frustrating to see the entire place in a collective slump. I have been blocking blogs left, right, and center that do not share things, and I will continue to do so. But it is such a freakin' bummer to see the state of things at the moment.
Hell, I started a sideblog for Fandom Friday (@fandom-friday), and have only received a handful of submissions after getting asked numerous times when it would be coming back. IT'S BACK. IT'S HERE. WHERE IS EVERYONE????? I figured after a few months' break, that people would have plenty of submissions stacked up, but that has not been the case AT ALL.
Fandom communities are such incredible places, but it's felt like a ghost town around here lately with the writers and artists just screaming into the void to PLEASE INTERACT WITH OUR STUFF. Please show up for one another because it is so very soul-crushing to watch everyone I know just feel completely disheartened. I cannot tell you how depressing it is to spend hours and hours carefully crafting something, being genuinely excited about it, and get almost no interaction or response other than a few likes and comments.
PLEASE INTERACT WITH THINGS YOU LIKE OR ELSE THERE WON'T BE ANY MORE THINGS TO INTERACT WITH.
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SHARING SOME POSITIVITY TODAY BECAUSE IT WAS A REALLY GOOD DAY AND IM JUST FEELING REALLY HAPPY RN
love list <3
This is a list of all the smaller things I love. Specifically the ones i wanna think about more often (ofc this isn’t everything and its not in any particular order, it’s just stuff i’ve come up with)
- i love singing along to energetic music
- i love working with the morning crew at my job
- i love wearing fun pants
- i love wearing fun/ patterned dresses
- i love cats
- i love to “waste” my time. I love not feeling like i’m in a rush or have to hurry because i’ve got all the time in the world
- i love getting ready before going out to do something fun
- i love to see red orange and yellow leaves in the fall
- i love the bright green leaves and white/ pink blossoms in the beginning of spring
- i love rain
- i love thunderstorms and lightning
- i love snow
- i love dogs
- i love to enjoy things
- i love to watch movies and tv shows, then see fanart about them
- i love sitting in arm chairs the “incorrect” way
- i love books
- i love making things and creating
- i love to bake, especially the decorating part
- i love to eat hot food when it’s cold outside
- i love when the air is crispy in the fall
- i love the natural high you get after being sick for a week and you finally feel better
- i love the smell of pumpkin and vanilla candles
- i love holidays, especially the big ones
- i love Christmas lights
- i love when tv shows make holiday specials
- i love colors, i think everything should be more colorful
- i love to go to the aquarium
- i love to sit in the quiet hallways at my school
- i love animation, cartoons, and movies. I especially love 2D animation
- i love enjoying things, i mean, who doesn’t?
- i love yummy drinks, especially when it’s something you’ve been looking forward to and it tastes exactly the way you wanted it to.
- i love bread
- i love to laugh. Laughing at myself is fun too, especially when I’m the only one that knows why i’m laughing
- i love when other people laugh
- i love to talk to myself. I love to hum, and narrate what i’m doing out loud
- i love decorations. The little things people put on their desks or shelves, the wreaths they choose for their doors, the things they put in their cars
- I love farmers markets and creative booths where people sell their stuff to me
- i love to look at art. i love to experience it too.
- i love Charlie Brown, especially snoopy
- i love nostalgia and having memories
- i love love. i love romantic love and platonic love, and seeing people enjoy the company of others. i love to watch people interact with the ones they care about
- i love old box TVs, the ones that you can feel the static and electricity bouncing off of
- i love stuffed animals
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listen i know we all love steve “completely ignorant of queer culture to the point that bisexuality is a surprise” harrington being roasted and educated in turns by robin and eddie, yadda yadda, good stuff. i read “they made a horror version of rocky?” in a fic recently and cackled. also a big fan of “he knew he was bi from the start and just never talked about it” as a trope, love it excellent well done
but what about steve who realizes after starcourt that the most important person in his life now has this thing that’s a major part of her life that he knows nothing about, and what if he fucks it up? what if he says something ignorant or rude by accident, and hurts her? what if he loses her because he didn’t know the right thing to say? what if he can’t keep her safe because he doesn’t know what to look out for? absolutely fucking not, this steve says
and listen she’d never say anything, because she can tell that he can tell how much she likes teasing him and teaching him things, so he plays dumb, and she thinks it’s very sweet. but she notices when the zines she keeps under her bed that she buys at that one secret bookshop in indy when she can sneak away on family trips start going missing, always one at a time, and replaced in a few days with another disappearing. and she finds the new ones he must have gone to buy the weekend she was at her aunt’s house hidden in the back of his closet when she goes to steal one of his sweaters. and she notices when he slips more of her queerer movie recommendations into his personal take home pile rather than the movie night stack when he thinks she’s not looking.
she doesn’t notice when he drives to indianapolis after she tries to explain to him why she can’t just ask out a cute girl, tries to impress on him the fear attached to every moment of attraction that he simply has never had to feel, but later she finds a crumpled receipt from a diner in one of his jacket pockets when she’s looking for his keys, and the address is across the street from the bar the gorgeous woman at the bookstore told her about, the one she memorized the address of but hasn’t worked up the guts to think about visiting, and she knows he must have gone looking for a place like that, must have been trying to understand, must have been scoping it out to make sure it was somewhere she could feel safe, after she told him she never had.
so when eddie nearly pops a blood vessel when they clock each other and she mentions that steve is the only person she’s ever come out to before, her hackles come up. because she gets it, she does, he’s only known king steve until recently, so it makes sense that he would be afraid, be concerned for her safety.
but steve is her person, and no one- no one- has ever made her feel as protected or as cared for as he does. no one has ever tried as hard to understand her, no one has ever put so much work into making her feel safe and seen and loved. and she thinks maybe even if no one else ever does, that’s ok. because she has steve, and more importantly steve has her, and that means no one gets to question his ally credentials in her presence without a dressing down to remember, no matter how well they mean or how recently they helped save the world.
(and maybe she’s not as surprised as she could be when he figures out bisexuality all on his own, because she’s been reading all the same pamphlets he has, after all. and she’s seen the way he looks at eddie, i mean come on. maybe no one else has noticed, but then, nobody knows steve harrington like she does.)
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Steve and Eddie don't like each other at first. Or, no, that's not quite right. They're still bonded from everything. They're friends, sort of, but they don't spend time together outside the group, have trouble talking one-on-one.
Steve doesn't think about it much. So, he and Eddie won't ever be real friends, okay. He's a little disappointed, but mostly he doesn't understand how he feels about the other guy. He's always anxious when Eddie's around, clumsy and stuttering, infected with Robin's tendency to nervous chatter. It doesn't make sense. It's just Eddie. But that's the thing. It's Eddie and Steve doesn't know how to act around him.
And Eddie? Well, he spends a lot of time avoiding Steve because the fucking cascade of butterflies he gets every time Harrington is around. He knows what it means, knows even he isn't immune to the Harrington charm, but he needs to be. He needs to keep his heart safe. So, he keeps his distance because Steve Harrington is not for him and never will be.
It changes during movie nights. First it's teasing Dustin and Mike, mocking whatever horrible movie the kids put on, and then it's inside jokes, and playful bickering, and evenings with just the two of them drinking beer and sharing joints.
Then it's August. It's too hot everywhere and Steve's parents are home, so they're in Steve's car, driving with no destination, a couple joints in Eddie's jacket pocket and a six-pack in the trunk. They're listening to a mixtape Eddie made Steve, a bunch of metal. Steve still doesn't get it but there are a couple of songs he enjoys. Rainbow in the Dark starts--this is one Steve likes, reminds him of Eddie and not just because it's Dio. Sun filters through foliage and into the car windows, backlighting Eddie's curls like he's some kind of deity, beautiful and ethereal, not part of this world.
Steve starts singing along to the music, can't help himself. His friend throws him a beaming smile, big enough that Steve thinks his heart stops. He smiles back. He and Eddie sing the rest of the song together, and Steve is...he's content. He's happy. He hasn't felt this way since--well fuck--since 1983. Their eyes meet again, gazes linger, warmth pools in Steve's chest and low in his stomach.
Oh. He thinks. That's what this is. It settles something inside him, the knowing.
Time passes, they get closer, share a bed most nights. Doesn't matter where as long as they're together. Sleep better this way, both of them.
They're at the trailer when it happens, sharing a joint, loosely tucked against each other in bed.
"I've never had a friend like you," Eddie says. His eyes stay fixed on the smoke he exhaled. "I know you and Robin are--like, I get it. But you're--for me--"
"Yeah," Steve agrees. He flushes from his chest to forehead. "For me too."
It's enough, they both think. They're standing on the edge of more have been for months, but this? This is good. There's no need to push, to force. They're hurt, Steve thinks. They're healing. And they have time.
Corroded Coffin plays their first show back at the Hideout in December. Steve's never seen Eddie like this, performing. His shirt is cropped and artfully torn, his jeans more rip than pants. He's wearing eyeliner and his hair is wild. And the way he moves, sinuous and sleek, hips thrusting in a tantalizing rhythm as he shreds on the guitar. Steve wants so badly he feels it in his teeth.
He finds Eddie smoking behind the Hideout after the set. His eye are too bright, his smile manic, the adrenaline keying him up to the highest setting of Eddie. Steve knows he matches the energy, can't help it.
Eddie throws himself into Steve's arms, wrapping around him tight enough that no space lingers. The musician presses his face into Steve's neck, nuzzling, lips pressing against his pulse point. They touch always, share a bed and cuddle, but never like this; nothing like this. Steve pulls Eddie closer, and groans at the mutual swivel of their hips.
Eddie's breath comes in panting bursts, and Steve thinks, "here it is, finally, finally," but the door next to them bangs open and they jump apart at the noise.
Their friends and the rest of the Corroded Coffin guys come out, frolicking and shouting, complimenting Eddie on the show. If anyone noticed them embracing, notices the way they both adjust their clothing to hide their matching arousal, they don't say anything.
Steve wakes early the next morning, early enough that Eddie doesn't even stir beside him, hair wild and eyeliner smeared.
He gets out of bed, starts breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, Eddie's favorite. He's so intent on cooking that he doesn't hear the other man come up behind him, doesn't realize he's even awake until a warm body presses to his back, long-fingered hands slipping under his t-shirt, tracing the scars on his stomach. He leans into it without a thought. They touch all the time, but they don't touch like this.
"Watcha making, sweetheart?" Eddie whispers.
"Your favorite," Steve answers.
Eddie makes a little sound, almost a whimper, and presses his face to Steve's neck. Steve lifts his chin, leaning into Eddie and offering more. Warm lips press against his jaw, down to the moles on his throat. A moan slips from his lips as he grinds his ass into Eddie's hardness. The other man groans, grabbing at Steve's hips.
Somewhere in the press of their bodies, Steve has the presence of mind to turn. He lifts his hands, cups Eddie's jaw, thumbs caressing the stubbled, scarred skin of his cheeks. "Okay?" He asks. His voice shakes.
Eddie's eyes are wide, shining, and he swallows hard. Steve knows he's overwhelmed, knows that the words won't come. Instead, Eddie nods, and finally finally they kiss.
Steve is flying. His blood soars in his veins, his heart lifts off. It was always supposed to be this. Always supposed to be them.
It was slow. It was easy. It was small jokes, and long looks, and little touches, and singing in cars and best friends and sharing beds.
His heart belonged to Eddie Munson for months. It will belong to him forever.
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