MeggieJolly

Hopper has grown to accept that he will not have an uninterrupted lunch until this unattended five year old goes to college because, "Hello?"

"Hi," Steve says. "I went to your house and I didn't see no microwave. Did you know I went to your house?"

"Yes."

"You weren't there 'cause you were at work," He informs him. "I think you should get a microwave."

"I got this for you," Steve says before dumping what looks like six dollars and some change on the table. "It'll help."

Hopper frowns, "Help with what?"

"Getting a microwave," He sighs. "Do you know how to listen?"

"Kid-"

"Baby Sara is too little to use the stove," Steve says. "I know that 'cause I’m not allowed to use the stove and I’m bigger than her."

Well. "...What?"

"Tommy - he's my best friend, 'member? - he's older than me and even he's not allowed to use the stove," Steve continues. "And Tommy don't have a microwave neither but it's okay 'cause his mom lives there all day and he's got a lot of big brothers that can use the stove. Sara doesn't have a big brother 'cept for me, kinda, and I can't-"

"Can't use the stove, got it."

"Right," He nods. "That's why you need a microwave. So Sara won't be hungry."

"Sara is never hungry," Hopper says slowly. "If she is, I get her something to eat."

"You work a lot."

"She also has a mother."

"Well, sometimes mamas heads hurt and they can't make food or they'll throw up," Steve says. "Sometimes mamas are busy too and then Sara's gonna be really hungry. She might cry."

Hopper pushes the rest of his fries across the table to the kid before asking, "Are you hungry a lot when you're at home?"

You know that thing where a story is written in tight third person limited — we’re meant to be inside someone’s head, seeing the world through their thoughts — and then suddenly the narration says “the blond frowned” or “the shorter woman sighed” about a person the POV character knows really well?

That’s called antonomasia — using a descriptive label instead of a name. And it’s fine when we’re talking about strangers: “the cashier handed her the receipt,” “the tall guy blocked the door.” The POV character doesn’t know their names, and we just need a quick way to tell people apart.

But the moment it’s used for someone the POV character already knows, it breaks immersion. Because that’s not how our minds work. We don’t think “the older man smiled at me.” We think “Mark smiled.” Or maybe “my boss” if that relationship matters in the moment.

Third person limited means the narration sits inside someone’s perception. Their inner monologue is the story’s voice. So when you switch from “Mark smiled” to “the blond smiled,” you’ve pulled the camera away from their mind and turned it into an outside shot.

If you want to create distance or irritation, you can do it on purpose —

“The idiot from accounting emailed again.”

That’s character voice. That’s judgment. That works.

But otherwise?

As soon as your POV character knows someone’s name, use it. While we do tend to worry about repetitions, names rarely register as such to the readers.

If you need variety for rhythm, use relational or emotional identifiers that make sense in their head: her friend, his partner, their teacher, the person they loved.

Because inside someone’s thoughts, there are no “blonds” or “brunettes.”

Not that Shane or Ilya had noticed, curled up on the couch in a mess of limbs heavy and warm, half asleep, half talking, half fooling around. They’d fucked as the afternoon sun dipped into the evening, Shane bent over the back of the couch with Ilya laid over top of him, fingers curled together. They’d cleaned up and eaten with shirt damp hair and flushed happy faces, sat on opposite ends of the couch as they finished their bowls of pasta.

The dishes sat abandoned on the coffee table even now, the sun long gone and the warm yellow of a few lamps lighting the room. The evening had stretched on after dinner, tangled limbs and sleepy kisses and lazy conversation, scrolling phones together, dozing in and out of heavy limbed naps.

They’d been in their new home together for a month or so now, no more time apart, no more goodbyes. Just them, husbands, one room over at most. A hands reach away. Ilya wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it through the sticky hot joy of it. It was overwhelming at times, how happy he felt.

Shane had pulled himself out of their tangle with a grunt, almost half flipping himself face first because of Ilya’s grabby hands and insistent wines of not leaving him. But Shane’s bladder had won and he’d escaped to the bathroom, body still warm from Ilya’s.

Shane walks back into the living room now, raises his hands above his head and arches his spine in a slow open that stretches the muscles. He drops his arms with a heavy exhale and eyes the empty couch. His Ilya is missing.

(Adapted from this writer meme by @ahdriking)

Do you consider podficcing to be your primary fandom activity?

Briefly describe your podficcing process

What got you started podficcing?

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Rec three of your current favorite podfics

What's your relationship with podfic feedback?

What’s a podficcing tip you got that you almost always follow?

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How do you approach recording smut scenes?

How many podfic WIPs do you have right now? Talk about one of them

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Rec some of your favourite podficcers

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Apart from your voice, do you have a "signature move" or is there tell-tale sign that a podfic is your work?

Do you remember making [Podfic title]? Can you share something from that process? (Favourite or most challenging scene, etc.)

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His plans at the moment were to talk Shane into going clubbing with Ilya and Svetlana. But suddenly an image popped into his head. The Hollanders, Shane, Sveta, and Ilya all gathered around Ilya's massive dining table, eating pasta and drinking nice wine, maybe having cake. They all give Ilya nice gifts that he likes, maybe Shane gives Ilya a really nice watch or a perfume that he'd had a professional help pick out. Then the Hollanders retreating to the living room while Shane, Sveta, and Ilya heading upstairs to laugh and pregame and get ready for the club together. Saying goodbye to Shane's parents and slipping into Shane's car to go out and meet Marly and a couple of the guys out for some partying. Then ending the night in his own bed, in Shane's big steady arms, maybe with some drunken birthday sex. Quietly, obviously, because the Hollanders and Sveta are in the guest rooms.

The Ilya we see in Heated rivalry would not be throwing the first punch, he's not an enforcer. Ilya is a star center and a Pest. He wouldn't be doing his job correctly if he was punching players every other game, it would end up with not enough ice time to let him be the playmaker he's paid to be.

But being a pest can be playmaking! Find a player to bait, emotionally push them just enough that they try to fight you, and then get the fuck out of there before the ref gives you both penalties. This gets your team the power play. There is probably someone on Ilya's line dedicated to helping him get out of the fights he starts, and finishing them for him!

I also think this is also something that Shane would respect. Ilya is good at it and it's a good strategy for his team. I don't think Shane would see it as some dirty tactic, because Shane probably thinks everyone with a brain can see it for what it is! He probably thinks everyone should be able to see that being an asshole is a tactic for Ilya, that it's something to ignore and not fall for, that it's a strategy and not personal beef.

and no, this isn’t me saying “write that messed up, disgusting thing” because while, yes, write it if it’s what you want (I myself enjoy writing dark fics, something I believe would be considered “vile” to a lot of people), this is me saying in a world of censorship and capitalism, ao3 really is a treasure.

shane: [bilingual] ilya, also bilingual: 🙄

+ bonus: