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rudolph

“This is a bit dramatic.”

A pouty groan, and he flails himself over her lap.  Throws a dismissive wave in the air.

“You don’t need to go to work.”

She rubs her eye with the heel of her hand.  “Yes, I do.”

“No,” he whines, muffled and thick from the sleep he’s bickering with.  Tugs plaintively at the hem of her shirt.  “You can’t.  You’re sick.”

He mocks a cough into her arm.  She snorts.

“No,” she croons, head thudding to the pillows.  “I’m healthy and poor.  You have to let me up.”

As if in consideration, he releases an extended hum.  Deliberates, fair man that he is.

Then shakes his head.  Rests his cheek against her hip, and settles back into dreaming.

(She shouldn’t look down at him now – it’ll only tempt her – but she does.  She’s helpless to it; keeping his little finger warm, as always.)

She’s by and large a strong will, but with him, like this, she’s buttermilk soft.  He’s such a sleepyhead in the mornings, eyes all puffy and cheeks flushed with warmth from wherever he’s stowed his face against her that night.  Voice always scratchy from the light snore he prints against her skin; a little smile, too, fresh on waking.  Like he hasn’t remembered a single bad thing exists.  Like he’s defaulted to a factory setting of peace.

He’s falling back asleep, damn him.

“Honey,” she’s gentle, always gentle when waking him.  “I have to go.”

His breath catches in his throat; “Hm-mm.  Nah, you can’t, the car’s…”

Voice trailing off, now – and she nudges him with her hip.

“Hm?”  He remembers himself; snuggles her closer.  “Bar- the car’s… broken down.”  

Her head slumps to her shoulder.  “Is it?”

He nods, lying.  Little whistling nose, strumming her heartstrings.

Sensing she’s not convinced, he mouths at her skin as he adds, “Road’s closed, too.”

“Oh, yeah?  Which one?”

He shrugs limply.  “All of ‘em.”

A fleeting glimpse of self-control keeps her from chuckling, from further enabling this behavior.  It’s not enough to stop her from playing with his hair, though.

“Then I’ll… have to walk,” she decides, and sighs.  Lets her eyes fall shut, for a risky little moment.

“Can’t.  I gave away all our shoes.”

Brow furrowing, she doesn’t pry her eyes open just yet.  “Why’d you go and do that?”

“Fr’ the children, Joyce,” he murmurs, nose catching a deep breath against her stomach.  “The needy children.”

So charitable of him.  She feels him melting into her hand, head turned heavy wherever her nails go stroking.

“Then I guess I’ll just…”  She yawns, nose scrunching.  “Just have to go barefoot.”

“No way,” he refuses softly, hand smoothing down to nestle between her waist and the sheets – gripping with a hint of possession.  “Think of all the… broken glass.”

“Oh, not the oceans of broken glass.”

“And it’s freezing out there.”  He’s exaggerating – it’s barely chilly – but even in his hypothetical world, he sounds concerned.  His ankle hooks around hers, catching her leg beneath the sheets.  “Rudolph.”

Her brow arches.  She squints her eyes open, down at his dozing head.  “What?”

A little noise tickles his throat, like a whimper.  (Only when he’s this sleepy.)

“Yr’ little, you’ll…”

Up in the air, now, his sleepy hand travels aimlessly in her direction.  Finds her face, clumsily – and taps a single fingertip to her cold nose.

“Rudolph; you’ll get… Rudolph nose.”

Her heart skips a bit at that; sighs heavy in her throat.  She catches his hand in hers, deposits a kiss on it; rests her face there, against his palm.  Counts to his pulse, the only sound in the whole wide world.

He makes this all so much more bearable.  Nothing compares.

“How about a compromise?”  Her voice rasps soft, as he’s tarrying around consciousness now.  He doesn’t even move.

“I’m listening.”

She bites her lip as she thinks, though the decision’s already made.  Presses a kiss over his wrist.

“I’ll be ten minutes late,” she whispers – and there’s his pleased hum, rumbling against her defenses.  “I’ll tell ‘em the roads were bad.  And the car broke down.”

“And the broken glass.”

“And the glass,” she assures with a smile, and drags his hand up to the pillow.  “And the Rudolph.”

He barely ventures a grunted response, content to have won his war and easing back to a tentative rest – face-down against her stomach, heavy as heaven and softer than anything.  Little whistling breaths, playing with her overworked heart.

And settling her cheek in his hand, she takes a heavy breath, sighs along his forearm.  She lets the warmth of him drag her out of the cold and into the thick muggy world of dreaming, and she thinks?

She thinks, in that deranged hallway between sleeping and waking, which has made him so silly and sweet and persuasive to her – she thinks she could have this argument every day, for the rest of her life.

#jopper #joyce x hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things #stranger things fic #writing #fanfic #fluff #this has just been #a week from hell #and i'm doing so badly right now and i don't know how to talk about it with much of anyone #but i can sit down and write them and it feels a little better #ty for reading #hope yall like it

[godshivered-archive]

birds used to fly

“I was supposed to be a dancer.”

He huffs a laugh somewhere behind you. You take a long drag, twitter it out.

“Was it the culture?”

Liquid splashes to the ground; your eyes roll up, up into the clouds…

“Poor posture.”

You glance over your shoulder, not to peep — just to listen out for him. Staring blurry at the bark behind your head.

“But I’m still here, riding bear-back through… where the hell are we?”

And so he appears, trudging up behind you with his fly still down. Squints up somewhere distant, looking thoughtful — as thoughtful as he can manage, that is.

“The uh…” He scratches his neck. “The Roman-Catholic Rainforest.”

Your eyes widen. “The Roman-Catholic Rainf…”

He’s snickering as he collects his things. You puff like a chimney.

“Shut up. We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“We’re exploring.”

“We’re lost — I’m lost in an ambiguous rainforest.” Throwing your head back, you release a trail of smoke up into a web of branches. “I could’ve contributed to society.”

“Really?”

“No, but…”

You eye him as he stands up, steady focus in his demeanor. There’s never a doubt in that minimalist mind of his. You forgot your mission ages ago, somewhere back in Buttfuck Badlands — but he’s always got it right at the forefront, prioritized just between eating lunch and taking a piss.

(He’s cut from that hero cloth. Always has been.)

“Say there’s better,” you ask halfheartedly, gesturing, “out there, for me. Tell me to… buzz off, birdbrain.”

He gives a simple shrug, unzips his backpack. “Buzz off, birdbrain.”

You lock eyes at that, a meaningful stare that means nothing at all. Flick your cigarette to the ground, and he stamps it out for you.

“Maybe later,” you mutter, and step into the pack. You zip yourself tighter this time. “Walk straighter; you’re making me sick.”

He pulls you over his shoulders, jostling you for good measure. You don’t have to check for that lopsided grin.

“Y’know, back in ancient times,” he mutters, shielding his eyes from the sun, “birds used to fly.”

For that, you administer a harsh peck to the back of his head — he swats you off him.

“Mind your own fly, asshole.” He heeds your warning; you twist around, for privacy. “Pissing in the forest. What are you, an animal?”

#am i completely taking the piss with this? probably. but nonetheless #banjo kazooie #banjo tooie #fanfic #humor #probably #platonic banjo kazooie friendship #don’t get it twisted #i was watching someone play banjo tooie on youtube and this idea popped into my head and #banjo taking a piss while kazooie takes a smoke break and waxes poetic about her former life as a dancer was just too bizarre to not write

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Fic prompt

Hopper wants to know what changed Joyce's mind about him. And she's confused. Nothing changed her mind. She was given a second chance. She's wanted Hop for a long time, but look what happened to Bob. Her fear of losing Hop was too much, he was safer without her. But then the worst DID happen, and she DID lose him, but she STILL loved him. So when she found out he was alive, she wasn't going to let another chance slip by her.

ok you’re so right for this and i actually have — and i won’t spoil it too much bc i’m really excited to finish and post it — a bit of a joyce backstory fic that shows us more about why she shied away from hopper in s3. because you’re right, she’s always loved him and nothing really changed. and i don’t buy david’s whole “hopper needed to go through the russia plot to become the man joyce needed.” not fully. i think he was already right for her, but they both had to mature enough to confront it and be vulnerable enough to risk heartbreak again. and losing each other was a great kick in the ass!

(but for joyce, there’s a specific pattern of hers that i want to explore. more on that soon)

#ask #headcanon #prompt

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I’m a huge fan of your writing— the way you write Joyce and Hopper is so breathtaking…. The little ways in which you truly capture them brings me to tears. Looking forward to all your future works!

Could you please do a fic set on the first leg of Joyce’s journey to Russia— her flight to Alaska where she confesses to Murray a little bit about how hard the last 8 months have been for her…. and maybe she even admits to Murray how he was right about them regarding the sexual tension, how maybe she regrets that she didn’t listen to her heart sooner and she has deep remorse that she never told Hop that she loved him.

Murray perhaps gets in an “I told you so” and while Joyce is rambling on all vulnerable and honest, he falls asleep mid-monologue.

Or something like that.

you are SO sweet and thank you for reading my stuff 😭 sorry for taking ages to respond to this, i’m the worst

i’ve got an idea that i could work this into — i’m working on a fic during their trip to hawkins, and i think it might be neat to try this from hopper’s pov 👀 like maybe he and murray wind up alone, and he asks murray how joyce has been doing. (murray’s probably a bit more honest about joyce’s grieving than she would be.) then murray of course has to lighten the mood:

“was it worth the wait?”

“what?”

“the frantic motel sex.” hopper shoves murray’s hand off his shoulder. “what? we all heard it!”

#ask #jopper #headcanon #prompt

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Jumping off the anon who was requesting a fic - I have this little comedy headcanon moment in my head but I am no writer. Murray, Dmitri, Joyce and Hopper get back to the states and check into a motel. Hopper and Joyce go to shower while Murray and Dmitri go to get supplies. They come back and give Hopper a pile of clothes, a bag of some take away food and a brown paper bag with some toiletries (supposedly toothbrushes and paste) but when Hopper opens it to hand Joyce a toothbrush he sees they've also brought them a box of condoms. Hopper sneaks one into his pocket. Later, he fishes it out to put it on and Joyce is bewildered - "Where the hell did that come from?" Hopper shrugs "Murray."

omg djdbdj ok first of all, sorry for not answering this sooner — life got crazy and then i got covid so now i’m finally catching up on messages.

second, this is so something murray would do 😭 i’m working on some little short drabbles to put together for the 2-day trip to hawkins and you’ve got me wanting to incorporate murray into more of it 👀

(PS. your username is such a blast from the past bc i think i followed your blog back in high school! i was wayyyy into ctm & shelagh/patrick and you were one of my favs! small world 💛)

#ask #headcanon #prompt

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Mercy

He picked up a bit of Russian in prison.

“Пожалуйста-”

But he doesn’t like to talk about it.

He’s not a total bear about it; he shares when she breaks down and asks. She just doesn’t like to put him in that position — to shine a light on him and ask what’s crawling under his skin. It’s better volunteered, she thinks, like “please” and “thank you.” It’s meaningless if you have to ask for it.

“Пожалуйста, я отец, пожалуйста-“

She just wonders if it would help, with the nightmares. To talk about it.

“-your eyes, honey, it’s over- Hopper-“

(Maybe she’s just impatient with the recovery process...)

“-hey, it’s me, hey,” she croons with a tremble in her throat; strokes some tender touch along his shoulder, but he shrinks away, shaking like a leaf. Her voice breaks; “Honey, open your eyes…”

(…but this thing that didn’t kill him is starting to kill her.)

He does, eventually, come to — breaks the fever of dreaming and collapses in her chest, wakes up enough to stop the ache but not enough to be embarrassed about it. He drifts back to sleep with a heavy snore tucked between her breasts, and she stays awake, replaying it. The whimpering, the pleading voice she’s never heard before. The words she can’t understand.

She shouldn’t do it.

She’s decided against it, too, until the night where he tries to scratch his own face off — gasps a muted chorus, “Take it off, I can’t breathe-“

Holding his hands tight to her chest so he can’t hurt himself — watching him throw his head against the pillow — trying to wake him with only her voice, trying not to alarm the kids downstairs, trying not to release his hands-

“-please, пожалуйста, пожалуйста, я отец-“

She shouldn’t do it, but she does. She skips her next lunch break and drives to Murray’s. Shuts off the radio, rides in silence, and plays it over in her head so she won’t forget.

“Пожалуйста.” He blanches when she says it. “What’s that mean?”

Her pronunciation is piss-poor, but she can tell he understands. He just doesn’t like why she’s asking.

He presses a hand to his forehead. “It means… ‘please, have mercy.’ That sort of thing.”

Joyce bites her cheek, hard. Tears press in.

“‘Я отец.’” She stares at the floor, wipes preemptively at her eye. “What about that?”

A deep sigh, hesitant. He doesn’t want to answer. She thinks if she looks up at him, he’ll decide against it. So she holds her breath, bites down harder.

“It means, ‘I’m a father.’”

Blood in her mouth. Big, blurry world; big, blurry Murray, wobbling toward her.

(This thing is killing her.)

#jopper #joyce x hopper #stranger things #joyce byers #jim hopper #st4 spoilers #stranger things fic #fanfic #writing #angst #hurt/comfort #pls excuse my 10 minute google work on that russian ok

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finally posted a bit of the song i wrote for jopper! hope you like it! 💕

#jopper #joyce x hopper #stranger things #st4 #st4 vol2

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Can you write a fic about the day(s) after the last jopper prison scene and when they get home? For some reason I picture them spending the night in Russia, in a room together. Taking turns showering, or Joyce sneaking in while he's showering, washing the wounds on his back.

Also at some point I can see Hop wondering when Joyce's feelings towards him changed, and she tells him every time she's thought about being with him over the years.

I cant write to save my life but I need someone to write these and you are by far the best jopper author! 😅

first of all, you’re the sweetest and this message made my whole day 😭 thank you!!

second, i do have some ideas planned, some missing moments that i’ll either put on ao3 or here! i’m also already writing a long oneshot that’s a bit more nsfw, so hopefully i’ll get that finished first 👀 i can’t wait to share what i’ve got in the works!

(ALSO: if anyone has any little headcanons or ideas they’d like to suggest, my inbox is open!)

#seriously the sweetest #ty again #anon ask #jopper

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“I was gonna say,” he continues, and his gaze flicks down to where he plays with her hand, “you were too pretty to be in church, that’s all.”

Then he looks up at her again, with this… look, what is this look? Why does he want her right now? She couldn’t be more of a mess – they’re both exhausted, and gross, and this is not romantic. This is two people who can barely breathe. This is the end of the rope.

“Way,” he huffs through a little sigh, and draws her hand to his lips, “way too pretty for Jesus.”

(Why does she want him right now?)

(Post-vol1, Joyce and Hopper lie in wait at the church.)

snuggle fic where joyce tells hopper about his funeral 💕

#jopper #joyce x hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things #st4 spoilers #stranger things fic #writing #fluff

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There’s no room for panic when she’s holding him like this – cradling his head in her hands, anchoring him to earth where she’s wrapped a leg around his waist. When she holds him by the chin and drifts up to the corner of his mouth, tucks away a few ticklish kisses until he’s made to smile. When she takes a little bite of him, something possessive and intimate – and he feels beloved, and coveted, and like a secret she’s keeping to herself. It’s criminal, he thinks, to be so near to perfection. It’s some divine stroke of genius. God got lovesick and wine-drunk and made her.

(Joyce and Hopper share a motel bed and try not to fall asleep.)

#jopper #stranger things #joyce x hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things fic #fanfic #fluff #angst #writing #st4 spoilers

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“Hey, kid,” he’d asked quietly, right in front of her.  “When you’re having those… visions…” His eyes roll back into his head, familiar only because it’s been explained to her before. “...what’s it like?”

(Upon returning to Hawkins, Jim starts to hear the clock.)

tagline: protective!joyce goes toe-to-toe with vecna when he tries flying off with her new boyfriend

#jopper #joyce x hopper #stranger things #st4 spoilers #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things fic #fanfic #writing #angst #hints of fluff #fluff extract if you will

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fear the slight dissonance of being half asleep or drunk or in grief

where you say things you mean too much and don’t listen to them come out of your mouth

and you’re not quite yourself

(but who else could you be?)

tossing out truth like parade candy

“i’m falling out of love with you”

“i’m drinking off the feelings”

“i’m so afraid to die”

sweet, humiliating truth

knocking over

everything.

#poetry #late night ideas #cant sleep until i write these things down sometimes

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The tension kept him from sleeping last night, and she can see that becoming a problem. Head to toe, he’s wired shut, all the time; and if she presses her lips to one shoulder, it relaxes, only for the other shoulder to arch up to his ear. His jaw is locked, except when he’s kissing her – she massages just below his ears, tries to remind him to relax. He just huffs a laugh: “I don’t think I remember how.” Neither of them find it funny, but they both give a sad laugh anyway.

(Joyce takes the aisle seat and tries to make him feel safe.)

a hurt/comfort/fluffy moment on the plane ride home from russia ❤️‍🩹

#jopper #stranger things #st4 spoilers #joyce x hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #fanfic #writing #hurt/comfort #fluff #stranger things fic

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unwell

“kiss me.”

“you’re trying to distract me.”

his eyes do this new thing, this only-since-russia thing, gone round and alert but also tired and needy and dazed. he shakes his head, gently.

he needs her, when he gets like this. when he’s not doing well. when he thinks it’s all a dream.

so she takes his chin in her hand, strokes a thumb over his jaw. and she kisses him in a way she can only hope translates the soft, tender, and desperate affection she feels for him.

from the little sigh in his throat, and the way he half-collapses against her… she’s optimistic that it did come across.

#jopper #stranger things fic #stranger things #st4 spoilers #barely #writing #fanfic #fluff #short

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working on a fluff fic but work’s been beating my ass so in the meantime here’s…

my jopper playlist 💕

#jopper #joyce x hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things #playlist #Spotify

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ghosts of almosts

can i do it? if i scream enough love into the void, can i summon your spirit and ask you to stop haunting me? or convince you to rise from the grave and haunt my bedsheets instead? drape them overhead like the ghost you are and sprint through my mansion like a lawless child? the house rules are to love me back and to never touch the front door. never touch the front door, and i’ll let you live in my hands again. i’ll tell you bedtime stories and reminisce of when you breathed into my mouth. i’ll remind you what warmth is. i’ll pinch you until you can imagine pain again. i’ll be your mirror if you’ll look into me, your coatrack if you’ll hang onto me, your fireplace if you’ll make me burn again. i want to burn for you, and maybe you’ll smell the smoke. maybe it’ll remind you what we were like on fire. we thought that ache would last forever, remember? ad infinitum. ad infinitum. ad infinitum.

#writing #angst #grieving #poetry #fanfic

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It takes a crowbar to pry her out of a nightmare these days, but he’s putting in the time, night after night.

(Joyce's latest string of nightmares are pretty centric on the fact that she thought she killed him.)

i wrote this over the course of 4 late nights, post-working in decontam, so my brain was incredibly fried.  make of that what you will

#jopper #joyce x hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things #stranger things fic #writing #fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst