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steddieunderdogfics · 4 months

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This week's writer spotlight feature is: @maryofdoom! They have forty-four Stranger Things and forty-three Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson works on archive of our own!!

@mojowitchcraft recommends the following works by ArgentumCivitas:

Tessellation

Every Time: A Steddie Drabble Collection

Corroded Coffin - Live On Tour - One Night Only

He Carries Me Quietly

Higher Education

Mary is such a talented writer, I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read by her. She’s an incredible story teller and very generous with brainstorming offering advice. - @mojowitchcraft

Below the cut, @maryofdoom answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

To quote Calvin, from Calvin and Hobbes, “I must obey the inscrutable exhortations of my soul.” But for real, though, it's because my bestie and writing partner called me up on Discord one night and said, “Mary, you need to watch the first episode of Season 4 of Stranger Things. Right now. I mean it. I think the show is in love with Eddie.” (…Some, shall we say, substances may have been involved.) However, I stick with it because I love both the boys as characters. I think they're interesting. They have a lot of interesting aspects about them to explore, both singly and together, and I think we're all enjoying that.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Mutual pining! Good God, give me so much pining that I think I’m in the forest. Give me so much pining that I need to use an oil-based paint on them. Give me so much pining that I’ll saw those two boys into planks and repanel my house.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

By far, it's when one of them has a crush on the other and is pissed off about it. There’s so much potential for sparky, interesting dialogue with other characters (and with each other) when the boys find themselves in that situation. And then it leads to interesting moments when they finally turn the corner and realize they’re not actually mad at the other one, they’re in love.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

There are so, so many that I love. But instead of giving you one of the big ones, let me share this gem: Love My Way, by dreamspaces. It’s very short, at only 1,346 words, but sometimes a bite is as good as a meal.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

It might be interesting to do something with “and they were roommates.” I haven’t truly messed around in that space, yet. I also haven’t done a proper enemies-to-lovers, either, mostly because I can’t stand to set up a proper enemy relationship at the beginning…but I am chewing on an idea at the moment that might necessitate that sort of opening relationship between them.

What is your writing process like?

It tends to follow a very specific order of operations:

Get an idea from somewhere. Possible avenues for ideas include conversations with friends, news stories overheard from NPR, something that hits while I’m listening to music, posts on Reddit, anything that turns up from general blorbo rotation, the works.

Write down the idea in my notes app of choice (I use Evernote)

Begin adding more thoughts and concepts to the idea (sometimes even snips of dialogue, if they hit interesting)

Once the idea has reached a critical enough mass, transfer it to Google Docs and turn it into a draft (if it’s a one-shot idea) or an outline (if it’s a longfic idea)

FOR A ONE-SHOT: begin writing the draft

FOR A LONGFIC: begin writing the outline, according to the outlining method detailed in Tom Lennon and Ben Garant’s Writing Movies for Fun and Profit (this book is half how to make it as a screenwriter in Hollywood and half solid craft advice on how to write a screenplay, and though I don’t want to write screenplays and though I was very skeptical until I tried it out, this is the only method that has worked to get me to finish any actual novel-length works)

FOR A ONE-SHOT: when the draft is done, put it down for as long as I can and then come back to it and revise it, heavily, to make it better

FOR A LONGFIC: once the outline’s done, actually write the thing

FOR A LONGFIC: once the thing’s written, put it down for as long as I can and then come back to it and revise it, basically rewriting it completely

FOR A LONGFIC: do the same thing again, and then again, pausing in between each iteration for as long as I can

FOR BOTH A ONE-SHOT AND A LONGFIC: once it’s to the point where I don’t hate it, get ahold of my bestie and writing partner and have her read it and crit it and tear it apart

(cry a little because her crit is probably right)

Implement the good changes and ignore the bad ones - sometimes we have a (good-natured) fight about which ones are which

Send it to my other writing friends for their thoughts and comments and incorporate those, in a similar fashion

Revise, again

Once it’s as done as it’s going to be, make a posting schedule (if it’s a longfic)

Get it out there, according to the posting schedule

Begin working on the next thing

Do you have any writing quirks?

I mean, I can sit here and say “Oh no, I definitely don’t,” but I’m sure that I do. I am sure I have a distinctive writing style, just as everyone else does, but I would have to defer to anyone who’s read multiple works I’ve written to pull out any specific “quirks.”I will note that I really try hard to get the characters’ voices down, in their dialogue. I don’t know that I always succeed, but I try.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Oh, a schedule, ABSOLUTELY. More power to those of you who post when you’re done writing, but I am the kind of person who needs to have everything DONE and ready to go before I put even a HINT of it up online. You can see this from my writing process. It doesn’t lend itself nicely to just throwing stuff out there as a work in progress.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Oooh, good question. I would have to say it’s a tie between the next two fics on this list. Tessellation, because I worked really hard on it (and because I figured out work skins), and He Carries Me Quietly, because I think it’s beautiful. The way it ends still gets me, even now. Not just because of the action that happens, but because of the words that I chose. I read them and I’m like, “...I wrote that? Damn, girl.”

How did you get the idea for Tessellation?

I mention it a little in its ending note, but I got the idea for Tessellation from a couple of places, one of which was the Steddie fandom itself. I love the idea of every single one of these 25,000+ stories about Steve and Eddie all being true all at once. Even the story of Stranger Things itself, as we see it on our TV screens, is just one possible version of the story that’s happening somewhere. (I truly believe that. I didn’t become an extremely lapsed Catholic for nothing. HECK THE RULES.)

When writing Tessellation, what was something you didn’t expect?

It was surprisingly easy to make connections between the six stories. It wasn’t like I was hunting for places to jam them in—they ended up falling into place very naturally. And I think my favorite one of these is when Steve, in the space story, is describing the spaceship that he pilots as “Rusalka class, she’s a good swimmer,” to Eddie, who presumably understands what this means in the context of the sci-fi world in which they live.

What inspired He Carries Me Quietly?

It started as something else entirely—a whole established-relationship fic with the kids coming over to Steve and Eddie’s (either house or apartment) to play D&D, with an arc about a blind Max being included as kind of an oracle or super-NPC through Eddie passing her index cards with Braille on them, so she could be part of the game when and if she wanted to be. The whole thing was supposed to be told in flashbacks. I had a whole scene where Steve was figuring out how to bake cookies for everyone with whatever meager ingredients he had on hand. …Then it took a hard left into religious trauma, through some meandering means. I guess it would be reasonable to say the inspiration, at that point, was seeing a tweet on then-Twitter with some speculation about how Eddie had come to live with Wayne. If it was the common (and unfortunate) queer-kid arc of being disowned by one’s parents. And then I thought, “Let’s go ahead and put Steve through that too, but let’s do it several years after it happens to Eddie, so that Steve has someone to guide him through the whole process.”

What was your favorite part to write from He Carries Me Quietly?

I think it was probably the opening, because of the rhythm of the sentences and how the sounds fit together with one another. I mean, if you choose to check it out, try reading the first few paragraphs out loud. It’s kind of what I think of when people talk about how writing has a cadence, or a musicality to it. That, and the ending. The ending, starting with, “There’s one more thing that Steve wants to know,” was one of those things that just fell perfectly into place. I can see it so clearly in my mind: the two of them having a conversation, late at night in bed together, after a traumatic day.

How do/did you feel writing Higher Education?

I love this goofy little story! It was part of a Discord server gift exchange in 2022 and my recipient said “College AUs are my jam,” so this is where my mind went. I wanted to consider a world where Eddie was the frat boy, instead of Steve. But if that were the case, the fraternity would have to be a pretty non-traditional one, wouldn’t it? The fictional Lambda House is based heavily on the fraternity house where I used to hang out in college. (It was at an engineering school and was populated entirely by nerds.)

What was the most difficult part of writing Higher Education?

The actual writing itself, honestly. Winter 2022 was a really difficult time for me, personally, and though I signed up for the fic exchange with all optimism and good wishes, it was a struggle to get everything done in time.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

One that really stands out to me is from Wrong Number, which was a oneshot I wrote based on a short conversation with some Discord friends. Picture it: Eddie and Jonathan and Argyle are all hanging out in the basement, and they’re all extremely high. Argyle, in his own way, can sense that something is wrong with Eddie. In order to get him to confess to whatever’s on his mind, they reference the pact they made that “anything said in the basement stays in the basement. It’s the law of the basement.” That just hits me as something so quintessentially Argyle.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Oh my, yes! I have two longfics in the pipeline that I hope to be sharing with everyone soon (or, well, as soon as I can get them through my Process). The Music of the Spheres is a Regency AU with a smoldering slow burn and an eventual happily-ever-after, while Home for the Holidays is a genre mashup: Steve’s in a Hallmark Christmas romance and Eddie’s in a psychological thriller. I am also rotating a couple more ideas in my brain that could potentially be longer works as well, but we’ll see how those go.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I think the esteemed and prolific two-time-Hugo-Award-nominee Dr. Chuck Tingle puts it very nicely when he says: “CREATE. BUILD. EXPRESS. CONQUER THE LYING VOICE THAT SAYS YOUR TECHNICAL PERFECTION IS BETTER THAN TRUTH OF THE MOMENT. FILL THE VOID WITH ART and do not fear because weve got your back buckaroo. we are ALL creators in our own way so LETS HECKIN CREATE.” Let’s heckin’ create, buckaroos. I’ll see you out there in the word mines.

Thank you to our author, @maryofdoom, and our nominator, @mojowitchcraft! See more of @maryofdoom's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie writers #writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #maryofdoom

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kabeddon · 3 months

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I merged my layers for the askblog comic and then ACCIDENTALLY SAVED THE CSP AND CLOSED IT

W A I L

TIME TO REPANEL I GUESS??

#son of a B-#CRIES

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kittyball23 · 1 year

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Sleepless Nights (a Hotel Transylvania fanfic)

Summary: Drac has some difficulty sleeping, as memories of a certain night exactly 124 years ago haunts his thoughts

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It was a beautiful day.

The sun was brilliantly shining above. Not a cloud dotted the sky. Birds were chirping from their perch in the trees. And, being nocturnal, such a beautiful day was utilized by monsters all around Hotel Transylvania, who were dozing contently about.

Well, except for a certain vampire.

Unlike his beloved, Drac could not succumb to the call of sleep, no matter how drowsy he felt, or how much his eyelids were drooping. There was that niggling thought - a memory, a reminder – that persisted to keep him awake. One that he had not been able to erase ever since that one, singular, terrible night. A night that had happened exactly 124 years ago.

It was incredulous to Drac, how it felt as though not a day had passed since then. And yet, so much did, with a lot of it leading to the actions he had taken and events that had occurred. But, as his mind so cruelly reminded him, it had all stemmed from that one sole event. If that hadn’t happened, who knew how things would have turned out for him, for Mavis… for his wife…

As if the universe had been cued to his internal thoughts, the form cuddled next to him suddenly shifted, soft, drowsy hands flitting lightly over his bare chest accompanied by a light sigh-like moan. The Count felt some of the dark thoughts lift from him in a relieving wave, leaving Drac with only fondness towards the woman resting upon his body. The warmth she radiated from her human self seeped into him like warm honey, relaxing some of the tension that had begun to overtake his muscles. He peered down at Ericka now and sighed, somewhat envious, marveling at how easily she slept and how peaceful she looked in that moment, comforted both by the blanket draped across them as well as the gentle contact of their skins, untroubled.

Well, a part of him did remind himself that Ericka was not without her own troubles, namely, her struggle with the ordeal on the cruise and family name. Sure, the woman had proven her worth in the heroic act of saving Drac from the Kraken’s clutches and standing up against the legacy that her great-grandfather had brainwashed her to believe in for so long. But the victory did not entirely satisfy Ericka. She was plagued with the horror of what she was about to let happen, to lose a love… a zing… It was a thing that monsters wouldn’t dare to imagine. But Drac didn’t have to.

With a sigh, he detached himself from Ericka, gently moving her away so not to disturb her slumber and draping the sheets over her form when he rose from the bed. Slipping on his pajama pants for some decency, he padded over to the window in the other room, drawing back the curtains to get a view of the outdoors. Drac had to admit that most of his son-in-law’s ideas were rather nonsensical, but he actually could appreciate the idea for repaneling the hotel’s windows with UV protective glass. In that way, the Count could now stand before the sun’s rays indoors without burning and take a look out at the perfect day that he should have been asleep to. This day that was as bright and cheery and as opposite as it could get from Drac’s current mood.

When he had thought of his wife, it had not been the slumbering beauty that still remained dozing as peacefully content as ever upon their bed. True, they were wed, with the golden bands around each other ring fingers to prove it, but Drac instead had the first woman who had stolen his heart and made him feel that giddy, euphoric sensation, so ideal it felt almost unreal.

Martha.

Her name alone still brought such a pang of sadness to his heart, a tightness that squeezed him, a stinging that pricked his skin, a dryness that parched his throat… and a shudder that went down his spine as he recalled those last, horrible moments he had seen her. The despair in her eyes. The fear…

Drac suddenly wished he was back in the bed, gliding his fingers over the smooth, rosy expanse that was Ericka’s skin. Caressing her soothed his mind, allowing him to focus on something other than his past trauma. But despite this effort, his mind kept wandering back to the memories, bringing them right back into his consciousness, and so much more than ever today.

The Count instead settled for rubbing his hands up and down his arms, the motion working not quite in the same way but still providing the comfort that he sought nonetheless. It's not that he didn't want to forget. It was the last thing he wanted to do. How could he forget his zing? She had meant the world to him, and still did, even in her absence. But it was that said absence that filled him with dread, made him uneasy and reminded him that this was the truth he was living. And nothing could be done to change it.

Drac shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and willing himself to remember that he still had Martha in his life. Not her in her physical, living form, but in the family around him. Being her daughter, Mavis was a constant reminder of that fact, inheriting her mother’s grace and beauty, as well as her everlasting kindness. Little Dennis also shared some characteristics as his grandmother. Drac could smile to himself recalling certain expressions the boy made that were a spitting image of the woman, or the way his blue eyes sparkled up at him with admiration.

Aside from his family, Drac also had material reminders of his late wife. The portrait that he’d managed to salvage from the fire had captured them both in their prime, at a time where their love was young and hardships were still ages away. For years he had kept it in his room, approaching it and gazing upon her still, painted figure, recalling the wonderful memories he’d shared with her and held dear to his heart. His old ring was another material reminder of her, a wedding band with a beautiful red gemstone on top that sparkled elegantly in the light. She had had one just like it, and his had found residence on the finger of his left hand for over a century before he was able to remove it and finally move on. And then, he thought, there was also the gorgeous little ukulele that was sitting upon his desk now, looking as fresh out of the box as it was so long ago when he received it as a gift from Martha, a memento of their time spent in paradise (or Hawaii as one may better know it as) after they first met and began dating.

With sluggish steps, he approached the desk, running his hands longingly over the taut strings and wooden surface of the instrument. Many a time he had used it as a one-man ‘concert’ to sing various songs for Martha, Mavis, and Dennis. Why, just the other night his grandson had asked him how exactly it was that it was played, and Drac had gladly begun the process of carefully teaching Dennis how to pluck out melodious chords, in hopes that the boy would one day become as skilled as he was. The thought putting a smirk onto his face, Drac picked the instrument up and went back to sit at the window, cradling the ukulele in his lap. He very well remembered the first time he had played the instrument. It was for Martha, right at the one-week anniversary of their relationship. On automatic, his fingers resumed the position that they had taken upon the ukulele strings for that simple little song he’d tuned out for her, and began to play it out again. What resulted was a soft, sweet melody, etching itself into his mind and heart. The melody brought with it a wave of nostalgia, cheery but melancholic at the same time, bringing forth a pool of fresh tears that began to brim at the corners of his eyes. As his mind wandered, his fingers continued their caressing dance on the strings, and soon they brought the sweet little song to an end in a soft, tender crescendo.

A satisfied sigh escaped his lips in that moment, the soft sound accompanied by an identical sigh from somewhere behind him. Turning towards the source in sudden bewilderment, he came face-to-face with Ericka. She stood shyly a few paces away, having seemingly just awakened. Neither said anything for a moment, allowing Drac the time to let his gaze roam over her, down from the petite bare feet to the tussled platinum-blonde curls on her bed-head. Rather than a robe, the woman had vouched for donning his satin pajama top, the article of clothing fitting her just about as well as a short dress, given Drac’s difference in height that allowed its hems to extend enough so that it hung above her knees. The sleeves dangled a bit loosely, the buttons having been fastened in a haste, as evident by how the top few had remained undone in favor of ensuring the ones in the middle were properly hooked so to cover her figure. The twinkle in her blue eyes was indicative to him that she was much more alert than what her tired appearance may have been giving off.

Conscious of his gaze, Ericka shifted her weight upon her feet, interpreting it as scrutiny for interrupting him at what appeared to be a private moment. She bit her lip, and began to speak ever so timidly.

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you…” She trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

But it turned out she didn’t need to search for any more words. Gathering his senses, Drac smiled kindly at her, setting down the ukulele and approaching the woman to give her an appropriate greeting kiss.

“Don’t worry about it, honeybat,” he assured when they parted, tenderly caressing her cheek. “I should be the one apologizing. I did not mean to awaken you.”

Ericka shook her head. “You didn’t, Drac,” she whispered. “Have you just… ever had one of those sleepless nights?”

Drac nodded, averting his eyes as he felt his mood going back to that cloud of melancholic sorrow that seemed to want to engulf him once more. “Yes,” he finally muttered. “I have." He dared a glance up to gage her reaction, and could see that same look of despondency reflected back in her eyes. But along with it was a look of knowing that made Drac feel vulnerable under her gaze. She was aware why it was that he was having difficulty drifting off tonight. Ericka had been informed early on in their relationship of the tragedy that had occurred so long ago, scarring her husband’s soul permanently as the memory of it all still weighed down heavily upon him. The blame and regret, and the hand of time that kept ticking on, unfazed, and unable to reverse. Yet even with such an emotional wound, Drac never failed to show Ericka every sign of how he was still able to live fully and find happiness. The wound would not heal entirely, but taking life one day at a time with the friends and family he loved would in no doubt help dull that pain. Cherishing his experiences with Mavis, Dennis, Ericka, the Pack, even the boisterous Johnny acted as a balm to his spirits, uplifting them from the shadows and keeping the dark thoughts at bay.

It was all this and more that was communicated between she and the vampire in that one flit of an instance that their gazes locked together; the expression in Ericka’s eyes showing just how deeply she empathized with the man and how willing she was to offer her support and love without hesitation if needed. And he was incredibly grateful, honored even, to be able to call the Van Helsing woman his zing. No matter if he was his second, she was his zing all the same, and would always be.

Unbeknownst to the man, a small smile had begun to tug at the corner of his lips, Drac not having felt it until his cheeks began to ache slightly in response with how widely it had grown. Ericka reciprocated the smile with one of her own.

“And besides,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes, “It was beautiful. You have a real talent.”

Drac chuckled bashfully at the compliment. "I appreciate it, my love." Then, a thought entered the Count’s mind, and he smirked as he picked up the ukulele again. “I could teach you someday, you know.”

Ericka grinned, looking down at the instrument in his hands and seeming to give the idea some good consideration before she spoke again. “That really would be pretty cool,” she said, her fingers grazing the top of the strings, “but I think that I’d rather just listen for now.”

The vampire nodded understandingly. “As you wish, my love." Seating himself back down at the desk, he cradled the ukulele back into his lap and had his fingers resume the position anew. Strumming lightly, he began playing the same tune yet again, this time feeling much more at ease in doing so. Ericka sighed in contentment once more, coming up behind Drac and snaking her arms around his neck. She rested her chin atop his head, a slight sway in her stance as the music lulled the both of them into a peaceful state of serenity.

#hotel transylvania #dracula #ericka van helsing #memories #past relationship #ukulele #sleep depravity #moving on #bittersweet #fanfiction #kittyball writes

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seasurfacefullofclouds1 · 4 months

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I had the misfortune of spending an afternoon with a Harrie. A Harrie who boasts of being a fashionista. Unfortunately for them, they brought up the stupid Harris Reid or whatever their name is post slagging off Harry’s ex bandmates. I was not in the mood for letting that comment go by so I said I don’t remember the last time Louis actually wore blue denim jeans with a plain white t, I guess Harris Reid is not so much into avant garde so maybe it doesn’t make an impression on him, his design sensibilities seem to lie more in reimagining clothes worn by people in the past to excite by association. I guess their aesthetic is firmly rooted in “mimicry is the best form of flattery” which they are welcome to but even if I give a picture to my local tailor, they would do a fairly decent job at that.

I mentioned that the designer that Louis has shown interest in most recently is kidsuper whom they had not heard of so they quipped with “whose football merch did they design?” I didn’t want to take it further than that because I didn’t want to lose all sense of civility so I just left it with you are right Louis’ love for football jerseys does make him an easy mark for the fashion forward boa loving flower power crowd.

It is funny that the audiences from Harry’s and Louis’ concerts dress completely differently, even though they are often the same people. It’s also funny that there are a lot of articles (even from serious sources like NYTimes) with the focus on the audience costumes at a Harry Styles concert, which is all about ostentatious, glittery theatricality.

It’s not good or bad, I suppose— it’s a form of escapism, a separation from everyday worries, and that’s partly what concerts are about.

The danger is when this form of escapism is used to shape the audience’s hidden class discrimination. “We’re better dressed— and therefore better— than the people who wear football kits” is exactly the thinking that people who wear football kits are rebelling against. The footballers are also expressing a form of solidarity and love. Harries are not more original or more posh; their mimicry is a way to conform to their tribe as much as anyone else’s.

Punks tore up and deconstructed clothing (used safety pins for non-utilitarian purposes) not because of pure aesthetics. Westwood is asymmetrical on purpose. Deconstruction’s aim is intellectual rather than aesthetic, and to misunderstand fashion (even in the form of a simple white T and blue jeans, or a Vetement repaneled hoodie) because it isn’t “fancy” or “pretty” or “queer” enough is to severely underestimate what clothes can do, can signify. Some of Louis’ clothes in his merch (the mystical 369 and the retro graphics) and in his 28 line also have these meta nods to fashion as dreams or as social history, a jolie-laide, witty aesthetic. They are fashion riddles rather than fantasy costumes, if that makes sense.

No one is forced to like avant-garde fashion. Fashion is fashion. People have their favorites, and sometimes you just want to look pretty. Louies don’t have to like it either. But at least have an open mind.

Came across this outfit on Twitter. Louis’ consideration of the drape of fabric, the color coordination, the simplicity and elegance of it all, the allusion to music of the people— Springsteen, Mellencamp etc.— it’s all there.

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