#edit: I have found out by reading a different chapter that the character in the background is actually matsutani so I was wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lifeafterartsch00l · 5 months ago

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My fav sns smut

or some of it anyway

If Naruto x Sasuke fking nasty is your ☕️

I tried to find all these beloved authors to tag them, but I couldn’t find them all, if you know who they are, plz tag them! Let’s share the ❤️

In no particular order

Healing the Broken by KizuKatana

When people tell me about smut they read in printed books I’m like

Because it’s fics like these that amaze me with their ingenuity, creativity, originality, and boldness 🔥🔥🔥

AKA

This fic isn’t just PWP (although that’s fine too in my book), it’s so well written with character development, action & romance ❤️‍🔥 Predators by the same author is also excellent 👌🏽

Thx u @kizukatana 😊

“Chapters: 23/23

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Underage

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke

Additional Tags: Angst, SPOILERS MANGA CHAPTER 693, Drug Use, sex during drug use, Canon-Typical Violence, canon!sasuke, canon!naruto, Addiction, Slash, narusasunaru, Fix-It, my version of how it should have ended, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, NSFW, Smut

Series: Part 1 of HTB universe

Summary: The war is over, and Sasuke is brought back to the village after his defeat by Naruto. But he is struggling to re-assimilate into the village. As his mental stability continues to erode, Tsunade and Kakashi ask Naruto to try a different treatment method. Naruto x Sasuke (slash - boy x boy). Post manga chapter 693.

Warning: Hard Yaoi (Boy x Boy) language, angst, mental illness, substance abuse, masturbation, eventual sex. Not appropriate for young readers. 18+

Disclaimer - As with everything I write on this site, I don't own the characters (Kishimoto does), and I make no money. My only payment is in reviews.

Spanish Translation by Linme (thank you!) “

[doujinshi] My Lost Himawari by SouthNorthSound

Me, to the artist (and English translator) of this visually stunning and well written doujinshi -

Seriously. It’s amazing. The visual metaphors. The angst. The way the artist can simply draw a single panel of a close-up Uchiha eye that is so outrageously sultry and sexy I don’t understand 🥵 one of the extra chapters unlocked something in me (the dream one). Bonus that it’s also really funny & has a lot of respect/empathy for its women characters too! If anyone knows who this artist plz let me know I would like to follow them until the end of the world ❤️ the ending healed me 💔

EDIT HOLY S*** GUYS I FOUND THE TRANSLATOR & ARTIST ON TUMBLR

Thx u @southnorthsound 😭❤️🫡🙇🏻‍♀️

Thx u @gigihorseinthehouse 😭 I love you I low key think you’re a genius ok sorry bye 👉🏽👈🏽

"https://archiveofourown.org/works/36581581

[doujinshi] My Lost Himawari by SouthNorthSound

Chapters: 60/60

Fandom: Naruto, Boruto: Naruto Next Generations

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura, Hyuuga Hinata, Uchiha Sarada, Uzumaki Boruto, Uzumaki Himawari, Hatake Kakashi, Nara Shikamaru, Temari (Naruto), Nara Shikadai, Akimichi Chouchou, Gaara (Naruto)

Additional Tags: Fanart, Fan Comics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, SasuNaru - Freeform, NaruSasu - Freeform, Translation, Doujinshi, Fix-It, how it should have ended, Angst, If you don’t understand how they ended up like that in Boruto READ THIS, Poetic, comedic, Loyal to canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, NSFW Art, Sex

Summary: A love story consists of different perspectives and different memories. It’s about saudade / realization / entanglement / out of control / hope / restart

Chapter700 background

Warning: adult content in extra chapters

Fan comics, doujinshi. It's highly recommended to read it on big screens such as iPad or PC. So you can see details about their facial expressions

One of the best Naruto fanart I’ve ever seen. So I translated it ❤”

Inevitablity by Sanauria_Maldhun

If the answer is

A) Yes

B) Kinda

C) Mind your own business rando internet pervert

Congrats all answers are correct = GO READ IT PLZ

Possessive & desperate 🥵 super gay, delicious angst, really hot 🔥 very enjoyable - fun tropes, everything hits just right, utter perfection ❤️ I’m not saying a lot because I don’t want to give away spoilers 😍

I couldn’t find this author on tumblr, plz tag in the comments if you know who they are!

“Chapters: 4/4

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura/Yamanaka Ino

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura

Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, (between Ino and Naruto), Mutual Pining, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Banter, Domesticity, Pining, Naruto is so in love, and doesn't know how to handle his Feelings, Jealousy, Jealous Sasuke, Jealous Sakura, Post-Chapter 699 (Naruto), Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Bottom Uzumaki Naruto, Top Uchiha Sasuke

Summary: Naruto's stressed and pining after a man who views him only as a friend. Deciding to get married to Ino isn't the best decision he's made (ever), given that they had been absolutely drunk while making such a declaration, but it's... a decision. Besides, what does he have to lose?”

You’ve gotten into my bloodstream (a bite of his heart) by lovenmaze

Nom nom nom 😉 kidding! Not literal cannibalism, it’s a metaphor for love, and this fic is beautiful 😍 poetic & sexy. One shot. Love how Naruto talks to Sasuke in this one (and makes him talk, too, hehe…) 🥵 delicious, please go tuck into this feast ❤️ author made an excellent fic playlist too!

Thx u @lovenmaze 😊

“https://archiveofourown.org/works/56430019

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: Not Rated

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto

Additional Tags: Cannibalistic Thoughts, Cannibalism imagery, First Time, Top Uzumaki Naruto, Bottom Uchiha Sasuke, Tender Sex, Blank Period (Naruto), Confessions, Idiots in Love, Not Beta Read, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Sex, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Smut, they’re both crazy about each other but thats not new, Poetic, Italicized Oh Moment, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, trust me it works and its SO good, consent is sexy !!!, lowkey vampire sasuke vibes

Summary: Sasuke tries to bite softly, he’s not going to eat him, maybe get a taste. Perhaps it’s stupid, but he wants to make sure, so he does. He opens his mouth, tongue touching the skin. His body shudders, and Naruto tastes warm, like skin or flesh; he tastes alive.

“A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism.��

AKA, The tender, fluffy, first-time, cannibalism (imagery), smut NaruSasu AU. [EDITED.]”

❤️Thx all u amazing authors u make me feel like this❤️

#naruto #naruto fic rec #naruto fic #sns #narusasu #sasunaru #sasunaru fic #a03 author #a03 writer #a03 fanfic #a03 link #a03 fic #read on a03 #smut #narusasu smut #my fic recs #lifeafterartsch00l fic recs

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rebel-wrath · 16 days ago

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I'm something of a chaos goblin at heart, my DND alignment is always chaotic, and the only use I have for rule books is toilet paper, unless their on my kobo because that would not be comfortable. Or sanitary.

There is one rule I've found that cannot be ignored if you want to grow as a writer. Everything else you can burn. Show don't tell is great as long as you understand where to tell not show. Proper spelling and grammar can be ignored, if you understand how and can justify it. Don't infodump except when you are required to, because there's times when you have to. Don't head hop unless you're using a narrative style that allows you to head hop. Every rule except this one comes with caveats, and growth as a writer isn't measured in how well you learn the rules and can stick to them, but in how well you learn when they don't apply, and can write around them.

Don't believe me? The first Discworld novel starts with an infodump. It has to, because readers expect fantasy worlds to still be globes, and if you're breaking that rule you have to start by stating outright that you are breaking it. There are incredibly popular books filled with head hopping (the thriller genre especially). Even spelling can be ignored if you want to write in a dialect, or have a POV character writing the story who struggles with this.

I'm posting a serial story on here three times a week (Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday) under the tag #NofNA which repeatedly breaks rules that are constantly said to be inviolable. It works, because I write comedy, because my narrative style makes it work, and because I actively seek ways to break rules all the time.

So, what's the one rule that can't be broken? It's WRELA. And it's the most important writing rule there is, and the only one you should never break.

WRELA. Well, technically, W.R.E.L.A.

Write. Write something. Write anything. It doesn't matter what you write, and it doesn't matter how good it is. Write.

Read. Read your own work back. Read old pieces you wrote years ago, and the thing you just finished. Read it out loud. Read it to yourself. Read it to others. Read things others have written. Read comments, blog posts, movie reviews, short stories, fanfic, scripts, and novels. Read the back of the cereal box, the receipt when you buy something, the terms and conditions, the small print. Read skeets and subtitles and emails and the sms from your granny, God bless her.

Edit. Go over the work you have written, again and again if you have to. Edit it once or edit it 1000 times. That story I'm serialising? It took me fifteen years (on and off) and two lifetimes (when I believed I was cis and after I learned that I'm trans) to write, and the finished version is as different a book to the original as it was possible to be whilst still being about the same thing.

Learn. Learn from your writing, from your reading, from your editing. Don't learn the rules. Don't take what worked for Vonnegut or King or Aristotle and blindly apply it to your work. Learn yourself. Learn who you are, what your voice is, what you're trying to say to the world. Learn how to say it. Some of those rules from other writers might work well with you. Some of them won't. That's fine. Learn what makes you a better writer.

Apply. Put the things you learned from the last piece of fiction into the next piece of fiction you write. Then do it again. Learn from that and put that into the next and then again.

The next section is me using my writing to back up my previous statements. It's a bit "markety" because I'm discussing my writing. Feel free to skip it if you want.

Okay, let's back this up: NofNA, Noun of Noun and Adjective, is a fantasy comedy that satirises our world and parodies other books. I have a few chapters up already, if you want to read it. It's about a transgender princess who joins a magic mirror reality show called Heroic Quest in return for a magical gender transition (she's a trans woman). Structurally, it has similarities to Discworld novels (one thing I learned was footnotes are a pain in the ass). Another thing I learned was that I had to keep editing the narration because I wanted to directly comment on the story as the narrator and it wouldn't work.

So I applied what I learned to the next book I wrote, Attack of the 50 ft Trans Woman.

This is a story about a Trans Woman who undergoes an experimental procedure to change gender. She grows to fifty feet, and the government sends the army after her even though she's done nothing wrong. So she heads to London to have a word with the Prime Minister.

But I knew what I'd learned from Noun of Noun and Adjective, I knew I wanted to narrate however I pleased. So the prologue makes it clear that the story is actually being told to you by an alien. As the alien narrator, I was able to interrupt the narration, go off on tangents, make jokes, and just generally be weird. It sounds like it shouldn't work, but it does. Even the huge dance scene near the end works. There's a scene from the POV of a terf, Karen, that doesn't have pronouns in it and was an absolute pain in the ass to write, but it works because the narrator is respecting Karen's insistence that Karen doesn't have pronouns. Therefore, no pronouns are used to refer to Karen in Karen's scene except the occasional first person when directly quoting Karen's tweets because Karen does not respect Karen's choice to not use pronouns for Karen.

Seriously one of the most difficult things I've ever written, but it backs up my point that you can ignore any rules you please if 1) you can justify it, and 2) you can pull it off. I ignored basic grammar itself there.

Attack of the 50 ft Trans woman is available from all major ebook retailers and a paper version is planned for later this year

Readers have told me it made them laugh, it made them sad, it made them angry. Since anger was the point, I can happily say it works.

It was also the most fun I've ever had writing and it took me a week to do the first draft. Remember, writing is meant to be fun, and when I applied what I learned from the previous book, I went from a book that took me 15 years from start to finish to a book that took only a few months.

So I took what I learned from Attack and I applied it to Bigoted Book Burners Bloodily Bludgeoned by Badly Burnt Books. I wanted to write about book burnings, and I decided the best genre for what I wanted to write was a horror. This story had a more traditional narration, but it's essentially two different stories told simultaneously, and has a bulleted list of content warnings a page long. The even chapters are the story of a kid growing up trans when the only parent she has is her terf mum. It was horrendous to write, there were days I could only manage a paragraph. I'm not looking forward to the edit.

The odd number chapters start with the book burning, with the grimoire of a witch being thrown on the fire, then causing all the books in the village to animate and kill people. It's a massively over the top splatterpunk extravaganza and is hilarious and the perfect antidote to the even number chapters.

What I learned from Attack was that I'm not a very reliable free flow writer. I need plans. And so every chapter of B5bB3 was planned before it was written. I could see how dark some scenes were, and it meant I knew where to balance them out with correspondingly funny scenes. I learned more about character agency and development.

And from B5bB3 I learned about building narrative tension, about holding off the horrible so it's not overwhelming until suddenly bang! it is overwhelming, and I'm applying that to TWTSQ, my current WIP.

B5bB3 will be out later this year, hopefully around June.

There's other books I've written, under various other names, but I'm only discussing the ones I write as Caledonia Fife. But everything I've written and everything I've read has taught me about writing, and I can honestly say that the books I'm putting out now, under this name, are so much incredibly better than the first book I put out in 2010 under a different name.

So if you want to be the best writer you can be:

Write

Read

Edit

Learn

Apply

THIS CHAPTER - IN PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS

NEXT CHAPTER IS CHAPTER Two- THE INTERVIEW

ALL - Noun of Noun and Adjective

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in-collection · 30 days ago

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House of Leaves, by Daniel Z. Danielewski, first published in 2000.

Below the cut, some thoughts on the typeset. Warning for: very long, minor spoilers, pedantic writing, and me talking out of my ass.

House of Leaves, why the typeset is weird and what it creates

House of Leaves, book of genre indeterminate (1), is a cult book that has been talked to death, and I probably won't be saying anything new about it. Still, as a paragon of ergodic literature and of weird typesets, it certainly deserves a place here - and some commentary, for those who will discover it.

First, as it stands to reason we cannot talk about the form without talking about the content, I must confess to you that I did not read this book. I have tried - and am still trying - but so far I have failed. I can still say some words though I am sure they would be different had I actually read the whole thing.

With that said, here is a summary of the story:

The Navidson family moves into a house which they find is bigger on the inside, among other weird quirks. The patriarch takes his camera and films his exploration of it. This documentary became found footage found and described by a man named Zampanò. Zampanò's description was then organized and annotated by a man named Johnny Truant. Johnny's manuscrit was then found and edited by a mysterious editor. And thus the book House of Leaves, by Zampanò and Johnny Truant, was published.

Suffice to say this book is complex and obscure, a layered metafiction written by a fictional character who knows he is writing a book that someone will eventually, hopefully, read one day. On top of this, there are also nearly 200 pages of appendices and over 450 footnotes (2). Some footnotes go nowhere, make no sense, have footnotes of their own, are several pages long, or will talk about something else entirely, creating several narratives happening at the same time. Some passages are in braille, in morse, hidden in codes and puzzles, to the point that the french translator claimed he couldn't have translated the book without help from dedicated fans to decipher those puzzles (3). All over the book, you can find evidence for several possible theories, and all those theories contradict each other, yet they all seem to exist at the same time.

Once again... this book is complex and obscure. I don't think it'd be going too far to say that no one truly understands it, except for the author. It is purposefully obscure, and it is not meant to be understood intellectually (4). Its goal is elsewhere (5); it is a book that exists beyond comprehension.

With all that said, we can talk about the typeset (6). The first thing to say is that the typeset is visually just as obscure as the story. The second thing to say is that it is obviously not random.

The ergodic nature of the book is one very noticeable, physical layer (7). The reader will have to turn the book 90° clockwise, or 180°, or 270°; sometimes they’ll have to use a mirror to read reversed text; sometimes the text is circular - the book requires physical handling and you become acutely aware of the weight and presence of a 700-pages long book. Sometimes the text is dense and requires several minutes to go through the page; sometimes there will be one sentence stretched over two pages for an entire chapter, which requires rapid page flipping (8) - this is rhythm, created by the amount of text on the page, which is of course not random either; when Navidson is exploring the ever-expanding house, the text becomes scattered, with a sense of loneliness, foreboding, unpredictability since each page will be scattered differently. Those passages provide an entirely different reading experience than that of the denser parts.

Moving on, we have another layer created by the typeset: Johnny Truant, when he finds Zampanò's notes, described how they were in bits and pieces, some in tiny unreadable scrawl, some crossed out. He had to make sense of all of this the same way we have to try to make sense of the text on pages where it is literally going in all directions - where to begin? where to go? - or when it is crossed out. Johnny discovers some (most?) of Zampanò’s footnotes are fictitious, as he thinks is the entire Navidson record, and similarly we have to try to decipher what reference is real or fake (9), which one is important or one. There is a mise-en-abyme (10) of our reading experience.

Do not think easily Johnny is here to help us though, because much like Navidson gets lost in the house, much like Johnny loses himself in Zampanò’s notes, his own footnotes will regularly go on pages long tangent about his recent hook-ups, losing us in the plot. This of course is felt in the typeset: after a passage with Navidson that has approximately 6 words per page for about 20 pages, we reach a 5 pages long, as dense as can be footnote where Johnny describes how he got his prostate fingered. Much like the subjects of the two POV could not be more different, we the readers are also getting whiplash from the difference between the two typesetting and the two different behaviors and rhythm they demand. As you can see on the pictures, it's like this for the entire book: there never is any solid ground, neither in the plot or the typeset. The reader is lost in it: since each POV has its typeface, it can create a visual mess where it's hard to find the tiny little superscript indicating a footnote (especially since some are hidden).

Now for another layer (last one, I promise), here is a small spoiler for the ending of the Navidson record. At the end, when Navidson is lost in the dark of the house’s maze, he has a book with him: House of Leaves (11). Obviously, there is no way Navidson could have a book about his unfinished documentary, yet there it is, at the deepest layer of the story within the story; the main character of the one layer who cannot possibly know anything about any other layer has the book, which has everything, the ultimate mise-en-abyme, and this thread which goes through the entire narrative loops back to us. How? Well, what is the house, if not the book?

What is the house, if not the House of Leaves, if not the book, which is House of Leaves? And, well, of course the book is the house of leaves. The book is House of Leaves. But there is a difference between House of Leaves and being the house of leaves, isn’t there?

There is no doubt the book looks like the house; it is bigger on the inside (12), it is a labyrinth made for people to lose their footing, it is three-dimensional (13), its typesetting is ever changing, unpredictable.

In turn, the book's effects are like that of the house: you are lost in it, you cannot grasp it, you cannot hope to catch all of its codes and puzzles, doing so would drive you mad, much like it drove Navidson, Zampanò, and Johnny mad.

And even more, surely the house is the main character of the book - every iteration of the word house is in blue - and, much like the hotel in The Shining, it is alive (and driving people mad). Yet it is not a house, not even diegetically: Johnny strongly suspects the documentary to be fake, as do most fans of the book, and so there is no evidence of its existence. The only time the words “House of Leaves” appear are when we realize Navidson inexplicably has a copy, and in a poem in an appendix that reads: “this great blue world of ours / seems a house a leaves / moments before the wind.” Not a house. More like a world. What appears at the end of the book - Yggdrasil, the world tree, also known as the ash tree, while the house apparently sits on Ash Tree lane. And what happens to Navidson’s copy of House of Leaves? He burns it (14) and turns it to ashes (15).

And of course, it is the house of Leaves; leaves like the leaves of a tree, a book full of leaves of paper which, much like the house, is a labyrinth which would drive crazy anyone trying to get to the bottom of it for it is the House (17). And the typeset in all of this; well, could the book be the house without it? If it wasn’t bigger on the inside, if it wasn’t a maze, if it didn’t compel people to try to understand it through its uniqueness? If the first page only credited Danielewski and not Zampanò & Johnny, if it didn’t even try to look like Johnny’s manuscript?

Without this, the final layer of the story would be broken: the layer which encompasses all other, where the reader that puts their hands on Johnny’s manuscript, finally edited and published by the mysterious Editor, is us - the house of leaves finding its way to us after going through all the layers one by one, before going back to Navidson in a complete, eternal loop, because the house of leaves does not care for logic or for what is possible. It’s a case of the form, beyond being made for the content, also creates the content; without it, the content is incomplete. Without it the book is not (the) House and the loop is broken (18).

------------

(1) Described at times as a horror story, a romance, a satire, a gothic fiction, a postmodern book, etc.

(2) Exactly 450 numbered footnotes, and then more using special characters.

(3) x

(4) When the french translator asked the author to tell him about the book's puzzles and hidden codes for the translation, Danielewski answered "have fun". x

(5) It is explicitly said to not be for us (see the third image of this post): this is not a book we are meant to grasp.

(6) A fun fact: it was typeset by Danielewski himself, who did not trust anyone else with it.

(7) In ergodic literature, nontrivial effort is required to allow the reader to traverse the text. From wikipedia.

(8) And that is without mentioning the several appendices which require you to go to the end of the book and back.

(9) While also figuring the third category, the reference that is real within the story and fake in real life. All of this can prove itself tiresome when some footnotes are two pages' worth of name listed without any breaks.

(10) A story within a story; our story is Johnny’s story. From French, meaning literally “placed into an abyss”.

(11) It is also described as a 736-long pages book, the exact same amount of pages the IRL book has.

(12) And indeed the cover doesn’t reach the edge of the inside pages.

(13) Of course the object that a book is is three-dimensional, but the words inside are too: some passages go through the page (and multiple pages at that). More specifically, in that blue square you can see above in the pictures.

(14) He burns it for light in order to read the book - plenty to say about that though I won’t, this is long enough.

(15) Yggdrasil also defies logic, is a tree of “terror” (etymologically speaking), a tree that holds up the world, that is the center of the world itself. In most beliefs, reaching the center, while illuminating, is a hard journey (16). What does Navidson do, except search for meaning by going to the center of the mysterious house’s labyrinth, which eventually drives him mad?

(16) That sentence is said by Zampanò himself in one of his footnotes.

(17) The Shining could never; it stops at the hotel being alive.

(18) And indeed, all translated versions of the book look the exact same, despite how arduous this makes the translation process. There is also no ebook version, since it needs to be paper (leaves). And though I’m sure somewhere a normie version exists, I doubt you could call it House of Leaves. In a roundabout way, it is also its typesetting which has made the book famous - making sure the two could never be parted at least in people's mind.

#house of leaves #book design #graphic design #graphic design references #typography #blog #ressources

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 1 year ago

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It's Called Murder, Baby!

A Scream x Stranger Things AU

Part II

Read Part I Here

Synopsis: A string of gruesome murders takes a toll on the small town of Hawkins. Friends and family start looking like suspects making it hard to trust those who you are closest to.

Chapter Summary: A killer is still on the loose with the whole town on edge. Was this a single incident or is there more to come? Hopper puts his foot down leaving things tense with you and Steve.

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

This work will contain elements of violent themes (depictions of crime scenes, murders, etc) and smut. This is a slasher fic!

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. AFAB!Reader. Graphic character deaths/murders - depictions of how they were found after the murder. Semi-Public Sex. Oral (m receiving). Pet names. Choking. Degradation. Smoking marijuana. P in V (wrap it before you tap it!). Creampie.

Word Count: 5.3K

In all of Jim’s twenty plus years on the force, he thought he’d seen it all. Hawkins had its share of crime, but murder was never high on that list. The usually quiet town had only seen something of this caliber once before.

He was here 10 years ago when Principal Higgin’s was strung up by his feet and found hanging on the goal post at Hawkin’s High football field, sliced open from neck to navel like a freshly killed deer ready for processing. It was gruesome and bloody. They had never seen anything like it and hoped they’d never have to deal with something like it again.

The murders of Jason and Chrissy brought a whole new meaning to what he’d thought he’d seen.

Jason was found tied to a chair. He had been stabbed at least ten times before his throat ultimately slit. They were still unsure if he was already dead before his neck was reached.

Chrissy was found a few feet away, strung up by her feet. Rope tied to the second-floor landing, extending over the living room. In eerily similar fashion to that murder 10 years ago, she was also gutted.

It was as if Jason had been made to watch. This was brutal and seemed personal.

He had the file spread out across his desk, looking and relooking at all the evidence as he reached for another smoke. He’d been chain smoking since he’d left the crime scene this morning.

It was now well past two in the afternoon, and he was no closer to figuring this shit out. It was going to be a long night.

A knock came at his door followed by Deputy Callahan poking his head in.

“Yeah?” Came his gruff voice, already irritated by the younger man’s presence. Callahan was a constant pest.

“Hey Sheriff, uh, sorry to bother you, but I thought you might like to see today’s paper.” The shit eating smirk on his face told a different story.

Callahan waltzes over, handing him the latest edition.

He read the headline and briefly skimmed the article underneath.

“Meeting, now!” He finally huffed, reddened face on display. Callahan didn’t miss a beat.

“On it, sir.”

It wasn’t unusual to have an “emergency” meeting at the station, especially with the way the morning had gone.

Steve was settled at his desk, Robin was sitting across from him rambling about something he wasn’t paying much attention to, still too distracted by the evidence before him. Looking at it all as if he would magically see something they had missed.

Callahan hadn’t even bothered knocking, door opening with a crooked grin.

“Meeting, Sheriff’s office. Now.”

Robin looked at Steve and shrugged.

Everyone shuffled into the room, cramming into the corners trying to fit into the small office.

Hopper was unusually quiet, not meeting anyone’s gaze as they filed in. Steve immediately clocked the newspaper he had folded in his hand.

Powell was the last, closing the door behind him. As soon as it clicked into place Hopper spoke up.

“I don’t think I should have to remind you all how delicate a case like this is.” Everyone nodded in agreement as he finally looked around.

“Yes. Yes, sir. Yes, Sheriff.” Came from around the room.

“So, who the fuck talked to the press?” He threw the paper on the desk, unfurling to reveal the headline. His finger pinning it and pointing to your article.

Steve maintained his composure, but he wanted to rip his hair out. He hadn’t seen the paper yet, so he stepped up reading the contents, Robin shuffled right in beside him.

His jaw tightened. He hadn’t told you anything about the mask they had found.

A few more seconds ticked by. Steve finally stepped back catching Callahan looking straight at him, that same smirk plastered to his face from earlier.

Little Fucker, Steve thought.

Jim groaned as he sat back down, before finally speaking again. “Powell, Callahan. Get out and close the door.”

Wasting no time, quickly doing as they were told to make sure to stay on Hopper’s good side. Callahan skirted past Steve, smiling as he went. Steve was already seething with his fists clenched tightly to his sides. If looks could kill, the other would have been a dead man.

Robin clutched the paper reading it more carefully, as she took the seat in front of his desk.

Steve strolled up behind her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Look,” Jim sighed, looking right at him. “I don’t care what the hell you do after hours but do not let it interfere with my investigation.”

“Hop,” Robin went to interject but was quickly cut off.

“Let me finish,” She snapped her mouth shut and nodded. “Unfortunately, I know it had to have been one of you. No one outside of this room knew about that goddamn mask.”

He let his words wash over them both. Robin’s shoulders sank as she sat further into her seat. He noticed Steve’s jaw clench.

“Callahan had a run in with her here today in the station. Care to explain?” He sat back, reaching for yet again for another smoke. Joyce would kill him if she knew how many he’d had today.

“Hop, I swear,” Robin was the first to crack, always was. “She just came in for a visit. We had coffee…” She trailed off when she felt Steve’s hand rest on her shoulder.

“She came in to talk to me,” Steve looked Jim in the eye as he spoke. “But I swear to God I didn't say a word about that fucking mask.”

Hopper sighed; he knew Steve would never undermine him like that.

He nodded. “No more press in the station until this shit is over. Not even her.”

“Yes sir,” they stated in unison.

“Ok then, who else could have known?”

Steve trudged out of Hopper's office in a huff, with Robin hot on his heels as she followed him back into his office, shutting the door behind them.

“Steve,” she started.

“Don't.” He sat down, with a sigh as he opened the folder once again in front of him and rubbed his hands down his face.

“You didn't tell her that, did you?” She asked quietly before taking the chair in front of him, eyes worrying over him. Surely, he wasn't that stupid?

“Of course not,” he scoffed, incredulously. “You know better than that.”

“Right, yeah, I know… but you two are… close.” She wouldn’t dare meet his eyes after it slipped out.

“Close, yeah. But I wouldn't jeopardize an investigation like that.” She nodded, as he got up wearily from his seat.

‘Hey, where are you going?” She shouted as he was halfway out the door.

“To get some answers.”

The copier was currently holding your paper hostage, as it got lodged in the rollers. Cursing the damn thing as you started the process of digging it out.

Nancy walked by just in time to see you struggling.

“There you are, heads up. Trouble is headed this way.” You looked over her shoulder in time to catch Steve's stern face looking right at you as he stepped through the door.

“Shit,” you breathed out.

She gave you a wry, pitying look before leaving you to it.

“Hey Steve, I…” you began, but he grabbed your bicep pulling you along with him, giving you no choice but to follow. He dragged you into the small conference room down the hall in which you two frequently met.

Only letting you go once you were both in, shutting the door. He was unusually quiet, eyes lingering down as if contemplating what needed to be said.

“So, I take it, you've seen the paper?” You asked softly.

He nodded, “Who told you about the mask?”

You knew it would come, but you were prepared.

“It was an anonymous source, and I took the chance.” You shrugged.

“Anonymous source? Who?” He narrowed his gaze, but you stood your ground, standing up a little straighter crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don't know, Steven, it was an anonymous tip. They didn't quite let me catch their name before they hung up.”

“Right, like you don't know. So why would you run it if you didn't know if it was true?” He stepped closer into your space.

“I just had a gut feeling. Looks like I was right if you're here.” Gesturing toward him.

He planted his hands on his hips, looking down his nose at you trying to look intimidating, only managing to turn you on instead.

“Yeah, and now Hop is on my ass thinking that I leaked it. You sure you didn't see something in that file on my desk?”

“And when would I have done that? While I was in your lap, and you were balls deep? You were there too. I didn't snoop in your fucking file.” You start turning away from him, tired of the questioning.

“Wait, look,” his hand wraps softly around your wrist, catching you from moving too far away from him.

“I'm sorry, I know you didn't snoop. This is just a big case, Hops worried about making sure it isn't fucked up.” You nodded, secretly relishing the way you could easily get him worked up and then he’s always the first to apologize.

“I know Steve, I wouldn't do something to compromise your job. You should know that.”

He absentmindedly bit his lower lip, his mind in overdrive once again.

“I've got to get back to the Station. I'll be there late tonight.”

He turned and headed back out into the newsroom. Turning heads as he went, permanent scowl etched onto his face.

It was getting late in the evening, around 8 pm. Eddie should have been by to pick you up at 6 but had called earlier saying he was running late.

“Sorry sweetheart, boss wants me to stay and finish up this last car that came in today.” He had said.

You were the only one left in the building. Nancy had offered to take you home, but you didn't want to be an inconvenience.

You were doing some research on another story Tom had assigned you, paying little attention to anything else around you.

The doors were locked. All the lights were low except the one still at your desk, head buried in a pile of copy you were looking over.

It was then you heard a sharp screech, as if a door creaked open making your head shoot up. You stood, walking slowly to the doorway leading to the back of the building, listening closely for any other sounds.

You rounded the corner that led to a narrow hall, and beyond that was the back of the building. There was only one exit door in the back, and you were sure that Tom had locked it on his way out.

“Hello? Is someone there?” You shouted down the darkened hall. No sounds or movements from that direction. Heart beating heavy in your chest as your eyes adjusted to see further into the dark but there was nothing and no one.

“Shit, get a grip.” You hissed to yourself.

You turned to go back to your desk, bumping into something very solid, as you jumped and let out a small squeak of surprise. His hand wrapping around your waist, steading you. Looking up into a familiar face with deep hazel eyes immediately calmed your now jangled nerves.

“Shit Steve, you didn’t have to sneak up on me.” Your heart still beating rapidly.

“I was checking the doors. The back was unlocked. Why aren’t you being more careful? There's still a killer on the loose.” He looked worried then, always caring about your well-being. He brushed the loose strands of hair behind your ear that had fallen after a long day, cupping your cheek in the process.

“Good thing I have a big, bad Sheriff to keep an eye out for me.” You smiled, as his gaze softened.

“Eddie coming to pick you up?” He whispered, inching closer to you. Crowding into you even further, closing the distance, pushing you into the wall as your back came to rest against it.

You nod. “He's just running a little late.”

“I’d never keep you waiting,” he mumbled against your lips, letting them finally meld into yours as you hummed in response, he let his other hand meet your hip, pulling you back into him.

“Stevie, I… I can't. He'll be here any minute.” You breathed out, pushing him away slightly.

He nodded, kissing your forehead tenderly before pulling completely away, immediately missing the warmth his body provided.

“Steve, wait, I'm sorry about the paper. Sometimes I just get ahead of myself and don't think about who else it might affect.” You placed your palm to his cheek, forcing his eyes on you.

Your other hand trailed the length of his shirt, past his belt, firmly cupping his bulge as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I don't have a lot of time, but I could still make it up to you.” You whispered, looking up at him innocently.

“Let me make it up to you.” You gripped the front of his shirt, as he held out his hand to help lower you to the floor.

Your knees hit the hard linoleum with a small thump, as he allowed himself to bump into the wall behind him.

He looked down at you with an affection that suddenly made your chest ache. You were expecting lust, not his doe eyes sparkling in the low light.

He removed his duty belt, sitting it on the table to the side of you.

“Stevie, don't look at me like that.”

“Like what, honey?”

You looked ahead, choosing to ignore him instead, popping the button on his slacks and undoing his zipper slowly, his cock beginning to strain against his confinements as you reached into his briefs, fingers wrapping around the base. He let out a small moan, as he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall.

His cock kicked up with your touch, engorging further, growing to his full length before your eyes. You licked your lips as your mouth began to salivate.

You moved your hand up his velvety length, collecting the growing bead of pearlescent precum at his slit, letting your thumb slowly spread it across his head before bringing it back down.

“Fuck,” he moaned out, every touch sending electricity through his veins, as if he hadn't already been inside of you earlier today.

You held his base, and kitten licked at his head, eliciting more breathy moans as you began to kiss up and back down his hard cock at a torturous pace before finally wrapping your lips around his head, swirling your tongue and sucking lightly before taking as much of him into your mouth that you could fit. Slowly bobbing your head and then picking up the pace, working in tandem with the hand wrapped around the rest of him.

You gagged just a bit, when he nudged the back of your throat a little too hard from your own eagerness.

He looked back down at the sound, cupping your cheek gently, thumb softly caressing you,

“Hey, hey take it easy baby doll. Can't make a mess of this pretty little face right now. Just take it easy honey.”

You nodded, bobbing your head slowly once again.

“That's it baby doll. Slow and steady now.”

You free hand toys with his balls, rolling them deftly between your fingers.

“Oh shit, yeah. Just like that baby.” He cooed.

You speed up your movements on his length, feeling his sack tense and draw up a bit from the change in pace.

“That's it, baby doll, I'm about to cum already. Can I cum in that pretty mouth?”

You nodded as he grunted and spilled down your throat, relaxing a bit more so you could swallow as much as possible. The salty, tangy taste had you humming around him.

His cock twitched once more before stilling, as you moved off of him with a slight pop, wiping the drool and any of him that escaped down the side of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around your finger, licking it off, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“C’mere,” giving you his hand once again to help you up, winching as you felt the pain in your knees from being in the latter position.

“I…” you were about to speak, as headlights cut through the blinds, illuminating you both.

“Shit,” he hissed, drawing back, putting himself away and grabbing for his belt before securing it back around his waist.

“It's Eddie. He'll be ok for a few minutes.” You straightened your rumpled shirt, smoothing some errant stray hairs back into place.

You grabbed your purse, as he finished fixing his clothes.

“Come on, I'll have to lock up behind you. Walk me out.”

He followed closely, Eddie's eyes cut to the both of you upon exit, taking a slow drag of the cigarette held tightly between his lips.

He rolled down his window as you cut in front of the van to climb into the passenger seat.

“Evening Harrington,” he grinned. “Out on patrol?”

Steve glared, licking his lips before striding up the van, clearing his throat a bit.

“Eddie,” nodding toward the other man. “Just checking some doors around town. Y/N would forget her head sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he clicked his tongue, “yeah she would.” He looked over to you as you rolled your eyes back at him. You leaned over as he met you halfway placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thanks for checking on me Steve.” Throwing him a soft smile and wink, sitting back into the seat as your seatbelt clicked into place.

Eddie smirked, tapping his fingers against the top of the door. Steve caught sight of the newly formed bruises and scratches there.

“Yeah, Steve,” grabbing your hand from the console, pulling it in for a soft kiss, before turning back to him, “thanks for checking on my girl.”

“No problem. Nasty cuts you got there.” Nodding his chin toward them.

Eddie flexed his hand, “Yeap, caught it on a bitch of a radiator yesterday.”

Steve, growing tired of the awkward small talk, decided to take his leave.

“Well, you two be careful.” Patting the side of the van, turning back in the direction of the station.

“See ya’ around Stevie.” Eddie called out, chuckling loudly, sliding the gear shift into reverse, backing out from his spot.

“You don't have to be rude to him.” You scolded as he pulled out onto the road.

“He's just so easy to fuck with babe. I can't help it. Especially when he's so smug thinking you two are cheating behind my back.” He laughed deeply.

“He’s not smug about it. He worries about you catching us all the time.”

“Good. He should be.”

Eddie took a left, instead of the right back to your house.

“Where are we going?” You asked but he didn't answer right away, grin only growing wider, more devilish looking.

“Don't worry baby, it's a nice night for a drive. Thought we might go parking.”

“Parking, huh? Wanna do it in the back of the van, like in high school?” You comically lifted your brow. “How romantic.”

“I'm just kidding, unless you wanna?” Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, that had you laughing.

It was always the little moments with Eddie. He'd know exactly how to make you laugh or quell your nerves after a long day. You trusted him wholly.

“I wanted to take you to a spot I found the other day. Wanted to share a joint and see where the night takes us.”

“You do know there's a killer on the loose, right?”

“You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. You're safe with me.” Somehow you knew he was telling the truth.

He took you further out of the main city, a few more twists and turns, you were thoroughly lost. Never one with a good sense of direction. Kicking your heels off and tossing them in the back, you got more comfortable, pulling your legs under you.

Asphalt turned into gravel, as he slowed to a roll, finally throwing the van into park at a clearing.

You looked out the windshield, it was a clear night. Moon brightly reflecting off of Lover's Lake, small waves cresting on the shore in front of you.

Though this wasn't a new spot like he'd said, it was your spot. You recognized the big tree directly by the lake.

“Surprise,” he sang out.

“This isn't a new spot, Eddie.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Sue me.” He laughs, digging into the pocket of his jumpsuit, producing a pre-rolled joint, bringing it to his lips.

“You’ve been a naughty girl today.” Stating it matter-of-factly. Lighting the end, sucking lightly until he knows it's lit.

He looks at you, eyes hooded, dropping his voice a little deeper. “Haven't you sweetheart?”

His words ignited your core. You knew that tone well.

He offered it to you, taking it gingerly, bringing it to your own lips inhaling the sweet strain as he intensely watched your movements.

“And you,” pointing over at him, “have always been a very jealous boyfriend.”

He scoffs, taking it back from you, letting it wash over him.

“If I was jealous, I wouldn't let you whore around with him all over town.”

You laughed out, clear and bright as the weed began to flow through your system.

“Let's get one thing straight, you've never told me to do anything in this relationship. I do what I want.”

He slowly places the joint in the ashtray, and then moves quickly before you have time to react, pinning you by the throat pushing you into the passenger seat, rings biting into the tender flesh. You gasped out, reaching up to grab his hand.

“Sweetheart, maybe it's time to put that mouth to some good use.” He whispered close to your ear.

“Maybe I already did.” You grinned wickedly at him.

“You little whore, kissing me with that mouth after his cock’s been shoved halfway down your throat?” His fingers tightened, as you nodded.

“Bet his cum’s still lingering on your tongue. Huh?”

“Mmmmm, yeah baby. He finished right before you pulled in to pick me up.”

He removed his hand from your throat to pinch your cheeks harshly, forcing your lips into a sweet pout, as he roughly brings his lips to yours, you close your eyes, humming in contentment.

You felt him smirk against you, pulling back slightly, “You’re fucking filthy baby. How'd I get so lucky? Hey, look at me.” You snapped your eyes open to see his own blown wide with lust, so dark they were almost black.

“Get in the back. Take your clothes off.”

You didn't hesitate, as he finally released you, climbing over the console as quickly as you could. He picked up what was left of his joint, inhaling deeply, letting it sit in his lungs a moment before exhaling.

Eddie kept the back of the van clean, a spare blanket folded into the corner just for occasions like this to save your knees or ass from a wicked carpet burn. You had learned from experience.

You carefully unfolded it and smoothed out the edges. He was still smoking and concentrating on the water beyond the window, like his mind was elsewhere.

Unbuttoning your blouse, and quickly shimmying out of your skirt leaving you in just your panties and bra you laid down, awaiting your next instruction.

“I said take your clothes off. That means everything.” He spoke without looking back.

You quickly shed the offending articles.

“Good girl.” He purred, finally facing you to get a good look.

“Open your legs, yeah, that's it baby.” He had a perfect view of your cunt, untouched but already dripping.

“Go ahead, touch yourself f’me.” Slowly reaching down between your thighs, taking some slick from your leaking hole, bringing it back up as you slowly start to draw circles around your clit.

“Oooooh, Eddie,” you moaned, throwing your head back at the feeling, already worked up from sucking Steve off.

“Eyes on me baby.” You look up just in time to see him pushing his coveralls past his hips, his cock straining his boxers. He pulled those down slightly, freeing his already hard cock.

It had you licking your lips at the sight. He didn’t quite have the girth that Steve does, but he was just a little longer, with a slight curve upward.

He spit in his hand before wrapping it around the base, hissing out, sliding it up and back down, setting a slow pace as he watched you torturously toy with your bundle of nerves.

“That's it sweetness, go ahead finger fuck that tight pussy.” Moving your fingers down, you easily slid two in, whining out and arching your back. You began to rock your palm into your clit as your fingers slid in and out.

“Bet you wish that was my cock instead? Huh?” You nodded, mouth going slack at the feeling as another whine escaped but you needed more. You needed him.

“Please, Eds. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me.”

“Jesus, you are a greedy whore. Two of your holes stuffed already today and you still want more?” He chuckled but opened his door exiting to move around to the back. He didn’t intend to leave you hanging. He needed your cunt wrapped around him just as much as you needed him to fill you.

The back doors opened with a flush of cold air, as he quickly worked to push his coveralls down climbing in to meet you, shutting the door behind him. He removed his shirt and threw it in the corner to meet your own pile of clothes.

You turned yourself around to face him, as he crawls in-between your thighs, pushing them further apart as he made his way up.

He trailed hot, open mouth kisses along your sternum before turning his attention to your pebbled nipples. Quickly drawing one into his mouth, sucking sharply. Palming your neglected breast with his free hand.

“Oh Eddie,” you thread your fingers in his hair, tightening your grip on his curls when you feel him bite down.

“Oh fuck!” You squealed, as he releases his mouth, bringing it to the other repeating the same motions.

He continued his journey upward, laving his tongue up your breasts, neck and jaw.

His arms finally cage you in, as his body pushes you further into the floor. You wrap your legs around his lithe waist, as he pushes his hips down, rolling them into yours letting his cock brush through your folds.

“Eddie, please.” You gripped his shoulders, throwing your head back as his ruddy tip nudged your clit, sending sparks through your core and up your spine.

“Eddie, please.” He mocked, high pitched and whiny. His lips kissed up your jaw as he found the shell of your ear. “Such a needy little whore.”

He braced himself with one arm by your head, taking his length with the other bringing his leaking tip to your entrance.

He caught your entrance and slightly pushed in, but it already has you arching into him. He watches himself slowly disappear into your tight heat, inch by inch.

“Fuck, baby. She's sucking me in. So, fucking tight.” He lowers his forehead to yours savoring the sensation for a moment, before he quickly grips your thigh, pushing it higher onto his hip as he's pulling almost all the way out, just to sink straight back in.

“Oh fuck… mmmmm… Eddie.”

He rocks his hips back and forth, setting a now brutal pace that has you both moaning and crying out.

He then ceases his movements momentarily, pulling up slightly, only to push your knees to your chest. The new angle has him reaching impossibly deeper as he begins giving you long, slow strokes. It’s his favorite view. Your tight cunt swallowing him whole. He can barely tear his eyes away.

“Fuck, look at you. Already so drunk on my cock and she's taking me so well.” Now watching your fucked out face. Eyes closed, heard thrown back and mouth slack with moans and expletives spilling out.

His words spur that flame within you, only burning hotter with each drag of his cock along your frontal wall. Your pussy flutters around him.

He lifted up, placing his hand around your throat, picking up his pace once more. Grip growing tighter with every thrust. You expect finger shaped bruises to be blooming in the morning.

The sounds of skin slapping skin along with the moans pulled from you and the grunts from Eddie fill the back of the van. You were getting close as your cunt pulsed around his thick, fat cock.

“I can feel her baby, she's getting tighter. You need to cum huh? Tell me who's pussy this is. And I’ll let you cum.”

He loosened his grip so you could speak.

You gasped as the newly found air entered your lungs, “It's yours Eddie, she's all yours.”

“That's… fucking… right.” Punctuating each word with a thrust. He moved his deft fingers down your body, resting for a moment on your mound, before his thumb began rubbing harsh circles to your clit.

“I know you're close. Cum with me baby.”

It only took a few more thrusts, with his thumb never ceasing its movements, you were coming undone. Your pussy clamped down around him with such a force it almost pushed him out.

“Oh fuck, Eddie!” You cried out as your orgasm hit with a blinding force. Your toes curled, as your whole body felt like a livewire.

“Goddamn, baby. You're strangling me.” He hissed out.

He regained his composure, pounding into you, chasing his own high. A few more sloppy pumps and he was spilling into you, thick ropes of his release filling you to the brim.

“Fuck baby.” He kissed your forehead as you caught your breath.

“Fuck, Eds.” You giggled.

He pulled his softening cock from you, watching as some of his spend leaked from you.

“What a beautiful site,” he whispered, moving out of your space to retrieve your underwear, sliding them back up your legs to keep the mess contained then leaning down to place a kiss on your mound. Such a tender gesture.

“Sorry, I don't have anything to clean you up baby.” Kissing your knee as you bent up to retrieve your clothes.

“It's ok Eds, we'll shower when we get home.” You cupped his cheek as he nuzzled into your palm briefly. You both dressed and got back into the front seats.

He headed home at a leisurely pace, both content to ride in the peace and quiet of the night.

You watched the streetlights pass, growing more frequent the closer you got into town.

You'd only passed one other vehicle on the way back in. Hawkins was on edge, houses shut tight and barely any lights to be seen. It was eerie to say the least. All hoping this was a single incident, but a killer was still on the loose.

He slowed at a stop sign, before making the turn back to your house and in the distance, you saw the glow of cruiser lights.

“Oh great, what now?” He huffed. Your attention already trained ahead.

“I don't know, but I've got a really bad feeling.”

He slowly rolled past the scene. Two cruisers and the medical examiners van were parked out front of one of the newer homes on Elm Street.

“Doesn’t Chase Owen live there?” You asked.

“How the hell should I know baby, haven’t heard from that asshat since high school.”

There was a deputy stationed out front, he waved the van through. Trying to quickly get rid of any rubberneckers that dared to pass by.

You caught his eyes, Steve, looking at you with this unreadable expression as he quickly looked away.

You would come to realize Jason and Chrissy were just the warmup.

Soon, the body count would rise, and it was going to get messy.

@barbedwirebats I know you wanted to be tagged!

#eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington smut #eddie munson smut #ghostface!eddie munson #ghostface #ghostface!eddie #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x you #ghostface!eddie munson x reader #ghostface!eddie x reader #steddie x you #pervy! eddie munson

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frosted-hyacinth · 5 months ago

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𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐥 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥!𝐚𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 : chapter I

Feat. too many blue lock characters to list... (theres like 19 love interests...) Tags. fluff, maybe some angst later on cw. NOT EDITED, (if there are any more, please let me know) note. my run-on sentences are coming backkk noooo also how did i forget the word facility?? (I had to google it until i remembered...) also a lil short as always sorry! (had this in my drafts for quite some time lol)

masterlist. (non-existent for now) next.

It was your first time at a concert. You were at a concert that your friend bought tickets for but ended up not being able to go and now you were here. She'd told you last minute that she had an urgent family problem and that she wouldn't be able to go. However, she didn't want to waste the tickets she'd brought so she handed them to you and ran off, not letting you refuse.

You didn't really think you were into these idol things but when you saw her dancing across the stage with those... eyes... You were captivated. You couldn't look away.

That was the moment you knew, you wanted to be just like her. An idol that could captivate the eyes of anyone watching them, the kind that told everyone look at me without a word. The centre of attention.

After years of hard work, it paid off.

☆ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

You sighed, a while ago, your manager, Emi, had told you to do a job with Itoshi Sae. It was supposed to be just normal modelling, something that came with being an idol but the whole experience was just tiring. The images came out perfect, better than perfect even.

Seeing the publicity that photoshoot gave you, Emi tried convincing you to make more content with Sae, even trying to make you create a song with him but no matter how much she asked, you could only say no. As much as you loved how the results turned out, the Itoshi was much less agreeable to work with. You'd tried interacting with him during the short amount of time you had but time and time again, he had ignored you. So you came to the conclusion that that was not something you'd want to do again.

But now? Something was off. Emi was eerily quiet. Usually, she'd be consistently telling you about all the different brands or people you had offers from but you hadn't heard a peep from her today.

Now, it was lunch and as quietly as possible, she sat down beside you and all of a sudden, she was talking again. But then she pulled out a letter that she hid (?) behind her back. Rather than having you read it though, she more or less described the entirety of the letter to you.

She was telling you that you'd gotten an invite to have a collaboration with 'Blue Lock.' A program Jinpachi Ego (a person who you personally found a little creepy) created to find a perfect male idol. It turned out that they had already eliminated a handful of people. From the 300 who started, there were now 15 left.

Emi said that if you joined, you'd get much more publicity than you do right now and your PR team even said that this would be good for you. You probably would have said yes anyway but with the way they seemed like they were begging you to join, it would have physically hurt you to reject them.

That was how you found yourself in a bus ride with 'Anri Teieri' to the Blue Lock facility, arriving finally at a large pentagon-shaped building.

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jeio-kimi · 5 months ago

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Lost In Translation

A deep dive into the widespread misinformation of 19 Days (19天) prod. By: Old Xian (Old先)

Part: 1

Part: 2

Hello! 19 days readers! How many times have you and I seen this online?

"19 days takes place in the past when all of the characters are in middle school."

"I've been reading 19 Days online, and I just found out that they're all 15 year olds??!"

"What? They don't look like they're in middle school."

Many people within the 19 Days Fandom seem to believe in two important details about this story: 1. This story is a flashback. 2. The flashback of this story takes place when the characters are in middle school.

However, while it is provably canonical that the story we are reading is majorly in the past. The ages of the characters have never been specified by the creator of the web series Old Xian. In fact, there is more evidence directing towards an older age for the main characters than the one perceived by most readers. But why is this the case? If the story itself shows the readers what the ages should be assumed to be, why would so many people assume a completely different age? This confusion is mostly caused through the mistranslation of the readers.

Now, while it should be stated that 19 Days has no official English translation at this time. The fandom's appointed English translator, "Maomaozaii" (on Twitter), has never stated within the translation of a chapter, nor off script the canonical ages of the characters. So where is this "they're all 15 year olds" claim derive from?

Here's what I've fround:

19 Days: Chapter 45

In what is probably one of the most perplexing chapters of the series, Our main character Zhan Zheng Xi, explains that his best friend Jian Yi had disappeared after the second day of high-school began. Jian Yi explains in a "flashback" sequence that he was kindaped to an island by two strange men, which Zhan Zheng Xi has a hard time believing.

This has lead to the majority of the fandom assuming that the story of 19 days takes place before Jian Yi was kindaped. When the two boys would have been in middle school.

However this idea can be quickly debunked when continuing to the next chapter.

It is never stated how long Jian Yi was gone for, but what is stated is that both boys are still in high-school after Jian Yi returns.

After showing back up to Zhan Zheng Xi house, Jian Yi works on homework and expresses that he wants to attend the same university as Zhan Zheng Xi when he graduates. The chapters after Jian Yi's return continue with the two's daily life in high-school with no reference of taking place in the past. Due to this I can be assured that the story is taking place contemporarily.

19 Days Wikia

Now I'm sure most of us understand why "Wiki" & "Wikipedia" pages are not considered reliable sources, I will explain just incase. Fandom "Wiki" and "Wikipedia" itself are pages of a website that can be created and edited by anyone with a wiki account. These accounts are not moderated and not verified by the site owners. Meaning, any information released on the web pages are not from official or trusted sources, and shouldn't be taken as authentic. The 19 days Wikia, makes claims of canonical information that has never been specified by the creator, within or outside of the web series. Along with this, the web page itself is entirely outdated, only having coverage of the series up to chapter 210. As well as other false information.

19 Days: Chapter 122

This chapter introduces the infamous "3rd Year" label on the lockers next to He Tian and Jian Yi. Most people will see this and try to surmise what "3rd Year" refers too. So let's talk about the Chinese school system.

"3rd Year" in this instance can refer one of two Grade levels: "Chu-3" (9th Grade) or Gao-3 (12th Grade). The assimilation by viewers that believed that Jian Yi is still in middle school with Zhan Zheng Xi that the "3rd Year" label refers to "Chu-3" making all of our main characters 9th graders. However, as I stated earlier, it is shown to us that Jian Yi and Zhan Zheng Xi are both still in high-school when he returns. Which if the label refers to "Gao-3" or 12th Grade this would also make since. If Jian Yi gets kindaped the second day of 10th grade (second day of high-school), disappears for two years, then comes back, it would make him a 10th grader. Which would make the most sense following what is shown to us within the story. I will STRONGLY note; that neither, Jian Yi nor He Tian interact with the side the lockers labeled "3rd Year" are on. So, it's possible that it's not even in reference to their grade level.

So... what are their ages?

Continues in:

Part: 2

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graysparrowao3 · 1 month ago

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2024 Writing Reflections

Thank you @little-paperboat, what a nice tag to receive, really interesting to reflect on these questions. I'm not sure who may not have a tag, here are some no pressure ones if you would like to join and an open invitation (no seriously, I really like this one I want to tag everyone lol)💛 @wakacreations @thylyre @faetouchedfool @barbwillbrb @lolliputian

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

To embrace the joy of writing. This meant trying new things or putting them out there or just writing what spoke to me. Writing "easy" and not worrying about my prose - if I just wanted to write fun dialogue with the same damn dialogue tags, then go for it babe, let those blorbos yap. If I wanted to put in the most cliche, in-your-face metaphor, smack that literary device on the arse and send it out! If I had a short idea that I thought was fun, I could share it as a fic, or a post, or even just a message amongst people who like similar things. The more I embraced the joy of it just for its own sake the less anxious I felt about it.

How has your writing developed this past year?

Writing sexually explicit content. I'm very cautious about the explicit content I consume for my own psychological comfort, and it was quite liberatory to be in control of the writing and know what was going to happen, and definitely allowed my writing to grow in depth, gain a new skill, and explore more heavy and intimate themes.

Bad writing habits?

I get impatient and want to be done with something even when I know the editing isn't quite finished and then spend the next hour frantically making edits after it's uploaded.

Favorite thing you wrote?

I feel like this changes every time I reflect on it, probably because I like them for different reasons.

For now, I'm going to say Part 10, the main "concluding" part of the NB series. I was absolutely exhausted after I wrote it.

I'll also say chapter 10 in The Elturian Prodigy, because in it Rolan begins to figure out the events of Descent into Avernus, and I was proud to be able to come up with how he might do it that didn't seem super obvious but that an intelligent character could reason through.

Biggest win?

Finding support and kindness that uplifted me to such an extent that it has changed the trajectory of my life. I'm part of the many folks who have found their joy and creativity again thanks to fandom writing and the overwhelming and unexpected kindness of people in the online community spaces. I even had some people in real life remember I was trying to write again and ask how it was going and I had to not be a big emotional mess about it. Thank you online writing friends <3

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

Everyone is always breathing in various ways. Lots of deep breaths, huffing, snorting, air catching in throats. Or chuckling in various dry, wry, ways. Or brows doing various things; raising, creasing, cocking.

This is a ridiculous sentence, but I had to take a moment in the middle of the NB series and check I wasn't overdoing twat, bastard, and feck and turning it into a caricature. (There's a part where Rugan says "Every other word out of your mouth is 'feck this' or 'bastard that'" which was absolutely me calling myself out lol).

Goals for the new year?

I think I responded to this elsewhere, but in this moment I am thinking...

Just don't stop reading and writing, keep practicing and growing.

Always remember the kind words of internet friends that have made you have faith in yourself.

Keeping working on the ongoing WIPs.

I think, if I'm being honest, I would really love to finally get something original self-published or close to it by the end of 2025. As the saying goes, the best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago, but the second best time is now.

What are you excited for in the new year?

Well I'm in the middle of a couple of interviews, so getting hired would be good because life has thrown a lot around recently that won't be letting up any time soon. Fingers crossed.

I got some books for Christmas and my anniversary before that I'm looking forward to reading. Just finished the First Law trilogy.

Getting through some more of my fic WIPs and moving towards completion of those projects.

Some more cheeky tags because this is a great tag game if you are interested @vera-king-hrfl @beesht @ashprince-of-bel-air @alpydk @dutifullylazybread

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farfromstrange · 11 months ago

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‘I Love You In Every Universe’

Chapter One: I Bet On Losing Dogs

Masterlist | List Of Installments

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Mutant!Reader

Summary: The day you lost Matt, you lost everything. There is no moving on from what Spider-Man put you through, and you plan to execute your revenge.

Warnings: ANGST, Major Character Death, blood, suicidal thoughts, mutant!Reader, evil Peter Parker, 18+ because of darker themes, multiverse (No Way Home Era), slight AU

Word Count: 5.8k

A/n: FINALLY! This took me way too long to edit. Today, we’re setting the scene for future installments, but you’re not getting all the details, even if the first 3000 words of this are somewhat a flashback. So, if you think that there is too little dialogue for a Prologue, that’s probably why. This chapter is integral to the future installments.

Read Me On AO3!

The world was silent when he died—an endless pit of nothingness, and above a sky full of stars.

You don’t remember if it was raining. The moon was hiding behind a thick cloud, and the stars were burning, but you can’t remember if you were drowning in a river of tears or if it was the sky that broke that night. Everything else about that night, you remember quite vividly.

Hell’s Kitchen had become a battleground. The city lay at your feet in shambles; Wilson Fisk had become mayor after you tried hard to stop him, and the world fell apart. But it was his second in command, Peter Parker, who gave new meaning to the word ‘notorious’. Spider-Man infested your home like a parasite, slipping through your finger like dry sand. He knew what he was doing. He and Fisk held the city in the palms of their dirty hands, slowly crushing it like mealy little ants.

When you met Matt Murdock, it was years back when things were still better, yet they were never perfect. He found you broken at the side of the road—or that was what it felt like, anyway.

From the start, you have always been different. In a world where everyone wanted to be someone, your uniqueness painted a target on your back. Your nature was misunderstood by most; they either wanted to be you, or they were vying for your inevitable downfall.

You stood out of every crowd. The target on your back remained no matter how hard you tried to turn yourself into a shrouded mystery. Eventually, you had to start running. You operated out of the dark like a criminal—a vigilante, and a mind-reader who could set the world on fire if she only tried hard enough.

For most of your life, you were hunted. Scientists wanted to run experiments on you, tie you to a gurney, and study your brain until they understood how your abilities worked. Freaks wanted to sell you for millions to equally disturbed individuals.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were merely a scared child who grew into a terrified teenager who didn’t know any better: dead parents, dead everything, and a mind built to read those of others.

Back then, your only instinct was blatant survival, so you ran. You ran fast and you ran far, an orphan so many would have rather seen dead than operating in the dark, but oh, you had to become something to feel like you were worth something.

When you landed in New York, beaten and alone with a bone-crushing fear of the future, the Devil found you, taking you home with him. He saved you. He picked up your pieces, glued you back together, and wrapped you in a protective glaze. All the heartbreak you’d endured, and the trauma you’d suffered getting there seemed worth it whenever he held you in his arms.

You were Matt Murdock’s world, and he was yours. He showed you heaven and hell; he saved you from the purgatory you pushed yourself into and got you settled with a one-way ticket to paradise. After all these years, you finally found your salvation in a person.

He was your broken Catholic boy with a heart made out of gold. The universe didn’t deserve him, and yet he gave the world everything he had. He sacrificed his soul to God and his city. He prayed, he begged, and he fought hard for what he believed right at the time.

Matt saw himself as the Devil; embodied him, too. Though in your eyes, he was an angel with an invisible halo only you could feel in every fiber of your being. His thoughts, his heart, and his soul; he gave it all to you.

You cherished him with all you could give him. It wasn’t much, but he loved you more than anyone had ever before. You were more than a mutant, more than a broken girl at the side of the road, and more than a potential test subject. With him, you finally learned what living was like—what it was supposed to feel like to be human.

The world tried to clip your wings. They took away your voice and your ability to breathe. Matt brought you back to life. He was not the love of your life; Matt Murdock was your soulmate. You lived for him. You existed for him. He was your heart, your soul, and the reason for your survival.

It wasn’t healthy, how dependent you were on him. He made you see colors you couldn’t see with anyone else. You loved him fiercely. You loved him in a way that was pure agony. And you loved him in a way that you knew would screw you up forever.

It didn’t cross your mind that you could ever lose him. To you, Matt Murdock was immortal. He was the man you could see yourself growing old with.

You got married in a small ceremony at the courthouse—it wasn’t just for love, it was also convenient, but he forever tied himself to you as you tied yourself to him with a golden wedding band—and you talked about maybe having children one day. A mini-you and a mini-him in your little farmhouse in the suburbs. For that, he would have left Hell’s Kitchen once it was safe enough to do so.

It was a foolish dream now that you think about it; you were foolish to think that happiness would ever be in the cards for you, but then he kissed you again, good morning and good night and in between, and all you could see was a sea of roses.

He walked through fire (sometimes literally) for you and came back on the other side, hardly always unscathed but always alive, and always with a smile on his chapped lips. He crawled home to you even when he was broken. He crawled home to you when he was full of adrenaline. And he crawled home to you when he thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t anymore, both mentally and physically. He knew he could always come home to you, his best friend, his lover, his confidant, and soon enough, his wife.

You stitched his wounds and kissed his scars to breathe new life into him. You brought him back from the edge. You gave him something to live for. He told you that you saved him, and hearing that after getting on your knees every night, thanking him for the same thing, did something to you. It healed you from the inside out.

You kept him alive the same way he did you. You stood strong together against your enemies every night, fighting as a team. He taught you how to fight, and you taught him how to connect. Matt didn’t know what it was like not to push someone he loved away, but you made sure he understood. He connected to himself; he connected to his past, present, and future with you, and that made him a better man.

You lost and you won, but at least you had each other to fall back on. You did it together. You did everything together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Husband and wife. Lady Red and Daredevil.

The fragile little yet oh-so-big thing you had was raw, vulnerable, yet the most tragically beautiful love affair you could have possibly had the pleasure of calling yours. And pleasure, you had plenty. Love, you had plenty. You had everything until everything was ripped from your bare hands—until the very thing sustaining you shattered on a white cloth, spilling crimson blood everywhere, and what you swore could only be pried from your cold, dead hands slipped away in a moment in time.

You both died, in a way, but it was Matt’s body you held as he took his last breaths in the dead of a hot summer’s night. You can’t remember if it rained, but he was certainly drowning in your tears.

“He’s going to kill you,” you warned him. “Parker and Fisk are out to destroy you. If Spider-Man sees you with your guard down, he won’t hesitate.”

Matt slid his skilled fingers into his pair of leather gloves. They were worn down, but they smelled like him. You could feel the unease sizzling in the pit of your stomach—a parasite.

“I have to do this,” he told you, his voice laden. “The bastard is ruining innocent lives in my city. I can’t stand idly by and let it happen.”

You weren’t fighting, but the statement still hung deafeningly loud in the room, hanging itself from the ceiling with a noose that was threatening to take you down with it.

“He challenged you because he knows you’d do anything—”

He cut you off, “He’s underestimating me.”

You stared into his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much. The dark cloud was heading straight for you, but he couldn’t sense it. “You almost died the last time you came face-to-face with him,” you tried again.

“So did you,” he said. “Fisk is nothing without Spider-Man behind him, and those two have done enough damage already.”

“Matt, please—”

“I have to, sweetheart. This is the only way.”

“There is always another way.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. The city is about to fall. If I let them win, there is no coming back from this. You know that.”

“At least let me come with you then,” you said. You begged him to listen, but he wouldn’t see how worried you were. “We’ve been through hell together. We can fight this war together, too.”

“No,” Matt insisted. “He will see an easy target. You mean too much to me. Spider-Man is gonna use you to get through to me. I can do this. You just have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s him I don’t.”

“I’m gonna talk to him, and if I have to fight him again for the whole fucking world to see, so be it.”

The words slipped you before you could stop them, cutting through the air like a sharp-edged sword. “What if you die trying?”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“I don’t want to lose you!” you cried.

You had not cried in front of him often before that night, but your walls cracked, and you broke.

Matt cradled your face as he whispered, begging you to listen, “You won’t. I promise. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The invisible string pulled you tighter together. Fear, anger, and desperation; he felt so many things—so many things running deeper than the ocean—but you swallowed them.

“I’m not okay with this,” you murmured.

“I know. Here–” he guided your hands to his face, “Feel me,” he said.

You remember gasping when the floodgates opened. “I always feel you.”

You stroked his delicate cheeks. He was here, home with you; why couldn’t he stay like that forever? Why did you have to let him go? Past, present, and future began to blur.

I love you. He tuned out all other thoughts so you could hear him.

He was praying. He was hoping. Only a handful of times had he felt this way. You were so tightly interlaced that you could feel all of him without even trying, but that night, you tried. That night, he tuned out all of his self-deprecating thoughts. He allowed the silence of your connection to engulf him—for the city to disappear, and he allowed you in.

I love you so much. Do you hear me? You’re everything to me. I love you.

Those three words weighed heavy like bricks on your heart.

“Remember, three knocks,” he said aloud. “Don’t open for anyone else.”

“Three knocks,” you whispered in agreement.

Three knocks like three words: I love you.

You read his mind, swallowing the words, but a big part of you wanted to spit them back out. You didn’t want to hear it. The universe was sending you a warning sign.

Matt exhaled. He cupped your hands in his. The connection deepened, the string pulled tighter, and you became one. That night was the first night you saw glimpses of the future, and you didn’t want to accept it. You were such a fool to think everything could ever be fucking alright, both for you and for this magnificent force of a man you chose to call home—because home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling, and often enough, it’s a person.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. He kissed you. Softly, gently, passionately. You kissed him like you knew it would be the last time.

“I love you,” he repeated.

The red flags waved, but you looked away. “I don’t want to say it back because you have to come back to me,” you confessed, “and this feels too much like a goodbye.”

He forced you to look at him instead. “Say it back, baby.”

“I love you,” you caved.

You shouldn’t have. You should have put up more of a fight.

I will always come back to you. Cross my heart. He crossed his heart, but he hoped too much to die. Perhaps in not saying it out loud, he thought the truth would hurt less.

You refused to believe it until time had run out. You refused to cave until it happened. And when it happened, the city, for the first time since you’d arrived there, went completely quiet.

You followed him. Of course, you did. After a few hours of pacing the floor, you followed him. He was still in your head. You heard him from across the city, his thoughts loud and clear, and you could feel his pain like an inferno lighting up the night sky.

When you arrived on that godforsaken rooftop though, you could only watch in horror as Spider-Man lifted the love of your life toward the sky. He wouldn’t accept your bargain. You offered yourself instead of him, but no; Peter Parker was not in the mood for bargaining.

He lifted Matt toward the sky, and he drilled the dagger right through his chest.

“No!” you screamed again.

Silence.

His blood ran through your fingers like quicksand, and sitting there, cradling Matt’s chest to yours as his heartbeat slowly faded into oblivion, you knew the end was near. The world could be so fucking unfair. You both died, but it was only his heart that stopped. You lost him that night, and your entire world stopped in an instant.

You liked it better when he was angry with you. When he was loud, when he was laughing, even when he was just being sarcastic. You liked him better when he was alive. He turned into a ghost in your arms, forever and all eternity, and you fell face-first into the abyss.

Maybe it was raining that night. Maybe you were being buried under the weight of your guilt and the never-ending flow of your tears.

“I can’t…” you sobbed, tracing his cold cheek as the rain fell around you. “I can’t feel you.”

His heart stopped beating, and the invisible string pulverized. You watched it as it went with the wind. Without him. Without you.

You screamed until your lungs gave out. Then, silence settled in.

The night was quiet when he died; nothing but a sky full of stars and the endless black pit of death above and below you.

The blood and his missing pulse weren’t the worst part, by far; the worst part was that you could no longer feel him, and that thought won’t ever not haunt you.

You were certain that night. When you lost him, and you screamed your heart out, praying to a God you’ve never believed in, you swore to yourself that you would avenge him.

You were going to kill Peter Parker, and nothing in this world could ever stop you from watching this miserable motherfucker bleed to death.

The bed shakes violently as you awaken. Dreams, so many dreams. Your nights are far from peaceful. They haven’t been for weeks. Months. What day is it? You don’t remember.

Nightmares follow you like hunters after a fox. Your pajamas stick to your skin, and you’re sweating even though it is spring, and spring doesn’t have hot enough temperatures for you to be sweating quite like this. When you pull the comforter away in a sudden panic, the wetness seeping into your skin, there is nothing but white. No blood, no tears, just gaping emptiness in the farmhouse.

You pant heavily, dragging your nails across your skin. Your fingernails are tinted a charcoal black. In your heart, there had once been a bright red glow—like a ruby crystal sustaining your soul. You used it to channel other people’s thoughts. You could read them, you could hear them, and you could feel them. That Ruby has gone out now though; it has turned into a black smoke threatening to overtake anything it comes in contact with.

The sun isn’t strong enough to break through the gray clouds. As you step out into the garden that stretches around your home, a gentle wind brushes through the bare branches of the dead trees. The wood is starting to splinter, turning hollow as sickness after sickness runs rampant through nature.

You trace a finger over the poison ivy that has grown over the tombstone. The green fades, turning into a rotten brown. It dries out, and it dies right before your eyes, as do the roses you have been keeping in a vase ever since you laid a finger on the last bouquet.

He liked the smell of roses, but you hated the look of it until Matt died, and suddenly, everything looked and smelled like a field of roses, reminding you of him. He was your daisy, your sunflower, setting fire to your freezing soul. He was sunshine, you were midnight rain. He liked to claim differently, but you wouldn’t let him. You may have been his sunshine, but out of the both of you, he shone the brightest.

The poison ivy dies, and if you even manage to kill a plant with the word ‘poison’ in its name, what does that say about you? What has become of you; plotting a stranger’s death and killing the nature around you as you dive into books about mind-reading and dark magic to understand who you truly are? Dark magic sounds like a story out of a piece of fiction, but it’s far from that.

You’ve known of your ability to manipulate the human mind ever since you discovered the creature hidden within you, the one who could touch another human being and see their thoughts so clearly. The one time you tried to manipulate someone, you caused them indescribably agony. You ruined their life. You broke them. You made them complicit and took all they were away from them, turning their fragile mind into ashes. That day, your fingers turned charcoal for the first time.

If you try hard enough, you can kill him—Peter Parker. He took your husband and your city, now sitting in his ivory tower, overlooking the damage he’s done. He killed everyone and everything, even Wilson Fisk. He has taken the people of Hell’s Kitchen hostage, but no one has dared to make a move just yet, not since their beloved Daredevil disappeared off the face of the earth. With him, his Lady Red went as fast as she had come.

You don’t want to fix what Spider-Man destroyed; you can’t get back what he took, nor do you want to, and the city doesn’t mean anything without Matt in it.

You have to be the monster to kill another monster, only then you can join your husband in his tomb. Didn’t you vow to stay together, even in death?

The city can burn, for all you care, but first, Peter Parker has to die.

You scratch at the dirt in the engraving of his name. Matthew Michael Murdock. 1982 — 2023. Beloved husband and hero.

You hate this. You hate that his grave is in your backyard, but this was the only place you knew his corpse would be safest. No one can touch him here, and you can talk to him, pretending you can still feel him. If you focus hard enough, you can still hear his voice in your head, telling you to move on.

How could you though? How could you abandon all you’ve been through? You can fight, you can win or lose, but nothing will ever be the same again. And it is far from worth it to stay alive when he isn’t. You’ve made your decision; whether or not you’ve come to peace with it, that’s another story entirely.

“Tonight is the night,” you murmur to the gravestone. Of course, you don’t receive an answer.

Lately, you have been swearing to yourself you wouldn’t cry anymore, that there are no more tears left to shed, but every day, you end up crying anyway. It’s an endless cycle of despair.

You wipe your cheeks, untangling the chain that holds your golden wedding band close to your chest from around your neck. Gently, you guide it to your lips and press a kiss against the ring.

“I love you,” you whisper.

For when you meet again in another life.

You dig a small hole into the dry dirt where, six feet under, Matt is resting now. He always told you he would end up in hell when he died. You were never particularly religious before you met him, and when he struggled with his faith while you were together, you believed even less in an all-merciful God. Now though, with Matt gone and the world on the verge of falling apart and crushing you under its weight as you approach the biggest challenge of your life, the thought of ending up in an eternal life of nothingness after death—the thought of there being nothing but mindless darkness, no body, soul—scares you too much. Imagining the pits of hell or paradise with the love of your life, and reuniting with him, is a prospect you would rather see when you close your eyes than a world on fire.

The necklace lands in the hole, and you cover it up. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of your ring before, but you won’t risk carrying it when you do what you are about to do.

Tonight, Peter Parker is going to show himself to all of New York City as the new mayor in all of his Spider-Man glory. He begged for you to come out, and he told the city he would be merciful in prosecuting you for the crimes you committed in the past alongside Daredevil. When you come out tonight though, you won’t surrender yourself. You will use the platform he is giving you and you will fight as you reveal him to Hell’s Kitchen and show the world who he is. You will tell Matt’s story, even if it’s the last thing you do.

You have been burning for him for the longest time, and the flame is about to go out with a bang.

That night, you put on the red suit Melvin made for you years ago before he lost his mind for what might be the last time. It has holes from where the moths dug their teeth into. The piece around the waist is starting to fade in color, and the leather is worn out, but it reminds you of simpler times. Better times. The black of your fingertips matches the lining of your outfit, and that’s all you need to feel the power sizzle deep within you.

You don’t have to remember the weather report because you can feel the rain soaking your skin through the fabric. The air smells salty, and it tastes the same on your cracked lips. Tonight, you will be Lady Red for the last time. Until the bitter end, you have sworn yourself. Matt did the same thing. You have to do him proud.

You make your way from that little farmhouse—your broken red castle—to the familiar streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Destruction surrounds you. The news didn’t do justice to what Peter has done to the city you once loved. But no one loved it more than Matt Murdock.

Your fists clench at your sides. Oh, you want to tear this man limb by limb and feed him to the dogs.

It starts with a low rumbling beneath your boots. You don’t pay much mind to it at first. You hide out on a rooftop across the courthouse. The spotlights are on, and he’s standing there at the podium, looking as though he is so proud of himself for ruining so many lives. You don’t usually experience joy when hurting people, but you will savor watching the life drain from Peter’s lifeless eyes.

Your hands clench around Matt’s batons. The metal is heavy but flexible. You click your nails against them. Every move needs to be meticulously calculated, but tonight, the barons will remain in the holsters on your thighs. You won’t need them. You won’t need anything but your bare hands.

You’re going back to your roots tonight.

The ground moves slightly, only a few inches. You could have missed it if you weren’t crouching to get a better look at the world below you. You catch yourself on the ledge, a frown finding its way on your face.

“What the f–” you shake your head. Since when does thunder shake the ground?

You seem to be the only one who notices, or Peter Parker is better at brainwashing his decibels than you expected. He was born to be a dictator. His presence turned your fairytale into a dystopian tragedy.

“Tonight,” he says into his microphone, “is the last chance for Lady Red to reveal herself for a lesser sentence. A new era is on the horizon. I am your mayor, and I am Spider-Man. Without me, you would be nothing. Daredevil couldn’t save you. Wilson Fisk couldn’t save you. But I can, and after tonight, we will start anew. For this is the era of real heroes as we rebuild this city from the ground up, and we turn the City of New York, including Hell’s Kitchen, into its own world. Starting with the arrest of the criminal who is Daredevil’s accomplice Lady Red. I hope for her sake she will show herself tonight. If not, we will find her, and she will suffer the full extent of the consequences of her actions. That includes the Death Penalty.”

You land gracefully, catching yourself with your hand on the asphalt. The crowd parts with a gasp, and you finally stare into his eyes.

After he drilled that dagger through Matt’s heart, he told you, “You will always be a monster, never a God.”

You deserve nothing, he thought. It has stuck with you since that night. Growing up, it was the only thing you heard. You were nothing but trash. A disgrace. A monster. What will they say when they see that you have finally become what they feared so much?

You will burn down whatever is left of the world, including him. God knows you want to.

Magic pulsates in the atmosphere like a growing spell in a small shoe box. The air vibrates, and the ground shakes again. This isn’t your doing, but the sudden charge that fills your veins as adrenaline sustains you. Your eyes glow red. This is who you were born to be.

“I heard you were looking for me,” you declare.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. “Ah, just like clockwork,” he murmurs. “Are you going to make this hard on all of us or are you here to finally surrender yourself?”

You purse your lips, playing with the energy between your fingers. “I came to destroy you.” Each step toward him on the big marble steps feels like a mile, and the crowd starts to move further back, dispersing in an attempt to save themselves. Most of them are eager to watch though. What has he done to them?

“Destroy me?” Peter laughs, addressing the crowd again, “You see who you’ve been calling a hero all this time? This mutant? Look at her!”

All eyes are on you. They’re whispering. They’re speculating. Their thoughts overlap in disarray, and you’re drowning in a sea of judgment. They are trying to tear you down like sharks. You’re leaking blood, and God, they are angry. But it’s not you they’re angry at.

“You call me a mutant,” you say, “but wasn’t it you who was bit by a radioactive spider?”

His smile fades.

“You are Spider-Man, no?”

“You are a wannabe hero with unregulated powers,” he snaps. His voice roars through the speakers, and the mood in the crowd starts to shift.

The ground vibrates again, stronger this time. You can’t be the only one feeling the quakes, but everyone else seems unmoved. They’re too focused on both of you to notice anything else, and you should do the same. However, the energy doubles and you are closer to bursting than ever. Something is happening, and you have no control over it.

Peter sneers. “You’re a failure,” he calls your name, “just like your husband!”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes darken. “If you want to enforce the death penalty on me, Parker,” you growl, “why don’t you do it yourself?”

Peter taps his chest, and his suit transforms into shades of black and spider webs. At that moment, panic erupts. People start running, but you tune them out.

The air begins to smell sour. Burnt. It is so high the pain consumes you whole. He doesn’t have to touch you to bring you to your knees, but looking up, you realize that it wasn’t Spider-Man who infused your ears with such a high frequency.

Someone is uttering a powerful spell, you can hear his voice in your head as he thinks of several names all over the place. Time passes by in a flash. Hours, days, weeks, and months. The universe falls out of control. The beeping picks up and you sink deeper into the ground.

You swear then and there that the sky starts to rip in two. The sky resembles a nasty cut on your forehead, a pair of hands ripping the cut further apart, causing the blood to pour out in rivers.

One of the cuts swallows you. With a scream, you fall through several rollercoasters passing by violet stars.

The cut is a portal; one moment, you are flying through the sky at the highest possible speed, and the next, you hit the ground hard.

It’s not raining anymore. The sun shines down on you, and the heat creeps up your skin like tiny ants. The pain finally releases, but your head is still spinning. So many feelings, so many voices, and so many thoughts threaten to overwhelm you.

Not even an LSD trip hits that bad. You lazily open your heavy eyes to find not the courthouse but the New York skyline right before you.

You look down at your shaky hands. The charcoal is gone. The power in your veins feels different, all-consuming, but in no way bad. You take a deep breath. Even the oxygen tastes different.

The world stops spinning, and you finally take a look around. A car honks, an SUV heading straight for your wobbly frame.

You’re in the middle of a road. What is it? A freeway.

Oh, shit!

You jump aside, hitting the sidewalk with a loud thud.

“Watch out, bitch!” the driver shouts out of his window.

Where once used to be the courthouse, you are met with a street in the middle of downtown Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Stores line the side of the street. Tourists, foreigners, and those who are native to the city pass by you, and their gasps and whispers sound so different from the automatic voices Peter Parker raised them to be.

“Oh, no,” you breathe out. “Oh, no, no, no!” The air is getting thinner.

“What are you thinking about, hm?” he asked into the darkness of the room.

His heartbeat aligned with yours. His calloused fingertips traced your bare skin. You were in heaven. Beautiful, sinful heaven.

His jawline appeared even sharper in the colorful lights from the billboard outside. His skin glowed white—paler than usual, even. You could stare into his eyes forever, such a beautiful hazel with hints of forest green. Perfect eyebrows, perfect lips. They bowed at the top, so kissable.

He pressed them to your bare shoulder blade, down your spine. The butterflies danced crazy in your tummy.

“You’re distracted,” he hummed again.

You chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the beautiful man in bed with you.

“Can’t help it when I’m with you,” you remember saying.

Matt offered you his signature smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I quite like the view.”

“And when I do this?” He trailed another finger down your sensitive spine.

You shuddered. “That, too.”

He did it again. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Thinking,” you said.

“About what?” he asked.

“A book I read.” You paused to turn on your back. “About the multiverse.”

It was a surprising change in subject, and he raised his eyebrows in a rather amused way. “The multiverse?”

You nodded. “We know way too little about it. There could be more of me and more of you out there, and we don’t even know it,” you told him. “The multiverse… there is a chance it could be real. And that alone is terrifying because if it opens and we’re not prepared, chaos might ensue.”

He propped himself up on his elbow next to you, listening to the calming sound of your voice. It was always his favorite thing to do.

Matt used your voice as his podcast; it was his favorite, too.

“Can we jump universes?” he wondered.

You shrugged. You didn’t know, at least not at the time. “Maybe,” you said. “But I’m not a scientist, let alone good at physics, so… let’s just go back to kissing. I’m much better at that.”

He laughed, but he did not object. At least with kissing, you both knew what you were doing. So, he brought his lips to yours, and the multiverse disappeared in a Bermuda Triangle of pleasure in your mind. Lost but not forgotten.

Maybe.

But as you sit there, sliding back against the brick wall in the closest alley, you realize that you downplayed the probability.

You were going to kill a man, but instead of blood on your hands, you are now cursed with the knowledge that the ‘maybe’ of your once-thought-silly pillow talk has always been very fucking real, and you have nowhere to run in this strange world you have fallen into that is New York City, Earth-616.

Where do you run when you can go anywhere, just not home?

Tagging: @nk1023 @sarahskywalker-amidala @ignore-mp3 @imonabitchparade @familyvideowithsteve @eyelessdemon

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #angst no happy ending #daredevil #daredevil x reader #mutant reader #i love you in every universe #charlie cox

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kickbutts-singsongs · 11 months ago

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I know no one asked, but I have exactly zero (0) people to talk about bkdk with irl so here you guys go

My BKDK Journey

Yes, this sounds stupid, but my god it’s been almost three years of an absolute rollercoaster of feelings and denials and tears and revelations…

and if you don’t mind, I’m gonna rant about it.

(not spoiler free)

_____

May 2021

To start off, i wasn’t always a bkdk shipper.

I shipped izu*cha at first (not saying it’s a bad ship btw; it’s actually quite cute. im just afraid people’ll be mad if I accidentally invade their tag lol), primarily because I assumed that would be the ship that became canon.

But also, my veryyyyy leasttttt favorite character… was Bakugou Katsuki.

When I tell you that I would’ve loved nothing more than to somehow spawn into the bnha universe and punch that brat in the face— AGHHHHHHHHHH

Now this wasn’t all his fault: A) I watched the dub first lol, and B) he reminded me of someone that i was not in a place to stand up to at the time, and his constant anger, yelling, and harsh treatment of Izuku—who i began to relate to—made me hateeee him.

There was a time when I literally said “if he died, I wouldn’t miss him.” <- this was later proven false lol

So, I was watching the anime dub with an absolute animosity for our resident deuteragonist, but on top of that…

I was watching it with a friend with a crunchyroll account who lived in another state that I was visiting and staying with for two weeks, so by the time i had to go back home, we’d only gotten up to the part where All Might was getting Inko’s permission to let Izuku stay at the UA dorms.

Anddddddd in my drive to consume more bnha once I got home, i somehow stumbled across an Instagram account that posted bnha sub episodes divided into parts,

but they only had season four and onwards.

Sooooo I never saw the second half of season three… more importantly,

I NEVER SAW DEKU VS KACCHAN 2!!!!!

(I will say that I had seen a couple photos/edits/etc, but I never knew what had been said, or why they fought)

_____

June 2021

At this point in time, I’d been exposed to a lot of the fandom. My fyp on both IG and Pinterest were filled to the brim with all things bnha (because this is what happens when one has a hyperfixation), so I saw a lot of stuff.

Especially fanart.

This is where I started learning about the different ships.

I saw a lot of the side character ships and thought they were adorable (kamijirou, todomomo, even kiribaku), but then I saw some with Izuku.

Izu*cha was a given for me. I didn’t think there was a single person that didn’t ship it. But then I started seeing fanart of ships like tododeku, shindeku, and bakudeku.

And my first reaction to finding out that people shipped my beautiful baby sunshine boi with the person who bullied him for years?????

HELLLLLLLLLLL NO

So with my (unknowingly) limited knowledge of their relationship, i was very much an anti (i never spoke out or anything, i just reallyyyy didn’t like the ship lol)

(And then, you know, I started to see all the bkdk hate online and kinda went “okay not touching that”)

But that began to change…

_____

August 2021

…after I saw a manga leak for the first time.

I was scrolling thru my feed and all of a sudden. BOOM!

I was like 😧

IS THAT IZUKU?????

And i looked in the comments and yes it was.

I checked out the page and found that they had an entire account of manga leaks and was so happy.

I quickly began to read from the very bottom of that account, and it started from right about where Izuku first began his vigilante arc (i had no idea how much was in between then and where I left off on the anime, but I was willing to read it lol)

And so I waited diligently for the leaks every week (a practice I have continued to uphold lol), until one day, i came across an untranslated series of panels from the latest chapter. I looked at it and it was of Katsuki and Izuku, facing each other in the rain (you know the one). I knew the leaks would be coming a day later, but I wanted to look through them anyways, so I did.

I didn’t understand a word they said, but the pictures and imagery of them as kids then middle schoolers then where they were now seemed so touching…

And then I came across a pair of kanji that I recognized.

I was like “wait WHAT???”

I zoomed in and went “that— isn’t that—? That’s part of Midoriya’s name, right???”

And then I was like “wait a second… omg that’s Izuku, isn’t it. That’s the freaking kanji for Izuku.”

And it was!!!!!

So inside I’m having a mini freakout cuz—

Bakugou just called him IZUKU

Fast forward to the next day, and I looked at the translated version, and found out that not only did he call him Izuku,

Freaking

APOLOGIZED

And I was like “huhhhhhhh”

What happened between now and the most recent anime episodes for this to occur???? For Bakugou to do a complete 180 and apologize????????

Well, I finally got my answers…

_____

November 2021

…when I started reading the manga.

I started from the beginning, cuz I wanted to see Horikoshi’s art style and the extra drawings and all the other stuff…

And when I tell you that Katsuki became a whole new character to me—

First, I read everything about early-on Bakugou— without hearing him yell in his dub voice—and realized “oh wow he really is just a kid with issues and a worldview that he’s now having to change.”

Then, I finally read what happened in that space between moving into the dorms and the beginning of season four (most importantly, DvK2).

Cried.

Then, oh then, I got up to where season five ended and the rest of the manga began.

. . .

Funny thing: back when I read the leaks to ch322, I remember thinking to myself, “huh. what did Bakugou mean by Shigaraki making swiss cheese outta him?”

😦

THE WAY I GASPED

AND THEN CRIED

OH MY FREAKING GOD

That was the moment where i truly ceased to hate Katsuki cuz holy character development batman

Then, of course, we see them in recovery

And then the vigilante arc and apology scene *sobs*

And then I was caught up.

(Btw I finished the entire manga up ‘til ch334 in just over a week. I read for nine days straight. During the school year. My emotions were all over the place goodness gracious I could barely concentrate.)

So that’s how I went from being a Bakugou hater to going “you know what he’s a complex character and he’s slowly becoming a better person” and realizing that he was now one of my fav characters and therefore cursed to die but I’ll talk about that later

Was I now a bakudeku shipper?

Hah nope.

_____

December 2021

I began my dive into the true essence of any fandom: fanfiction.

Over the course of winter break, I had started off with fics that had no romantic pairing (I just wanted to see my boi Izuku), but then somehow stumbled across Mastermind: Strategist for Hire and then read the entirety of the For Want of a Nail series (shoutout to Clouds btw ❤️) cuz I was like “ok whew no bkdk fics” which was my mindset at the time.

But somehow (I can’t even remember how I found it) I came across a bkdk fic. It was called For Want of Izuku’s Toe Joint by Talavin (okay now that I think about it there’s probably a simple explanation lol).

I don’t quite know what compelled me to start reading it, but I did.

And I really liked it.

But not in the “I’ve been converted” kinda way.

It was like an “I shouldn’t be enjoying this why am I enjoying this?” kinda feeling. Like my head says no but my heart says yeah.

A really really really really guilty pleasure.

So, from that day on, whenever I came across any form of bkdk media, I would simultaneously feel discomfort and yet an odd sense of satisfaction.

A snippet of my daily life:

Me: *comes across bkdk fanart on pinterest*

Me: eww

Also me: *stares at it for like five minutes straight*

Me: who even likes this?

Also me: *saves pin to my mha board*

Me: not my ship

Also me: *scrolls down to more like this*

Bless my heart I was in such denial.

_____

July 2022

Bit of a timeskip, but nothing of note really happened in those last six months so here we go.

We’ve gotten to the point in the manga where the final arc is underway and Bakugou is about to KICK SOME BUTT

He’s revealed his Panser Strafe support item and I’m gushing about it to my friend (she kinda fell out of the fandom but still tolerated my rants bless her)

Oh, side note: it was then that I also expressed my concern for Bakugou’s “alive” status

Evidence:

For reference, some of my favorite characters are:

Beth March (Little Women)

John Reese (Person of Interest)

Joss Carter (Person of Interest)

Leonard Snart (Arrowverse)

Logan Echolls (Veronica Mars)

Fantine (Les Mis)

Eponine (Les Mis)

Jean Valjean (Les Mis)

Simon (Lord of the Flies)

Piggy (Lord of the Flies)

Grace Stone (Manifest)

Bubaigawara Jin — Twice (BNHA)

Wanna guess which of these guys died?

Trick question! It’s all of them (:

Yeah so anyways those following chapters really made me excited and nervous cuz YEAH KICK HIS ASS BAKUGOU but also IZUKUUUUU WE NEED YOU

hah hah.

_____

August 2022

Utterly gobsmacked. Cried. Disbelief. Horrified. Confusion. Anger. Went through the five stages of grief and then some.

Sometimes I hate being right 🥲

But the good thing that came from this was that my positive view of Katsuki only grew after seeing his utter faith in Izuku (and his thoughts being on him in his final moments???? 🥺🥺🥺)

And it was at this point in time where I could admit to myself “you know what? i see it. i see the appeal. i wouldn’t mind this actually becoming canon.”

Did I think that it would actually become canon?? No.

_____

September 2022

I don’t know how I thought Izuku was gonna react to seeing Katsuki’s body on the ground, but GOOD LORD IT WASNT THAT

Even sweet little blind me realized “oh wow he like really feels intense stuff for Katsuki huh”

(But some things I missed—cuz I was still a bit wired for izu*cha—were shigarakis implications “yeah u looooove the present I got u” and the freaking HEART that blackwhip caused??? when Izuku reeled himself back in???? like how did i miss that i read that chapter like fifteen times??)

So this is all to say that I’ve missed any and all actual bkdk hints up until this point. I finally lifted my head out of the izu*cha fog when…

_____

July 2023

…Ochako and Toga had their chat about romance.

The first actual hint was when Ochako had told Toga “I’ll give you my blood for the rest of my life.”

Little blind me became a bit less blind that day, cuz I was like “um. ochako? that— that sounded kinda like a proposal. like. a marriage proposal. ochako??”

And then those chapters just kept getting better!!

Bebe Ochako’s determination???

The Spirited Away moment?????

“I’m envious of your smile”????????

“YOU REALLY THINK IM CUTE?” “THE CUTEST IN THE WHOLE WORLD” LIKE 😭😭😭😭😭

For the first time, I was looking at the manga without the assumption that izu*cha would be endgame. And it only got better after I…

_____

August 2023

…got Tumblr!!!

Everything was downhill from here folks.

In the best possible way.

I came across some analyses of what was going on with togachako, and consequently led me to some bakudeku analyses. I read them and my goodness they made so much sense.

Like not even just personality-wise!! Those metas brought in actual things Horikoshi said about wanting to go outside the norms of shounen (and about not liking the Naruto ending 💀), and compared bkdk to tropes in different works of fiction, and even discussed how bkdk made sense narratively. They properly convinced me of the ship.

And then for good measure, I reread the manga in its entirety thru a bkdk filter, and lo and behold things took on new meanings and my eyes were opened.

I totally and irrevocably shipped them! And I actually thought they had a chance at being canon!!

(And then I binged so much bkdk fanfiction omg you wouldn’t BELIEVE like I read the ones with the highest kudos first and then just picked the biggest collections I could find and read down the line

It was like being on drugs like each fic gave me more dopamine than the last I was so happy oh my god)

_____

October 2023

And then finally, the day came.

The answer to “is bakugou alive yet?” became a yes.

We screamed. We cried. We jumped for joy. We told bakugou antis to suck it. But most of all, our bkdk hearts soared to see our boys make eye contact with each other for the first time in over a year 🥹

And from that moment on, I truly began to believe that bkdk would indeed become canon.

_____

And so, this concludes my 42672288 page rant about how I came to be a bkdk shipper.

Thank you for reading, and before I go, I want to ask:

How did you guys get into bkdk?

Did you convert over from izu*cha? Or perhaps tododeku? Or maybe kiribaku? Or are you one of the few who have shipped them since the beginning??

In any case, I’m happy you’re here. And while it may have taken me a couple years, I’m happy that I’m here too :)

(and thank you @animelover32456)

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steddieunderdogfics · 2 months ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @alwaysurvalentine! alwaysurvalentine has 11 fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

@dame-zoom-a-lot recommends the following works by @alwaysurvalentine:

bad days were meant to be shared

three strikes and you're out!

aquariums and sweethearts

"If I had to put an image to their fics… I'd say a warm blanket and a piece of cake.

Their slices of life fics get cooked with so much care and thought. A lot of them are my go-to when I'm feeling kind of off or lonely. They approach conflict with so much empathy and realism. No one's just shitty out of the blue with zero reason, and characters talk things out in a way that feels like how real people would talk. There's rarely clear villains or clean-cut forever happy-ending type resolutions in real life, and their fics shine at showing the beauty of that." -- @dame-zoom-a-lot

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

Why do you write Steddie?

Honestly, I just really vibe with both of them as characters. It’s easy to draw some of my own parallels with how Eddie sees the world and Steve’s fall from grace within my personal life - so it’s nice to play around with characters who I can understand. Plus I love taking the “protectors” from the narrative and forcing them to allow others to care for them.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I’m a sucker for any type of soulmate au, the ones with soulmarks are my guilty pleasures. Just something about knowing there’s someone out there destined to care about you makes me feel all warm and fuzzy

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Anything slice of life or found family - I just love getting to give characters all the love and care they deserve. Especially when canon has put them through the ringer!!

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

With no cross to bear (these words just come out) by hitlikehammers https://archiveofourown.org/works/45052120/chapters/113340064 I come back to this fic again and again. Love their Eddie POV and all of the reactions from the party feel authentic and I just love a fic that really shows how much everyone cares about Steve (even if he doesn’t see it).

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

I’ve had a big idea about a possession type fic starring Eddie. It’s gonna be a big project though so it may be workshopped and shelved for another time while I work on some other stuff!

What is your writing process like?

Music is my biggest inspiration and I listen to Spotify all of the time (my spotify wrapped is about to be WILD), but usually I’ll get a spark of an idea from a song, scribble down a quick interaction I can see, and then once I get home it’s getting it all out on a doc. It usually takes me a few days to a week for me to get a fic where I want it, especially when the characters take things into their own hands for the narrative (I’m looking at Eddie and Robin here)

Do you have any writing quirks?

I actually write everything in red text until I decide I like the section. I have so many documents that have different colored text based on how I feel about it. Black means it’s ready to be proofread/don’t change, purple or blue for things I want to rewrite, and then red for what I’ve gotten down but isn’t edited/reviewed yet. Besides that I also go in thinking I’m going to keep it short and sweet and then I blink and we’re 2k in - but it’s been fun nonetheless!

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

If I’m doing a prompt challenge usually it’s as soon as I’m done (totally not because I finish the day of…totally not that) but other than that I have a personal schedule to have certain things done by, otherwise I’ll nitpick forever.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Three Strikes and You’re Out! It was super fun to play around with connecting baseball terms to DnD in a way that still made sense and wasn’t just a block of info text.

How did you get the idea for aquariums and sweethearts?

It was actually a little followup I did for another fic, where Eddie visited the aquarium with Uncle Wayne but wasn’t able to get the souvenir he wanted. And I wanted Steve to kinda complete that circle, plus I wanted them to have a moment where they could kinda be kids again.

When writing aquariums and sweethearts, what was something you didn’t expect?

I honestly didn’t expect it to be so long, I was just going to write a tiny follow up but got carried away with my own aquarium memories and research so I just kept wanting to add more and more

What inspired three strikes and you're out!?

I feel like I’ve seen a lot of fics where Steve meets Eddie halfway with his interests and I wanted to see the opposite. Like it’s one thing for Eddie to concede that being a jock isn’t so bad, but it’s another for him to go out and learn about a sport/something that doesn’t interest him at all, ya know?

What was your favorite part to write from three strikes and you're out!?

Oooh! Such a hard question, for me it’s a tie between the conversation Eddie has with Lucas and his conversation with Uncle Wayne. I just liked putting Eddie in a situation where he was the one learning, instead of being the one in charge/control.

How do/did you feel writing bad days were meant to be shared?

It was a little hard starting out, I knew a couple things I wanted to happen but besides that I really went in kinda blind. Once I got into the groove though, it felt like it just wrote itself. Steve knew what he was feeling and just guided me along.

What was the most difficult part of writing bad days were meant to be shared?

So fun fact, I actually wrote the first draft completely from Eddie's point of view. I was trying to find his voice (still feel like I’m working on this but progress is progress) but it just wasn’t flowing right and Dame-Zoom-A-Lot actually helped beta for me. They’re the one who suggested the point of view switch and it worked so well!!

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

A favorite scene I’ve written has to be in aquariums and sweethearts when Eddie and the Mime gang up on Steve to poke fun at him, it just felt like something Eddie would play along with and enjoy. These couple of lines from Three Strikes and You’re Out! Make me really happy, like sent my friends a dorky screenshot because I liked them so much: “Eddie’s world narrows to the smell of Steve’s cologne, something that smells like rain on freshly cut grass and a hint of vanilla. Just as soon as Steve leaned in, he leans away, the sun painting orange and pink highlights in his hair when he tilts his head grinning.”

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

I’m working on a Steve Harrington ‘character study’ from Hopper’s point of view currently and might be starting on an Anastasia AU starring Chrissy as Anya and Robin as Dimitri - super stoked for both of these!

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

Endless thanks to my nominator!! I just started posting for Steddie this August and it’s been unreal. So thankful for all of my new friends and can’t wait to share some more of my little ideas and chat with other people about their art and stories! <3

Thank you to our author, @alwaysurvalentine, and our nominator, @dame-zoom-a-lot ! See more of alwaysurvalentine'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!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #ao3 writer #steddie writers

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