#untitled stobin hivemind

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Taking votes, do I post Stobin hivemind now? Or do I find a beta to read through it to make sure it makes sense to someone who isn't me

If you want to be that beta feel free to sound off in the replies

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"Stobin Hivemind"? (Also 👀 @ the psych AU)

So the psych au is basically my new white whale now that I've successfully written time loop fic. I'm endlessly fascinated by case fics but lack the patience to write them, but I'm gonna give it a go. Basically it'll be Stobin as Shawn and Gus (two iconic QPR duos) Steve as the pretend psychic detective with Robin as his "straight" man. The spirit is willing but we'll see if the body will follow. The easy bit will of course be the Stobin banter, it is the plot that frightens me. (Currently thinking having to solve a murder Eddie didn't commit cause it's the easy go to.) I actually, funny enough have the psych official guide to solving crime fighting for the totally unqualified so I'll probably give that a skim and see if that helps with the plot structure. Cause right now we are rolling purely on ~~vibes~~

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

Robin, wearing their lucky audition shirt for the first time since her mom left that training bra on her bed. It’s bulges and gaps in a figure eight on their chest and it isn’t right. Mom says he can’t wear it to school.

It’s just mascara but it was supposed to be a start, something to make leaving the house less like agony. Mom says she can’t wear it to school.

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Stobin hivemind for WIP Wednesday please! Good luck with final edits on your bang fic!

Me from last week thanks you! I finished the edits and was hit by an immediate wave of do not want to write energy that I'm just now beating, hence just now answering last weeks things.

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“I snuck into her bathroom,” he’s skipping around, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t actually finished a complete thought. Isn’t sure if he needs to when he can feel Robin’s presence in these childhood memories. When her mirroring discomfort intertwines with his. “They always lock the doors to the rooms I’m not supposed to be in, but the key is above the doorframe to the pantry and I’m tall enough to reach.”

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"Stobin Hivemind", this week?

Hello ask from last week, I had some major block for this one this weekend when i sat down to write this so I hoarded all the hivemind asks until today.

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

Years of watching her shape shift right in front of him: becoming elegant and demure like Audrey Hepburn, soft and sweet like Helen Crump, dangerous in a black dress his father hated. Now they’re twelve and his mom is going with his father on business more, getting ready in hotels and houses the business owns. Puberty is creeping in and there are days when they hate themself. (Robin is poking at him, insensitive mental fingers stabbing at memories that hurt a little to remember. Amplifying, alleviating, rifling through the file cabinet and pulling things out.)

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Stobin hivemind for WIP Wednesday please!

Here you go!

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“It was like magic, the way she would start looking one way and then just by twisting her hair a certain way or changing the way she powdered her face she could come out looking like an entirely different person.”

The memories are faded from time and youth and fondness. His mother, bare faced, is haloed by his child like love and wonder. He watches her more than he does his T-Bird and his Mongoose with the flames painted on it, sometimes she’ll talk to him.

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stobin hivemind, please!

Some hivemind!

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“When I was a kid the only way I could spend time with my Mom was when she was getting ready.”

They’re four and already their father doesn’t like it when he sits in here. It feels right though, to play on the floor in Mom’s bathroom while she puts herself together for the night.

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for WIP Wednesday: strvbb

I had this written and held onto it for this week, for some reason. But here's last weeks fill. Please enjoy some shareable stobin hivemind!

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“Robin did most of the work really,” Steve insists, trying to parse through a feeling as thick and cloying as the Swamp of Sadness. Fear, worry, a faint jealousy and disgust. “I just got injured.”

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strvbb for WIP Wednesday please

I've had this written since last week, it was the three shareable sentences that took me so long, anyway here's some stobin hivemind that I can actually share.

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“There were kids, Steve was really brave.” Wait, no, what? That other feeling is back, it muddles with his confusion, a strangling, muddy brown. What is she doing?

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for WIP Wednesday: stobin hivemind

Absolutely!

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

There’s a thin layer of dust on the vanity, just enough to make things feel gritty beneath his fingers when he touches them. What he wants is there though. Gold tubes of lipstick lined up like soldiers, compacts of blush and eyeshadow, mascara, eyeliner pencils. He sits in his mother’s chair, her perfume faint and stale in the air, and he plans to stay here until the thing that is staring back at him in the mirror looks like Steve.

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Some 'stobin hivemind' for WIP Wednesday?

Here we go!

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

She inclines her head slightly, close as they are, Steve thinks he can almost hear the way her hair brushes against the pillowcase. They don’t need to speak to share, Steve is pretty sure he could just think his point and it would come across well enough. It wouldn’t have the right weight though.

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the bells, the joy (together in darkness)

Robin Buckley & Steve Harringto WC: 11963 | T | Tags/Themes: hivemind, Post S3, Scoops Troop Friendship, Nonbinary Steve and Robin, Blink and you miss it Steddie and Buckingham pre-slash AKA It's the Stobin Hivemind fic y'all! thank you very very very much to @spectrum-spectre for beta-ing this for me!!

Steve has never done LSD before. Which is the kind of statement his father would call ‘qualifying’ and ‘implies other kinds of wrongdoing, Stephan.’ Like the time he’d said he hadn’t smoked anything other than cigarettes that weekend. Apparently the ‘that weekend’ was a qualifier that got his very small pot stash flushed, and forced him into a second transaction with Eddie Munson in as many weeks.

Yeah okay maybe there were worse things, as far as punishments go.

Qualifying or not though, Steve has never done LSD. Not after the weekend he spent reading the supposedly true diary of a supposedly real teen that had been left on his bed. Like mother, like son, his father had sneered when he'd caught Steve curled up with it, like the whole plan to keep him from becoming pot-addled and destined for the gutter, or whatever, hadn’t relied on his gossipy nature.

It was mostly stupid, the book, but Steve figured it didn’t hurt to stick to weed. The stuff about that he knew for sure was totally fake.

Except now, he wishes he maybe knew a little bit more about what LSD was supposed to feel like. So he knows how to portion out blame for his current state. It’s currently 50% Upside-Down-Shit and 40% Russian-LSD-Shit and 10% Concussion-Shit, but if he’s being fair he’s blamed the Upside Down for about half of everything that’s gone wrong in his life since 1983. He’s willing to acknowledge that maybe the blame breakdown should be readjusted for this one.

“Hey Robin?” Trauma changes people, makes you want to stay close to the people who are changed the same way you are. Robin had shown up at Steve’s house the Monday after everything, trumpet case and duffle bag in hand. Apparently, she had walked from the school where she was supposed to be catching the bus to Band Camp, like she does every year. Apparently, when you undergo traumas heretofore unexperienced by any teen ever, Russian torture and flesh monsters, it’s okay to skip Summer Intensive to move in with your new best friend without telling your parents. Apparently, if you’re the kid that the Band Person, Director, wants to keep happy because in addition to the billion and seven languages you can play any instrument with a mouthpiece -- except trombone, slide positions, Steve had pretended he knew what that meant -- then you can just leave school to deal with your ‘mall fire smoke inhalation’ at your ‘aunt’s house’ instead. Apparently this is fine and Steve doesn’t need to worry about any angry former hippies beating down his dore because ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them.’

So he can call out for Robin, without raising his voice because he knows she’s there. Somewhere in the house, the weight of it changed now that someone else is in it with him. He can call out even though he’s pretty sure she’s holed up in his Mom’s library on the ground floor, because he can feel her in the back of his brain and he knows she’ll hear him.

Drifting in an unfocused middle distance, he can imagine Robin. Curled up, she knows she’s been called for but isn’t in any hurry to comply, Steve will wait. He's fine with waiting, at least for the five minutes it will take for her to finish her chapter. He can see her, slotting her bookmark in place and sitting up straight for the first time in hours. She stretches, uncurls from the window seat that Steve also favors, gently sets the book down before letting a foot dangle and brush the floor to actually stand. And she leaves the library. She starts to feel closer, her presence looming stronger in his brain and Steve aware of himself in his own body. Then he hears her feet on the stairs.

“What is it, Dingus, did you know your Mom has a whole collection of French books? I’m in the middle of a bunch of lesbian short stories.”

“Yeah, she speaks it, not sure why.” He answers absently, “Have you ever done LSD?”

“I’ve had half a pot brownie and gotten way too high before.”

That’s not really the same thing, Steve thinks.

“I know it’s not really the same thing, Dingus, I was using it as a framework.” She flops facedown on the bed beside him, wiggling into what he’s started thinking of as her side. A lucky coincidence that she prefers to be tucked in on the side closest to the wall. Probably because she’s never seen anything burst out of one.

“Okay don’t think that, cause now I’m never going to be able to sleep again, I don’t think you’ve got enough space for us to pull your bed into the center of your room.”

He can see the way she imagines it. His bed, an island in the center of the room floating in a sea of plaid. Something about it is even more unnerving than if it stayed up against the wall.

“Not a good look.” He doubts anything will come from the walls again anyway, the Upside Down has proven to be surprisingly adaptive; it doesn't seem to attack in the same way twice. It makes it harder to be prepared, but he’s less worried about not being able to protect Robin in the middle of the night.

“Savior complex. Your mom has psychology books down there too. What does she even do?”

“Reads mostly. Do you think there’s anything down there about LSD?” He doesn’t think this is normal.

“Nice leap, Steve, I don’t think there are many drugs that link your brain with your coworker.” She says coworker, but he feels friend. Even that concept isn’t enough to describe the depth of warmth and affection that he feels wash over him as she thinks.

He lets the silence hang for a second, thinking but not sure what yet. His thoughts are slower to arrive and more jumbled in these early days post-concussion. His right hand curls, his fingers flex. First and third finger tap, then one and two, then none, one and two, and two, and none.

Robin’s knee jostles the bed as her leg bounces just a little.

“I think something else happened to us.”

“Wondered how long I’d have to tap your fingers for you before you got there with me.”

Read the rest on AO3

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stobin hivemind for the WIP Game this week, since you're trying to finish it!!

I didn't expect actual literal christmas eve to be my most productive writing day of the week, but here we are.

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“And,” he manages his own voice, needing the attention to be back on him and not on the safe place that they’d built together. “Robin isn't a girl for the record.”

Chrissy’s ponytail guides her motion, flipping over her shoulder as she turns, eyes half rolled when they land on him in the doorway. The early, summer morning sun warm on his face. Her jaw drops, face slack until it draws up with a desperate concern. “What happened to you?”

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stobin hivemind for the WIP Game this week, since it looks like you're trying pretty hard to finish that one!!

I think I actually finished it with this week's round, now it's got to simmer in my wips folder for a bit as all experimental fics must do.

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

After the group settled into something approaching comfortable. Steve keeping any thoughts that the Breakfast Club was… was prescient between themselves for the sake of the group.

After Eddie and Chrissy become something more frightening than Steve and Robin, bonding quickly with none of the growing pains that the hivemind had at Scoops.

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I believe in your quest to finish "stobin hivemind" so I'm requesting more of it.

Motivation willing, this will be one of the first fics that goes up in the new year!

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“It was falling!” Her hands mimic the debris, which had fallen during the fire. Splaying her hands out, and coming just short of the whooshing sound effects he could feel tingling at the tip of his tongue.

“Crash!” he attempts the sound of the explosion, just one to help Robin sound cooler.

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Please put some words in stobin hivemind for WIP Wednesday. I believe in you, you can finish this!

Thank you! It's super close now so hopefully once the holidays are over I can spend some real vacation time on it

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

The cold snaps him back, Chrissy’s hands like ice. It feels good, the familiar or maybe just the temperature. They should probably still be icing the bruises. “A fire doesn't do that, Steve.”

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stobin hivemind, please!

Here you are!

WIP Wednesday | Make Me Write

“And I am a girl.” Robin finds her words or maybe just her tongue in her mouth, joining the conversation annoyed with him and with Chrissy. Different flavors of annoyed though. One for him, spicy and a little offended -- Oh, that wasn’t how he’d meant it, he’s annoyed with himself too. The other at Chrissy, no for Chrissy, different somehow. Smaller, internal and festering.  “Or I'm not not a girl.”