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finntheehumaneater · 4 months

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Hello! For the angsty-ish prompts, maybe “Didn’t you see what I did?!” and Steddie? (Or another pairing, should the mood strike you!)

Hallo!! So…I maybe saw your ask and got super fucking excited…and possibly wrote this way too fast. It turned out to be longer than I expected, and went in a totally different direction than I had planned, but…here it is!!

(I didn’t read this over, so apologies for any mistakes lmao)

angst prompt list | hurt/comfort prompt list (for people who don’t like angst :D) {more about the asks in my pinned post}

CW: some gorey description used in a metaphorical sense (blood, bones, guts, ripping skin, etc.)

Sometimes relationships weren’t meant to last—“we’re family” lost its meaning to him over time—and that made Eddie want to claw out his bones, hands shaking and blood everywhere so that he could die in peace and not have to worry about pushing anyone away again. He pushed away his mom, and then he never got the chance to get her back. He let his dad do he pushing for him, because he was so fucking tired all the time—came out of that with scars and bruises and a deep cut that ran down his chest, carved open and horrible. No one sales could see it but him. Sometimes it wasn’t there. But it still felt like it. In a way, his dad still had pieces of him that Eddie would never get back.

He pushed his uncle away at first, snapped at him and yelled and threw things, because he was a kid and he was angry, but Wayne was stubborn and just held Eddie as he kicked and screamed and sobbed. And Eddie loved Wayne. He was more of a dad to him than his real one had been. He never forced Eddie to do anything he didn’t want to, and Eddie only finished high school because he didn’t want Wayne to feel disappointed. Like Wayne would ever be disappointed in Eddie. He didn’t make Eddie talk to the neighbors or go out and do things—but Eddie did those anyway, sometimes, to just give Wayne a break.

And the trailer was nice, until they lost it in ‘86. When Eddie’s broken body made it back, more ruined than it had ever been. He had woken up in a hospital bed, wires stuck into him with needles and a blue hospital gown covering him. There was no one with him. He was alone. It’s not like he expected anyone to be there, but maybe Wayne waiting for him to wake up would have been nice. And it hadn’t been a slow kind of waking up like he had seen in movies—blinking up at the ceiling and trying to remember where you were—it had been the fast kind of waking up, like the one you would have after a nightmare. He was upright in a second, sobbing before he could even breathe in.

A nurse came in shortly after and got him to lay down for a while. He asked where his uncle was, and she told him that no one was allowed to visit. She said she was surprised that they hadn’t handcuffed him to the bed, and her voice sounded bitter, like she wouldn’t have liked it if they had.

After a few hours, she had him sit up, and she untied the back of the hospital gown, sliding the blue-and-white dotted fabric off of his shoulders to look at his chest. And Eddie couldn’t really look down all that well, so he just let his head drop as gently as he could, chin pressed to his chest. And he didn’t know why it made him cry so hard to see a line down the front, all stitched up with a thin line of blood leaking down the middle. But maybe it was because the nurse seemed to notice it. Maybe because it made him think of his dad. Maybe it was because it just made everything feel more real.

Some of the stitches were torn—probably because Eddie refused to stay still, all of his body feeling like it was itching and squirming and twisting in ways that hurt—so the nurse fixed them and then gave him a hug. He didn’t know that nurses could do that. He had been in the hospital loads of times as a kid. For when he “tripped down the stairs” or “fell out of bed” or “fell off of his bike”. He didn’t even have a bike until he moved in with Wayne. And whenever he cried, then, the nurses would just look at him like it was an inconvenience for them, and his dad would tell him to shut up so that they could finish up and get out of there. He was eight. That wasn’t fair.

After a little while, Wayne was allowed to come in. And he didn’t say anything at first. Just sat next to Eddie and held his hand while Eddie bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. He didn’t want to cry anymore, but he knew he was going to.

Wayne couldn’t stay forever, because he still had to work. The government hush-money was fine, but they needed that to afford the apartment Wayne had found just outside of Hawkins, so everything else came from his job. When Wayne couldn’t be there, Eddie was alone.

Until Steve Harrington started showing up. Honestly, it was a miracle that the fucking armed guards outside let Steve in, seeing as they weren’t family—barely even friends—but Eddie knew why. Before Steve started showing up, Eddie would talk to the guards. It was more like yelling through the locked door to them, just trying to keep himself busy so that he didn’t break down again, like he so often did. And he’d just talk about anything and everything to them, even though he knew it pissed them off. He kind of did it because it pissed them off.

So having Steve in there with him meant that he would stop bothering the guards. And Steve was mostly quiet, but he would tell Eddie what the kids were up to, and how his neighbor—Max

Mayfield—was up to. She was a good kid, he thought. The two of them had never really introduced themselves to each other, but sometimes Wayne would have Max over for dinner when her mom would go out drinking. That was rare, though, because Ms. Mayfield mostly stayed home to drink. And there were times when Max didn’t want to be home, so Eddie would take the couch and let her sleep in his room for the night until she felt safe enough to go back home. And Ms. Mayfield wasn’t like how Eddie’s dad had been, but she scared Max in a different way. No kid should have to see their parent passed out on the couch that often.

She was in some kind of coma, according to Steve, but she was getting better. He said she opened her eyes a few times, but that didn’t really mean anything, and he knew it. Eddie tried his hardest not to cry when Steve was around, because the first time he had done it, Steve had panicked and looked uncomfortable. He knew it was because Steve had been tired and Eddie had just burst into tears suddenly when one of the IV wires tugged too hard as he moved his arm—but Eddie still felt bad.

Sometimes it happened, and he would wait until Steve was leaving the room to curl up into the bed as best as he could and just cry. And sometimes Steve would turn around and come back to sit with him, to hold his hand and just let him cry for as long as he needed, but most times Steve would leave and Eddie would be alone again.

Steve was there a lot for him when Wayne couldn’t be. And Wayne was trying his hardest, but his boss was strict and he wasn’t allowed to leave early or call in sick. Steve was there when Eddie had to try walking for the first time in three months. Steve was there when Eddie had to start doing Physical Therapy a few times a week. And Steve was there when Eddie had been discharged.

Steve took him to his house, and not to Wayne’s apartment, because Eddie wasn’t really over losing the trailer yet. He let Eddie sleep in the guest bedroom, but they ended up sleeping in the same bed when Eddie’ hobbled over to Steve’s room to lay with him after Steve woke up screaming. Eddie didn’t really have nightmares all that much, because he thought about the shit they had been through all too often, but Steve seemed to try and push those thoughts away.

Eddie woke up with Steve curled into his side, his face pressed against Eddie’s arm, one hand curled across Eddie’s chest and into his hair—over the scar down Eddie’s front that still felt like it was bleeding all the time, even though it was closed. And for a minute, Eddie felt a little safer, turning as best as he could to wrap his arms back around Steve, nose pressed into his hair as he just tried to breathe and go back to sleep.

When they woke up, Steve moved away and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to pry Eddie off of him as gently as he could, because Eddie was still half-asleep and his limbs felt stiff and imoblile. He made fun of Eddie a bit for hugging him in his sleep, before he went down to make food, but Eddie didn’t mind.

He got up and tugged on one of Steve’s t-shirts that he found, before putting back sweatpants from the day before—because Steve had told him he couldn’t wear his jeans until his legs were a bit better, in case they hurt him. Eddie didn’t think that would happen, but the sweatpants were easier to move in considering how stiff his legs always felt. And if it made Steve happy, he’d do it.

He limped down the stairs, nearly slipping—which had happened before—but he caught himself on the railing and went down the straits slower until he was on flat ground and could hold onto the wall better until he got to the kitchen.

Steve had his back turned to him, looking through the refrigerator for bread to make toast, because Eddie was one of the pickiest eaters alive, and was tired of the off-brand cereal he got to eat at the hospital. Eddie struggled to pull himself up onto the counter for a moment, and when he got up there, one of the knobs from the cabinet was digging into his spine—but being up there made him feel taller than Steve, so he stayed.

Steve turned around with the bread, doing a little spin that made Eddie laugh—before Steve saw Eddie and let out a strangled scream, throwing the bread bag near him.

Eddie leaned forward and caught it, smiling to himself. “Morning.”

“Jesus Christ…” Steve breathed, sighing and running his hands down his face, his cheeks flushed as he snatched the bread back and walked over to the toaster.

“Nope. Just Eddie,” Eddie muttered, grinning, but he didn’t really feel happy. Because after this , he was going to be leaving, and then he was probably going to avoid Steve. But he might not have to, because why would Steve want to see him after this, anyways? It was just pity.

Still, Eddie couldn’t help but ask the question that had been gnawing on the back of his mind like some kind of rabid dog. He cleared his throat and looked down, feeling the tears burn in his eyes even though he hadn’t said anything yet. “Why did you let me stay?”

“Hm?” Steve hummed, and it sounded absentminded, like he wasn’t really listening as he put the bread into the toaster and pulled the switch down until it clicked.

“Steve?,” Eddie tried again, and this time Steve turned around. Eddie looked up, and fuck, Steve was looking at him with those eyes again—all concerned and pitiful. And Eddie wanted to rip himself open, peel back his skin and show Steve all of his damaged parts—all of the pieces that he didn’t show anybody else. But he didn’t. He just swallowed and asked again, “Why haven’t you left yet?”

Steve tilted his head to the side, stepping between Eddie’s knees and placing his hands on Eddie’s thighs in such a casual way that Eddie wanted to scream. “I mean…you’re in my house.”

“You know what I mean,” Eddie muttered, his face burning red as he looked away, vaguely feeling a few tears slip down his cheeks. “Don’t avoid the truth, man, I know this is all just fucking pity.”

“Eddie—“ Steve started, his voice sounding hurt as his eyebrows creased in concern, hands reaching up to touch Eddie’s face. Eddie flinched away, the knob on the cabinet pressing even harder into his spine.

“Didn’t you see what I did? With the fucking kids? Why do you think I didn’t let any of them come and see me after the charges were fucking lifted?” Eddie choked out, words biting around the broken sob that he was desperately trying to hold in, because Steve didn’t need to pity him any more than he already had. “I’m a fuck-up! Everyone leaves! And if people don’t do it on their own, I fucking push them away! I’m not—“

Steve tugged Eddie into a hug, pulling him down until his face was pressed into Steve’s shoulder. There was a hand wrapped around his waist, one in his hair.

“Stop it,” Steve whispered, his voice soft. “You’re not a fuck-up. Don’t say that.”

“I am,” Eddie muttered, his voice sounding wet and broken and childish. “I am.”

“I don’t care, then. I don’t care if you’re a fuck-up, okay? I’m staying, and I’m going to help you get better. Because I care about you. Not whatever shitty things you’ve done, Eddie.” His words were quiet, but Eddie felt himself shrink back slightly, sobbing, only for Steve to pull him back again, one hand tracing over his spine in the most gentle way possible.

“You’re an idiot for caring,” Eddie whispered, his hands going limp from where they were previously gripping at Steve’s arms.

“Maybe,” Steve mused, combing his fingers through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie found himself leaning into the touch. “You can’t push me away, though. You’re stuck with me now.”

Eddie laughed wetly into Steve’s neck, shaking his head. “Fine by me.”

This kind of felt good. Like this is what he had been waiting for. Like the aching, sore feeling inside of him was being clouded over by something nicer and more soft—something loving.

It felt like the cut down his chest was finally healing. For good this time.

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 6 months

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love that on desktop i can change the source of my replies so i reply from This blog and not my abandoned main. now if only we could choose the blog we send asks from...

#i think i'd actually Send some!#bc in the past i'd like. send an ask but its not from the blog my mutual recognizes me as #so it reads like a message from a total stranger!#anyway this is the first Good update tumblr has given us in a while. thank you staff #absolutely unprompted #honestly that was a big part of what kept me from responding to replies #it felt weird! like some stranger comes in and responds! huh!

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familyvideostevie · 2 years

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steve fic request!

set in the future when they’re married, steve is (irrationally) worried about being a good father (due to his own fraught relationship with his parents). just some fluff as reader reassures him pls.

thanks!! <3

here you go, dove! thank you for waiting, i hope it's what you wanted, i tried to focus on that fluff and reassurance! i love steve, he'd be a great dad < 3 | 1.6k, fem!reader, fluff, cw: vague discussion of steve's parents being neglectful, talk of having children in general

You stare at the ceiling from where you lay on Steve's chest to avoid catching sight of the boxes, halfway unpacked suitcases, and fresh sheets scattered around the bedroom. Steve's hand strokes up lazily up and down your arm. You can feel the cool metal of his wedding band every so often, which makes you smile. You didn't know you could feel this happy. Married for over a month, and it hasn't faded. Most days you think it never will.

The fall wedding was sweet and small, and afterwards you drove up and down the East Coast to catch the leaves turning. There are so many things to be done now that you're home, in your own house no less. You bypassed the boxes and attempted to start on your luggage, but you got as far as washing and drying your sheets before you both collapsed on the unmade bed.

"Being an adult is weird as shit," Steve says. You bark out a laugh. "Seriously, babe, we're like, almost 30."

"Not quite, Steve," you chastise. "Don't rush us!"

"Well, it's weird. We have a house. We're married. We have to decorate." He says the last one like it's tart in his mouth. "We have to go back to Hawkins this week to pick up some stuff we forgot from your parents." You decided to leave the apartment you'd been sharing in Hawkins behind, settling an hour or so away. Close enough that you can go back anytime, since neither of you think you'll ever really shake it after everything, but far enough that it feels like your own world.

"We'll have to go at the weekend since we both have to do this adult thing called work." Your hand rests flat on Steve's chest, and you give him a little pat as if to get up, but his hold on you tightens.

"Don't remind me. I don't want to talk about real life yet."

"This is the life, Steve," you grin. "It's our life. Can you believe it?" Your voice sounds a little breathless. You tilt your head up at Steve, your husband, and he meets you for a tender kiss. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but each one with rings on your fingers feels special. You lapse back into silence, content to be close to Steve like this as long as you can, even if the bed does need to get made at some point.

"I miss the kids," Steve whispers. He sighs.

"They're not really kids anymore," you reply, keeping your words soft. "They're in college, spreading out, growing up. Just like us!" Steve grunts in reply. "I miss them, too," you reassure him.

He plays with the fingers of your left hand where they rest on his chest, ghosting over your wedding band. You feel the mood shift, feel him start to gather his thoughts for a serious conversation. You let him take his time.

"I'm so glad we got married because it doesn't feel like it changed much, you know?" he starts. You could tease him a little for this, but know that he's getting to something important, something he needs you to hear.

"I think so, but tell me more anyway."

"Well," he continues, "we've been living together for a million years, I've loved you for even longer, and now we just have a piece of paper to prove it."

"And a house, Steve," you say with fondness and a little bit of awe.

"And a house." He sighs again and gently shifts you both onto your sides, so you're face-to-face. You scoot back a little to see him more clearly.

"What's this about, Stevie?" you whisper, bringing your hand to stroke his cheek, just once. The touch seems to give him courage.

"Do you think I'd be a good dad?" he croaks. You don't try to hide your surprise. You've talked about having kids, often and with enthusiasm, albeit a few years down the line. But you've managed not to touch on this part of it.

"Steve," you say, breathless, hand cupping his jaw this time. You are desperate to reassure him, to squash the insecurity in his eyes. "Steve, of course you'll be a good dad. Shit, sweetheart, you have been a good dad."

He sighs at your words but closes his eyes, scrunching his nose like he's about to sneeze. "I dont... I've been thinking about it. Now that we've started a new life for ourselves. Just all the ways I can fuck it up."

"Steve," you whisper. "Look at me, please." He opens his eyes and they're glistening just a little. It makes you ache to see him like this, to see him doubting and hurting. "What's got you worried?"

"I just don't know how I'll love them right, you know?" He sniffles a little, turning his head so your thumb drags down over his lips. His breath is hot on your skin as he continues. "I'm worried all I know how to do is what my parents did and that's not nearly enough. It's not what our kids would deserve, or what you deserve."

"Steve Harrington," you say firmly. "I want you to listen to me." You wiggle closer, shrinking the space between you again as you tangle your legs with his, hand still firm on this face, the other coming to rest on his heart. "I hear you, baby, and I get it. It's so hard to shake the shit that we get from our parents and our families and our pasts. And you have more than most of us. But I'll be damned if I've met a man more caring, more loving, more self-sacrificing than you." Steve doesn't look away from you, though his mouth starts to curl at the edges because you sound so determined to make him listen.

"You were so quick to give your life for those kids back when they were kids," you continue, "and you loved them immediately because that's what you do Steve. You love people with everything you have."

"S'why you married me, yeah?" He's aiming for a joking tone, but it comes out a bit raw. You nod.

"One of the millions of things I love about you. But listen to me, and this is the important part."

"Getting out my notepad," he jokes. You pinch his cheek gently but continue.

"It's so hard when we don't get the love we are owed from the people who are meant to give it to us, but it's even harder to choose to be so full of love anyway and to give it away so freely. To be as good as you, Stevie. You love those kids and they love you and that will exist for the rest of your life. You love me and I love you and that will exist for...for the rest of eternity." You feel your own eyes start to well as you keep going. You just need him to know this.

"You will love any children we have through space and time and all the rest, until the world ends, Steve," you finish. Steve's own hand comes to your cheek to swipe away a tear. You brush away its twin as it drips down his own nose.

"Pretty big promises, baby," he breathes. "But how can I argue with those pretty words? What would I do without you?"

"Cry less, maybe," you croak out.

"More," he says. "I'd be missing so much." His eyes pour over your face as if he's memorizing it, as if he's drinking you in and can't get enough.

"Can I tell you a secret?" you ask. He's nodding immediately.

"Anything."

"I'm scared too," you admit. "To be a parent." Steve knows your baggage, and he's always loved you through it, with it, because of it. "No one is perfect, but--"

"You're as close as it gets," he interrupts. You hush him, giggling a little.

"No one is a perfect parent, no one is a perfect child, but if there's one thing you know how to do, Steve, it's love. And I think as long as we do that, we'll figure it out." Steve pulls you to his chest again and rolls onto his back, where you started.

"It'll be hard, but we'll do it together." He takes a deep breath and you rise and fall on his chest. "Parenting can't be harder than a freaky alternate dimension full of shit that wants to kill us." You laugh again, feeling warm and fuzzy. You shift up to his ear, your lips almost on his skin.

"You're going to be a great father, Steve."

"Yeah I--thank you. I believe you." He turns his head to brush his nose against yours, hand finding your ring again to trace it with his fingers. "I'm so lucky to call you my wife."

"My husband," you whisper. He shivers a little. "My Stevie. Love you so much." You kiss the first part of him you can reach, your lips landing somewhere on his brow, before settling back on his chest. You are reveling in the sweetness of this moment, of all of the moments before, and all of the ones to come. Life is hard -- you both know that for certain -- but you can't help but look forward to all of it because you've got Steve with you.

"I can't believe we have to unpack all of our shit still," your husband groans. You smile into his shirt, overcome with how much you love him.

"Tomorrow," you say. Right now, you want to put fresh sheets on the bed only to dirty them again right away. You want to kiss this man silly. "We have tomorrow."

"Thank christ for that," Steve says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

want to be added to my tag list for full-length (non-ask) fics? send me a message and specify for steve, eddie, or both! reblog, send feedback, requests open, masterlist here!

#i am not totally happy with it but i need to stop noodling!#thank you for waiting for this #let me know what you think!#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steeb #anon ask #emma’s asks

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ducktracy · 5 months

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yet another reprise of the same post i’ve made dozens and dozens of times before but GEEZ! i am so incredibly lucky to be doing what i’m doing! to think i spend hours and hours and days and weeks and months and years and hopefully DECADES pouring over animation history, lauding the masters and studying their work so intently and absorbing it and feeling and identifying with it, and the fact that i get to walk the same turf they did. that i get to be a part of this business that they established. that i get to carry the torch and that, some day, no matter how small or insignificant, my own work and contributions will be regarded as “animation history” because i work in animation and all history is history. i just can’t believe that i’m privileged enough to indulge in some of the same practices that The Greats did, that i get to study their work and, if i’m so lucky, channel and make homages to it where possible.

this isn’t to say “i’m just like Tex Avery because i work in animation TOO!!!!”, but, rather, an expression of my sheer GRATITUDE and amazement that i get to do what i do at all. i’ve met so many nice people. blossomed so much as an artist and cartoonist. get inspired each day by the talent i am constantly surrounded by. and to think that i get to be a part of it!!!!! that i get to carry the torch! i know this sounds so conceited and pompous and i really don’t mean it that way at all because i don’t WANT to be known as someone who people are only interested in because i work in cartoons. i just wanna be known for me! what “me” is i guess is for you to decide! but, regardless, i’m just feeling extra thankful tonight that i’m able to indulge in my passions and SPREAD my passions and have said passions fostered. that i’m lucky enough to tread the same ground as some of the greatest creatives that gave me this ground to tread on. there will never be enough words to properly articulate just how deeply and passionately my gratitude extends.

#not naming names because i feel weird bragging about them behind their back but one person who works on our show i look up to very very #highly. I MEAN I DO FOR A LOT OF PEOPLE. i am literally surrounded by some of the best in the business. but one person i particularly revere #said they were a ‘big fan of my work’ and when i was told that i legitimately went lightheaded for a few seconds #or again Ruth Clampett commenting that her dad would ‘love to see this cartoon live on’ on my art and making me bawl like an absolute baby #IT’S JUST SO CRAZY #i just. man #it’s really beyond words #and so many other kind words from bosses coworkers friends mutuals acquaintances total strangers #i don’t take any of your kindness or even just. awareness for granted #i know i’m not often vreat at responding but i do read every single tag every ask every DM! please know i never take it for granted #thank you for keeping me company and deciding i’m worth the company to keep #okay i think i have officially gone into word salad territory so it’s time to retreat #i’ve gotten much less candid for fear of maintaining some semblance of professionality but sometimes you just need to speak from the heart #(and i’ve gotten much less neurotic about that in recent months thankfully. Tumblr is my little safe haven)#so thank you for making it a safe haven at all

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mayhasopinions · 10 months

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for the drawing rec :))

spidey-will‼️ (and MJ wheeler)

oh anon you know me so well

#love this au concept!#spider-will was definately in atsv totally #he just infodumps about dnd to all the other spideys #thank you for the ask anon :D #stranger things #may answers #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #au #spider-man au #spider-man #i was gonna do the upside down spidey kiss but idk how to draw kissing rip

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ivy-and-ivory · 21 days

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Love is stored in the strangers that offered to let me borrow their eclipse glasses

#totally forgot to pick some up in time #was on a walk and a bunch of people stopped me and asked if I wanted to see #yes I very much did thank you kind strangers #it was only a partial here alas but still very cool

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hullosweetpea · 3 months

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Felled by You ch 3! So excited for that one!

Slowly but surely, I’m gonna get these answered 😅

Steve pants as the next trainee stumbles to the ground. He runs a hand through his shaggy, sweaty hair before offering a hand to the other omega.

“Not bad,” says Hopper.

Steve and the omega exchange a glance before she jogs to the edge of the training grounds to strip off her chainmail. “Thanks.”

“They've gotten better since you started showing them your training.”

“They were good even before I started.” And they were, he remembers watching the troops storm over the hills, colors raised high as a wave of horses and soldiers clashed in the middle.

Hopper pats him on the back. “And they can always get better. Take a break. Edward would have my head if I let his omega get overheated.”

There’s a joke on the tip of his tongue, but Steve bites it off.

#ask games #thank you for asking!#me last week: i can totally handle an ask game #me five days later: treat 🥺#stranger things #steddie #fanfic

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wiser-girl · 1 year

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what was the unhinged stonathan thought you had?

OH MY GOD I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT OK THANK YOU

Basically S5 they’re all living together in the lab or something bc it’s a full apocalypse situation. It’s been a few months, so Joyce is finally cutting Will’s hair. The bowl is once again pulled out.

Steve sees Will is less than thrilled and offers to cut it himself. Bc of course even in the apocalypse his locks are looking immaculate as ever. Will agrees and we end up with a cute kinda shaggier version of his current look (because I’m NOT a bowl cut hater ok it’s just for plot purposes). Mike is obviously gay panicking but that’s besides the point.

During the haircut Will opens up to Steve a bit, saying it feels stupid to care about something like this in the literally end of the world. But Steve teaches him that having some pride in yourself and your appearance isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and that they have to keep looking after themselves even now. Besides he looks good, and doesn’t he want to impress a certain someone *wink wink nudge nudge* (I’d imagine at this point Robin is out to at least Will, and so he knows Steve is safe to talk to about Mike. Steve may or may not tell Will he’s bi at this point idk).

Following this, Will kinda starts to hero worship Steve just a bit, and hangs out with him and Robin (and presumably Dustin) more. And Jonathan is jealous. He’s trying not to be, it’s good Will is making new friends, but he still is yet to see how much Steve has matured to the extent that pretty much anyone else has. And now he’s stealing his baby brother. So yeah, he’s a little annoyed. What’s so great about Steve anyway. Ok, so he’s great with kids. Actually he’s great with Will, which is both infuriating and endearing, and yeah, he does still look amazing even in the apocalypse, and sure, he stays level-headed in combat situations, and wow he really can use that bat huh and oh no.

Also this could totally still work for Stoncy OR we have Mike also getting close with Robin and then Nancy getting jealous too, the possibilities are endless

#SORRY THIS IS SO LATE BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REMINDING ME #I just love dumb jealousy with the teens #and them bonding with the kids #and Steve and Will are my two favs so ofc I want them to be besties #I'd totally be down to write this after I finish shovel talk if anyone wants it #stonathan #byler #stranger things #ficlet #barely but we'll take it #ask #my post #my writing

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thebirdandhersong · 1 year

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#as a side note i had a moment of horrid irony when i thought suddenly that I WISHED mr knight were there #because he was at the vigil last year and used to be a part of my church. and i suddenly missed all my old housemates #who were here last year! went to hug people during the peace and a good friend asked if i was okay #i was like 😭😭😭😭 not really and then turned around and SAW the boy and was like well this is a twist in the plot i truly dont care for #anyway all's well i just cried buckets more my heart's been wrung OUT #he lives fae away. he was not supposed to come. anyway he did and i shook his hand formally because he offered to (???)#*far away #it was totally bizarre #he did not stay for long which. thank God. i wouldve been so much more tired if he had #but he wished me happy birthday which irked me because we'd had an unspoken agreement to not wish each other happy birthday (for fear of #mixed signals) which. happened i guess #it was INCREDIBLY bizarre. the safest ive ever felt in my life was when he was holding me #and now he's a familiar stranger i know too well whom i dont WANT to know #anyway it has been a heartwrenching and soul draining Lent and past six months or more and i was ready to cry #and so i did. bawled like a baby after certain readings and songs. cried and cried and cried #re: reasons for that concerning the ex boyfriend: it is SO weird and i dont know how to deal with it #like. i still have so much love that it feels like grief and the grief bleeds into that love too #but that love isnt for HIM anymore or at least not the person i found he was. so now it really does have nowhere to go #ANYHOW IT'S LATE BUT THE POINT IS. HE IS RISEN AND THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS #THAN SEEING YOUR EX BOYFRIEND AT CHURCH AND BEING LIKE ?????? HUH????????

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lunasilvis · 3 days

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You are so pretty, I wish you were my gf

You sure of that, my love language is preposterous crust memes and baby cows. I mean, one baby cow pic alright, cool. ...But 7 or 8 a day? Check yoself before you wreck yoself as a wise man once said, only the hardy can handle me

#ask #lol sorry I got a friday + saturday stuffed with social King's Day events. I'm in a funny mood. thanks for the compliment!#*screw the monarchy btw. not down with that obsolescence. priviledged inbreds born into a superior family line is pure idiocracy to me 🤷#Also feel hard to take serious these sort of anonymous proposals. I mean... get in touch with reality if we are total strangers

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cyanide-latte · 5 months

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Hi! Quick question about writing:

How do you stay confident about your writing? I’m working on something rn but I’m afraid it isn’t going to live up to people’s hopes for it.

Thanks! Have a slipper lobster, because you’re cool;

Hey, hi Ace, I apologize that it's taken me a bit of time to reply to this. I really wanted to think about my answer before just diving right in.

Please feel free to take this with a heavy grain of salt, because while I love talking about the writing experience with friends and mutuals, everyone's mileage may vary when it comes to different advice. And I say that partly because I know that my confidence in my writing shouldn't be measured by the same scale as anyone else's, and I do think that goes for everyone.

Please feel free to correct me if I'm interpreting your question and explanation the wrong way, but it does sound like you're worried that your project isn't going to live up to the expectations your potential audience is starting to have, either in terms of writing quality or the directions the story may take or the themes and tropes and ideas you choose to include. That somehow in one or more of these avenues, you may fall short and disappoint your readers. Again I could be way off the mark and please feel free to correct me, but I do get that feeling. It's daunting and can be hell to grapple with, especially if you yourself are excited and passionate about the project. That's your baby, your work, and you want it to be appreciated by those excited for it.

I have a few different thoughts here, so I apologize if this kind of goes all over the place.

Quality of writing is a skill that can be developed, especially with time, dedication and practice. Having natural talent with it can help, sure, but it's a skill that can be worked at. Quality of storytelling, I think, is a different matter and it can be easy to misconstrue the two, especially because there's a degree of overlap when writing fiction. Your particular voice and ease as a storyteller is going to be unique to you, and I do think it's also a craft to be honed, but that it starts with your own sincerity and passion. It's fairly common advice I see reminders of, "only you can tell this story your way", but I think a lot of implementing that comes from reminding yourself you love and and are passionate about the project, and also reminding yourself that the advice can be quite literal.

When we write, we bring our own experiences into that writing, however consciously or unconsciously. We may not be our experiences, but those things shape us, sometimes more deeply than we realize and that can show up in the tiniest of ways at times. And this is just personal speculation on my part, but I think that's a big part of why there can be so many similar stories that aren't the same. It isn't just that there are different people writing it, but that your particular amalgamation of experiences and how they've shaped you and your way of thinking and how you approach a story you want to tell isn't going to be like anyone else's. And when you pour yourself into that, when your sincerity shines through in your writing, I think people can tell. We're drawn to that kind of writing.

(that's definitely one part of why I hold such disdain for AI writing. Someone may have a cool concept but if you feed it into AI to make the AI write your concept for you, there's no sincerity. There's no heart in that. There's no soul in it. Because there's not truly that person in it.)

That's something I often have to remind myself of, when I find myself wondering whether anyone is going to like a project once I have begun writing and sharing it. Everything I've experienced shapes my thoughts, my opinions, my speculations, and in turn that shapes how I approach a story idea and the themes I choose to tackle and the tropes I want to incorporate and how I'm going to weave all those things together.

Sometimes that's still a little daunting, even if the reminder helps. People who don't know me and haven't read my writing before but are interested in a concept I have are the easiest possible people to disappoint. They don't know what they're getting into with me and I can't read their mind to guess at their expectations or what I'm going to make, and that's honestly okay with me. It's not really any different from buying a book at store based on the fact I may have been intrigued by its summary; there's always a chance that my expectations are going to be let down and I won't like it. So it goes, yeah?

Disappointing a reader hurts the worst, I think, when you both know each other somewhat and you have hopes that maybe they'll love your ideas both in concept and execution. Maybe they're a mutual acquaintance who you get along with well, maybe they're a friend. There's a higher degree of trust and hope there, when you hand them what you wrote and ask them to read. You both have a chance of coming out of that let down and disappointed, and you as the writer can feel especially hurt. Maybe they didn't like your writing style (in which case, that could just be a personal preference thing on their part and you can't do much about it. It sucks but it's probably best to go your separate ways in that case.) Maybe you thought you knew they'd like it, maybe they even thought they would and set up the expectation but they ended up not liking it for some reason or another. I actually experience anxiety over that quite a bit when it comes to my mutuals and friends here on Tumblr, because I'm nervous about how something will be received when I finally post a bit of writing I really have wanted to make.

I think the thing that carries me then, aside from reminding myself "nobody else can tell this exact story the way I can", is taking the time to sit down and remind myself that no matter what happens, I'm going to find my audience.

To some degree I do say you are always your own audience; write for yourself, yes. But you share your writing in hopes someone else is going to love what you made. (If you make a cake you like and take it to a party to share with others, yes you made a cake you like, but you want to see at least someone else enjoy that cake too. After all, you worked hard on it and were happy about it!) Write for your own joy, share for the delight and validation from others, I've seen people say. And there's always going to be an audience outside of yourself. Maybe it's not always the people you hoped for or expected from the start, maybe it takes a while before your work finds its audience, but there's always going to be someone who reads your writing and clicks with it and loves it.

Again, my apologies if this is rambly.

And I know that there's a good chance this might not be the advice that can help you (and I really hope that if it isn't, that there's better advice out there somewhere that finds you ASAP.) But I do think reminding yourself that you're always going to find your audience is important, as well as being genuine and remembering that nobody is going to write your story the way you will. Nobody else in the world has your experiences and has had them shape you and the way you view the world and the ideas you have in the same way. But there's always going to be someone who reads your writing and loves it for that exact reason.

#answered asks #ace-disgrace-on-the-case #also thank you for the lobster! 10/10 a quality beast #sorry for how long this got ^^;#thoughts on writing #i will also say I've been fortunate enough over the past ~20 or so years to consistently be told i write well #not just from friends and acquaintances but often total strangers who read my stuff. across a variety of different fandoms and spaces.#so to some degree it does help reassure me that at least I've got some honed skill #but I'm not totally sure if that's helpful advice or not? that's definitely a personal experience that's shaped some of me (case in point)#anyway i hope that maybe something in my reply could help?#Cyanide speaks

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