Prompts Post
Jul. 21st, 2022 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
strangerthingskmemePlease leave your prompts and fills in the comment section below.
A good prompt will specify what ship(s) you'd like to see in the fill and then some description of what you'd also like to see, for example, "[character]/[character], making out in the Upside Down." You can go into detail or keep it short, it's up to you. When you click 'reply' to this post it should give you the option of a subject line - this is where you can give the general idea of your prompt: the ship, the kink or 'jist' of your prompt - and then you can add more detail in the comment box before posting.
Writers, you can fill a prompt by simply replying to it. If things take off, I'll try and organize it better but for now it'll be great to get some prompts (and hopefully fills) flowing.
Feel free to crosspost your fills onto AO3 if you wish. Maybe we could get a Stranger Things Kinkmeme tag going over there!
Argumentative, harrassing or abusive comments about fandom discourse, hating on a ship or a kink will be swiftly removed. This is a place for anonymous (unless you choose not to be) and fictional fun.
Happy prompting and writing.
FILLS POST: https://strangerthingskmeme.dreamwidth.org/966.html
A good prompt will specify what ship(s) you'd like to see in the fill and then some description of what you'd also like to see, for example, "[character]/[character], making out in the Upside Down." You can go into detail or keep it short, it's up to you. When you click 'reply' to this post it should give you the option of a subject line - this is where you can give the general idea of your prompt: the ship, the kink or 'jist' of your prompt - and then you can add more detail in the comment box before posting.
Writers, you can fill a prompt by simply replying to it. If things take off, I'll try and organize it better but for now it'll be great to get some prompts (and hopefully fills) flowing.
Feel free to crosspost your fills onto AO3 if you wish. Maybe we could get a Stranger Things Kinkmeme tag going over there!
Argumentative, harrassing or abusive comments about fandom discourse, hating on a ship or a kink will be swiftly removed. This is a place for anonymous (unless you choose not to be) and fictional fun.
Happy prompting and writing.
FILLS POST: https://strangerthingskmeme.dreamwidth.org/966.html
Re: Robin, Fear Street Crossover - Fill: Crybaby [2/?]
Date: 2022-10-11 08:00 pm (UTC)Robin’s not actually meant to be at Camp Nightwing. It’s bending the rules, Uncle Mark says, which is supposed to be different from breaking them but not in any kind of way that Robin can figure out. Besides, Uncle Mark says, we’ve got plans - he means him and Aunt Laura and Robin’s cousins, Abbie and Heather, the kind of ‘we’ that circles his family and plants Robin firmly on the outside - and Melissa didn’t exactly warn us you’d be coming.
Mark, Aunt Laura says, softly. Shakes her head no.
Mark doesn’t say much else to Robin after that, just takes Abbie and Heather out for ice cream, Heather still young enough she doesn’t know she’s meant to hate that she’s stuck with Robin and waving her chubby little baby hand buh-bye, and it’s up to Laura to promise Robin that camp will be fun, that Mark’s done such a nice thing by getting Robin a spot on such little notice, and extracting a promise in turn that Robin will give their address, because it’s really only meant for kids from around here, so if anyone asks, Robin has to say she’s just moved here to live with her aunt and uncle. Then assuring Robin that she isn't actually moving in with them for real, just for the summer, just in case Mom didn't know how to tell her.
Robin promises, and Aunt Laura drives her to camp, rattling in the backseat of her Ford Pinto, and Robin’s nine years old, way too old to cry about going to camp like all the other kids in her class are doing, so she bites her lip and stares out the window as the trees around them bend and sway in the wind, kind of like they’re waving their big tree arms at them, hello, hello, hello. She’s gonna have a great summer, the best summer ever, she decides, and when she gets back to school she’s gonna tell them all – Robin’s secret agent camping, like she’s undercover, and she can be any kind of girl she wants to be. She could be the kind of girl who has friends here. Nobody here knows any different.
Robin can be a secret agent type of girl, and go back to Hawkins when it’s done and say, hey, I had the best summer ever. I lied to sneak into a sleepaway camp and stayed for six whole weeks, and I made a bunch of friends and nobody called me weird, not even once. And even if they don’t believe her, that’ll be fine, Robin thinks. She’ll know the truth and she’ll be able to carry it around with her, best summer ever, like a shield. Like proof tucked against her heart, ready for her to pull out and check when she needs to, that Robin could be the type of person people wanted to be around, and if the jerks back in her class want to keep laughing at her and saying otherwise then she’ll know for sure that it’s wrong.
If all that takes is pretending to be from Shadyside – well, that’s not a lie, really, if Uncle Mark says it’s only bending the rules. Bending’s fine, really, like you can always bend back, and you don’t really get in trouble for it, and anyway, Robin does live here. Like right now. She’s living.
—
Her cabin is called the Belladonnas, and it's got five other girls who all know each other already, and so do all the other kids at camp, which is the perfect recipe for not making any friends except-
Except, except, except, calloo callay, right? Some kind of minor miracle occurs, and somehow that newness, not knowing, means people are interested. In Robin! In getting to know Robin!
At first it's just, you know, trying to figure her out, which one she belongs to - Shadysider, Sunnysider, and Robin remembers her promise, definitely does not break it on purpose, but she doesn't know what a Sunnysider is except for, like, eggs maybe? And it isn't eggs. So Becca and Claire (both Sunnysiders) explain there's another town and everyone's arranged themselves into little gangs over it, and Robin - by virtue of being an unknown quantity who is very much in the middle of this - moves between the groups, Sunny, Shady, without realising she's doing it. She doesn't know who belongs to who, and somehow being outside it all means people want to explain to her why their side is the best like Robin gets to choose. Like they want Robin to choose them!
Best summer ever, best summer ever, it sings in her ears all the time when she's eating lunch with Claire and Becca and going swimming with Danielle and Ruth (Shadysiders) and somehow their little gang all comes together, kids from both towns who wouldn't sit at the same tables for meals or play soccer together or dare one another to jump off the dock if it weren't for Robin on the outside, Robin not from here who didn't know not to be friends with both, and she whispers up at her cabin ceiling that she never ever wants to be anywhere else.
Re: Robin, Fear Street Crossover - Fill: Crybaby [3/?]
Date: 2022-10-12 12:19 am (UTC)It’s not actionable information, is the point. Steve would just know, and then the two of them would know, and they’d probably have to talk about it or else why bother telling him, and Robin doesn’t want to, and there’s nothing that telling him would accomplish. It wouldn’t keep anyone else safe.
So that’s her line, she guesses. If someone needs to know about Camp Nightwing to stop another Tommy Slater, sure, reach inside of her and pull out her guts, spread them on the floor and read them like an ancient prophet. She can do that. She can live with that.
Hurt me like this, and I can walk away. Give me a reason to get hurt, and I can survive it.
And she doesn’t have one. So Steve doesn’t know.
He learns the shape of it, shadows on a cave wall, because he’s the best friend Robin could ask for, and if he figures that it’s evil Russians in her nightmares then what does it matter, really, so long as he’s still on the other side of the phone at 3am, reminding her that he’s alive, the kids are alive, and Robin–
Robin’s gonna be fine. He always says it like that, like it’s a fact, picks her out from the list of people who are alive to be fine-fine-fine, and if Robin’s selfish enough to say, “And you,” he’s nice enough that he doesn’t argue with her. Lets them sit on that moment, 03:27 in the morning, Robin sitting on the stairs and whispering so her mom doesn’t wake up and catch her running up the phone bills. It’s nice to pretend, and sometimes the pretending feels like the time she could talk about Nightwing, maybe, if only someone asked her the right questions. If she just had a reason.
“Who was your first kiss?” Robin asks instead, because she is a dumbass and a coward and she needs something to say.
“Charlotte Beher. Second grade, under the swings. She gave me a cookie.” No hesitation.
“Before or after?”
“Before, Robin, Jesus. That’s how I knew she liked me.”
“That irresistible, huh?”
Steve’s laugh curls up inside her ribcage, soft and warm. She presses the receiver closer to her ear like maybe she could drink it in, stay in that moment forever. So fucking stupid.
“Always have been. What about you?”
“What– am I, uh, irresistible?”
“First kiss. Come on, spill.”
Robin scoffs, a little too loudly, and has to go very quiet for a second while she listens out for her mom’s footsteps. “Uh, no way, that was– Second grade, that doesn’t count.”
“It was my first kiss! On the lips!”
“Oh my god, you were such a little heartbreaker.”
Steve tells her to fuck off, but gently, like he means 'I love you', and she calls him a shithead, not particularly gently, which means 'I’m so glad I know you', and they both hmm into the phone line again and Robin wraps her fingers into the cord and wishes she could hold his hand.
“His name was Petey,” she says. “We were at summer camp together.”
Steve’s quiet for a few minutes, and she wonders – horribly, anxiously – she’s saying it wrong somehow. If Steve can hear her say Petey and summer camp and hear something in her voice that isn’t easy-breezy casual about the whole thing, that means he’s gonna start asking questions, and Robin–
That’s her other line, apparently. If Steve asks. He can have it, all of it, the whole rotten truth of her. Without a reason, without any hope of her surviving it, without any chance of Robin stumbling away back into the dark afterwards.
She lets the knowledge settle, heavy in her stomach, and listens to the sound of him breathing.
Instead, Steve says, “Well, that definitely doesn’t count. A boy?”
He sounds genuinely aggrieved by that, like it’s insulting to the pair of them that Robin’s first kiss wasn’t with a pretty girl who gave her cookies and held her hand on the swings or whatever sickeningly cute memory Steve and Charlotte Beher have with one another, and that sets Robin off because at least she was nine which is going to be closer to an awareness of real romance than two second-graders, like did you even play-marry her, Stevie, make an honest woman out of her, and Steve starts raising his voice to be heard over her, saying that if she had such a good idea about romance she should’ve had better taste in crushes, and then one-both of them says Tammie Thompson, and that’s all it takes, they’re both singing “If you could only hold me now” in their sad little Tammie Muppet voices through their giggles.
“I would’ve given you my cookie,” he says when they catch their breath. “If I knew you back then.”
This is the part of the bathroom thing they don’t talk about. More shadows, and Robin doesn’t mean to be an asshole about it but sometimes it just slips out, yeah, Mr Irresistible, and Steve isn’t trying to be an asshole either, but it just.
It sucks.
“You and Petey.”
“I’ll fight him for your hand, don’t worry.”
That’s her opening. If she’s the kind of girl Steve thought she was, before the bathroom at Starcourt, or the kind of girl in the movies, this is the time when Robin would tragically press her hand to her bottom lip and gasp and say, “Steve, he died,” smash cut to him holding her weeping into his manly chest while he comforted her and promised he would always protect her, and Petey would fade into a sad fucking memory she never has to think about again.
If she could love Steve the way he loved-loves her, the way she’s supposed to love boys like Steve, this would be the time to tell him anything, exorcise the ghosts of Cindy and Margie and Alice and always and forever, hand on her ankle, blood on her bobby socks, first kiss on the docks with his tongue stained popsicle-blue and the reflection of Robin in his glasses because she doesn’t know yet you’re meant to close your eyes, Petey fucking McHugh.
Instead - again: “My money’s on Petey, Harrington. He was a scrappy kid.”
Steve splutters, feigning indignation, and the conversation moves on, ping-pong ball bouncing between how Steve could definitely beat up a nine year old - not what I’ve heard Harrington - fuck you that was one time - until it wraps itself all the way around back to first loves, and Robin says, not about Petey, “There was this girl.”
“Mm?”
“At camp. Not that– with hindsight, definitely my first crush, you know? She was, uh, one of the counselors. Alice.”
“An older woman.” Steve gives a little hmm of approval, and she loves him so much for that, the stone-in-her-gut die for him kind of love because Robin didn’t even wonder, not for a second, if he might hear that and think that it was the start of a different kind of sad story, because there’s a world here where Robin can just be gossiping about that embarrassing childhood crush, all butterflies and awkward blushing, and it’s a girl and she’s a girl, and she’s sitting on the bottom step in her parents house, twisting the phone cord around her finger talking to her best friend, like she’s any other girl in the world.
“She was– oh my god, Steve, she was ridonkulously hot,” she whispers, because her mom is still upstairs, and Robin’s giddy, not suicidal.
“Ridonkulously,” echoes Steve, because he’s an asshole.
“So very hot. She, uh, used to wear these super short shorts and tank tops - and I was too young to, you know, figure out why I was so interested, but they were really tight, so….”
“No bra?”
Robin hums, yes, and Steve cackles like some kind of actual witch, so they argue about that some more until Robin’s mom finally wakes up, yells at her to get to bed unless she wants to be paying the phone bill this month, and she bolts up the stairs to her bedroom and presses her face into her pillow, fizzy and anxious like that too much cotton candy right before you ride the roller coaster, kind of barfy, kind of happy, tummy squirming sort of feeling.
Whatever. It’s a nice moment, is what she’s trying to say, and if she can keep doing this - carving out the stuff she wants to keep, rolling the memories around in her head a little while until she’s washed off all the blood and airing them out in the sunshine, in that happy place where she’s just a girl talking with her best friend and nobody dies at the end of this story - she can make a little world for herself and Steve with no dead kids in the woods, just her friends laughing and Robin laughing and the best summer ever, forever and ever and ever, stretching out before them, boundless, infinite.
No more dead kids in the woods. Wouldn’t that be something?
Re: Robin, Fear Street Crossover - Fill: Crybaby [3/?]
Date: 2022-11-11 04:25 pm (UTC)Re: Robin, Fear Street Crossover - Fill: Crybaby [3/?]
Date: 2023-01-15 12:31 am (UTC)Re: Robin, Fear Street Crossover - Fill: Crybaby [4/?]
Date: 2023-02-24 09:06 pm (UTC)“You’re so brave,” Becca says, all big blue eyes and fluffy blonde hair like some kind of fairy princess, looking up at her like she’s something special and yes, the best summer ever Robin is so brave, she’ll do anything Becca wants.
“Maybe you’re just bad at giving dares,” Claire says with a little sniff.
Which sparks off a list of increasingly more ridiculous ones - do a cartwheel along the dock, draw a butt on Cindy’s clipboard, kiss Petey McHugh.
The last one, the Petey one, is from Claire, and it’s kinda mean, because it’s Crybaby Petey who earned the nickname by being the only one to admit to being homesick that first night, and he gets picked last for teams every time because of his asthma, and he’s the kind of boy Robin’s supposed to go “ew, gross” at the thought of kissing.
She does, inwardly, but that’s just because kissing is gross, just smacking your wet lips together with someone looks so weird in the movies, except their little gang caught Cindy and Tommy outside their cabin and sang the whole K-I-S-S-I-N-G song while Tommy pretended to chase after them, shaking his fist like some kinda cartoon grandpa, and Cindy watched him chase them, and there was a moment when Robin happened to look over towards the other counselors and she’d noticed Nick watching over them all, serious face and floppy hair in the way Becca says is so cute, and Petey’s already curling his shoulders inwards, waiting for Robin to do what she’s supposed to, make barf noises at the thought or whatever, so they can all laugh at him, ha, Crybaby Petey’s so weird and gross.
It’s mean, and Robin doesn’t really know what to do with cruelty that’s being offered up like something she could wield against somebody else, so she shrugs and presses her mouth against Petey’s.
It’s super quick, and not as wet as she thought it might be, and frankly Robin doesn’t get the appeal at first until her eyes flick away from the reflection of herself in Petey’s thick glasses over towards Becca, whose pretty pink mouth is making a perfect circle like something straight out of the movies, realer than real life, the kind of thing that only exists in best summers, and Robin steps back and sticks her tongue out at Claire.
“Too easy. Maybe you’re the one who’s bad at dares,” she tells Claire, and Petey blinks up at her like he doesn’t know what to do now that he isn’t the punchline.
“Or you’re just really good at them,” Becca says with a shrug of her own. Her curls go bounce-bounce-bounce with the movement and Robin, with great restraint, does not reach out to touch them.
"Um," Petey says. He pushes his glasses up the length of his nose, then takes them off entirely and makes a little pantomime out of cleaning them on his shirt, then puts them back on. The tips of his ears are so red they're almost purple. "I think it was a dumb dare. Robin makes the best dares."
The day before, Danielle dared Claire to crab walk all the way down to the docks. One of the older guys, Simon something, had been sitting out by the dock smoking and he'd screamed so loud to see her making her way down to the water all folded over that half the camp had come running, thinking it was an emergency, and Cindy'd told Simon they couldn't have him causing the kids to panic.
Their little gang had wrinkled their noses, collectively, at being grouped in with the little kids, but they'd slipped away in the confusion and by the time people had managed to stop yelling at Simon for yelling, at each other for yelling at Simon, and then yelling mostly just to yell, everyone had forgotten to actually yell at Claire and they managed to escape getting in trouble at all.
Robin, on the other hand, had dared Petey to do a backflip. He tried and landed on his butt. So Petey's lying, obviously, about her being the best at making up dares but just as Robin opens her mouth to point this out, they hear the sound of the dinner bell and abandon all thoughts of the game.
Re: Robin, Fear Street Crossover - Fill: Crybaby [5/?]
Date: 2023-02-25 12:49 am (UTC)"You're so gross," Claire tells her.
Robin takes a moment to swallow her potato, because she's mature enough not to spit food all over Claire and Becca just out of spite. And then, because Claire is being a total goober, she sticks out her tongue and blows a big wet raspberry.
They fall about laughing again, just in time to hear Nick stand up and announce the whole game. It's Sunnyside against Shadyside, because of course it is, which means their little gang is gonna be on opposite teams, and Robin is - on paper, thanks to Uncle Mark's bendy rules - a Shadyside witch. She puts in a token cheer when they call for it, and Becca does the same for the Sunnysiders, but as soon as Nick starts leading the Sunnysiders in a chant, Robin and Becca look at one another across the table. Neither of them chant. Neither of them smile.
Then, slowly, Robin puffs out her cheeks and crosses her eyes, a stupid face whcih sort of means They're all such Grade-A goobers and which mostly means This game's gonna be so much fun, I just know it and Becca sticks her fingers in the bottom corners of her mouth and wiggles her little pink tongue. Robin doesn't know what that face is meant to mean. That they're gonna be best friends forever, probably, because that's the sort of promise you can trust in the middle of the best summer ever.
Claire, as Margie reaches their table with a stack of t-shirts, stares at Robin and Becca and their sticky-out tongues, and says, "Which team is Robin on?"
"It's Sunnyside against Shadyside," Margie says, and holds out the shirts for everyone to pick their color, red against blue.
"I know," Claire says. "But Robin isn't, really, is she?"
It's unfair how Nick, who has never once so much as frowned at one of the guys he's meant to be counsellor for - not even when Terry put a live frog down Danielle's shirt - whirls around and bears down on their table, heads straight for Robin like a Commie missile pointed straight at her head.
"Isn't what," he says, rather than asks. He looks straight at Robin, not one of the older girls for maybe the first time ever that Robin can think of, and Robin has the uncomfortable sensation of being weighed up.
"Robin doesn't like red," Becca lies, loyally.
And Claire, who is worse than a goober, who is actually the sort of word that'd have Robin's mom squirting dish soap in her mouth if she ever said it back home, says, "She's not from Sunnyside or Shadyside. Robin lives in Indiana."
She says it like it's impossibly far away, somehow the other side of the planet, and Robin blushes furiously.
"I don't," she says. "I'm not-"
"Well, that's not an issue," Margie says jovially. She pats her shoulder a little stiffly. "Come on, kid, it's gonna be fun. Red or blue?"
"How did you get here," Nick says, just as flat. He crouches down to look Robin directly in the eye and after a beat - like he's had to flick through a mental checklist, remind himself what face he needs to pull - he smiles and moves his head so his hair does that floppy thing over his eyes that Becca likes. "Hey. Robin? Who brought you here?"
"My aunt and uncle," Robin tells him. Her stomach twists. She presses her knees together tight under the table, tight enough she feels like a coiled spring. It would be worse not to answer, she knows that much.
"Nick, come on," Margie says. "There are spare shirts."
Nick doesn't even glance at her. He's too busy looking straight into Robin's eyes, following her gaze round as soon as she tries to drop it. The space between her shoulder blades itches with the effort of holding herself steady, but Robin knows it'd be worse if she flinched. She holds herself as small as she dares.
"Where do your aunt and uncle live?" That time, he remembers to say it like a question and to smile. He opens his mouth so wide. Robin could count all of his teeth, if she wanted.
Robin thinks, fleetingly, about lying. Suck it, Claire. She could join the Sunnysiders. She could wear blue, and hide with Becca, and rescue Becca from jail, and hold Becca's hand as they run away laughing into the night, and Claire would have to sit there back in jail with all the other worse-than-goobers thinking Man, Robin is so cool, I wish I were best friends with her too, even if nobody could be as best at being best friends as Becca and Robin.
But the words stick in the back of her throat and she hears herself saying, instead, "Am I gonna get in trouble?"
"No," Margie tells her. "No one's in trouble. Nick doesn't give a shit about the rules, does he?"
Nick and Margie share a look at that. It's not a nice one, Robin thinks, but she's so grateful for the reprieve that the curl of Nick's lip and the pointed glance Margie gives over towards the big kids table that she's almost dizzy with it, and she takes the chance to look down at her feet dangling above the floor. She swings her legs back and forth idly while the two counsellors have a little staring contest.
Eventually, Nick sets his jaw and stands up, extending his hand to Robin. Like she's a fairytale princess, something out of a story book. She slides her hand into his palm and stands up, trips a little bit over her own feet as she does and knocks into Petey, and lets Nick position her so she's standing on top of one of the tables. Everyone is looking at her.
"Get her down before she breaks her neck," Nurse Lane tells him, which is only a little bit unfair, because Robin's only had to go and see her twice this whole camp.
Nick ignores her. "Campers of Nightwing," he says, putting on his theatrical voice, the same way he riled them all up for a witch hunt. Most of the campers snap to attention straight away, apart from the table full of the really big kids who are almost old enough to be counsellors who only glance over in their direction. "One of your number has a very special choice to make. She wasn't born into Sunnyside's blessings-"
A chorus of boos erupt from all around her.
"-And she's escaped the curse of Shadyside-"
More boos. Dennis Weiman does the "fly, my pretties" voice, the same one he does every time someone talks about Shadyside witches, even though nobody laughed on the first day and the joke isn't getting any funnier.
"So, I'm being asked to let her choose which side she wants to be on."
The dining room gets louder. Both teams are yelling over one another, clamouring for Robin - for Robin to choose them - and the sick feeling that crawled into her throat when Nick was looking at her earlier is washed away by the thrill of being wanted. Of being the person whose wanting is enough, straight away, to make sure she gets.
Nick lets the room reach a crescendo before he holds out his hand. "What's it gonna be, kid? Will you stand with the heroes-?"
The kids in blue shout Yes, apart from Claire, whose mouth scrunches up so tightly it almost folds in on herself. Petey, staring up at her, shakes his head.
"-Or the evil witches?"
There's another set of cheering. Petey stands up and whoops, his thin reedy voice being almost washed out by the rest of the kids drumming on the tables, and then sits back down and buries his face in his arms. From her vantage point on top of the tables, Robin can see two of the girls at the next table nudge one another and say something about Crybaby Petey.
That's reason number one, the only one she thinks of at the time. The other reasons - ones Robin can't see just yet; ones she won't name until she's sitting in a hospital bed, waiting for her mom to drive all the way over to Ohio even though she spent money on a perfectly good bus ticket, and others that will need to wait until Tammy Thompson puts some things into context - include the Claire's scrunchy-mouth, and Alice's super short shirts, and the sense that even now, during the best summer ever, she needs to moderate herself because if she gets too happy, Becca won't want to be friends at all, and neither will anyone else, and Robin'll have to go back to Hawkins as a secret agent girl who only found proof that all the other kids were right about her all along.
But for the moment, it's Petey's shiny face, the red flush along the back of his neck and the grim awareness that, back home, Freaky Robin Buckley is just as bad as being Crybaby Petey McHugh, that has her saying, "I think witches are cool."