Everyone keeps talking about "the writer's barely disguised fetish". But I still haven't heard about "the writer's barely disguised huge ass pet peeve"

reverse gaslighting where i pretend to know exactly what you are talking about

academic conferences

Work meetings

Interviews

Auditory processing disorder

conversations with my cats who are yelling

Me letting that little kid with their hyper fixation tell me every single fact they know about it

Goncharov (1973)

moment of unspeakable beauty today when one of my coworkers called another coworker "judas" for not splitting a can of white monster with her, and i got to watch the guy who sits next to me open a new google tab, type in "jeudis," and say quietly to himself "french thursday...?"

Stobin Month

Scoops Ahoy ⚓

You seat a table of three for breakfast and the woman says hmm yes I will have a loaded waffle tower please and you say ma'am that's a children's item and she says so and you say okay fine and the man who brought a whole laptop in says ah, I will have what the lady is having and an orange soda and you say for breakfast and he says of course and then the guy who is clearly a criminal says what kind of bread do you use for your French toast and you say ... White and he says can I sub brioche and you say we don't have brioche and he sighs and says I'll get the rooty tooty... Whatever the cowboy omelette and the other two start razzing him about being a cowboy and when you come to check up on them the woman is playing airplane with the loaded waffle tower trying to get the criminal to eat it and they tip $200 and your watch has been replaced with a better watch

I had to get a couple of ultrasounds last year and I haven’t gotten over how this is indicated in my test results as, among other things, “cervix: unremarkable”

Yes. Unremarkable is an incredibly good thing for a medical examination to be. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything is fine. This is good news.

But I literally CANNOT STOP laughing at “pussy: basic” being in my medical records.

Someone's grandma brought her a present: a new box of crinkle paper to destroy

ｴｯﾎｴｯﾎ

Two straight guys

Party had once again turned the night into a movie marathon — “The Princess Bride” was wrapping up on screen for the third time, and the group was in various stages of collapse. Someone was snoring, someone was mumbling nonsense. Eddie was nestled in his favorite spot — head in Steve’s lap, eyes closed, trying his very best to look unconscious.

This was his favorite game for the past three months: Maximum Violation of Steve Harrington’s Personal Space. A stealth mission of love and desperation, really. Scraping together whatever scraps of warmth he could scavenge. All because he fell for the one type of person most incompatible with yearning: a straight guy.

“Jesus,” Eddie thought. “This is so pathetic. Lucky me, Steve’s personal boundaries got obliterated sometime between Robin and babysitting every child in Indiana. Being in love with a straight dude is… it’s a nightmare. A soft, nice-smelling nightmare.”

Steve was gently running his fingers through Eddie’s hair, convinced the guy was fast asleep. Robin was curled up next to him, whispering something with her head on his shoulder.

Steve (whispering, smirking): “Come on, Robin. Three ha-ha’s and that’s it. Eddie’s so straight. I’ve never met anyone so utterly oblivious to flirting. I’d have better luck seducing drywall.”

Robin (eye-roll): “Steve. Please. I read signals. Queers can smell their own. And Eddie? He’s definitely not full-on straight. If straight at all.”

Steve: “Robin. I’ve been flirting with him for three months. We cuddle. I let him touch my hair. God, I don't let anyone touch me except you and sometimes the kids.. I invited him on a date. And do you know what happened? He brought friends. He brought Gareth. Jeff. Two family-sized bags of nachos. TO A DATE, ROBIN.”

Robin: “Just because he doesn’t respond to your flirting doesn’t mean he’s straight. Also, Eddie’s boundaries? Basically nonexistent. I mean, Steve, sometimes I forget you used to be King Steve. But then you say things like this and your ego comes screaming back.”

Steve: “If he wasn’t straight — and didn’t like me — he’d just say it! But he doesn’t! He doesn’t see it! Being in love with a straight dude is… it’s a nightmare.”

Meanwhile, Eddie — very much awake and actively dying inside — kept his eyes shut, clutching onto the last threads of his sanity and telling his heart to chill the hell out.  This was fine. Everything was fine.

Written for @steddiemicrofic & @steddiesportsau.

Left to Rot

April Microfic Prompt: Score & Sports AU Prompt: Sports Injury | Word Count: 351 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Recreational Drug Mention | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Canon Divergence Set After S2, Banter, Steve's Hurt And All He Got Was This Lousy Cellmate

This fucking sucks. 

Steve has his knee propped up in a chair in the ISS room, pillow under his calf. He's been left to rot in here. Torn ACL, basketball season over. Probably baseball and track, too. Senior year, ruined. If that wasn't bad enough, now he feels like he's being punished. He can't get upstairs, not on crutches, not with this big fucking brace. So, he's stuck down here. It's not like they had a lot of other places to put him. He didn't want to sit in the main office with Ms. Arlene.

But still.

Dumped with the in-school suspension kids is such bullshit. He didn't do anything wrong, he just got hurt.

Ms. Gordon is never in here either, always off yapping in the hall, and so far there have been no other students besides Eddie "The Freak" Munson, who flunked last year.

"What are you in for?" Steve asks, desperate for someone, anyone, to talk to. He's going stir-crazy.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Harrington?" Munson snaps, continuing to draw in his notebook.

"C'mon. I'll tell you," Steve wheedles.

"I already know why you're in here. Your knee is made of fine china, apparently," Eddie snarks.

Steve smirks, winding up.

"You calling me valuable, Munson?" Steve teases, happy when the blush creeps up Eddie's neck, unbidden. Serves him right. 

Rumors are abundant about Eddie. Of course they are, it's Hawkins and high school. There's no chance of escaping that.

"Tell me a secret and I'll tell you why I'm stuck with you, Harrington."

"There are monsters under Hawkins," Steve easily admits, and Eddie laughs.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna get an A on my quiz in Ms. O'Donnell's later. Sure."

Steve laughs. He was honest. It's not his fault if Eddie doesn't believe him.

Eventually, Eddie looks back up from drawing. Brown eyes that somehow look kind under the bluster.

"Your buddy Hagan wanted to score some weed. Got caught. Said he got it from me. They got no proof, but punished me anyway."

"Not my friend anymore," Steve says, then asks, "Well? Did he?"

"Duh," Eddie laughs. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiesportsau to follow along with the fun!

Main Score by Kasandra Buckingham

@steddiemicrofic Score | 351 | T | Witness Protection, Post-Canon, Getting Back Together, Actor Steve, Composer Eddie

If Steve wasn't one of the actors, this would have been much harder. As it is, he only had to beg his agent to beg the audio department to give him the contact information of the score composer. Because when he tried contacting the orchestra director, he just spread his hands helplessly.

"We got the music sheet from the soundtrack producer and worked it out through him. We've never met Kasandra," the man said, before leaning conspiratorially towards him. "Although, I bet it's not her real name; she seems really secretive. Maybe someone big? Who knows."

Of course it's not a real name, Steve growled inside his head. And the only big thing about her, are her fucking balls.

From there, it only takes a few fake phone calls to get Kasandra Buckingham's address.

When he knocks, he ducks under the visor's view, and once the doors open, he grabs them so she can't slam them in his face. 

Or he can't.

"Hi, Kas," Steve says, bullying his way inside past the stunned ghost from his past. 

Eddie swiftly closes the door after him. He peeks behind the window curtains, and fixes them back in place with anxiety in his eyes.

"How did you find me?" he hisses, following Steve deeper into his apartment. 

Instead of an answer, he's wrapped in a tight hug. Reflexively, he returns it, probably even more desperately. His eyes sting. 

"Just wanted to tell Kassandra how great was the soundtrack she wrote."

"I had no idea you'd be in the movie," Eddie sobs. 

"Sounds like a hell of a coincidence, huh? I'd never look at an indie slasher if I wasn't starring in it."

"It does," he admits. "I can't believe you remembered it," he adds quietly.

Now Steve knows he put it there in hopes of being found. 

"The song you tortured me with everyday? You didn't even change the title." 

Eddie pulls away to look him in the eyes. 

"The title was a very important part. Still is."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Years might have passed, but "Loverboy" still plays in their chests when they kiss.

tagsies: @wheneverfeasible @blasvemous @phantomcat94

Winter has arrived on Poob.

Start your 7 day free trial of Poob today, and watch smash hit Martin Scorcese's Goncharov.

“Harrington!!!” Eddie slurs from across the room when Steve walks into the party — eyes closed, head lolled, big cheeseball grin on his flushed pink face. “My dick works again!!!”

Uh. “G-good for you, man!”

Frank cracks open a fresh beer. “Don’t listen to him, man, he’s drunk.”

“I am drunk,” Eddie agrees enthusiastically, leaning over to paw Frank’s drink out of his hand and nearly knocking it to the ground. Beer spills over the lip of the can; runs down Frank’s hand and wrist all the way to his elbow. Eddie proudly pronounces, “I’m drunk and I’m healed and my dick is fuckin’ func— fuckin’— uh— work good?”

“Well, Jee. Zus. Christ.” Frank punctuates each syllable with a wipe of his wet hand across Eddie’s shirt. “Just keep your functional fuckstick in your pants, ya fuckin’ caveman.”

i think it would be really funny if Robin, who has an inkling about steve, asks him if hes a friend of dorothy and Steve, doesnt know what that means, his mothers friends actual name is Dorothy, confusedly says 'well, yeah, I'd say were acquainted, but shes really more just my moms friend, i didnt know you knew her'

robin, not understanding the situation, interprets this WILDLY different and believes steves mother is a lesbian for years until one day her and steve arrive at his house while his mom is having tea or whatever rich people do with dorothy and steve excitingly says hey robin dorothy is here! you guys know each other right!

One of the best writing advice I have gotten in all the months I have been writing is "if you can't go anywhere from a sentence, the problem isn't in you, it's in the last sentence." and I'm mad because it works so well and barely anyone talks about it. If you're stuck at a line, go back. Backspace those last two lines and write it from another angle or take it to some other route. You're stuck because you thought up to that exact sentence and nothing after that. Well, delete that sentence, make your brain think because the dead end is gone. It has worked wonders for me for so long it's unreal

I don't remember where I heard this now, but I absorbed the advice, "if you're stuck, count ten sentences back and start again from there". It's not always ten sentences back, for me, but it does force me to look at the last handful of lines I've actually written on a sentence instead of a story level, and that is eminently helpful in unsticking myself most of the time.

I recently resolved a point where I'd been stuck for months not by changing anything in the scene I was currently writing, but by realizing I needed to add another scene before that one to establish key information I couldn't work into the current one

HEY WRITER MUTUALS COME GET YOUR WRITER JUICE