stoprobbersfic
everyday i write the book
sometimes my imagination runs wild.
main blog || AO3 || Teaspoon
782 posts
Last active 60 minutes ago
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
angusraze
ANGUSRAZE
iconographic-propaganda
The Icon's Propaganda
niftyisoncrack
Hells Worst Shitposter
Note
well then, 26 and 31
26. What would you describe as OOC?
generally? it's hard to describe? like, it's like Ye Olde Definition of obscenity: "i know it when i see it."
specifically? anyone calling jonathan byers "jon." jonathan and nancy using "babe" or "baby" or "honey" or pet names like that. pretty much any character written without a sense of humor.
if i can't hear it in the character's voice, it's OOC. if i can't feel its roots in the canon text it's OOC. (that doesn't mean it has to happen but like, if i'm sitting here going 'when has X ever done something remotely like that' ya done fucked up). and if i can hear it in the AUTHOR'S voice, then it's the OOCest of OOC.
that's a terrible answer, but it's the best i can do.
31. What was the most difficult fic for you to write (but in the end you made it)?
"untitled document". that fic was an absolute bitch. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO WRITE LOVE LETTERS??? THAT AREN'T YOUR OWN??????????
17 notes
·
View notes
Note
2, 15, & 30 for the fic prompts
HI SORRY IT'S THE HOLIDAY SEASON LIFE GOT BUSY i'm back on my answering asks game:
2. Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?
Like, so many things? There are active WIPs that are stuck, there are ideas that are stuck, there are entire genres and tropes I feel like I don't the skill or ability to do. Writing is eternal dissatisfaction, I swear.
15. What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?
Ooooh. Hmmmmmmmmm. Honestly probably like all of the birb prompt fics from that one post that went around, the one with the beautiful paintings of birds with INSANE titles like "if you clone me, my first order of business will be to kill you all" and honestly y'all sent so many prompts and they're all so unhinged and the only one that has a plot is "moments when my gaze go vacant" so i'm gonna say "all the other birb prompts." they're all in my ao3 under "Polaroids"
30. Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't
I got a fic prompt for Jancy that was "Do you still love me?" and i wrote something so angsty I couldn't actually finish it and it has never been worked on since.
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
22
looooool an anon beat you to this by like 1 minute
here, have some kissing to make up for it
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
22
What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?
dude i do not know but it's like craaaaaaaaaack, like, the pleasure of getting to get these two dummies to kiss over and over in every possible way is THE BEST.
1 note
·
View note
Note
9, 10, 17!
Thoughts on cliffhangers.
i love them only if we get resolution in a sequel (or if the author finishes the wip), otherwise i will rage forever about it. i can't bear to write them without resolving them.
Top three favorite fic tropes
One bed what do?, Fake dating/marriage, and.... enemies to lovers, probs. Or requited feelings we think are unrequited/talking at cross-purposes (whatever that's officially called)
Past or present tense? Why?
honestly, no real general preference, just what feels right for the story. i think i typically write in present tense because it feels more natural and it also lets me do flashbacks simply by switching tenses (or without having to go to past perfect or past perfect continuous tense, which is trickier to write consistently) and not having to do things like italicize or put in visual breaks.
0 notes
Text
Yet another writing ask
Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?
Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?
How would you describe your writing style?
Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?
What's a tag you never want to use for your works even when it applies?
What's your ratio for rating your works?
Your favourite ao3 tag.
How slow is a slow burn?
Thoughts on cliffhangers.
Top three favourite fic tropes.
Three tropes that are fine but overrated.
If you write in more than one language, what's the difference?
Rate your worldbuilding skills from 1 to 10.
Write and share the first sentence of a new fic. Just that.
What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?
Are one-shots really underrated?
Past or present tense? Why?
First, second, or third person?
Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.
Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?
Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?
What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?
Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?
Thoughts on flashbacks/flashforwards.
Is writing the whole thing beforehand better or worse than writing it as you go?
What would you describe as OOC?
Do you agree that one shouldn't start a story with a piece of dialogue?
Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?
What's the hardest thing about writing?
Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.
What was the most difficult fic for you to write (but in the end you made it)?
Do you have a word/expression that you always use in your writing?
Give your writing a compliment.
Do you write to improve? Or is that not a concern for you?
Thoughts on writing challenges/contests.
How do you come up with fic titles? What's the one you're most proud of?
Do you research before writing or while you write? Is it fun or boring for you?
"This never happened" fix-it fics or "this happened but" fix-it fics?
Wildest AU scenario you have written?
Write a 9-word fic.
9K notes
·
View notes
Text
to the nonny who just sent me the url of a stancy gifset with a “:(” -- yeah, dude, people ship stancy just like i ship jancy and they’re gonna make gifsets and write fics of their ship the same way i do with my ship.
i cannot stress this enough: CURATE YOUR FANDOM EXPERIENCE. fandom is not some sort of zero sum contest in which the goal is to convert everyone to your ship. block stancy blogs, block stancy tags, don’t go in said tags, and ignore posts that aren’t for you. just keep scrolling.
idk what you wanted to accomplish by sending me that. i do not care that it exists. (i also watched season 4; i i knew by the URL what gifs they were gonna pull and i’m over it.) i’m not here to fight anyone on the ship they ship.
i think jonathan and nancy are soulmates, and i think jonathan and nancy are gonna end up together because i can’t imagine it going any other way. i think they’ve been building it up this whole time. and we’ll see what happens, because i do not write this show. if it doesn’t go that way, well, that’s what fix-it fic is for.
in the meantime, i’m not gonna get into the ship wars fray. i’m here to enjoy the things about stranger things that i enjoy. i’m not here to pick fights with people.
curate. your. fandom. experience.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
in every possible way
in every possible way
(or: five things nancy wheeler learned about family by having her own)
for @jancyweek2022 day 5: family
this is set in my future perfect ‘verse, so that would be some good/necessary context for this, for what it’s worth. (and yes, i said they had 2 kids. this is just part of the first one.)
read it on ao3
oh my life is changing every day in every possible way
and oh my dreams are never quite as they seem
never quite as they seem
1. some big decisions feel very small
They toss it around for years, the idea of it. In fact, for a long time an idea is all it is.
She’s the lowest reporter on the newspaper totem pole, working the shittiest stories in the shittiest neighborhoods at the shittiest times of day. He’s trying to fully establish himself as a photographer and picking up bartending shifts on every night he doesn’t have a shoot booked.
And of course there’s the weekends they “go away” for some private time investigating thin spots in the world that may or may not be gates. Their friends think they have an extremely healthy marriage, putting each other first above all else.
Nancy thinks they have an extremely healthy marriage, because after you’ve fought monsters and saved the world together everything else seems like a piece of cake.
Well. Most everything else. That one thing her mother always brings up when she calls, that’s more daunting to her than any Demogorgon or gate ever was.
They’re in no rush, really. And the timing never seems right.
Do you think we should have a baby? She asks him after she says goodbye to her mother and he studies the stack of bills on the coffee table. He smirks at her.
I think we should make sure we can pay the light bill first.
Do you want to have a baby? He asks her as they tuck themselves into the corner of her office baby shower, her manager glowing in the center of a circle of otherwise hardboiled reporters and editors who are – slightly drunkenly, to be sure – oohing and aahing over a hand-knitted set of baby clothes.
I’m about to do her work and mine – when exactly do you think I have time to be pregnant? She shoots back, and he chortles into his glass.
It goes like that for a while, over months and months, until one night Nancy finds herself at their kitchen table, contemplating the brown paper pharmacy bag with the familiar egg-shaped plastic compact inside. That’s where Jonathan finds her, the light around her dimming as the sun sets outside their windows.
“Is everything OK or are you just enjoying sitting in the dark?” he asks, flipping on the light and taking the seat next to her.
She’s quiet a moment, considering approaches, and then just blurts it out.
“I think I wanna have a baby.”
She keeps her eyes squarely on the table, not daring to look at him. Every past conversation they’ve had – short or long – feels ephemeral to her, like they were just playing with hypotheticals. She means it this time. It’s been nagging in the back of her mind for weeks, for probably longer, manifesting in lingering looks at women with strollers on the street and on the L, with watching the toddlers at the playground in the park up the street when she’s taking a walk. In daydreams on her commute – still watercolor blurred and amorphous in their own way – involving Jonathan’s wide palms on her swollen belly, or tiny hands tugging on his shoulder length hair, a little body cradled between them as they sing pop songs to lull it to sleep that have gone from occasional to daily to more.
She had refilled her prescription without thinking, gotten home, and realized she didn’t want to wake up the next morning and take a pill.
His hand, warm and rough, on hers snaps her out of her thoughts.
“Yeah, me too.”
Her head snaps up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash.
“Really?”
His face is open, his eyes warm brown and dancing. There is no hesitation to be seen. “Yep.”
A weight she hadn’t even realized she was feeling lifts off her all at once, and she lets the smile break over her face. The one she gets in return is just as wide.
His hand is squeezing hers hard enough to hurt but they’re both giggling and she is giddy, practically vibrating with it.
Then a thought strikes her. It stops the giddiness in its tracks. It must show on her face because suddenly Jonathan looks very, very worried.
“Nance? What?”
“Oh god. Does that mean I have to get pregnant?”
She can barely register his laugh before she’s being pulled out of her chair, tossed over his shoulder and is suddenly enjoying a very nice, close up view of his rear end as he sets off down the hall to their room.
“I’m trying not to take that as an insult.”
2. impending fatherhood is sexy
They’re not going to be the first parents among their friends, and Nancy is immensely grateful for that as she climbs the steps to the home Ben and Michelle bought six months ago, halfway through their own pregnancy.
Nancy wonders if they need to start thinking about things like a house or a yard. There are no cul-de-sacs in the city, thank fucking god, but there are dead end streets. If they do have to move, they sure as hell aren’t moving to one of those. That’s too damn close.
She rings the bell without thinking and immediately regrets it when she hears a piercing wail from inside. Stupid, stupid.
The cry gets louder as footstep approach the door and she’s all set and ready to apologize to Michelle but instead finds Jonathan behind the slab of oak, a tiny bundle of blankets cradled in one arm.
“The bell, Nance? Really??”
She doesn’t reply; she can’t. He’s in a t-shirt, his hair’s disheveled, he’s holding a baby, and suddenly every hormone in her body – and man, there are an awful lot of them right now – is rushing to straight between her legs.
He steps aside and she enters on autopilot, trying to figure out the best way to tell him he should give the baby back to Michelle and leave with her, right now, because she wants to climb him like a tree.
“Michelle went to take a shower,” he says, briefly snapping her out of her reverie. “I told her I’d keep an eye on Emma and to take her time. I think Ben’s on his way home but I had just gotten her to fall asleep.”
“Sorry,” she sidles up to his bicep, trying hard to ignore how good he smells, especially mixed with the soft scent of baby powder and freshly laundered blankets. “Hello, Emma.”
“Hello Nancy, thanks for waking me up from my nap so I can scream bloody murder in Uncle Jonathan’s ear again!” He bounces the bundle in time with his high-pitched response.
“Mmm,” she nuzzles his shoulder. “’Uncle Jonathan’ has a nice ring to it but I think ‘dad’ is a lot sexier.”
He raises his eyebrows at her, still bouncing the baby as she starts to calm. “Well we’re not quite there yet but I’m sure you’ll get to fulfill those fantasies someday. Hopefully sooner rather than later.”
“How about today?” She reaches into her purse, fishes around until she finds the little Ziploc baggie and pulls it out. Holds it up so Jonathan can see the pink and white stick with two parallel pink lines on it.
It is both immensely gratifying and incredibly attractive to watch his eyes widen so much she thinks they’re about to pop out of his head.
“Really?” he whispers, almost like speaking too loud would make it not true. “Nance, are you serious?”
“The lines don’t lie,” she looks up at him through her eyelashes. “How long until Michelle is done with her shower, do you think? Because I want to take your pants off with my teeth.”
3. unconditional love really means unconditional
The look on his face confirms to her she’s horrifying but to be totally honest she couldn’t give two shits.
“Did you get the salsa?” she asks as Jonathan closes their apartment door behind him. Eyes the paper bag he’s carrying like she suddenly has x-ray vision.
“I did.”
“And those Mexican candy spoon things? With the sour-sweet?”
“Tamarind,” he corrects absently, clutching the bag to his chest like it can protect him from something. “I did.”
She beams a him. “Thank you. I love you.”
“…Yeah.”
“Oh come on,” she rolls her eyes as he edges into the room. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Um,” he tries, stops, and then just gestures in her direction with his free hand.
She looks down at herself. It’s pretty standard for her lately, 32 weeks into this bullshit ordeal: a pair of Jonathan’s clean boxer shorts, her most comfortable bra, one of his rattier button downs that has long be moved from his work wardrobe to “painting the house” duty, and which is big enough to accommodate her suddenly quite large belly. She swears up and down she blew up like a balloon; after weeks of morning sickness where the smell of just about any food that wasn’t white bread or oranges turned her stomach, she finally got her appetite back. But even then her belly had resolutely refused to show until about two weeks ago; now she suddenly had a little shelf to rest things on whenever she sat down.
Honestly, it was kind of convenient, even if sometimes their son’s kicking knocks over her plate or her cup.
Right now that belly shelf is home to a half-eaten Sara Lee cheesecake she had picked up in the freezer section of the corner store.
“What?” she asks.
He gestures again, this time more clearly toward her left hand. She looks at it, considers, then pops one finger into her mouth so she can eat the pitted black olive off the tip.
“What?” she asks again, a little muffled as she chews. Swallows, then follows it with a bite of cheesecake.
“That is disgusting.”
“It’s good!” she protests as he hightails it out of the room. She hears the rustling as he unpacks her latest cravings and eats another olive. “It’s like, a little salty and a lot creamy and a little sweet. Opposites attracting, like us!”
“Which one of us is the olive and which one of us is the cheesecake?” She can practically hear his shudder. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”
That gives her an idea and she swipes another olive, this one on her middle finger, through the cake, scooping up some. Pops it into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. Meh. It’s OK. Not as good as she was hoping for.
When she looks toward the kitchen again he’s standing in the doorway, looking as disgusted as ever.
“Oh come on,” she rolls her eyes, sliding the cake off her stomach and onto the coffee table. Stands carefully, one hand still half-occupied with olives, the other going to the half-done buttons of his ratty old shirt. “I’m not that gross, am I? I mean, you didn’t seem to think I was this morning before I left for work. Or when I came to see you on your dinner break. I believe you thanked me for wearing a skirt, and god for fixing the lock on the women’s bathroom door.”
“You weren’t eating olives off your fingers with cheesecake this morning. Or at the bar.”
“Well,” she pops the last two remaining olives into her mouth and the last two remaining buttons free with her other hand. “I’m not now, either.”
His keeps his arms crossed, his shoulders stiff, as she slowly starts to walk toward him, hoping she can still pull off seductive when her belly’s this big. His eyes are full trained on her (now much more ample, thanks pregnancy) cleavage, though, so she’s pretty sure she’s doing just fine.
“That’s true,” he allows and finally reaches out to her, slides his hands up her side and over her breasts before drawing her close and brushing his lips over hers once, twice, three times. She feels her knees go a little weak. “And I love you no matter what. But would you mind brushing your teeth?”
4. what’s in a name?
Nancy wakes slowly, blearily rubbing at her face as she blinks back the afternoon light. Something feels strange, feels different, feels off—
The baby.
She bolts upright with a gasp, scrambling out from under the covers and skidding into the living room in a panic only to be confronted by the sight of Will sitting in the old rocking chair Jonathan had rescued from his mom’s house years ago and that is definitely coming in handy now.
Will’s got her beautiful baby boy held snugly in his arms, his head bent toward him and long still-bowl-cut hair hanging down like a soft curtain. She thinks it’s funny, all these years and he still gets his hair cut the way his mom used to do it.
She thinks Will maybe have been saying something to her son, or maybe humming, but he looks up when she arrives, a smirk already on his face.
“Forgot you have a kid now?”
“Honestly,” she says, hand on her chest as she tries to calm her racing heart, catch her breath, “I’m not used to getting so much sleep.” Approaches them. “Thanks for letting me nap, by the way.”
“No problem,” Will looks back down at his nephew. “Joe and I were having a great time together. Doing some rocking, singing some songs.”
“And what kind of taste in music are you trying to impose on my firstborn child, eh?” She reaches out and brushes her fingertips over the fine brown hair dusting his crown. She swears up and down every day that he looks just like Jonathan while he swears the opposite, but she does have to admit Joe got her coloring. His chestnut hair and bright blue eyes could come straight out of her own baby photos.
Will grins at her. “Oh, please, like I could ever displace his father’s influence.”
“And what am I chopped liver?” She hears the door open and close behind them, the thunk of Jonathan dropping his photo bag under the coat tree. Lifts her face to accept his brief kiss when he crosses the room. Doesn’t hide her grin when he does the same to the crown of Joe’s head.
“Want me to take him?” he asks his brother.
“You stink like chemicals,” she interrupts before Will can agree. “Go change, and then we’ll give Uncle Will’s arms a break. He let me take a nap, he’s earned it.”
“Excellent, I’ll be right back.”
“No you’re not chopped liver,” Will says like they weren’t even interrupted. “But, come on. You let Jonathan name him Joe.”
Huh? she thinks.
“Huh?” she says.
“It was my brother’s idea right?”
“Well yeah but, like, Joe’s a normal name,” she frowns at him.
“What were your other choices?”
“I liked Adam, but Jonathan didn’t, not for a first name. He also suggested Ian, which was nice, but I liked Joe more.”
Will’s smirk is bigger now, and it makes her suspicions rise.
“Joe?” he repeats. “And Ian?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with Joe and Ian?”
“You really don’t get it?”
“Get what?” Suspicion is quickly turning to irritation and she suspects Will can read it on her face because he stops smirking quite so hard.
“Joe Strummer? Ian Curtis? The—“
“--Lead singers of The Clash and Joy Division,” she finishes for him, eyes wide. Wheels around to find Jonathan standing in the doorway between living room and hallway, mid-frantic arm wave, as if he’d been trying to get his brother to stop spilling the beans. He freezes, then grins sheepishly at her.
“You like the name Joe, and anyway we already filled out the birth certificate weeks ago…”
“Jonathan!!”
Will cracks up as she huffs her frustrations at him, half-joking and half-not. Oh, she should have guessed. He was far too confident and clear about his name suggestions. Oh, she should have known.
Joe starts whimpering and whining as his own sleep is disturbed and as she chases Jonathan playfully around the room she hears Will still in the chair, singing through his laughter, “Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble, if I stay it will be double…”
“So you got to let me know,” Jonathan joins in, cowering behind the rocking chair and his son and his brother. “Should I stay or should I go?”
When he stands up she makes sure the burp cloth hits him square in the face.
5. it is possible to be this happy
Nancy gives the pot of sauce one last stir, lifts the wooden spoon to her lips and carefully blows before giving it a taste. Mmm. Perfect.
Jonathan may be the better cook overall but she’s learned a trick or two over the years.
“Hey Jonathan,” she calls, turning off the burner and putting the lid back on before walking back toward the living room, already starting to unbutton her shirt, “dinner’s ready, do you wanna hand him over to me so I can feed him while you’re setting the—“
She trails off in the doorway, taking in the sight before her. Jonathan is sprawled on the sofa, the light of the television airing Wheel of Fortune flickering across his face. He’s got Joe on his chest, his hand securely at his back. They are both fast asleep.
She does the two buttons of her shirt back up, considering whether she wants to wake them up. After a moment, decides against it. Dinner can probably wait.
It’s a little complicated but she manages to ease the pillow out from under Jonathan’s head and then maneuver herself so that he’s in her lap. Combs her fingers slowly through his hair, soft dark blonde strands she’s been playing with for well over a decade now.
She’s not sure how she got here. She imagined so many lives for herself, from dreams of women’s college with Barb to dreams of being a front page Pulitzer winning reporter. She’s saved the world and had her heart broken, almost lost everything and gotten it back again.
Her chest, her heart, her soul feels so full, like she’s about to burst from all the love in there, for this man and this tiny creature they made together, this tiny little human she would do anything for; walk over hot coals, throw herself in front of a train. From the moment his blue eyes looked into hers her world has felt like it is so full of love that it’s overflowing into a waterfall of feeling and all she can do is be swept along with the current, content to drown.
She thinks maybe that’s what people mean when they say they’re so happy they could die.
She shakes herself out of her thoughts only to find two pairs of eyes staring up at her, one brown and one blue. She smiles down at them both, reaching out to cup Joe’s head, stroke her thumb over the soft crown. Jonathan switches the hand holding his son to his chest and raises the other to cup her cheek.
Yes, she thinks, dinner can wait.
#jancy#jancyweek2022#jancy fic#jonathan byers#nancy wheeler#my god the kidfic actually came out of me today#AT WORK TO guys i cannot tell you#i did not have time to fine tooth comb edit this#so i apologize for any and all spelling mistakes of which there are probably quote a few#i'll clean it up for ao3 later i promise
40 notes
·
View notes
Note
patiently waiting praying and manifesting the future perfect starting a family edition dropping this week
oh nonny, your faith is inspiring but this is a very 50/50 chance. i have something in the works (and another thing that's been in the works so long i may need to abandon it) but also i've got a bigger, longer story in progress for another day this week and it may end up taking up all my brain cells.
we'll see. but i appreciate this message :)
#idk man you can't force it#or at least i can't#mad props to any writer who can please teach me the secret of just Making The Thing Come Out because some of mine are so stuck
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
something to look forward to
for @jancyweek2022 day one: lyrics
spoon: something to look forward to
So many things we could say
So many things we could let get out
But let stay in instead
Some things are best left unsaid
She had a whole speech prepared.
She’s been practicing it in her head for days now, for weeks, from over the desks in the school newspaper office and to the passenger seat of the Winnebago they stole. A carefully crafted lecture about honesty and communication and how he’s not nearly as mysterious as he thinks, and they’re a team, aren’t they, whether they’re fighting monsters or applying to college.
She repeated it every morning when she woke up and every night before she fell asleep. Ready to go, so that when she saw him again – and despite all the fear and the buzzing panic of his disconnected phone line she knew, in the pit of her stomach the center of her heart, that she would indeed see him again, she would – it would be the first thing out of her mouth.
And then she does, and it’s not.
Not just not the first thing out of her mouth, it’s suddenly gone entirely. Her feet are dangling in the air, his arms tight around her waist, and she can’t remember a single goddamn syllable.
And she keeps not remembering. Open-mouthed like a gasping fish, half sentences and emotive squeaks and his name, she has lost all her words and she’s not sure if she is furious about it or she wants to cry.
Well. Both. Almost certainly both. And also neither, because while he’s promising her he’ll tell her everything and she’s nodding, nodding, trying to hurry up this little soliloquy that he has the audacity to be delivering instead of her, she just wants to just press her face into the dip between his shoulder and chest and breathe him in and never speak again.
Around them there is so much talking, so much noise. Her mother, admonishing Mike. Dustin, telling Will and El about Max. Steve and Robin, awkwardly introducing themselves to Argyle and making their excuses to leave. Her father, distant, wondering what the hell is going on out here.
Arms tight around each other once more, she presses her face into Jonathan’s neck; they are the only two keeping silent.
The morning after they rid Will of the Mind Flayer, they hid underneath Jonathan’s covers, sunlight cast an odd orange as it filtered through his flimsy curtains and flimsy sheets. It had made him look a little sunburned, she’d thought, as she examined the blurred shadows on his cheekbones and the slits of his eyes, still heavy with exhaustion and swollen from crying. They were searching her face, as if there was a clue hidden in her skin that he could find if he just looked hard enough.
She’d opened her mouth to say something, to assure him or confirm that yes, she had meant what had happened in Illinois, yes, she had meant what had happened at the cabin, yes, she had meant what had happened after they’d collapsed into bed the night before, but he stopped her with a thumb to her lips. Shook his head, slid his eyes in the direction of the door behind him.
In her shocked pause she heard the sounds behind the pressed wood barrier; his mother’s door opening and closing, the careless stomp of young feet to the hallway bathroom, the clatter of the kitchen cabinets. Muffled through walls and bedding, but there nonetheless. This cocoon was the last space for just them.
His eyes had met hers again and he’d smiled. And to her surprise she‘d found, perhaps for the first time, she could read that smile like a large print edition book. It was wide and unguarded, bright as the sun, practically shouting the same words that were about to come out of her mouth.
Steve had needed so many words from her. He abhorred silence, filled it up with chatter incessantly like too-long a pause would put him in danger. She had helped him fill it up without protest; maybe she felt the threat of it too. Maybe she knew, in the back of her mind, if she let the silence into their relationship it would quickly expose the great gaping gulf she felt growing between them. But she hadn’t realized how much of a habit it had turned into for her too, filing up the lonely parts of her soul that used to be filled by Barb, that she wanted to feel filled by Jonathan.
People don’t say what they really mean, he had told her the year before, when you take a picture, it says more.
And for the first time she’d understood what he meant by that.
He must have seen in it in her face that morning because that’s when he’d opened his hand, sliding his palm along her cheek and his fingers into her hair to pull her into a kiss. And she hadn’t needed to say anything at all.
In her driveway, in the cool March air, his arms loosen around her and she wants to protest, wants to tell him no, she wants to stay in this little cocoon of him, of them for longer, that she’s not ready to let him go just yet and let the whirlwind of words around them rush back in, but it’s too late, there is a small gap between him and she has no choice but to move slightly back and look up at him.
He opens his mouth, his lips curving to form the start of her name, but she moves faster. Presses her thumb to his lips, stopping him in his tracks.
His face his obviously tired, his cheek rough with stubble and the bags under his eyes deep with whatever has happened to him in the past week. And maybe whatever that has been – and he will need to tell her, yes, and she will need to tell him so many stories as well – is too distracting for him to remember. For an instant she worries that he won’t understand; that while this memory is one of her touchstones, perhaps for him it was just a passing moment.
She may not remember exactly what lecture she was planning to give him, but the worry at its core has not abated in the least.
And then a tension in his cheeks smooths out and his pupils dilate, and she knows he remembers just as well, too.
His lips are spreading beneath her touch into a smile like the one she saw that morning, and she slides her palm along his cheek and pulls him down for a kiss.
So there’s something to look forward to
#jancy#jancyweek2022#jancy week#jonathan byers x nancy wheeler#jancy fic#jonathan byers#nancy wheeler#oh spoon my beloveds#kill the moonlight is an album full of jancy feels i swear to god
41 notes
·
View notes
Note
f
F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
God, I hate these questions if only because I'm never quite sure how to answer them. But after some though, this bit between Jonathan and Joyce from Paper Tiger sprang to mind:
“Jonathan,” his mother says and gestures towards the sofa. He doesn’t move. “Please, can you just sit down?”
“Mom,” his voice cracks as he says it and he wants to hate himself for it but there are too many other feelings warring inside him. He pushes them aside, trying to find hope buried beneath them. “Time for a bigger house?”
“Something like that,” she perches on the arm of the sofa, ankles crossed and hands clasped. She’s nervous, he realizes.
“In Hawkins, right?”
She looks so sad as she shakes her head no.
“Mom.” Tears spring into his eyes against his will and he swallows against the lump in his throat. “Come on, Mom, please. It’s not—Please. Please don’t do this.”
“I need to,” her voice is soft, as gentle and kind as any night she soothed him through his father’s abuse or his loneliness at school. That makes it worse somehow. “We all need to. Will and El, they need to get away from here too. We need a fresh start.”
“I don’t need to. I’m fine. I’m—I’ve got Nancy. I’m almost done with school. Mom, please—”
“I know, sweetheart, I know. But you need the fresh start, too. We all do. We can’t live like this anymore.”
It just.. sounds like them. I can hear it out of their mouths, their tone, their inflection, where their voices would crack. I can hear Charlie and Winona's performance of this dialogue, if that makes sense. Like if you turned this scene into a script and handed it to them, they'd get it right in the table read.
I'm always proud when I can write something that feels that in-character. And I found myself thinking about this scene a lot when I was writing their conversation in "in the morning i'll be better" because in some ways, they're finishing the talks they had in Paper Tiger.
I actually like most or the dialogue in Paper Tiger a lot, now that I think about it. It feels extremely in character, very true. Nancy trying to outsmart Joyce when they suspect the moving, their own conversation after Jonathan finds out, Jonathan trying to obliquely interrogate his mom about it while washing dishes after dinner. It all feels like it could be part of the show, and I’m very proud of that.
(p.s. to the duffer brothers: let jonathan and his mother fucking talk in season 5 or i'm coming after you.)
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
G and S!
G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?
Both, honestly. I'd say about 90% of the time it's in order, from beginning to end. About 30% of that 90% of the time I will skip ahead to get out a scene that is distracting me from writing in order so I can move past it and get back to writing in order. And maybe 10% of the time will I write a story entirely out of order, or collect many scenes and/or snippets and then turn them into a cohesive story.
That fully out of order approach actually works against me most of the time, I think. I currently have WIP doc for a sequel(ish) to "in the morning i'll be better" that is comprised of a bunch of notes and snippets and i haven't been able to write a word in it for weeks. most likely i'll have to move all those notes over to another doc and wipe that one clean so I can actually write. My brain just really doesn't work that way. But I do keep notes about future scenes/plot points/emotional beats (even lines of dialogue) as they come into my head so I don't forget.
S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?
I mean, have you read my stories? LOL. Sharing the bed, mutual pining, slow burn, partners in crime, idiots in love, fake dating, fake married, domesticity shenanigans, AUs, i love sooooooooo many tropes. Perhaps I read some of them more than I write some of them but hoooo boy I'm a sucker for a lot of them.
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
N and/or V for the fic asks
N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?
Oh man for sure and @wanderleave has like half of them in our chat/her inbox somewhere because I am desperate.
I'd say my 90s AU but LBR -- I would never give that baby up. If anyone wants to dropkick my brain into gear on it, though, I'd be appreciative :)
V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
OH MAN. this is actually a hell of a question.
I would love to write an interlude for winter violets in the spring, between the first and second parts, in which we can see jonathan and nancy get back together (and kissiiiiiing) but I truly don’t think I could do it justice. That story is so restrained, so specifically moody, that I don’t know if I have it in me.
(P.S. if you have never read winter violets in the spring, go read it NOW. it may be the best future AU getting back together slow burn monster hunting fic in the entire jancy fandom, it is brilliant.)
the thing is, in trying to answer this question I’m really just thinking of stories that I want sequels and prequels to, but I don’t want to write them myself. I love those stories for how the authors wrote them, how they interpreted the characters and relationships. I don’t think I’d like what I produce anywhere near as much.
#fic asks#but also all of my fav authors: know that i am mentally begging for sequels and prequels at all times
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
X, Y, and K :)
X: A character you enjoy making suffer.
Enjoy is probably the wrong word, but lord knows making both Jonathan and Nancy suffer is part of what I do best.
Y: A character you want to protect.
Jonathan. I will fight.
K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?
Someone once sent me an ask box prompt of "do you still love me?" and I came up with a college AU breakup/makeup fic that I got like 3500 words into and I was so upset with myself I couldn't finish it. It taunts me to this day. I've also thought of like 15 ways to make it less angsty and finishable but i think it's gonna sit there and taunt me for the rest of time.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
FanFic Ask Game
A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?
B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?
C: What member do you identify with most?
D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?
E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?
F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?
H: How would you describe your style?
I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?
J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].
K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?
L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?
M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?
N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?
O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters?
P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)
Q: How do you feel about collaborations?
R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?
S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?
T: Any fandom tropes you can��t stand?
U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.
V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?
X: A character you enjoy making suffer.
Y: A character you want to protect.
Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?
34K notes
·
View notes
Note
you and a lot of jancy writers always write it like Steve is in love with the “idea of nancy” but what’s so damn hypocrital is that she’s in love with the idea of Jonathan. take the Hawkins high newspaper scene. she’s trying hard af to convince herself that Jonathan is “kind, caring, compassionate” but the audience knows how fake she sounds. makes my blood boil OH the fandom is delusional.
what the fuck is this? lol
#seriously what on earth?#me? you sent this to ME?#i just sit here writing my fanfic and having a good time#this is so baffling#also television is better when you watch it with your eyes open#loooooooool what on earth
17 notes
·
View notes
Note
Oooh, privacy please!
this came to my fic blog and another ask for the same fic came to my main blog and that answer is here.
privacy, privacy, always in such short supply...
1 note
·
View note