Duns's Writing Blogge

Writing blog for @dunroamins, Witcher Netflix, Steddie, Jancy and Hellcheer, U18s DNI

[jonathanbyersphd]

Happy Birthday Midwest Emo King sorry ur dad traumatized you that one time (pls note he does not have a canonical birthday I just picked today based on vibes a & canon interpretation)

[dunroamins]

@jonathanbyersphd

...can I write a fic where he's 59 and contented pls?

[duns-writes]

Untitled older Jancy/Jonathan Byers gets his happy ending fic

Content warnings: none

@jonathanbyersphd :)

----------

It's a beautiful morning.

Sure, his back aches a little, and his hip is stiff, but an Advil and a cup of coffee are all he needs to get set up for the day. The sky is blue and cloudless, there's frost on the gravel path, and it's his favourite season.

There's a greedy red cardinal on the veranda fence, pecking up so many sunflower seeds its beak is overfull, glaring daggers at a bluetit that sits just off to the side and hops impatiently.

He watches out the window, and glances at the camera feed. Jules's idea for the bird feeder camera was a good one. He shouldn't be surprised, really-she has her mother's brains. The coffee's good, a present from Argyle after his latest fairtrade buying trip, and there's a sheet of maple pecan pancakes in the oven.

The leaves are glowing crimson, burnt umber, chartreuse, deep wine red, and the air is crisp and cool. His flannel shirt is a little wider around the middle these days, but Nance just looks at him the same way she always has and says, 'It just means we're not running.'

She's futzing around in the bedroom, gathering her things, before she pads into the kitchen, putting in her pearl earrings. She's as beautiful as ever, smile lines and forehead creases from late night typing and laughter and sass, her rollneck and jeans one of his favourite looks on her.

He tells her so, smiling and wrapping an arm around her as she shakes her head in mirth. "I always like you in a flannel," she says throatily. "Perfect combination of smart and soft. Kind of like you." He scoffs a little and flicks his eyes down at her, pressing a kiss to her mouth as both of them smile into it. "Still gotta go into the city for that pitch meeting?"

"Yeah. I wasn't sure whether to drive or take the train."

"We could go together-my editorial meeting could just as well be in person, and then we could walk the riverside and grab some food."

"What, and play hooky?" she giggles.

"Nooo, and take back the time we both worked up a couple weeks ago," he grumbles.

She laughs and nods. They dish up their pancakes and take them outside, watching the squirrels scamper up and down the aspen trunks, chittering irritably at each other.

As expected, there are a couple of messages from Will when he checks his phone. They don't message every day (neither of them need that anymore), but they catch up over text every other day and call when they both have time.

Will 🔮: We're in NY Monday to Wednesday next week for Mike's guest lecture.

Will 🔮Houseguests okay?

Jonathan 🙄: Of course. Murphy coming too? 🐾

Will 🔮: What do you think?

(It's followed by a raised eyebrow emoji and a GIF of a strawberry blonde spaniel chasing its own tail)

He adds 'dog treats for Murph; dog food; oat milk; Babe Ruths; guanciale for carbonara' to the list on the fridge and takes a picture on his phone.

"...Fine." he sends back, with two grumpy faces.

The response is quick:

Michael 🤦‍♂️: Nice try. We both know you love Murph more than me.

He laughs as he shows Nancy, who shakes her head and fires off her own response to her brother.

Nancy 🔫: What, like it's hard?

They snicker, putting their bags together for the ride to the station

As they pass Albany, his phone buzzes again.

Mom 😸: Hi sweetie. Hop and I have been loving the pictures from your bird cam! 🐦🦃🐔🐓🐣🐤🐥🐧🕊️🦅🦆🦢 Have a good day, whatever you're doing. Ray and Penny are coming over for dinner tonight (they are cooking! 😅). We love you, sending lots of hugs cxcxxxxc

He settles into his seat with a smile. When his mom and Jim had moved to Oswego, he'd been pleased that he'd be able to keep an eye on them, but worried his old overprotectiveness might pop up. Nancy had reassured him that they had all done so much work that it wouldn't fall apart so easy. She'd been right, of course-his parents had built a community of friends, enjoying the forests and lakes much more than they ever had in Hawkins.

He went over once every couple of weeks for dinner, and Will and Mike visited every couple of months from Chicago. He hadn't seen El in a few months, but that wasn't unusual-her daily WhatsApps always began with her holding a cute (or sometimes not so cute) critter, with a big smile on her face. This time, the research site was in the Kalahari. ("We are looking at meerkat nurture patterns. Their social structures are really complex, but they all have a very strong sense of purpose and they are looked after. It helps that they are also funny.")

He makes a mental note to give mom a call over the weekend, and leaves El a voice note about the cardinal. Nancy smiles behind her book. They sip their coffees in companionable quiet, until his phone buzzes again.

He rolls his eyes. Always contactable. I miss landlines.

(Then he snorts when he sees the message.)

Julie 🌻: Hey dad. Told you birb cam was a good idea (and no that is not a spelling mistake, do keep up 😜). What kind of cheese goes in Murray's risotto? Currently attempting to impress a girl. Again. *facepalm* Will let you know how it goes! Working on that project with the national park this week, otherwise a pretty standard Monday 🥱😴. Love you, tell mom I love her too! 🤗🫂🤗

He sends her back love and hugs, and adds, "Proud of you my Jules." before he can think better of it.

She sends back a "Thanks dad. I know 😇!" and that's all he needs to hear.

[thedemonofcat]

The first winter night settles over Kaer Morhen. Inside the keep, Geralt shares drinks with his brothers. The mugs keep filling, the laughter grows louder, and before long, the witchers are well on their way to being drunk. That’s when they notice it—something strange on the air.

Normally, the halls of Kaer Morhen smell of leather, steel, and the witchers themselves. But this is different. Softer. Sweet, like wildflowers in bloom.

Fuddled by drink, the brothers reach a fanciful conclusion: a faerie must have found its way into the keep. And surely, if they could catch it, it would grant them a wish.

What none of them remembers in their haze is the simplest detail of all—Geralt had invited Jaskier to pass the winter with them. And at that very moment, the bard, who has always carried a hint of perfume about him, is fast asleep in his chamber.

[duns-writes]

"Shh!"

"Don't you shush me, I am your father!"

Eskel pinches his nose and whips around, glaring at Lambert and Vesemir both.

"Both of you please be a little quieter! Faeries might not be able to hear as well as we do, but they're pretty damned good!"

Geralt, at the back, lets out a very quiet hm of agreement, and stays extra quiet. Just in case.

They're all sozzled, White Gull and Lambert's purest vodka batch yet combining to have them very very deep in their cups. They're following a scent none of them have ever smelled before, a mix of Kaer Morhen's granite and crushed summer herbs; woodworkers' linseed and old rose; parchment and vanilla, sage and orris root.

Geralt had been the first to perk up, being both nearest the door and extra-sensitive of nose.

"Smells...nice. Comforting. A warm bath in a friendly inn." (He didn't mention the friendly, nimble bardic hands taking care of him there.)

"Smells like...fresh linen and comfits," rumbled Vesemir.

"Mm. Like sleeping in an alpine meadow with the air and the stars," Eskel murmured.

"Fuck off, 's like...sitting with a good book and a cat that doesn't run away," Lambert had mumbled, half asleep.

"I have..." Coen trailed off, with a soft sniffing sound, "I have heard that faerie scents match what the person finds most soothing." He smiled. "A warm sweetmeat and a pine-log fire."

Lambert had sat bolt upright.

"Don't faerie grant good wishes? Like fae but without the twisted shit?"

"Hm. Can do. Barmin used to swear that was how he got his horse."

So now they're creeping down a corridor in the north tower, past Geralt's room until they come to-

"This is Jaskier's room."

Geralt's expression is puppyish, confused.

"Jask's not a faerie, I'd have known by now. And even if I hadn't you would've."

"So why does he smell different to all of us, then?"

They all turn to look at Vesemir, who gives them the strangest gesture. A shrug.

Geralt gently opens the door, to find Jaskier curled up in the furs, sleeping peacefully.

The scent isn't coming from him.

It's coming from the small pile of neatly wrapped parcels on the armchair.

They creep towards it, able to make out their names, one on each hand-tied label.

"Presen-MMF!"

Geralt just manages to muffle Lambert's excited hiss.

Eskel looks back at Jaskier, only a little disappointed that there's no faerie to grant their wishes, because how kind of him to bring presents for their monster-hunting arses, when-

Jaskier is stirring, with a soft "Hmmng...whassit"

They all freeze, to a man, guiltily.

The bard blinks owlishly in their general direction (it being too dark to see without enhanced senses), until Eskel sets a small Igni in the dish on the dresser.

"Uh. Good...morning? Evening? Whaaaaat...are you all doing in my room?"

It's Vesemir who answers.

"Midnight, bard. And...we thought we smelled...something nice. Weren't sure what it was. Thought it might be-well, never mind that. We'll get out of your hair."

The bard looks...sheepish. What?

"Ah, seven Hells. I should have known you'd smell them. I had planned to give them to you after dinner tomorrow, as a thank you for letting me stay. If you give me a few moments I can dress and we can all go and sit by the fire."

Vesemir shakes his head, firmly but not unkindly.

"No, you need rest after the Killer. We can wait," he says, with a sharp look at Lambert, who grumbles but nods.

The next evening, Jaskier brings his bundle down in a second trip after his lute.

Vesemir's bundle is wrapped in soft blue cloth, perfect for making a kerchief with, and tied with a knot, not a ribbon. Practical. Against his better judgment, his smile crinkles his eyes around their edges as he draws a bag of sugared almonds and a thick doublecloth sleeping shirt from the wrapping.

The young one's voice wavers, just a little (performer's practice) as he says, "I know softness isn't usual for Witchers, but when Geralt explained how cold it stays into the spring, and how you used to bring the comfits back on the supply runs when there were more of you...I figured that maybe you brought them because you secretly liked them too."

"Well met and keenly augured, bardling. I thank you."

He's said the right thing, obviously, because the boy's shoulders come down a little from around his ears and he smiles.

Lambert's gift is wrapped in thin paper, easily removed but soft under the fingers. He bares his teeth, pointed canines showing, but Jaskier has met him a few times before and knows it's all for show. He removes a beautifully bound book of the latest alchemical research, with fold out pages for recording results, then peers quizzically at a piece of parchment that falls from the wrapping.

Jaskier's voice is deceptively light when he says, "Met a cat who likes Witchers over the summer when I was at a competition in Toussaint. That's where you'll find him when you're back on the Path."

(Later, Lambert sidles up to Jaskier and says, "He okay?" Jaskier nods with a soft smile. "Guxart let him go from the caravan with his blessing. After what happened with Jad, even he could see that he needed out. Came to me in a tavern near Belgaard knowing I'd be able to get something to you, even if I had to convince Geralt to take it up to you.")

Eskel's present is tied with black ribbon, exactly the right size for a page marker. The deep red paper is textured, and he swallows hard as a small wooden figurine and a worn book rest in his shaky hands. No explanation needed-his smile is just a little wobbly, but then so is Jaskier's.

A figure of a goat, carved in the Far Mountain style, sits in his left palm, with festoons of yew and rowanberry for protection and good wishes. The wood is warm and smooth, and imbued with gentle magic, like a kiss on the forehead. The book in his right proclaims itself 'A Treasury of Hillfolk Shapesong', written by one of the foremost Hillfolk bards of the last one-hundred years.

Coen's gift comes in a deep green bag, just the right shape for packing with provisions. He grins, pulling out a small sack of meal ("A baking mixture for Zerrikanian stamped ma'moul."), a small loaf of dark sugar, and a bundle of incense sticks with a waft of pine and candied rose.

Geralt's is presented in a small wooden box. Simple, with just a carved buttercup in one corner. He smiles softly. A new comb, perfectly sized for his hands and sturdily made for the road, alongside three cakes of what look like soap.

"That one's just soap-sage for soreness, fennel seed for clarity and orris root for sleep. The next one is for your hair, so it's easier to carry and use than oils if I'm elsewhere. That's just got almond flower and cardamom."

"And the last?"

Jaskier's smile is mischevious as well as fond as he says,

"Well, that one's for Roachie girl, of course! Oat, clover and chamomile, for her mane."

Geralt's expression is soft as he says wryly, "Better watch she doesn't eat it then." Jaskier snorts and sits back, picking up his glass of mead with a relieved sigh.

(Later, he's having another look when he notices the pattern on the bars of soap. Fingerprints. Jaskier's fingerprints. When he mentions it, nervously, Jaskier just looks at him with bright eyes and says, 'Couldn't find any with the scents I wanted. The ones in the markets were all too strong. Can't have your nose itching when you're trying to dispatch a beastie.')

That winter, strange new objects keep turning up in Jaskier's rooms. Gloves, woven from wool he's seen Vesemir carding in the hall of an evening, dyed a beautiful woad blue. Goat's milk lotion, when he mentions offhand that his hands get chapped in winter sometimes. A small jar of figs, preserved in mead with cinnamon sticks and saffron, the most expensive spice on the continent. A pot of ink, formulated with tiny grains of flaked gold that sparkle in the light. When he catches him writing with it, Lambert looks quietly pleased and murmurs, "Made it so it wouldn't fade or run, neither."

And leather thong in chestnut brown, woven through with hardy dried flowers, exactly the length to braid through Roach's mane. If there's a strand of long, white hair snagged in one of the knots, he doesn't mention it.

[thedemonofcat]

It is a well-established fact that Jaskier requires a minimum daily allowance of attention.

Regrettably, Geralt has failed to meet the bard’s quota.

There will be a penalty. Thoroughly inconvenient for Geralt—yet entirely reasonable, of course.

[duns-writes]

@thedemonofcat Me again...hope you don't mind!

CWs: None! This is fluff!

-------

He's cleaning and affixing the hilt-leather for his steel sword when a shadow looms across him. It's so near it blocks out the sun.

He looks up.

Jaskier is peering down at him, with an expression he can only describe as...judgmental.

He looks up, brow wrinkled in question.

"You, sir, have made quite an egregious error, I'll have you know!"

"...The fuck?"

"Don't you 'what the fuck me', Witcher. You know what you did. You forgot something Very Important, didn't you?"

The bard's hands are on his hips, eyes narrowed but a hint of a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth. Hmm. Smells...indignant and amused. What the fuck?

"What am I supposed to have forgotten?"

"My allotment!"

"Your...allotment?" When the fuck did gardening come into the equation?

"Ye-es," he sing-songs, "my daily allotment of your time?"

Ohhh. Right.

"Ah. A most grievous error. Can I stay my execution until I finish working on this? It needs to be done properly."

Jaskier's face softens. For all his puffed-up peacockery and drama, he knows and values the important things. Like his Witcher having weapons that won't slip out of his hands when he needs them.

"I suppose so."

He pantomimes a put-upon sigh, and goes to turn the rabbits on their spits with a little smile.

Once he's done, and they've had their dinner, Geralt makes a show of putting his leatherworking tools away just so, a twinkle in his eye.

He turns around to see the bard leaning calculatedly against a tree, seemingly examining his nails-the same twinkle in his own seaglass irises.

He sits down, cross-legged on his bedroll, and Jaskier flops down beside him with a flump sort of noise from the cushioning beneath them. He tucks his head under Geralt's chin and wraps his arms around the witcher's middle.

"Who's telling the story tonight?"

"Mm. I think I'd like to hear one from you again," the bard says with a little smile, and adds a genuine, "please?"

"Third night in a row, Jask. Don't get used to it."

There's a gentle little snort of amusement from somewhere near his collarbone, and Geralt?

For once, he opens his mouth and begins to talk.

[thedemonofcat]

Geralt the werewolf having trouble keeping his wolfy side in check with his new boyfriend Jaskier.

“Make sure they’re secure,” Geralt said, his eyes fixed on Jaskier as he tightened the cuffs chaining him to the bed.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Jaskier replied with a sigh, flashing his boyfriend a quick smile. “We’ve been through this every month.”

“And you can’t come in here. At all,” Geralt added, his voice edged with worry.

Jaskier tilted his head, his tone deliberately mocking. “Oh? And what then—will the big bad wolf eat me?”

“I’m not joking,” Geralt said firmly.

It had become their ritual since Geralt’s curse—each full moon, Jaskier would lock him in the guest room, silver cuffs binding him to the bedframe. Jaskier slept in their usual bed, a shotgun loaded with silver shells resting within arm’s reach.

Awkward, yes. But it was the only way to stay together.

[duns-writes]

...I hope it's okay I wrote something for your prompt? (If not I will take it down!)

--------

It's about 3am when he hears it.

The distinct metallic *snap*, the ping of metal chains hitting the bedstead, the tinkle of loose links tumbling to the floor...and the rhythmic thud of gigantic paws against the wooden floor.

He's bolt upright in a second, stomach dropping, cold sweat prickling down his spine.

Did I make a mistake? Did I not latch the cuffs tight enough? Is it worse because it's a harvest moon?!

He finds himself murmuring "Oh gods, oh no, oh fuck oh gods oh no at increasing pace. As if the gods could save him from a predator in his own fucking flat.

He picks the shotgun up with trembling hands, cocking it as Geralt's footfalls pad past the door, going towards the kitchen.

Thank the gods, maybe he hasn't smelled me yet.

There's a beat, and the sound of...a cupboard door being opened?

What?

Then the unmistakeable crunch crunch rustle crunch of...cereal.

Oh my gods, he's eating cereal. He's just on the Bran Flakes! That's adorable.

Then the spell gets broken by the pad, pad, pad of Geralt coming back down the hallway.

He stops just outside the door.

The scratching starts.

A growl, deep, reverberating.

More scratching...and the click of a door handle, tried with a paw.

Another growl.

Maybe the cereal was the appetiser and I'm the main course, his hindbrain supplies.

There's that fear again.

Geralt's not going away. The scratching's puncutated now, with the sound of a very large wolf trying to body check the bloody door open. And getting increasingly annoyed, if the rising growls are anything to go by.

Fuck it. If he's going to get his throat ripped out he's going to do it standing proud.

He unlocks the door slowly, points the gun out towards the hallway, and nudges the wood aside with his foot.

Geralt?

Geralt leaps, in a high, graceful arch, towards his throat-

His chest-

His middle-

His middle.

Geralt launches forward and wraps his big, furry limbs around Jaskier's waist, and guides him towards the plush rug so that when he falls, the landing's soft and tender.

And he sits in Jaskier's lap, all nineteen stone of wolf, and nuzzles happily at his cheek.

The massive paws with their massive claws curl around his shoulders, and the huge, muscular tail thumps against the rug in a whuf whuf whuf sort of pattern.

When he tries to move, he gets an absolutely heart-squeezingly adorable little whine for his troubles.

"My legs are going dead, love, I'm going to have to move sometime."

A disgruntled huff.

"We could move it to the sofa?"

He flicks his ears dismissively.

"The big bed?"

Geralt's on his feet, or, paws, in an instant, tail wagging again, tongue lolling.

Jaskier curls up on his side of the bed, and Geralt stretches out next to him, paws and snout thudding down over his waist and shoulder in a clear possessive gesture.

As he falls asleep with warm pearl-and-grey fur against his cheek, he can't really bring himself to mind.

He wakes in stages, blinking his eyes open to see Geralt sitting hunched away from him on the chair at the other side of the room.

"Ah, good morning dear heart."

Geralt turns his head away, shoulders rising.

"Geralt? What's wrong? Did I do something bad while we were sleeping love?"

A mumble.

"I didn't catch that, darling."

There's a miniscule turn of the head towards him, bowed and unhappy.

"I could have killed you. I couldn't stop myself from coming for you."

"Yes, and cuddling me. Very nicely and in great quantity, I might add."

"You were scared."

"Yes," Jaskier bursts out exasperatedly, "because you told me you would likely be very violent in your...wolfly form. But you weren't, were you?"

"Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"Hmm...no. Thought I would be. All the tales say the wolf starts small-mice, and voles, and birds-then gets more and more agressive, until-"

He swallows, looking like he's fighting back the nausea, and turns away again.

"Back in the...what, Victorian period, when you first shifted, what did you eat?"

A quirk of a white brow.

"Victorian period?"

"Well, you never said but some of the things you say make me wonder just how old my long-lived Witcher is."

He's not expecting the response he gets.

"...Yours?"

"Hm?"

"You said...you said MY long-lived Witcher."

Jaskier freezes. Oh hells, he did, didn't he?

Again...fuck it.

"I did. I've been falling in love with you for...quite a while now. We've been together for more than a year, you know."

"How long have you been..."

He's blushing. That's fucking gorgeous.

"In love with you? Oh, since about week four."

Geralt sits bolt upright, like he's been hit with an electric current.

"I...like. Being yours. Wolf does too. And..."

He looks a little sheepish at this point. Weird.

"And...?"

"...Mediaeval."

"What, love?"

"The...mediaeval period. I was born...hm. 1337. Got bitten in 1408. Contract. Was just trying to defend itself. Was pleased when I killed it. Didn't want to get to the really violent stage. I never met a werewolf who did. Just figured they were all early in the process."

"But maybe that process was a myth. Have you actually read any of the modern research Regis sent us?"

"...no."

"You just, what...figured you must be the most awful of wolves because you were already a dire, monstrous Witcher anyway?"

He pokes Geralt's shoulder gently, and the man looks at him shamefaced. He decides to give him a break for now, and changes the subject.

"So, what did you eat?"

"Rabbits. Sometimes a deer or a boar. Things the humans would hunt too. Used to dig up the wild carrots, eat the fallen fruit. Preferred the sweet things," he rumbles, with a rueful smile.

"Any pets? Farm animals? People?"

Geralt looks horror-struck.

"No! Not that I can remember, and I can remember most things unless I was knocked out on a hunt."

"So you're telling me you've been alive for nearly seven hundred years, with the only gaps in your memory being after hunts as a human, and a werewolf for nearly six-and-a-quarter of those centuries, and you've yet to get to the 'people-eating' stage," he says flatly.

"...yes."

"...Come here, you daft sod."

"Hmm."

Geralt sounds disgruntled, but cuddles into him, warm and solid, all the same.

[thedemonofcat]

One sunny afternoon, Jaskier is outraged.

Geralt gave Roach a sugar cube. Just handed it right over like it was no big deal.

And Jaskier? Standing right there. Handsome, hungry, emotionally available—and got nothing.

Does he not also deserve a treat? Is he not, in fact, a very good boy? A delight? A national treasure with excellent hair?

The betrayal is real.

[two-damn-minutes]

Detailed info on how to book tickets for Joey's MCM Comic Con panel

[duns-writes]

Welp, I might go to Comic Con this year...

[xxbottlecapx]

Tw abuse and torture

A lot of steddie writers when writing about Steve's parents usually make them emotionally abusive and not physically abusive or they make them hit him only where it can't be seen, which sometimes doesnt work considering he was on the swim team, and I feel like yall are completely ignoring a much easier solution: stress positions

Imagine the party somehow finding out that that's how Steve was punished as a kid, like he brings it up nonchalantly

[psychotic-nonsense]

Ooooh, I've been looking for something new to write about... Warning for description of injuries, just in case

---------

"You really gotta be more careful, Harrington, Jesus..."

"He wouldn't have had to be if he listened to himself for once-"

"Thought the joke was that I was the mom of the group, Max?"

"Nah, petition to elect someone else?"

Half the living room raises their hands, which Steve responds to with an annoyed groan and rolled eyes. It turns his body a little too far, and he winces at the hydrogen peroxide against his palm.

"Told you, you need to be more careful," Eddie chastises softly, waiting for Steve to settle again before returning to his hands.

The Party had come back to the old Munson trailer - as broken and disheveled as it is - to get the last of their surviving things. Thanks to the amazing government that's been breathing down their necks these past 3 months, they've hardly been able to help Wayne clear through the mess the Upside Down left. The kids have been tackling Eddie's room, while the others were sifting through the kitchen and living room. So long in the Summer sun left them exhausted, but by the end, all that was left was the pullout couch, which Wayne conceded to sell. Steve, Wayne, Jonathan, and Hopper took on the challenge of getting it out.

And for all of his talk and worry, Steve completely missed the last step of the trailer while getting the damn thing out. Wayne caught the couch on their end, while Steve's hands and knees caught him on the sharp gravel.

Now he's stuck sitting on the counter getting patched up by Eddie. At his insistence too, despite his lack of medical expertise. 'I've been sitting around all day because of these damn bites, this is at least something to do.'

And something for Steve's nerves to focus on. Seriously, how is he supposed to feel the sting of gravel embedded in his skin when Eddie's hands (though gloved, both thankfully and a little unfortunately) are carefully picking them out? How is he supposed to notice the blood dripping down his legs when Eddie's standing right between them all sweet and worried?

What a day for that crush to flair up, Jesus fuck-

"Max does have a point though. For someone so worried about falling down the stairs, you made a pretty good example of doing exactly that," Robin jokes from the other side of the living room. Seeing Steve with blood coming out of him still gets her a little queasy, so it's a relief to hear her joking again.

"Yeah yeah, I get it already," Steve complains over his shoulder. Eddie finishes cleaning and bandaging his hands, so he steps back to focus on his knees.

The first little stone Eddie picks out releases a sharp pinch down Steve's shin, which he flinches at. "Didn't think this would hurt this much, though."

Eddie snorts, looks up through his lashes at Steve. Down, brain, goddamm it. "What, you on your knees often, big boy?" he jokes through a cheeky little grin.

"More than you, that's for sure," Steve jokes back, with his own easy smile. Shoves at Eddie's shoulder, careful to do so with the back of his wrist so as not to jostle Eddie's work. "Seriously though, I got in trouble a lot as a kid. Figured all the punishments had toughened me up a little bit."

He says it lightly, genuinely. It's easy to, the things he went through growing up not even holding a matchstick to the Upside Down. Eddie, though, immediately glances up, eyes full of concern. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snaps.

Steve flinches a little at the pure anger in Eddie's tone. He really didn't think it was that serious. "Y-Yeah, you know. Get home late, kneel in the corner. Skip swimming practice, kneel in the corner. It's just that classic punishment parents have-"

"Wait wait wait, just. Pause," Nancy orders, walking around the counter into Steve's sight line. Standing right beside an Eddie who's still carefully working but is visibly fuming. "That's not something you can just call classic, Steve."

They both look enraged at hearing this, which just confuses the hell out of Steve. He knows it shows too, his face twisting up. "What? It's not like it's Upside Down shit, why are you making such a big deal out of it-"

"This isn't a comparable situation, Harrington, Christ alive," Hopper swears from the living room. Steve chances a look behind him as Eddie's hands move away, and the entire Party is staring him down like he's insane.

"Don't you remember when you tried to wheel me through your house and apologized for how bumpy it all was?" Max suddenly pipes up. "You told me it's been like that for years."

Eddie growls on a forced exhale, and Steve has to turn back around. Not only to see the pinched expression of rage on Eddie's face, but to hide his shiver and blush from the others. Down, I said. "Please tell me that's all they did," Eddie demands with a scowl, his hands still softly bandaging the last marks on Steve's kneecaps.

"Uh..." Even though Steve has to fight through the sluggishness Eddie's goddamn voice put him in, he probably wouldn't be saying anything anyway. Now that they've brought it to his attention, it all does seem a bit cruel in hindsight. He would be left there for hours, barely able to squeeze in a few minutes of rest before he was caught. When he didn't clean his room on time, his parents would make him kneel in a pile of all the dust and trash, denting his skin for days. And maybe swimming training shouldn't involve holding himself underwater against the pool wall, hands scabbed by the rough tile and feet unable to kick without fear of hitting the sides.

Eddie sighs, barely contained anger in the curl of his lip. "Alright, folks, new petition." He leans into the counter outside Steve's hips, tilting forward to look into the living room over Steve's shoulder and god fucking dammit, DOWN Harrington! "Petition to get Steve some better fucking parents?"

Steve can't even come back to himself fast enough to ask what the fuck before he hears Dustin and El scream, "Dibs!!" simultaneously. Then they're getting into a louder than expected argument about who gets to have Steve as an adopted brother ("My mom's been going crazy for Steve, she'd kill to get him as her son!" "Steve is already like a brother to me and Jonathan!" "At least he'll be used to my long 'H' name!" "He can be proud to be a Hopper!")

Then Eddie's leaning away again and patting Steve on the knee before shuffling back over to the living room. Nancy nods approvingly as Eddie walks by, but she's looking at Steve's probably still flabbergasted expression while she does.

Steve's left on the counter alone in the kitchen; the sharp smell of hydrogen peroxide around him, with hands bandaged way more carefully than was really necessary, and his signature on an imaginary petition.

[xxbottlecapx]

@psychotic-nonsense *crying* I LOVE YOU

[duns-writes]

...Please may I write Jonathan's reaction to this?

[duns-writes]

CW discussion of child abuse

"...and then he said the punishment was 'classic'. Classic!"

"He said it like it was normal. I do not like Steve's Papa."

Jonathan is sitting on the least saggy end of the couch, listening to Will and El talking over one another about what they'd heard at Eddie's place.

He can feel his shoulders and neck bunching up, the urge to run, hide, protect rising up his throat 'til he's tensing his legs, ready to leap-

"Jonathan?"

He jumps. He can't help it. Shit, I'm supposed to cover that, everything's supposed to be okay-

"Jonathan!"

He slams back into his body to be met with Will's worried face about three inches from his own.

"Sorry. Sorry, Will. I'm okay, I just spaced out there for a second."

Will's expression turns skeptical.

"You were staring straight ahead, breathing really fast."

El chimes in (helpfully), "It looked like you were going to run."

He flicks his eyes to the left. Mom is standing in the doorway, dishcloth in hand, pale but determined.

"I-"

"-let's talk about this another time, huh? It's late, and you two have chores to do tomorrow."

"But mom-"

Gently but firmly, she says, "Not right now, sweetie. I don't think Jonathan wants to talk about this tonight, okay?"

Will and El look at each other, a mixture of disgruntlement and uncertainty warring on their features.

"I'm okay, I promise. It just...brought me up short. It's okay."

Will turns away, still not entirely satisfied but at least not looking actively worried. Better than nothing.

Mom sets the dishcloth down, and comes to sit next to him.

"Mom, I-"

"You're not okay, sweetie. You don't have to be okay any more, you know?"

Intellectually, he does. They'd had a long talk, post-Battle, about what he'd been keeping inside and how to help him live like a real kid, so he knows he doesn't have to keep up the facade now. But his body hasn't gotten the message yet, still tensing and protecting, locking away.

He takes a breath.

"I know that in my head, just...not in here yet," he says, indicating his chest.

Her face falls a little, and she pulls him into a deep hug. He lets himself go, tucking his head under her chin and feeling her warmth leaching into his bones.

She says it into his hair, but he still hears it too loud.

"I know Lonnie used to punish you like that, when I wasn't around. I tried to stop him, tried telling your teachers, the sherriff, anyone I could find, but he used to tell them I was just being hysterical."

He blinks up at her, momentarily astounded.

"You tried to get them to stop him?"

"Of course I did," she murmurs sadly. "Not enough, or not strongly enough. I'm sorry I didn't protect you honey."

"You couldn't," bursts out of him in a passion. "He told them all lies, and then they were stupid or selfish enough to believe them because it was easier than fucking doing something about it. It was easier for them to believe we-I deserved it."

The tears are falling before he can stop them.

"I didn't deserve it, though, mom. Did I?"

Her voice is just as tremulous as his when she answers, but with a steel edge behind.

"No. You never deserved anything of what he gave you. Not the evil words, or the doubt, or the fucking rabbit, or the punishments. Even if you'd been the naughtiest kid in Hawkins, you still wouldn't have deserved anything like that."

He opens his mouth, and the word comes out as a voiceless croak, so he tries again.

"I-He-"

She waits for him.

"He used to. Um."

But she's his mom. She can only wait for so long. He loves and cringes at her curiosity in equal measure sometimes.

"He used to what, sweetie?"

"It wasn't just kneeling in the corner, or standing outside when it was cold or dark...he used to, um, hit me sometimes. When you had to work."

She stiffens above him, face blanching.

"He what?"

"A backhand, mostly. Or he'd make me go out and cut a switch from the willow out back."

"How many times did this happen?"

"I, uh, don't remember."

"You don't remember, or you lost count?"

His silence is confirmation enough.

Her face is thunder when he meets her gaze.

She hasn't been this angry since the Lab. Oh shit.

"That bastard. That rat-faced, soulless, drunk-ass bastard."

He snorts as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

"What, you like rat-faced?"

"Heh, yeah."

They laugh and cry for a few seconds, and she squeezes him tight. It feels good.

Then she turns her head and softly calls, "Jim?"

His stomach drops. He'd forgotten Jim was home.

What are they going to do? What if Lonnie comes back angry and goes for Will? What if-

"Hey, breathe slowly for me sweetie. It's okay. I'm just asking Jim what we can do now."

He turns toward the back of the sofa, and Jim is standing in the doorway from the den looking soft and rumpled, newspaper in hand.

"Whaddya need?" is what he says.

"Turns out Lonnie was worse than we thought."

Don't make me say it again. Please don't make me say it again.

"This come from what the kids heard at Munson's?"

He nods miserably.

Jim's face softens impossibly further.

"I'm guessing there was more to it than kneeling on concrete, huh kid?"

He averts his eyes and nods.

"Then the choice is yours, since you're an adult. Statute of limitations for child abuse is 10 years in the state of Indiana, so for anything that happened after you turned 12 you could press charges. Or you could apply to have him under a Civil Protection Order to stop him coming within a certain distance of you and the rest of the family. Or," and this time his smile turns feral, "you could say that you'd like him to get an informal warning."

Jonathan raises his eyebrow.

"What would the, uh, informal warning involve?"

"Me, Wayne, Joe Sprauve, Jimmy Yelland and a certain Nancy Wheeler go 'round there and remind him of the consequences of ever touching any of you again. With prejudice."

Wait, what?

"You mean, threaten him?"

He waves his hand.

"No violence, don't worry. More of a gentle reminder that we all have gun licenses and three of us are owed a favour by the United States Department of Energy."

"Huh."

Another thought occurs to him.

"Wait. Wayne? As in Mr Munson?"

"Yeah. Back when Eddie first came to him, it was because he had to get away from his dad. Wayne's got strong opinions on how not to treat a kid."

That makes...a lot of sense, given what he's learned about Eddie since. Huh.

"Can we, uh. Table that gentle reminder in case we need it?"

He looks up with a little smile at the corner of his mouth.

Jim and his mom both see it, and smile wider.

"You bet."

[duns-writes]

@psychotic-nonsense Eee I'm so glad you liked it :D

Because I love Wayne to bits, here's a very short postscript.

My headcanon, stolen from other, better writers, is that he's originally from Appalachia. I also headcanon that he and Jim and some of the other guys in Hawkins would have been in the Army in Vietnam with at least some crossover, given that working-class young men and young men of colour were more likely to be conscripted in the early years of the war, before the draft lottery became a thing in 1969.

Because of this, I also headcanon that Wayne and Jim served together for at least part of their time in 'Nam, as would Benny, and Joe Sprauve (Jeff-From-The-Hellfire-Club's dad). Lonnie Byers skipped the draft because he was a wily so-and-so (not for any good political reasons); Ted Wheeler was declared not fit to serve in the early years of the war through something like flat feet; and Charles Sinclair is a good 7-10 years younger than Jim and Wayne, so he would have been too young to be drafted, and in pharmacy school by '69 when the lottery came into force.

(This also explains why they occasionally play mildly illegal poker together...)

I think too much about this stuff.

CW: oblique discussion of mildly threatening a guy who deserves it (Lonnie Byers is a ****)

__________

The newly installed 'phone rings just as he gets in the door.

Sighing, he throws himself back into the chair and picks it up.

Not even enough time to get his damn workboots off. Don't nobody in this town have the patience to wait until after 6.30pm? Think they had ants in their britches-

"This is Wayne Munson speaking."

"Wayne, it's Jim Hopper."

He smiles a little, despite himself. Good to have him back.

"Jim, what can I do yer for?"

"Did Eddie fill you in on the Harrington conversation yet?"

He's pretty sure Jim can hear the way his face darkens through the receiver.

"He sure did. Lord knows if looks could kill Bobby Harrington'd be dead on the shore of whatever Cape Cod house he's at."

Jim snorts softly on the other end.

"Pretty sure he'd die if he heard us call 'im Bobby, too."

A humourless chuckle works its way up his throat.

"Good."

"The kids mentioned it here, too. Some recon came up after they'd gone to bed. From Jonathan."

Aw, shit. The last kid in the world to deserve Lonnie Byers for a father.

"His old man even more of an excuse for a parent than we thought?"

A heavy sigh.

"Yeup. Between you and me and Joy, Lonnie whupped him. Kid doesn't even remember how often."

"Jesus H..."

"So we were thinkin' that if he ever wanted it, we could give ol' Laurence a visit. Just to set some rules in place."

Huh. Right on.

"Sounds sensible to me. Would that be you 'n me and young Ms Wheeler? Hear she's a very handy shot."

"She is that. Us, Joe Sprauve, and Jimmy."

The bassist's dad. Good guy. Ex-Ranger too.

"Nice picks. Y'ever need me, call. Best do it in the evenin' though, I'm on the day shift now."

He swears there's an apology in Jim's tone when he says, "You got it, Win. Beers are on me next time."

[depsidase]

[flower-crowns-and-combat-boots]

Every time you have GenAI make you an anime waifu with three titties and a dumptruck ass a family doesn't get to have a drink or bathe.

Every time you ask Copilot to write you a PowerShell script to stroke your boss' ego, a city experiences a brownout.

Every time you chat with your AI "girlfriend" a farmer doesn't get to water their animals.

Using these tools actively hurts you and your community, while at the same time enriching some shitheel who would happily step on your neck to make an additional dollar. Don't use them. Actively remove them from devices you own. Disable them whenever possible. Go out of your way to avoid them. It's honestly not hard. You've been using the internet just fine without GenAI hallucinating at you.

[xxbottlecapx]

Tw abuse and torture

A lot of steddie writers when writing about Steve's parents usually make them emotionally abusive and not physically abusive or they make them hit him only where it can't be seen, which sometimes doesnt work considering he was on the swim team, and I feel like yall are completely ignoring a much easier solution: stress positions

Imagine the party somehow finding out that that's how Steve was punished as a kid, like he brings it up nonchalantly

[psychotic-nonsense]

Ooooh, I've been looking for something new to write about... Warning for description of injuries, just in case

---------

"You really gotta be more careful, Harrington, Jesus..."

"He wouldn't have had to be if he listened to himself for once-"

"Thought the joke was that I was the mom of the group, Max?"

"Nah, petition to elect someone else?"

Half the living room raises their hands, which Steve responds to with an annoyed groan and rolled eyes. It turns his body a little too far, and he winces at the hydrogen peroxide against his palm.

"Told you, you need to be more careful," Eddie chastises softly, waiting for Steve to settle again before returning to his hands.

The Party had come back to the old Munson trailer - as broken and disheveled as it is - to get the last of their surviving things. Thanks to the amazing government that's been breathing down their necks these past 3 months, they've hardly been able to help Wayne clear through the mess the Upside Down left. The kids have been tackling Eddie's room, while the others were sifting through the kitchen and living room. So long in the Summer sun left them exhausted, but by the end, all that was left was the pullout couch, which Wayne conceded to sell. Steve, Wayne, Jonathan, and Hopper took on the challenge of getting it out.

And for all of his talk and worry, Steve completely missed the last step of the trailer while getting the damn thing out. Wayne caught the couch on their end, while Steve's hands and knees caught him on the sharp gravel.

Now he's stuck sitting on the counter getting patched up by Eddie. At his insistence too, despite his lack of medical expertise. 'I've been sitting around all day because of these damn bites, this is at least something to do.'

And something for Steve's nerves to focus on. Seriously, how is he supposed to feel the sting of gravel embedded in his skin when Eddie's hands (though gloved, both thankfully and a little unfortunately) are carefully picking them out? How is he supposed to notice the blood dripping down his legs when Eddie's standing right between them all sweet and worried?

What a day for that crush to flair up, Jesus fuck-

"Max does have a point though. For someone so worried about falling down the stairs, you made a pretty good example of doing exactly that," Robin jokes from the other side of the living room. Seeing Steve with blood coming out of him still gets her a little queasy, so it's a relief to hear her joking again.

"Yeah yeah, I get it already," Steve complains over his shoulder. Eddie finishes cleaning and bandaging his hands, so he steps back to focus on his knees.

The first little stone Eddie picks out releases a sharp pinch down Steve's shin, which he flinches at. "Didn't think this would hurt this much, though."

Eddie snorts, looks up through his lashes at Steve. Down, brain, goddamm it. "What, you on your knees often, big boy?" he jokes through a cheeky little grin.

"More than you, that's for sure," Steve jokes back, with his own easy smile. Shoves at Eddie's shoulder, careful to do so with the back of his wrist so as not to jostle Eddie's work. "Seriously though, I got in trouble a lot as a kid. Figured all the punishments had toughened me up a little bit."

He says it lightly, genuinely. It's easy to, the things he went through growing up not even holding a matchstick to the Upside Down. Eddie, though, immediately glances up, eyes full of concern. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snaps.

Steve flinches a little at the pure anger in Eddie's tone. He really didn't think it was that serious. "Y-Yeah, you know. Get home late, kneel in the corner. Skip swimming practice, kneel in the corner. It's just that classic punishment parents have-"

"Wait wait wait, just. Pause," Nancy orders, walking around the counter into Steve's sight line. Standing right beside an Eddie who's still carefully working but is visibly fuming. "That's not something you can just call classic, Steve."

They both look enraged at hearing this, which just confuses the hell out of Steve. He knows it shows too, his face twisting up. "What? It's not like it's Upside Down shit, why are you making such a big deal out of it-"

"This isn't a comparable situation, Harrington, Christ alive," Hopper swears from the living room. Steve chances a look behind him as Eddie's hands move away, and the entire Party is staring him down like he's insane.

"Don't you remember when you tried to wheel me through your house and apologized for how bumpy it all was?" Max suddenly pipes up. "You told me it's been like that for years."

Eddie growls on a forced exhale, and Steve has to turn back around. Not only to see the pinched expression of rage on Eddie's face, but to hide his shiver and blush from the others. Down, I said. "Please tell me that's all they did," Eddie demands with a scowl, his hands still softly bandaging the last marks on Steve's kneecaps.

"Uh..." Even though Steve has to fight through the sluggishness Eddie's goddamn voice put him in, he probably wouldn't be saying anything anyway. Now that they've brought it to his attention, it all does seem a bit cruel in hindsight. He would be left there for hours, barely able to squeeze in a few minutes of rest before he was caught. When he didn't clean his room on time, his parents would make him kneel in a pile of all the dust and trash, denting his skin for days. And maybe swimming training shouldn't involve holding himself underwater against the pool wall, hands scabbed by the rough tile and feet unable to kick without fear of hitting the sides.

Eddie sighs, barely contained anger in the curl of his lip. "Alright, folks, new petition." He leans into the counter outside Steve's hips, tilting forward to look into the living room over Steve's shoulder and god fucking dammit, DOWN Harrington! "Petition to get Steve some better fucking parents?"

Steve can't even come back to himself fast enough to ask what the fuck before he hears Dustin and El scream, "Dibs!!" simultaneously. Then they're getting into a louder than expected argument about who gets to have Steve as an adopted brother ("My mom's been going crazy for Steve, she'd kill to get him as her son!" "Steve is already like a brother to me and Jonathan!" "At least he'll be used to my long 'H' name!" "He can be proud to be a Hopper!")

Then Eddie's leaning away again and patting Steve on the knee before shuffling back over to the living room. Nancy nods approvingly as Eddie walks by, but she's looking at Steve's probably still flabbergasted expression while she does.

Steve's left on the counter alone in the kitchen; the sharp smell of hydrogen peroxide around him, with hands bandaged way more carefully than was really necessary, and his signature on an imaginary petition.

[xxbottlecapx]

@psychotic-nonsense *crying* I LOVE YOU

[duns-writes]

...Please may I write Jonathan's reaction to this?

[duns-writes]

CW discussion of child abuse

"...and then he said the punishment was 'classic'. Classic!"

"He said it like it was normal. I do not like Steve's Papa."

Jonathan is sitting on the least saggy end of the couch, listening to Will and El talking over one another about what they'd heard at Eddie's place.

He can feel his shoulders and neck bunching up, the urge to run, hide, protect rising up his throat 'til he's tensing his legs, ready to leap-

"Jonathan?"

He jumps. He can't help it. Shit, I'm supposed to cover that, everything's supposed to be okay-

"Jonathan!"

He slams back into his body to be met with Will's worried face about three inches from his own.

"Sorry. Sorry, Will. I'm okay, I just spaced out there for a second."

Will's expression turns skeptical.

"You were staring straight ahead, breathing really fast."

El chimes in (helpfully), "It looked like you were going to run."

He flicks his eyes to the left. Mom is standing in the doorway, dishcloth in hand, pale but determined.

"I-"

"-let's talk about this another time, huh? It's late, and you two have chores to do tomorrow."

"But mom-"

Gently but firmly, she says, "Not right now, sweetie. I don't think Jonathan wants to talk about this tonight, okay?"

Will and El look at each other, a mixture of disgruntlement and uncertainty warring on their features.

"I'm okay, I promise. It just...brought me up short. It's okay."

Will turns away, still not entirely satisfied but at least not looking actively worried. Better than nothing.

Mom sets the dishcloth down, and comes to sit next to him.

"Mom, I-"

"You're not okay, sweetie. You don't have to be okay any more, you know?"

Intellectually, he does. They'd had a long talk, post-Battle, about what he'd been keeping inside and how to help him live like a real kid, so he knows he doesn't have to keep up the facade now. But his body hasn't gotten the message yet, still tensing and protecting, locking away.

He takes a breath.

"I know that in my head, just...not in here yet," he says, indicating his chest.

Her face falls a little, and she pulls him into a deep hug. He lets himself go, tucking his head under her chin and feeling her warmth leaching into his bones.

She says it into his hair, but he still hears it too loud.

"I know Lonnie used to punish you like that, when I wasn't around. I tried to stop him, tried telling your teachers, the sherriff, anyone I could find, but he used to tell them I was just being hysterical."

He blinks up at her, momentarily astounded.

"You tried to get them to stop him?"

"Of course I did," she murmurs sadly. "Not enough, or not strongly enough. I'm sorry I didn't protect you honey."

"You couldn't," bursts out of him in a passion. "He told them all lies, and then they were stupid or selfish enough to believe them because it was easier than fucking doing something about it. It was easier for them to believe we-I deserved it."

The tears are falling before he can stop them.

"I didn't deserve it, though, mom. Did I?"

Her voice is just as tremulous as his when she answers, but with a steel edge behind.

"No. You never deserved anything of what he gave you. Not the evil words, or the doubt, or the fucking rabbit, or the punishments. Even if you'd been the naughtiest kid in Hawkins, you still wouldn't have deserved anything like that."

He opens his mouth, and the word comes out as a voiceless croak, so he tries again.

"I-He-"

She waits for him.

"He used to. Um."

But she's his mom. She can only wait for so long. He loves and cringes at her curiosity in equal measure sometimes.

"He used to what, sweetie?"

"It wasn't just kneeling in the corner, or standing outside when it was cold or dark...he used to, um, hit me sometimes. When you had to work."

She stiffens above him, face blanching.

"He what?"

"A backhand, mostly. Or he'd make me go out and cut a switch from the willow out back."

"How many times did this happen?"

"I, uh, don't remember."

"You don't remember, or you lost count?"

His silence is confirmation enough.

Her face is thunder when he meets her gaze.

She hasn't been this angry since the Lab. Oh shit.

"That bastard. That rat-faced, soulless, drunk-ass bastard."

He snorts as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

"What, you like rat-faced?"

"Heh, yeah."

They laugh and cry for a few seconds, and she squeezes him tight. It feels good.

Then she turns her head and softly calls, "Jim?"

His stomach drops. He'd forgotten Jim was home.

What are they going to do? What if Lonnie comes back angry and goes for Will? What if-

"Hey, breathe slowly for me sweetie. It's okay. I'm just asking Jim what we can do now."

He turns toward the back of the sofa, and Jim is standing in the doorway from the den looking soft and rumpled, newspaper in hand.

"Whaddya need?" is what he says.

"Turns out Lonnie was worse than we thought."

Don't make me say it again. Please don't make me say it again.

"This come from what the kids heard at Munson's?"

He nods miserably.

Jim's face softens impossibly further.

"I'm guessing there was more to it than kneeling on concrete, huh kid?"

He averts his eyes and nods.

"Then the choice is yours, since you're an adult. Statute of limitations for child abuse is 10 years in the state of Indiana, so for anything that happened after you turned 12 you could press charges. Or you could apply to have him under a Civil Protection Order to stop him coming within a certain distance of you and the rest of the family. Or," and this time his smile turns feral, "you could say that you'd like him to get an informal warning."

Jonathan raises his eyebrow.

"What would the, uh, informal warning involve?"

"Me, Wayne, Joe Sprauve, Jimmy Yelland and a certain Nancy Wheeler go 'round there and remind him of the consequences of ever touching any of you again. With prejudice."

Wait, what?

"You mean, threaten him?"

He waves his hand.

"No violence, don't worry. More of a gentle reminder that we all have gun licenses and three of us are owed a favour by the United States Department of Energy."

"Huh."

Another thought occurs to him.

"Wait. Wayne? As in Mr Munson?"

"Yeah. Back when Eddie first came to him, it was because he had to get away from his dad. Wayne's got strong opinions on how not to treat a kid."

That makes...a lot of sense, given what he's learned about Eddie since. Huh.

"Can we, uh. Table that gentle reminder in case we need it?"

He looks up with a little smile at the corner of his mouth.

Jim and his mom both see it, and smile wider.

"You bet."

[thedemonofcat]

Sometimes, when he has a few extra coins, Jaskier enjoys buying outfits for Roach. Geralt finds it irritating. Still, Jaskier insists Roach looks rather dashing in her new hat.

[duns-writes]

"..."

"I think the colour suits her, don't you? A beautiful eau de nil, to contrast with her roan locks!"

"...Jaskier."

"Oh, don't you growl at me, grumpy witcher!"

Jaskier turns to Roach and says, in baby talk, "He's a grumpy widdle Witcher, yes he is!"

*Cue Geralt pinching the bridge of his nose*

"She's a horse. Horses don't wear clothing. Especially not hats. And look, it's obscuring her vision. *Under his breath* and I'm not widdle."

Sure enough, the beret's soft folds are falling across Roach's forehead, just enough to shade her eyes. Jaskier gently (and somewhat hesitantly) turns the hat so that the folds are over one ear.

Roach huffs and nickers good-naturedly (much is the wonder). When Geralt tries to take the hat off her, she nips at him.

When he tries again, she ends up on the roof of the old charcoal-maker's hut at the edge of the clearing.

"...Ha! Told you she'd like it!"

Roach's POV:

Hmm. This is a nice quiet forest, I like this one. No Scary Big Things. I like the Silly Head Thing the Loud Colourful One gave me too. It's nice and soft :)

Yes, Loud Colourful One, he is a grumpy widdle Dark Strong One. Also very silly. Also he really should tell you how much he likes you. Dark Strong One should always be nice to Loud Colourful One unless he is being stupid. That happens less often now that he's not a foal :)

Hmmph. Silly Head Thing is making my eyes shady. Oh, thank you Loud Colourful One, that is much better.

No! No taking Roach's Nice Soft Head Thing! Bad Dark Strong One! *Bite*

I know you think my eyes are pretty and you want to see them all the time but no taking!

*Poof*

*Smug whickering sounds*

I like being tall :) Especially Tall With Nice Soft Head Thing :D

[xxbottlecapx]

Tw abuse and torture

A lot of steddie writers when writing about Steve's parents usually make them emotionally abusive and not physically abusive or they make them hit him only where it can't be seen, which sometimes doesnt work considering he was on the swim team, and I feel like yall are completely ignoring a much easier solution: stress positions

Imagine the party somehow finding out that that's how Steve was punished as a kid, like he brings it up nonchalantly

[psychotic-nonsense]

Ooooh, I've been looking for something new to write about... Warning for description of injuries, just in case

---------

"You really gotta be more careful, Harrington, Jesus..."

"He wouldn't have had to be if he listened to himself for once-"

"Thought the joke was that I was the mom of the group, Max?"

"Nah, petition to elect someone else?"

Half the living room raises their hands, which Steve responds to with an annoyed groan and rolled eyes. It turns his body a little too far, and he winces at the hydrogen peroxide against his palm.

"Told you, you need to be more careful," Eddie chastises softly, waiting for Steve to settle again before returning to his hands.

The Party had come back to the old Munson trailer - as broken and disheveled as it is - to get the last of their surviving things. Thanks to the amazing government that's been breathing down their necks these past 3 months, they've hardly been able to help Wayne clear through the mess the Upside Down left. The kids have been tackling Eddie's room, while the others were sifting through the kitchen and living room. So long in the Summer sun left them exhausted, but by the end, all that was left was the pullout couch, which Wayne conceded to sell. Steve, Wayne, Jonathan, and Hopper took on the challenge of getting it out.

And for all of his talk and worry, Steve completely missed the last step of the trailer while getting the damn thing out. Wayne caught the couch on their end, while Steve's hands and knees caught him on the sharp gravel.

Now he's stuck sitting on the counter getting patched up by Eddie. At his insistence too, despite his lack of medical expertise. 'I've been sitting around all day because of these damn bites, this is at least something to do.'

And something for Steve's nerves to focus on. Seriously, how is he supposed to feel the sting of gravel embedded in his skin when Eddie's hands (though gloved, both thankfully and a little unfortunately) are carefully picking them out? How is he supposed to notice the blood dripping down his legs when Eddie's standing right between them all sweet and worried?

What a day for that crush to flair up, Jesus fuck-

"Max does have a point though. For someone so worried about falling down the stairs, you made a pretty good example of doing exactly that," Robin jokes from the other side of the living room. Seeing Steve with blood coming out of him still gets her a little queasy, so it's a relief to hear her joking again.

"Yeah yeah, I get it already," Steve complains over his shoulder. Eddie finishes cleaning and bandaging his hands, so he steps back to focus on his knees.

The first little stone Eddie picks out releases a sharp pinch down Steve's shin, which he flinches at. "Didn't think this would hurt this much, though."

Eddie snorts, looks up through his lashes at Steve. Down, brain, goddamm it. "What, you on your knees often, big boy?" he jokes through a cheeky little grin.

"More than you, that's for sure," Steve jokes back, with his own easy smile. Shoves at Eddie's shoulder, careful to do so with the back of his wrist so as not to jostle Eddie's work. "Seriously though, I got in trouble a lot as a kid. Figured all the punishments had toughened me up a little bit."

He says it lightly, genuinely. It's easy to, the things he went through growing up not even holding a matchstick to the Upside Down. Eddie, though, immediately glances up, eyes full of concern. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snaps.

Steve flinches a little at the pure anger in Eddie's tone. He really didn't think it was that serious. "Y-Yeah, you know. Get home late, kneel in the corner. Skip swimming practice, kneel in the corner. It's just that classic punishment parents have-"

"Wait wait wait, just. Pause," Nancy orders, walking around the counter into Steve's sight line. Standing right beside an Eddie who's still carefully working but is visibly fuming. "That's not something you can just call classic, Steve."

They both look enraged at hearing this, which just confuses the hell out of Steve. He knows it shows too, his face twisting up. "What? It's not like it's Upside Down shit, why are you making such a big deal out of it-"

"This isn't a comparable situation, Harrington, Christ alive," Hopper swears from the living room. Steve chances a look behind him as Eddie's hands move away, and the entire Party is staring him down like he's insane.

"Don't you remember when you tried to wheel me through your house and apologized for how bumpy it all was?" Max suddenly pipes up. "You told me it's been like that for years."

Eddie growls on a forced exhale, and Steve has to turn back around. Not only to see the pinched expression of rage on Eddie's face, but to hide his shiver and blush from the others. Down, I said. "Please tell me that's all they did," Eddie demands with a scowl, his hands still softly bandaging the last marks on Steve's kneecaps.

"Uh..." Even though Steve has to fight through the sluggishness Eddie's goddamn voice put him in, he probably wouldn't be saying anything anyway. Now that they've brought it to his attention, it all does seem a bit cruel in hindsight. He would be left there for hours, barely able to squeeze in a few minutes of rest before he was caught. When he didn't clean his room on time, his parents would make him kneel in a pile of all the dust and trash, denting his skin for days. And maybe swimming training shouldn't involve holding himself underwater against the pool wall, hands scabbed by the rough tile and feet unable to kick without fear of hitting the sides.

Eddie sighs, barely contained anger in the curl of his lip. "Alright, folks, new petition." He leans into the counter outside Steve's hips, tilting forward to look into the living room over Steve's shoulder and god fucking dammit, DOWN Harrington! "Petition to get Steve some better fucking parents?"

Steve can't even come back to himself fast enough to ask what the fuck before he hears Dustin and El scream, "Dibs!!" simultaneously. Then they're getting into a louder than expected argument about who gets to have Steve as an adopted brother ("My mom's been going crazy for Steve, she'd kill to get him as her son!" "Steve is already like a brother to me and Jonathan!" "At least he'll be used to my long 'H' name!" "He can be proud to be a Hopper!")

Then Eddie's leaning away again and patting Steve on the knee before shuffling back over to the living room. Nancy nods approvingly as Eddie walks by, but she's looking at Steve's probably still flabbergasted expression while she does.

Steve's left on the counter alone in the kitchen; the sharp smell of hydrogen peroxide around him, with hands bandaged way more carefully than was really necessary, and his signature on an imaginary petition.

[xxbottlecapx]

@psychotic-nonsense *crying* I LOVE YOU

[duns-writes]

...Please may I write Jonathan's reaction to this?

[gnarly-love]

Okay, guys… I’ve decided to make Fridays ‘Jancy Fic Friday’ here on my main blog… we used to talk a lot about Jancy fic on JC and I think it’s time to restart these discussions, prompts, fun, etc.

So moving forward, on Fridays, I will post prompts for other writers or talk about my fics or anything else I can think of related to Jancy fanfiction. Feel free to send me any fics questions or thoughts/ideas/requests… or post them below in the comments. I love talking about anything to do with Jancy fics so don’t be shy… talk to me! 😊

Today, I’ve included some prompts. The first is one I see as an AU… Jancy meeting in a bar… she’s a bartender, he’s a customer… let your imaginations go wild…

The second is one of my favorite Jancy TS lyrics… so many possibilities…

^The final one is tattoos I can see Jonathan/Jancy getting… I just love the idea of Jancy getting tattoos.

Readers: What Jancy fics do you want to see? Canon? AU? Future? Fluffy? Angst? s5? Childhood? 🤔

For writers: What’s your favorite to write? What are you currently working on?

My favorites to write are AUs and Future fics. All the ones I’m working on are AUs, istg… I can’t help it! 😂 Oh, and I love to write/read smut too… (hint, hint @throttlegainwell)

[duns-writes]

!!!!

Hokay, so. I have a future fic already posted in response to a post by @watchmenanon, about a fluffy end to the series for Jancy: https://www.tumblr.com/duns-writes/716113134706999296/watchmenanon-uhi-did-a-thing-untitled-jancy?source=share

My Jonathan whump-him-then-heal-him fic, Music and Laughter And We're Young And Alive, isn't specifically Jancy but they're endgame. There are more chapters coming!

Jancy are my OTP, and I see Jonathan as a parentified child and a really good representation of what it's like to be a sibling to someone who is disabled or has a long-term condition, and the very specific impacts (positive and negative) that can have on us.

[not-avril]

The trope I appreciate very much

[kashimalin-fanfiction]

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

Send in a number and a pairing!

Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.

A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.

French kisses where they trace every tooth with their tongues as though trying to memorize them.

Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.

A kiss that lasts so long, they are sharing each other’s breaths.

A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

Butterfly kisses against the other’s cheeks.

A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.

A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.

One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

Teasing kisses where one person blows air into the other’s mouth and runs away.

One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

A chaste kiss given to each other because they are in mixed company.

A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.

Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.

Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

Brushing a kiss along the shell of the other person’s ear.

Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force.

Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.

Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.

An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.

An awkward kiss given after a first date.

Starting with bunny kisses before moving on to soft kisses.

Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.

Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.

Kissing tears from the other’s face.

A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

Kisses shared under an umbrella.

Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.

A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Tentative kisses given in the dark.

Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

A lingering kiss before a long trip apart.

A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.

One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

Short and sweet kiss after meeting up for a date.

A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

[dunroamins]

41. Kisses under an umbrella.

Gods save me from entitled men.

Dragging her briefcase off her desk, she tore down the corridor to the other corner office. The rain was lashing down the picture windows, sky slate grey.

Slamming the case folder back down on Emhyr’s desk with a savage grin, she turned away before he could raise his head.

She was going to enjoy this long weekend.

No harebrained pissants, no dick-measuring contests. (None of Stregobor’s wittering about the finer points of tort…)

Just her, a very good bottle of red, and maybe a trip to Tom Ford on the Sunday morning for a private fitting.

As she leaned in the doorway to tuck her papers away a flicker of movement caught her eye.

Maybe not too private, then.

Meeting his gaze, Calanthe couldn’t help but smile as Eist’s face lit up under the wide black brim of his umbrella.

She raised her eyebrow fondly at his ensemble; a well-loved mac, white shirt collar unbuttoned and bright blue tie skew-whiff under a black waistcoat, his slim-fitting suit trousers rumpled over his polished brogues.

“How did you guess when I’d be finished?”

He ducked his head sheepishly, eyes crinkling (damn him).

“I didn’t. I’ve been waiting for…quite a while.” He waved a tablet in a waterproof case, blueprints for his latest project just visible.

Shaking her head fondly, she stood from her leaning post in the doorway and joined him under the umbrella.

“I thought maybe we could spend a little time together tonight. I could cook, maybe give you that hand massage you like? That way, you’ve the rest of the weekend to yourself, unless you want a willing idiot to drag around Belgravia on Sunday morning…”

She smirked and whacked him on the shoulder, and he leaned down and held her in one arm, with a gentle kiss.

[duns-writes]

Finally found this thing I wrote, woohoo!

[thedemonofcat]

It’s come to Jaskier's delight to learn that Witcher, just like cats will obey the rule of

If it fits, I sit

[duns-writes]

@thedemonofcat...I had to write just a little, teensy, itty-bitty fic for this I'm sorry

---------

He's shaking off the alcohol when it happens, so he puts the first time down to a rather befuddled state of mind.

He's wandering the library, flicking through the tomes and gently cradling their flaking leather bindings to look for their subjects, when a flash of red blurs past the corner of his eye.

He'd left the crate Vesemir had brought down from the rafters open, in case he didn't get through the books before sundown. As he glances over enquiringly, there's a muffled 'come on you fucking-ah, there we go!' He peers over the top, and is met with a very smug-looking Lambert.

"Lambert, what-oi!"

The said Witcher has just swiped at him with what he can only describe as a hiss.

"Fuck off, bard. 's mine now!"

He shakes his head, still not quite sure if he's imagined it, and turns back to his cataloguing.

The next few days are uneventful, until the large trunk of books Yen had asked to borrow from Triss arrives. They decide it can stay in the hall for a little while, as the preparations for Midaete have taken precedence. Of an evening, Jaskier has taken the volumes out to peruse (knowing a number of languages being quite helpful for once), and turns back to put them in-

And Eskel is sitting, in what looks like a very uncomfortable braided-bread position, in the bloody trunk. His knees are up towards his shoulders, but he's smiling, Gods be good. Lambert stomps past with an armful of willow branches and nods approvingly.

"Told you you could still do it."

Eskel grins, and seems to relax into his strange little hiding place.

Just after Midaete, he decides it must just be a Witcher thing when Coën curls up to sleep in the new cauldron Ciri has conjured under Yennefer's tutelage. His soft breathing and gentle, slack expression makes them the princess giggle kindly until they shush her and sneak out for a snack.

And then, for Kreve's sake, it happens.

He flops down on the bed, shucking off his waistcoat and reaching up for the laces on his chemise when he sees it.

The tall, deep, double-breadth inlaid cabinet he keeps his manuscripts in has a gently placed, carefully stacked pile of parchment next to it. The cabinet itself has been set on its back.

And there are a few long, white hanks of hair tumbling over the side.

He freezes for a second, quite unsure of how to deal with this one. Then he recovers himself and slowly peeks inside.

He meets eyes with a slightly embarrassed-looking Geralt.

"Enjoying yourself?" Jaskier says with a gentle (alright, a teasing) smile.

Geralt just hums his "Yes, now be quiet, Jask," hmm, and flicks his eyes to his right.

And in a flash, the bard understands.

He folds his long legs underneath himself and wriggles down into the space beside him.

Turns out they fit perfectly.

[leslie057]

when jonathan and nancy start whispering for no apparent reason. like if u agree

[duns-writes]

"Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know..."

They're sitting on a bench, watching the lake in the gathering dusk. There's a cricket chirping somewhere in the distance, and Jonathan has carefully draped his jacket 'round her shoulders.

Tomorrow, they'll go long-distance again. This time, though, it will be their choice: he'll drive her to Emerson, then carry on all the way to RIT in New York. Their boxes are packed, and she's mollified her parents by promising them that, yes, she'll call when she gets there, and yes, she'll call once a week, and yes, mom, her dorm is all-girls. (He's mollified his guilt at leaving by making Will promise him that he'll call once a week ("Every two." "Every week." "Fine! You are such an old maid."))

So tonight, they're kissing, and sitting beside each other, and chatting in gentle murmurs, and their voices suddenly change to whispers.

"Can you hear something?"

"I can hear you thinking," she snarks.

He snorts. "Ha ha, Nora Ephron. I think I heard twigs cracking."

Of course they go and investigate.

They find Will and Mike, sitting under a tree, holding each other close as her brother kisses his on the temple, completely oblivious.

They make a swift, slightly grossed out older-sibling-exit, but Jonathan is smiling proudly. She gets an idea.

"Do you know what this means? We'll be each other's in-laws."

She grins as his nose wrinkles. "Ew. Thank you for that mental image."

He's quiet for a moment, but as they reach his car he looks up into the night sky.

He turns to her, seeming lighter somehow.

"You know what? I think every two weeks might be fine."

[babbhad]

Just so we're all on the same page with the writer's strike.

If during the strike, it's announced about AI generated shows. We are not watching them. Not even out of curiosity. Let them fail every AI generated show they try make.

The human voice can not be replaced by AI. Don't let them try.

[gun-to-ya-head]