#but. alas. i am but a single me. and i have little interest in mastering light and shadow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hippiegoth97 · 11 months

Text

Diary of A Hawkins Hussy: A Stranger Things x Reader Anthology

Banner by me :)

Master List

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, alcohol use, groping, fingering, oral sex, age gap, grinding, mutual masturbation, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, grief/trauma, crying, LGBTQ+ references

Word Count: 13.6k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Diary Entry #2: Joyce Byers

October 31st, 1983

Dear diary,

Tonight is Halloween. I was stuck working in the store all by myself, while all the children of Hawkins ran wild around town asking every shop owner for candy. I'd been looking forward to going to Haley Durkis' party, a little booze and meaningless sex would've really hit the spot. But alas, Mr. Harris had other plans for me. It wasn't all bad, though. I got to play spooky music in the shop, and see all the adorable costumes while handing out treats. Ghosts, witches, little supermen and wonder women, the kids really had some great choices this year.

The highlight of the evening, though, was when Joyce Byers came by with her son Will. He was dressed up as a wizard, with a cloak and pointy hat and everything. I've seen them around a lot, Will and his friends love to come in the shop and browse around. They'repolite, and sweet, and try their best to buy something, even if they don't have much money. Joyce works across the street at Melvald's, so I see her quite a lot as well. She's such a beautiful woman, I've always admired her. Raising two sons all on her own, while single-handedly keeping Melvald's from falling to pieces. She is a force to be reckoned with, despite her welcoming nature.

Me and Joyce talk pretty often, I go over there to get a new romance novel every once in a while, as well as necessities I need at home. She asks me lots of questions, mainly about my adjustment to life after high school. And she seems to genuinely care about what I have to say. I can talk to her about anything, and she's never judgemental. Not only that, she gives the best hugs when I really need them. Her grip is firm, and nurturing. I can't help but melt into her when she holds me like that, while catching a whiff of her cigarettes and fruity shampoo.

So many times, I've wanted to pull back a little within her embrace and kiss her. But Ican't exactly do that. Not out in the open in a town like Hawkins. Plus, I'm not even sure she'd be okay with it. There's no real way to tell if she's interested in women, or me, without putting myself out on a limb. One can dream, I suppose. Who knows, maybe an opportunity will come up for me to ask her about it. Even if she isn't interested, I have a feeling she wouldn't be weird about it. She'd probably let me down easy, while also saying she's very flattered.

November 2nd, 1983

Dear diary,

I talked to Joycetoday. She came around the shop on her lunch break to browse, she's very partial to Barbara Streisand. She told me that Will is having trouble at school, and that him and his friends are being picked on a lot. Poor kids, they're far too sweet and sensitive for their own good. It's like bullies have some weird radar that points out optimal targets. I was never very popular in school myself. I mean, I did alright, and had a couple of friends. But most of the time, I was on my own. Shit, kids are fuckin' mean, and that's an understatement. But those boys have each other, and I can tell their bond is strong enough to withstand anything.

In other news, I've finally got my own car. When I moved out, Mom wouldn't let me drive hers around anymore. But luckily my apartment is downtown anyway, a couple blocks from work. I saved up whatI could and got a little junker from Carl's Used Car Lot. She's nothing special, and a bit rusty. But she gets me where I need to go, and Idon't have much need for anything else. It's a little sad to not need rides from Joyce anymore, but Ican't rely on her to cart me around everywhere. I am an independent woman, after all.

November 6th, 1983

Dear diary,

Something strange happened tonight. I had just locked up at Waxed Out for the night, and I drove home to my apartment. The streets were quiet, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I got home, put a TV dinner into the microwave, and changed into my pajamas to relax. But before my meal could be fully cooked, the lights started flickering, and there was a low humming sound in the entire place. I thought it was really weird, so I peeked out of the curtains at my window. Every house, building, street lamp, and car was blinking on and off, just like everything in my apartment. This went on for a good thirty seconds, before the power went out entirely.

The police have been patrolling around all night since the incident, reassuring everyone that the issue will be investigated and resolved through the speakers on their cruisers. I still don't have power, and had to resort to crackers for dinner. I don't want to let all the cold out of the fridge, and that TV dinner was still frozen solid. I'mwriting this now using an old flashlight I found in my closet. It's not working so well, the beam is very dim, and keeps threatening to go out altogether. But I definitely don't have any spare batteries for it. All I can do is wait for daylight to come, and hope that the power will be restored.

November 7th, 1983

Dear diary,

Will Byers has gone missing. I know, those words don't seem right, do they? People don't go missing in shitty little towns like Hawkins. There's no kidnappings, no murders, no robberies at gunpoint, no rape. Not here. Not until now, I suppose. Joyce has been a mess today, running all over town to ask anyone if they've seen him. She filed a report with Chief Hopper this morning, and then came right over to talk to me...

"Morning, Joyce! How are you?" You greet her as she walks into the shop, assuming this is another typical interaction between the two of you. But you notice her rapid pace, and the worried look on her beautiful face. Something is very wrong.

"I'm a bit worried, if I'm honest. I don't know where Will is. He wasn't at home this morning, and Mike's parents say he didn't spend the night after their game." Joyce says, her voice trembling. "Have you seen him at all?" She asks desperately, hoping just one person can tell her where her little boy is.

"I'm sorry, Joyce. I haven't. But I'll keep an eye out, alright? I'm sure he'll turn up soon, he's not the kind of kid to get himself into trouble." You do your best to reassure her, placing your hand over hers on the countertop. "And if you need anything, you know where I am. Okay?"

"Of course. Thank you, Y/N." She nods, gazing down at your hand touching hers for a moment. It's like her mind goes somewhere else, if only for a second. She snaps out of it, and looks up to give you a forced smile. "I should get going, I've got a lot of people to talk to today. And please, call me if you find out anything." She pleads, held-back tears staining her words.

"I will, Joyce. Good luck." You reply, and she heads out the door without another word. She steps outside, turning around frantically to figure out where to go next. She eventually turns left, towards the hardware store. "Poor woman." You say aloud, though no one is around to hear it. You hope Will is found, he's such a sweet boy. You can't possibly think of how he'd end up missing, or who would potentially hurt him. It doesn't make sense, bad things don't happen here. They aren't supposed to.

...I spent the rest of my shift thinking about Joyce. How scared she looked, how her voice was shaking. Shit, I just hope Will is alright. Maybe he skipped school with his friends, or just got a little lost in the woods. But neither of those things sound like him at all. He's not the type to ditch, or not know his way around. Will and his little group of friends are very smart, and extremely well-behaved. Ugh, none of it makes a lick of sense, diary. If something did happen to him, it would certainly be a town first. Look, I'm not saying any child should be a victim, but of all the children in this town, why him? Will is so sweet, and kind, the one least deserving of such an awful fate.

When it was time to close up shop, Ididn't spend a second longer on the street than I needed to. I gathered my things, locked the door the fastest I ever have in my entire life, and practically ran the couple of blocks home. My damn car got fried last night, so I had to hoof it. I almost dropped my keys trying to get into my apartment once I finally got there.. I know my fear was probably highly irrational. But for the first time in my life, Ididn't feel safe in my own neighborhood.

I felt this sinking sensation of dread in my stomach as I trudged through the night. Every little sound spooked me, and I was on high alert to make sure no one was following me. The darkness was suddenly full of things waiting to jump out at me, any dim street lamp offering slim slivers of refuge in between the thick blankets of pitch black. I can't explain it, but once nightfall hit, Hawkins became threatening to my senses. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's been troubled with these unfamiliar emotions. Fear, paranoia, primal survival instincts kicking in for the very first time in every last citizen of this shithole town.

To my knowledge, there's still no sign of Will. There's a search party combing the woods tonight, but Ican't bring myself to join them. I'm far too afraid. If someone took that child, they could very well be out there. Either hiding, or joining the search to cover their ass. But beyond that, I'm afraid of finding sweet little Will out there. I don't want to think it, I really don't. But what if they find his body out there? Mangled by an animal, or some maniac? Or drowned in the quarry, floating on the surface like a piece of driftwood?

I can barely stomach it, much less my dinner. Thankfully, the power has been restored at least. Although, the oncoming storm tonight could easily knock it out again. If these lights go out on me, I just know I'll scream. I can't be here all alone in the dark, with a storm roaring just outside the window. Not when someone could be out there, in the darkness, hunting for their next victim. Shit, maybe Iwatch too many movies.

November 8th, 1983

Dear diary,

Last night is a total blur. I was force feeding myself some crackers again, trying my hardest not to think of murderers and corpses in the middle of the night. I couldn't sleep, much as I tried, I'd even started drinking. I had some silly rented video on, something light to keep me sane. The rain was pouring down onto all of Hawkins, with clashing thunder and lightning whirling around in the air. I'd curled myself up in a blanket on the couch, hoping the soft fabric would protect me from anything lurking out there.

Color me surprised when I heard frantic knocking on my door. I practically jumped off the couch in fright, holding back a scream to spare the neighbors who were no doubt struggling to sleep themselves. I reluctantly got off the couch, blanket still bundled around me. I crept over to the door, looking through thepeephole. And who did I see standing outside my door in the pouring rain? Joyce Byers, soaked to the bone and shivering...

"Joyce?" You murmur to yourself in confusion. What is she doing here so late? You quickly open the door to let her inside. "Joyce, what are you doing here? Did something happen? Did you find Will?" You ask as she shuffles into your home. You close the door and lock it tight. She takes off her thick leather coat, draping it over your armchair. She crosses her arms over herself, trying to warm up.

"No, they haven't found him yet. But, I—" She starts to speak, fumbling her words. She gestures helplessly, trying to find her train of thought. But it doesn't come, and she bursts into tears.

"Hey, hey. Come here, sit down." You go to her, leading her to the couch as she cries. She's shaking like a leaf, and cold to the touch. "Shit, you must be freezing. I'll make you some tea, okay? And then you can tell me what happened." You say kindly, and she nods. You take your blanket off yourself, and put it around her shoulders. She holds it tight to her body, looking into the distance without really acknowledging you. You go to your little kitchen, and fill up your kettle with water at the sink. You put it on the stove, and take out two mugs and some chamomile tea. You open up the bags, placing one in each cup. You also put in some honey, and a splash of whiskey. You could certainly use it, and it appears Joyce could, too. Once the water is ready, you fill up the mugs and give them a good stir. You bring them both over very carefully, setting them on the table. "Here we go. They'll have to steep a minute."

"Thank you." She says meekly, tears rolling down her wet cheeks.

"Do you want to borrow some clothes? I can toss yours in the dryer for a bit." You offer, but she shakes her head.

"No, I'll be alright. I won't be here long. I just— needed to get out of that house. I walked right out the front door, and ended up here." Joyce sounds so afraid, far more so than she was this morning. It seems like there's something more that's happened since she last spoke to you.

"I can understand that. Sitting by the phone and waiting for the cops to call can't be very fun." You reply, and your words only upset her more. She starts crying again, quickly becoming hysterical. "Oh, my god. Joyce, I'm sorry." You move to sit with her on your sofa as opposed to the armchair. You'd wanted to give her space, but you're not sure that's what she needs now. You put an arm around her, watching helplessly as her head goes into her hands. "Can you tell me what happened?" You ask, though you don't want to push.

"You'll think I'm crazy." She whimpers, the words muffled against her palms as she shakes her head.

"Joyce, you're not crazy. You are one of the sanest people I know. You can tell me, whatever it is." You reassure her to the best of your ability.

She sighs, removing her hands after running them over her face to wipe the tears away. She turns her head to look at you, such a beautifully pained expression splayed across her features. "You promise you won't tell me I'm nuts?" She asks, letting out a small laugh. Not at the words, but at the idea of trying to convince another person that what she experienced tonight wasn't all in her head.

"I promise." You nod seriously. She takes a moment to gather herself, reaching for her tea that appears to be steeped enough now. She doesn't drink from it yet, but holds it in her icy hands to warm them up.

"Okay. I was at home with Jonathan tonight. We were waiting for Hop to call with any updates, and the phone rang." She starts, bringing the mug to her lips now. She takes a big sip, almost spitting it out at the discovery of the booze in it. "Jesus, is there whiskey in this!?" She forces herself to swallow as to not make a mess on your carpet.

"Yeah, I figured you could use it." You explain, and she nods. Joyce takes another large drink, and continues.

"You're damn right about that. Anyway, the phone rings, and I pick it up. I couldn't make out much, but I could hear—" She pauses again, her breath catching as another wave of tears threatens to spill out.

"Joyce, it's alright. Take your time." You say softly, rubbing her shoulders to comfort her. She hums quietly at your touch, her stomach fluttering at the feeling. She doesn't know why, but your warm hands touching her cold body is making her feel...really good right now. It must just be the alcohol, and the much-needed comfort of a friend. That's all. Isn't it?

"I know, I'm sorry. I just feel like I'm going insane!" She lets out another shaky laugh, and polishes off her tea in one final gulp. She sets the mug on the table, and finishes her story. "I could hear breathing...Will's breathing." Joyce says, looking into your eyes again. "And I could hear this weird noise, like something else, or someone else, was there with him. I kept calling out to him, trying to get an answer. But then, I don't know...lightning struck the house or something, because the phone shocked me and got completely fried." She gives you a look, like she's waiting for you to tell her she's a nutcase and throw her back out into the rain.

"I...don't really know what to say..." You speak apprehensively, absorbing her words for a moment.

"I know, it's crazy. I-I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry for keeping you up so late." She tries to stand up and leave, but you put your hands on her shoulders to stop her. Her eyes snap to yours, wondering what you're up to.

"Look, Joyce. I'm so sorry that Will is missing, and that it seems like someone has taken him. I don't have an explanation for you...but, I don't think you're crazy. Okay? Not one bit." You give her a warm smile, and she slowly returns it. She leans into you for a hug, her head resting on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around her sopping body, trying your best to warm her up. She's still so cold, and shivering violently. You hope she won't get sick, and you wish she'd let you lend her some clothes.

"Thank you, Y/N." She says quietly, the words sounding like music to your ears. You selfishly find yourself thinking about kissing her again. You know it's wrong to be focusing on your attraction to her, when what she needs right now is your support. As her friend. But you can't help it. She's here, in your apartment, her body pressed firmly against yours after she's been standing in the rain. It all feels oddly romantic. You don't expect anything to happen, she's too concerned about her son to think about you in that way right now.

"Should I make more tea? Or do you just want the whiskey?" You ask.

"Just the whiskey, please." Joyce answers, still clinging to you. The moisture in her clothes is transferring through yours, making your nipples show through your t-shirt. She slowly pulls away, eyes flicking down to your chest in reflex. She doesn't mean to look, but she could feel them hardening against her from the cold. You follow her gaze, realizing that it looks like you've just competed in a particularly misogynistic contest. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get you all wet. I'm probably ruining your couch, too." She says apologetically, not fully realizing how potentially dirty her words sound to you.

"No, no! It's fine!" You reply, a little too loud. A harsh blush creeps up your cheeks, and you snatch her mug off the table to get her a refill. "Let me get you that drink." You say awkwardly. You're thankful that the placement of the kitchen puts your back to her for a moment, giving you a break from meeting her eyes. Your shaky hand reaches for the bottle of Jack on the counter, and you struggle to open it up and pour it nicely into her cup. You spill some on the counter in your tremors. "Shit." You mutter, going for the dish towel to wipe up the mess.

"I'm sorry if I'm making you nervous, Y/N." Joyce says quietly, having got off the couch to assist you. She puts her hand over yours, helping you dry up the spilled alcohol. You can feel her shoulder brush against your back through the motion, which makes your breath hitch.

"It's fine. Really." You reply unconvincingly.

"I do that a lot, don't I?" She asks knowingly, causing you to gasp.

"Yeah." Is all you can manage to say in response. You turn around to look at her, finding a calm smile on her face. It's odd, really. She was so upset a minute ago, and now she's...flirting?

"Come on, sweetie. Let's sit and talk." Joyce says, grabbing her mug, and the bottle. You follow her wordlessly to the couch, sitting right next to her again. You're stiff as a board at this point. You never expected her to know that you like her in this way, let alone acknowledge it. "Relax, Y/N. It's okay." She says sweetly, which is still freaking you out.

"Joyce, we really don't have to talk about this right now. Your son is missing, and I don't want to take away from that." You try to shut this down. As much as you want to tell her how you feel, and possibly have her reciprocate, the timing isn't right.

"Y/N, please. I know this sounds weird and everything, but I need a distraction. We can talk about something else if you really want to. But, I'm going to lose my mind if I don't take a second to stop fixating on Will." She explains, sounding a bit frustrated. She's highly conflicted about the situation you seem to have found yourselves in. She feels like a bad Mom for wanting to not think about her missing baby boy for even a single moment. But what else can she do? The phone at home is fucked, Hopper is doing all he can, and Jonathan is holding down the fort for the time being. Stewing all night isn't going to help anyone, as awful as the alternative sounds.

"No, I— I get it. We can talk. What do you want to know?" You reply, fully understanding where she's coming from. If you were in her shoes, you'd probably do the same thing.

"Well, I already know you've got a crush on me." Joyce says with a laugh. You don't say anything, freezing up again. She gives you a look, and sighs before taking another sip of whiskey. You've totally forgotten about your tea, quickly picking up your mug to catch up to her. You've already had a couple tonight, but it wouldn't hurt to have a little more. "Y/N, there's nothing to be so afraid of. It's really flattering, actually."

"I'm glad you think so, but...I doubt you feel the same." You say sheepishly, refusing to look at her. This is all too crazy. You're thinking and feeling so many things at once, you're bound to short-circuit any second now.

"I wouldn't say that." Joyce replies softly, placing a hand on your trembling knee. Your eyes go straight to it, but you shake your head in denial.

"This is insane." You breathe.

"Why? You're very pretty, Y/N." She smiles, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Against your own interest, you try to convince her —and yourself— that this can't seriously be happening. "Joyce, please. You're killing me here. You're just tipsy, and upset about Will, and—" She interrupts you by lifting your chin up with her other hand. Her eyes meet yours, and she leans in the press a feather-light kiss to your lips. Before you can think to say anything else, or stop yourself, you grab both sides of her face to hold her closer to you. Your mouth moves with hers, earning another one of those light hums from her at your warmth. You both sit in this moment for what feels like hours, gently turning your heads and moving your lips together.

"You're a really good kisser, Y/N." Joyce says when she pulls away slightly. You keep hold of one another, catching your breath as you take in the gravity of what you've just done. "Have you ever been with a woman before?" She asks, very curious about your prior experience.

"Yes. Well, girls my age back in school." You answer, and she nods at this piece of information. "Have you?" You ask the question back at her.

"No. I never thought I could. Until now." She almost whispers the words, surprised at herself for uttering them at all.

"We don't have to do this if it's too weird." You say, giving her a way out. She can let this all go, blame it on the stress and alcohol and be on her way. You'll never speak of it again, and try not to let things be excruciatingly awkward between the two of you.

"It's not weird. It's...nice." She gives you a reassuring smile, wanting to kiss you again. "Please, Y/N. Let me forget for a little while." She pleads, a light whine lacing her tone.

"Okay." You say softly, pressing your lips to hers again. You take the lead this time, slowly helping her lie down on the couch. Her head meets the armrest, and you kneel above her as you continue to kiss. She makes the sweetest noises against you, which rapidly spreads arousal between your legs. "Can I touch you?" You ask.

"Yes." She answers breathlessly, and you immediately reach for the buttons of her Melvald's uniform. You pop them open one at a time, until the dark blue fabric falls open to reveal her bra. It's lacey and white, the typical mom bra. But it looks gorgeous against her alabaster skin.

"You're beautiful, Joyce." You compliment her, moving your head down to kiss her neck. She moans quietly, like she's trying to keep the noise down. "I wanna hear you, baby. Don't hide your noises from me." You speak lowly against her throat, before sucking on her flesh.

"This feels really good, Y/N." Joyce murmurs, her hands going to your hair to tangle inside it. Your own reach for her chest now, cupping her breasts. They're round, and firm, and you're so happy to finally be touching them. The amount of times you've thought about this is far too many to count.

"Sit up a little." You instruct, backing away slightly to let her up. She does as you ask, and you straddle her lap. You rid her of her soaked shirt, and latch onto her neck again as you reach around to unclasp her bra. The straps fall down her shoulders, and it joins her top shortly after. You back up to look at her chest, licking your lips at the sight. "Damn." You mutter, leading her to lie down once more. You waste no time in planting hot kisses on her chest, leaving a trail of saliva on your journey to her left nipple.

"Y/N." Joyce moans once your lips close around her sensitive bud. Her hips buck upward against yours, sending a flare of pleasure between your legs. She's already such a mess, and you've barely done anything to her yet.

"Are you enjoying yourself, baby?" You ask, licking purposeful circles around her nipple while looking up at her.

"Yes." She answers, making you smile. You move on to her other tit, wanting to give it equal attention. While you do that, your hand lowers downward to the button of her pants. "Wait." She blurts, and you stop. You cease your actions, checking with her to see what's wrong. "I just— I want to touch you, too. Please." Joyce says with intense need.

"Of course, anything you want." You smirk, sitting up. She watches you closely as you pull the hem of your shirt towards your head. You toss it to the floor, your tits bouncing at being released from their cloth prison. Her eyes boggle at your body, she's never seen such a beautiful young woman before.

"Wow, you're gorgeous." She says in disbelief, making you giggle. She brings her hands up, slowly moving them toward your bare chest. She pauses just before her skin meets yours, and she looks at you expectantly.

"Go ahead, Joyce." You give her an affirming nod, smiling wider at her polite apprehension. Joyce's ice-cold fingers meet your tits, making you gasp at the contrast in temperature. "Fuck." It feels so good, finally having the woman you've been pining after touch you in such intimate ways. She massages your chest, watching your expressions change as she caresses you. Joyce carefully rolls your nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, which makes you head fall back slightly. She's being so gentle with you, and it's better than you ever could have imagined.

"Is this good?" She asks, sounding very unsure of herself despite your sexy noises. All this excitement is making her very wet, while swarms of butterflies flap about inside her stomach. This is all so thrilling, and new. And she can't think of a better person to do this with.

"Yes, baby. You can use your mouth, too. If you want." You suggest with a cheeky grin.

"Okay." Joyce whispers, she leans in towards your chest, settling on sucking on your right breast. Her warm lips meet your pebbled flesh, and you're overcome with a wave of heat washing over you. You want her so badly, to fuck her and make her scream your name. But she's new to this, so you have to take your time.

"That's really good, baby. You can bite it a little, gently, of course." You offer, and she doesn't hesitate to try it. You gasp aloud at the sensation, putting your arms around her to keep her close. You let her continue to suck and nibble on your tits, rewarding her with praises and moans to help her feel confident in this.

"I want more, Y/N." Joyce murmurs, pulling her lips away from you now.

"Of course. Can you lay back down for me?" You ask sweetly, running your finger along her cheek. She does as you ask, and you scoot down her legs a little. You reach for the button of her pants again, flicking your eyes to hers to make sure she's alright.

"Go ahead. I want this." She insists. You slowly push the button open, and slide her zipper down its track. You keep your eyes on hers, watching her pupils widen as you slide a hand inside her jeans. You slip across her lower stomach, and underneath her panties. Your fingers brush against her clit, making her gasp. "Fuck." You keep going, still watching her for any objections. You slowly stroke her soaked pussy, teasing her bundle of nerves and entrance. "Y/N." Joyce moans, becoming more needy for you by the second. Everything you do feels so damn good, and you know exactly where and how to touch her.

"Does that feel good, Joyce? Do you want more?" You ask seductively, increasing your pace a little. She's so fucking wet, and it's all because of you.

"Yes, please." She begs. You slowly press one finger inside her cunt, making her eyes roll back into her head. "Oh, god..." Her hips buck again, making you chuckle darkly.

"More?" You ask again, wanting her to tell you exactly what she wants.

"More..." She nods frantically, her eyes fallen shut from the pleasure. You insert another finger, and start curling them inside her pussy nice and slow. "Fuck, Y/N. That feels so good." She groans. You love hearing her swear, she really doesn't do it all that often.

"You wanna touch me too, baby?" You question.

"God, yes." She instantly sits upright again, despite her pleasure rapidly building as you keep fingering her. Her hand frantically goes for the hem of your lounging shorts, and she slides right under the thin fabric to find that you're not wearing any underwear. Her hand stops in its tracks again, waiting for permission.

"It's okay, go ahead." You say softly, breathing heavily in anticipation. She nods in affirmation, and carefully drags her fingers along your slit. "Fuck—" You gasp, your breath catching in your throat. She takes this as a sign to journey further, mimicking your actions to bring her fingertips to your soaked hole. She keeps her eyes glued to yours, a sly smile forming on her face. Joyce pushes her middle finger inside your pussy, following your lead as she has done this whole time. You moan at her filling you up, begging with your eyes for another. She obliges, her ring finger joining the other. "Joyce..." You sigh blissfully, the both of you pausing a moment to catch your breath. You gaze at one another lustfully, waiting for the one of you to start moving again. You take the reins once more, pumping your fingers in and out of her cunt at a casual pace. Your knuckles curve just so to hit her g spot, drawing a muted whimper from her lips.

She mirrors you again, moving her digits inside you at the same speed and cadence. "Am I doing this right, Y/N?" She asks through a moan.

"Yeah, you're doing so good. Fuck, you're so wet, baby." You purr, speeding up just a little bit. Joyce does, too. She's a fast learner, that's for sure. You're still straddling her just above the knees, giving you both space to access one another. You're breathing heavily in each other's faces, a thick cloud of lust dizzying your heads as the air thins around you. You're sweating profusely, wound up to an unbearable degree as you finger each other. You can feel a large knot tying itself inside you, rapidly twisting and turning as Joyce fucks you with her hand. You start grinding your hips to meet the rhythm you've set, rolling against her fingers to build yourself up faster. Joyce follows your lead again, doing her best to keep up. She moans louder at the added stimulation, which makes you pump your fingers faster inside her.

"Fuck, Y/N...you're really good at this. I'm getting close." She whines, putting her free hand on your shoulder for leverage as she continues to grind on you.

"So am I, baby. You're doing so well, go a little faster for me." You command, grabbing hold of her as well. She increases her speed to match yours, and your head falls forward slightly at the feeling. Her long fingers hit your sweet-spot perfectly, and you can't wait to cum on her hand. "That's it— fuck, right there." You lift your head up to meet her eyes, and she takes this opportunity to kiss you again. Your motions become frantic and desperate, all teeth and tongues as you continue to touch each other. Your nails dig into one another's shoulders as you hang on for dear life, and your orgasms are waiting for you just over the horizon. "C'mon, ride my hand, just like that." You encourage her, knowing you're both so very close.

"I'm so close, Y/N...you feel so fucking good...I want you to make me cum." Joyce begs, still rolling her hips like her life depends on it.

"I know, baby...we're almost there. We can cum together, mm, I'm gonna make such a mess for you." You reply, just as fucked for her as she is for you. You continue to kiss, and expertly use your fingers, and roll your pelvises to your heart's content, doing everything in your power to bring each other down. You can feel her walls fluttering around your digits, and your own have begun to tremble as well. "That's it, cum with me, Joyce. Let it all go." You say as your own knot finally snaps. "Fuck!" You cry out, your insides clamping around her fingers. You keep up your movements through your high, waiting for her own to come to pass.

"Y/N, I'm gonna—" Joyce tries to speak, but she's cut off by an obscenely loud moan ripping itself from her lungs as you've brought her to climax. Her thighs shake violently, as do yours. You feel her juices spill into your palm, some of which runs down your wrist. You cum messily around her, soaking your shorts completely. You clumsily share another kiss, moaning and gasping as you force your mouths together. You ride out your highs, left sweating and panting as you eventually collapse against one another. Your hands go still inside each other's cunts, and your heads rest on one another's shoulders until you can catch your breath. "That was amazing." Joyce huffs, her entire being buzzing with satisfaction.

"It really was." You reply, pressing a tired kiss to her bare shoulder. You both sit in comfortable silence for a while, basking in your afterglow as the storm rages on outside.

"I should probably get going." She says abruptly, swallowing hard. She hates the idea of leaving you, you've made her feel so good, so seen. You're the one person who hasn't treated her like she's some whacko. But she's also quickly becoming overwhelmed with guilt. Having sex? While her son is missing? In what world does that make sense?

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty late." You respond, doing your best to hide your sadness. You don't want her to leave, there's so much more you want to do with her. But you understand, she has another kid to look after.

You reluctantly remove your fingers from her pussy, bringing them up to your lips while she watches on. You take the wrinkled phalanges into your mouth, sucking her arousal from them. She's musky and sweet, the taste drawing a moan from your lungs.

"Uh..." She contemplates copying you again, but she looks very unsure of the prospect.

"You don't have to do that if you're not comfortable with it, Joyce." You laugh, and she does too.

"Sorry, I just...I've never seen someone do that before." She blushes hard at this confession, which you find so goddamned adorable.

"It's okay." You say kindly, before looking down between your legs. Her hand is still inside your shorts, fingers sheathed in your pussy. "Um, Joyce? You mind?" You ask awkwardly, and she finally remembers that her hand is still touching you.

"Oh, right! Sorry!" She giggles nervously, taking her hand away from you now. You hold back a whine at the loss, getting off of Joyce to pick up her clothes for her, as well as your shirt. You slip it back over your head, and she takes her time to redress. When you're both fully clothed again, you sit beside one another on the couch to say goodbye. "I had a really nice time, Y/N. Thank you for being here for me tonight." Joyce says sweetly, cupping your cheek in admiration.

"I had a good time, too. And I'm always here if you want to do this again." You smile, hoping she'll take you up on that offer.

"I'd like that." She gives you a light nod, and leans in for another gentle kiss. You gladly meet her in the middle, making her melt against you for a moment. You continue to kiss for a solid couple of minutes, until she puts a hand on your chest to pull away. "I have to go, sweetie. But I won't forget this, and I'd like to do this with you again, once all the craziness is over." She talks like she knows you don't want her to go home. That you'd rather she stay here all night, kissing and touching until the sun comes up. And as much as she wants to do all of that, she has more important things to worry about right now. The distraction was definitely earned and well worth it, but the time for selfish wishes is over now.

"I understand, Joyce." You nod, the two of you standing together to walk her to the door. "I'm so glad I could be here for you tonight. Now, you go find your son, okay? And you know where I'll be when you're ready." You open the door, and she steps outside. "Goodnight, Joyce. Get some rest."

"I'll try my best. Goodnight, Y/N." She smiles again, making your heart soar. She's been amazing tonight, and you're hopeful for what the future may hold for the two of you.

...so, it's safe to say that last night was perfect. It's hard to believe that it wasn't all a dream, but I got up this morning to find the mugs we drank out of still sitting on the coffee table. God, she was amazing, diary. Her inexperience was so cute, but she caught on very quickly. I suppose it shouldn't be hard for a woman to know how exactly to please another one. That's not to say we're all the same, far from it. I just mean that, withsimilar parts and all, it's easier to figure it out.

I can't stop replaying how it all went in my mind. Her soft lips on mine, making me melt with every kiss. Her supple breasts in my hands, a thin layer of rainwater slicked over them, the cold making her nipples erect. The way her pussy felt under my hand, so slick, with a small amount of hair on the outer parts. Fuck, I bet she looks beautiful underneath those pants. I didn't get to see, thanks to our haste in the heat of the moment. But next time, I'll make damn sure to see her in all her glory.

And that's not even the half of it. Every little moan and gasp she let out, it's what I imagine an angel would sound like, if I was into that kind of thing. Our little session didn't last nearly as long as I'd hoped it would, but all the anticipation and rushed actions definitely heightened the experience. I've never had an orgasm so fast in my life, except maybe by myself. I just hope that all this stuff with Will can be resolved, I've got to have another taste of Joyce as soon as possible.

November 9th, 1983

Dear diary,

The police found Benny Hammond dead at his restaurant, with a gaping bullet wound in his head. They claim it's a suicide, but that doesn't seem right. It's extremely odd timing, given Will's disappearance. I heard some people talking about it when they came in the shop earlier, it appears the rumor mill is running wild with this one. They said they heard some of Benny's regulars claim there was a young kid at the restaurant the night Will went missing. And, ergo, that Benny did something to the boy. Out of guilt, he then shot himself, according to them.

But Idon't buy that bullshit at all. Benny was a nice guy, he always took care of us kids when we'd come around to eat and hang out. His burgers were the best in town, outselling the Burger King every single time. But I suppose that'sover now, Benny never trusted anyone else to make his food. He knew how to make it perfect, anyone else would've sullied the timeless quality he strived for.

This news has done nothing to calm everyone down. If anything, it's made things worse. Everyone is giving one another sidewaysglances, avoiding hanging around any one location for too long. It's like we've all collectively forgotten that we know one another, that we're classmates, neighbors, family, friends. Everyone is a suspect, and simultaneously suspects everybody else. It's an eerie feeling, and even more unsettling that this newfound attitude has taken hold so quickly.

November 10th, 1983

Dear diary,

I can't believe I'm writing these words down. I don't want them to be true, my hand almost refuses to put them to the page. But...they found Will. His body was discovered last night at the Sattler Quarry, floating in the water. I don't know what to say, it's honestly a big shock. I can't stop thinking of Joyce, and Jonathan. They must be completely devastated. My heart breaks for them, and for Will. I thought about calling Joyce, or going over there to give my condolences. But, Idon't know what I could possibly say that would be useful to her. Her son is dead, I'm sure no possible arrangement of words would make that fact any less horrible.

I wonder...does she at least have closure now? Has this dreadful discovery let her stop worrying about where he is, or who may have taken him? As terrible as it is, has her mind been able to just...stop? Can she stop toiling over the possibilities now? Can she work towards grieving and accepting this, and eventually move on? I'd like to think so. Otherwise, she might just snap.

November 11th, 1983

Dear diary,

Today was Will's funeral. I'm surprised the family got the arrangements in order so quickly. But, I suppose there's no use in keeping Will locked away in a freezer. I went, as did quite a few people. Friends and neighbors, some of Will's classmates and teachers. It was a bleak affair, and I noticed Joyce's ex, Lonnie, basically clinging to her side like a leech. She's told me all about him, and he sounds like a total shithead. I'm not surprised he's used his own son's death as a way to worm his way back into her life, though.

The whole thing with them was odd, like she didn't want to be around him, or even at the funeral at all. It's like she thought it was all a sick joke, a farce. I found that a bit strange, and it only got weirder when she managed to get away from Lonnie and talk to me alone at the reception afterwards...

"Hey, um...Y/N?" Joyce says as she comes up to you. You've been sitting at a table at Will's funeral reception by yourself, nursing a plate of cheese cubes and deli meat. You're really just picking at it, you're not feeling particularly hungry today. But you perk up a little when you hear Joyce's voice say your name.

You look up at her, finding that same nervous woman that showed up at your door the other night. She's dressed all in black, as is customary for this kind of thing. But, besides the awful reason why she's wearing her black dress, she looks absolutely beautiful in it. She's usually more of a jeans kind of woman, which you love. But you've honestly never seen her look better than she does right now. "Hi, Joyce. What's up?" You ask casually, feeling unsure of how mournful you should sound as you speak.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" She asks, shifting her eyes around to see if Lonnie is looking for her.

"Uh, yeah, sure. What about?" You ask, finding her urgency rather odd.

"Come with me." Joyce takes hold of your hand, pulling you out of your chair before you can protest. You try your best to keep up, struggling to not fall over in your heels. She drags you through the less populated areas of the house hosting this little event, and finds a spacious closet. She opens the door when no one is looking, and pulls you inside with her. It's pitch dark in here, and there's various coats and shoes stored on the rack and shelves behind you.

"Joyce, what's going on—" You try to ask, but she cuts you off by grabbing your face and kissing you. You grunt in surprise against her, before immediately melting a second later. You're surprised at her risking someone finding you both in here, but you suppose grief makes one do some really weird shit. She pulls away from you a moment later, the both of you left out of breath afterwards.

"Sorry, I've been wanting to do that from the second you showed up to the cemetery." Joyce says with a small smile, which you return.

"It's okay. I felt the same way." You cup her cheek, preparing to lean in and kiss her again. But her face falls when she remembers the real reason she brought you in here.

"Hold on, Y/N. That's not why I needed to talk to you." She stops you, taking hold of your hand.

"Oh, okay." You say sadly.

"I know, sweetie. I just— I need you to listen to me, okay?" She speaks seriously, drawing your eyes to hers.

"Okay." You nod, wondering what this is about.

"Good. Now, I know this is going to sound absolutely insane. But that body we just buried? It's not Will." Joyce says, watching your eyes blow out wide.

"Joyce, I—" You shake your head, unable to understand. She saw the body, and signed for it, and held a funeral for it. How can it not be Will? "I don't understand. How is it not your son?" You ask curiously.

"I just know, Y/N. I swear to you, that...thing is not my boy. You don't have to believe me, but a mother knows these things. Everyone is telling me I'm wrong about this, but I can feel it. I've seen him, I've talked to him!" She goes on, explaining her way of communicating with her son through Christmas lights, and seeing him in a hole in the wall, trapped with some monster. It all sounds fucking nutso. You have half a mind to shout for help during her explanation, it's honestly frightening you how sincerely she believes all of this. But nonetheless, you listen to her. Joyce Byers isn't one to lie, or give merit to make-believe stories.

"Joyce, you know I care about you. But this all sounds..." You trail off, failing to find the words. You don't want to call her crazy. She's been called that plenty, and clearly doesn't care. You don't want to hurt her feelings, but you're so very confused at this point.

"I'm fully aware of how this sounds, Y/N. But you have to believe me. Somebody's got to." She says emphatically, almost breaking down in tears.

"Okay..." You take a second to mull it over, though it's difficult to gather your thoughts. You eventually nod, deciding to at least humor her. "Alright, Joyce. If you say these things are true, then I believe you." You reply, doing your best to comfort her. You pull her in for a hug, which she gladly folds herself into.

"Thank you, Y/N." She says, muffled against your shoulder and neck. You stroke her hair as you hold her close, breathing in the lovely scent of her dark brown locks. Your eyes close for a moment, savoring her warmth. You're sure she has to get back soon, Lonnie is probably losing his mind looking for her right now. Joyce lifts her head up to look at you, finding your kind eyes waiting for her. She smiles, raising a hand to cup your face. "I keep remembering how pretty you are every time I look at you." She says sweetly, barely above a whisper.

"So do I." You reply, unable to stop glancing down at her lips. She leans in, and you follow. Your mouths meet once again, drawing muted sounds of satisfaction from you both. You keep things relatively tame, just heated kisses with a dash of tongue in the mix. But anything else is deemed inappropriate, given where you happen to be at the moment. "Mmm." You hum against Joyce, and you're left wishing to stay in this sliver of time for as long as possible. You know in your heart that this cannot be, that this will be over before you know it. Joyce has bigger things to worry about right now than making out with you in some random closet.

"Joyce?" You hear a male voice calling for her, Lonnie, you assume. She pulls away, wiping a single tear that's fallen from her eye.

"I have to go, Y/N. But I really don't want to." Joyce says, sniffing softly. You're like her little light in all this darkness. You make her feel happy, and safe, and warm. She wishes she could bring you further into all the chaos surrounding her. Perhaps your presence would help her figure all this shit out. But she knows she can't. It wouldn't be fair to you, or to her boys. They need her full attention, and she's completely obligated to them above all else.

"I don't want you to go either, Joyce. But I understand. Will needs you, and so does Jonathan. Like I've said before, I'll be waiting until you're ready." You say calmly. You're willing to wait as long as it takes to see her again. You know your patience will be worth it.

"Thank you, sweetie." She smiles, before reaching for the door to peek outside of it.

"Joyce, what the hell are you doin' in there?" Lonnie asks as he comes up to the closet. You think fast, hiding yourself against the other side of the door so he doesn't see you.

"I-I just..." Joyce struggles to think of any excuse. "I just needed a moment, away from everyone. It's been a long day." She says nervously, hoping he buys it.

"Alright. Let's get ya home then. You need to rest." Lonnie says with a sigh, rolling his eyes a bit at Joyce hiding away from everyone.

"Okay." Joyce slips out of the closet, closing it behind her to leave you in the darkness. You give it a few minutes before you take a look to see if anyone's around. Finding no one, you slink out, and get your coat and purse to go home. You've had enough of this saddening day, and Joyce's strange confession to you didn't make it any more palatable.

November 13th, 1983

Dear diary,

Well, it turns out Joyce was right all along. Will was found barely alive in a cabin in the woods, of all places. The body they initially found was some other kid, rapidly decomposed from being in the water for a couple of days. His parents made an appearance on the news once they were notified. It's so strange, how could the cops have been so wrong? And why was some other random kid wandering around in a place where he isn't even from? The family lives two towns over, that's miles and miles away. But I suppose, the truth is always stranger than fiction.

Speaking of fiction, Joyce called me from the hospital and assured me that everything she told me about the lights and the monster in the wall was all in her head. It's so odd, she was adamant about all of that shit being true just two days ago. And now she's chalking it up to grief and stress? I'm not so sure I buy that. But what else can I really think about it? Will is safe and sound, and the dead boy was properly identified. Case closed, I guess. I don't know, I suppose I'm just glad everything seems to have gone back to normal. People can stop worrying about going missing, and focus on the upcoming holiday season instead.

I'm certainly looking forward to turning my attention towards more happy things. Joyce, for example. Especially after how well my trip to the hospital went...

"Knock knock. I hear someone's back from the dead." You joke as you step into the doorway of Will's hospital room. You find his frail little body laying in a bed, hooked up to a few different machines. But he smiles at you all the same, as does Joyce when she sees you.

"Y/N!" Will exclaims, perking up at your presence. You go over to his bed, sitting beside him.

"I've brought you a little gift." You say, holding out a small rectangular package wrapped in red paper.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that, Y/N." Joyce says modestly.

"Of course I did! I've missed this little guy these last few days. He's my favorite customer." You turn your head to speak to her, and her smile grows wider.

"What is it?" Will asks, eager to open his new present.

"Well, you'll just have to use all your strength to tear open the paper and find out!" You chuckle, handing him the gift. He quickly rips it open, revealing the Combat Rock album by The Clash. He turns the tape over to look at the track list, his eyes lighting up at finding a particular song on it.

"This has my favorite song!" He looks at you in wonderment, thinking you're psychic or something for knowing that he loves "Should I Stay or Should I Go".

"Oh, I know. You hum it all the time when you come into the shop. You've got good taste, kiddo." You reply, your heart warming at how happy you've made him.

"Thanks, Y/N. I love this." Will says, sitting up to give you a hug. You do your best to be gentle with him, he's been through a lot this week.

"You're welcome, Will." You answer, giving his hair a light ruffle as you pull away. He giggles at you playing around, though it quickly turns into a violent cough. "Shit. Here." You act quickly, handing him his glass of water from the table. Will takes it, sipping through the straw sticking out of the top. "Better?" You ask.

"Yeah. Thanks." He swallows thickly, and lays back down. The poor kid looks so exhausted, which feels like your cue to leave.

"Well, I'm gonna let you rest up. Hopefully I'll see you back at Waxed Out sometime, okay?" You say as you stand up from the bed. He nods at you, and you turn to leave. You're about to walk out the door without another word to give the family some time together, when Joyce stops you.

"Y/N, can we talk for a minute?" She says, getting up from her chair to follow you.

"Yeah, sure." You answer, and she does the same as she'd done at the funeral. She finds some random supply closet, pulling you inside of it with her. "Jeez, you sure have a thing for closets, Joyce." You joke, which makes her laugh a little.

"Oh, I know, I know. I hate that we keep meeting like this. But I just need some time with you. I can't stop thinking about you, now that Will is safe. I'm so glad you came to see him, it means a lot." She speaks excitedly, which looks so damn cute on her. The talking with her hands, her animated expressions. It's all so unbelievably attractive to you.

"I'm just glad he's alright." You pause, her eyes finding yours throwing you off. "What about you? Are you alright? I know you said on the phone that everything you told me before was—"

"Stress. Just...stress." She cuts you off, insisting on her modified story. "But I'm fine. It's all over now, thank God."

"Fine enough for me to do this?" You ask smoothly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek.

"Yeah, that's kinda why I brought you in here." She laughs breathily, waiting for you to kiss her. You grant her wish, pressing your lips to hers. "Mmm." She hums against you, and you gently bite her bottom lip. She gasps at the light sting, allowing your tongue to slip into her mouth. She moans quietly, and you lead her backwards until she's against one of the shelves of cleaning supplies. It creaks slightly once she makes contact, but she doesn't seem to mind your dominance.

"Is there a lock on this door?" You ask aloud, looking over at the knob. There appears to be one, so you quickly click it into the locked position. You return to your task of making out with Joyce, and your hands go to her chest to feel her up through her sweater.

"Y/N..." She exhales between heated kisses. You continue to massage her chest, but you don't think stripping down would be wise in such a populated place, locked door or not.

"Tell me what you want, baby." You purr, sliding your hand under the hem of her top as well as her bra to feel her breast entirely. She moans as you roll her nipple between your fingers, unable to think straight.

"I don't know, I just want you." She whines, her own hands grabbing at your ass. She keeps you close to her, continuing to meet you in the middle with her perfect lips.

"That's okay, Joyce. I can take the lead if you want me to." You reply. She nods, and you lower your other hand to the button on her jeans. You pop it open, and pull down the zipper. You slide your hand inside her pants, immediately finding her slick folds.

"Fuck." She whimpers once your fingers meet her clit, and you make slow, purposeful circles around it. She makes the sweetest noises as you touch her, all of which get you wetter by the second. You keep kissing her, on the mouth, and what you can reach of her neck. "So good..." Joyce murmurs. She finds herself wanting to participate too, so she quickly opens up your own jeans.

"Mmm, someone's learning..." You laugh lowly as she puts her hand inside your pants. You gasp at the coldness of her fingers on you, shocking your warm flesh with an icy touch. She gradually thaws, mimicking your actions to rub your bundle of nerves.

"I'm just following you, Y/N." She replies, going so far as to move you backwards now. Your back hits the shelf on the other side of the closet, Joyce appears to want to take control for a bit. She puts herself a step ahead of you, pressing her fingers inside your pussy. She wants to feel how wet you are, to make you moan and see your beautiful face when you cum.

"Fuck, Joyce." You copy her a second after, your digits filling up her soaked hole. You rapidly curl them, drawing more noises from her lips. You both try to keep the noise down, you'd hate for someone walking by to catch you. You decide that you want to try something different with her, to give her something more than just your fingers. You stop kissing her for a second, still pumping your digits inside of her. She follows your speed, which makes you want to scream from how good it feels. You look around the small room, finding a neglected set of filing cabinets in the corner. You carefully maneuver her in their direction, her ass smacking against them a little too loud.

"Careful, Y/N. We can't get caught in here." Joyce pants.

"Sorry. I just want to try something..." You say softly, pulling your fingers out of her. She does the same to you, and you swiftly lift her up onto the cabinets. Her legs dangle over the edge, and you take off your coat, it's far too hot for it now. You position yourself between her legs to kiss her again. She moans into your mouth, her own tongue coming out to play this time. "Have you ever had oral sex before?" You ask as you pull away, hoping you don't sound too formal. You just worry that Joyce might not understand any slang terms you might use.

"I mean, I've given it. But I've never..." She trails off, blushing harshly.

"Do you want to try it?" You question, your eyes filled with lustful hunger. You want to see her, and taste her, feel her hands tangling in your hair while you make her scream your name.

"Yes." She whispers. Without another word, you reach for the waistband of her jeans. You pull them down, along with her panties. She helps you out a bit, lifting herself up so you can get them all the way down. You bunch the fabric around her ankles, and duck down to kneel between her bound legs. You spread her thighs apart gingerly, and you fail to hold back a moan at the sight before you. She's got a beautiful mound of hair all around the outside, dark brown and loosely curled. Her clit and folds are shiny and wet, the dim overhead light catching the arousal spread around them. And her entrance, bright pink, and throbbing with anticipation. You've never seen a prettier pussy in your entire life.

"Wow." You exhale the word, unable to contain your awe of her. Your eyes flick up to hers, and she blushes harder at your admiration. She's never seen anyone look at her this way before, as if she's a goddess or something. "Scoot forward a little, baby." You order politely. She does as you ask, putting her glistening cunt right in front of your face. You can smell her, how turned on she is...it's so fucking intoxicating. "You ready?" You ask, confirming that this is exactly what she wants.

"Yeah." She nods confidently, anxious to see what your lips and tongue will feel like against her heat.

"Good." You start slow, leaving open-mouthed kisses from her knee, all the way up to her inner thigh. She breathes heavily as you do this, your teasing is driving her mad. You repeat these actions on the other side, before settling in front of where she needs you the most. Your shuddering breath fans against her, and you finally lean in to lick a long stripe from her entrance to her clit.

"Oh, god..." She moans at the sensation of your warm tongue swiping along her slit. Her hands lower to your head, fingers tangling in your hair just like you'd hoped they would. You let out a small moan against her, making her hips buck at the vibrations. "Fuck, Y/N...this is...so good." Joyce whimpers, and you proceed to flick your tongue against her sensitive bud, while also sliding the entire length of it inside her hole on occasion. You eat up every single noise she makes, and they push you to lick her harder and faster.

You grip her left thigh to keep her close, while your free hand lowers to give you some pleasure of your own. You doubt Joyce is up for reciprocating this particular activity, which you don't mind one bit. There's something about giving oral that's so much better than receiving it. Sure, getting head is pretty damned amazing, but you can't get over the intense rush you feel when you make someone else cum using only your mouth. It's like the ultimate exchange of power, to have any guy or girl you do this to in the palm of your hand. And once it's all over, their mind is thoroughly blown, and they're ever so grateful to you for your service. Strangely enough, it's actually highly rewarding.

"Mmm." You hum as your own fingers glide across your clit, though they quickly move towards your dripping entrance. You're unbelievably wet, so much so that your fingers slip right into your cunt. You continue to eat Joyce out to your heart's content, her hands digging further into your hair.

"I know this is my first time doing this...but you're really good at it, Y/N." Joyce praises, her words sounding like music to your ears. They come out low and breathy, but her tone is still sweet as can be. Just like the rest of her.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, baby." You reply, slipping your tongue inside her entrance again.

"Fuck." She gasps, her head falling back against the wall. You repeatedly press on her g-spot, and more muted moans fall from her lips. You also increase the pace of your own fingers pumping within your pussy. You keep this up for a while, taking your time to feel every last inch of Joyce's cunt with your mouth, and timing yourself to hopefully cum alongside her. Her nails snake further in towards your scalp as the minutes tick past, and her pelvis bucks into your face whenever you discover a new sensitive spot between her legs. "I'mgetting close, Y/N...don't stop." Joyce whines, her thighs jolting more and more with every stroke and flick you make on her.

"Wouldn't...dream...of it..." You pant out the words between licks, tightening your grip on her thigh. Her muscles tremble beneath your hold, you can tell it's taking everything in her not to thrash around or clamp her legs around your skull. You're not quite on the same page, orgasm-wise. But you're trying your damndest to catch up. You finger yourself as fast as you can, winding up an impatient knot inside your belly. You hate to rush this, but you've probably been gone too long as it is. It's a wonder no one has come looking for you or Joyce yet.

"I'm gonna cum...keep going...right there..." Joyce whimpers, sensing her high fast approaching.

"Mmm." You hum in response, repeating the motions that her moans say are working the best. Rapid swirls around her clit, interspersed with quick darts of your tongue inside her pussy. That's another thing you love about giving head, figuring out the different methods and speeds that your partner finds most enjoyable. It's like cracking a safe, using your tongue and lips as your tools, with their orgasm serving as the elusive riches inside.

"Y/N, I'm gonna....shit—" Joyce gasps, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the obscenely loud moan that's ripping itself from her lungs. Her thighs quake, instinctively closing around your head. You lap up her juices as they spill out of her, groaning against her at the taste. She's even sweeter than the night at your apartment, and so warm. You're still not at your end yet, much to your annoyance. Usually it doesn't take long for you to cum when you do it yourself, but tonight is proving to be a challenge. Regardless, you continue to get yourself there, while licking at Joyce until her high dies down. "Fuck." She breathes heavily, slumped against the wall with her eyes closed and hands laying slack in her lap. "That was amazing, Y/N." She praises, taking her time to calm down. Sweat drips down along the side of her head, and the underarms of her sweater are completely soaked through.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Joyce." You murmur, pulling your mouth away from her now. You continue to finger yourself, gazing up at her exhausted body to get yourself off.

"Do you want some help, sweetie?" She asks, her eyes open now as she watches what you're doing.

"Yes, please." You answer, almost whining. You've become a bit frustrated now, needy for your climax. Hopefully Joyce can help you get it. You quickly stand up, still stuck between her legs. You take your hand out of your pants, which she immediately replaces with hers. "Joyce..." You whimper as the touch of her fingers on your clit feels so much better than your own. You can't look away from her, and the caring smile on her face. She keeps you close to her with a hand on your shoulder, and she gradually makes her way to your slick entrance. She slips one finger inside, causing you to moan as quietly as you can. She adds the other right after, which only makes you louder.

"Shh, quiet down. Let me make you feel good, Y/N." Joyce coos, pumping her digits inside you painfully slow.

"Go faster, baby. I need you." You beg in a whisper. She increases her speed, and you finally feel like you're getting somewhere. "More. I need more." You whine, almost in tears as you hold her gaze. She tuts at the pained look on your face, realizing what a hard time you're having.

"It's okay. I'll take care of you." She presses her lips to yours, and your eyes flutter closed. She takes the lead, slipping her tongue into your mouth and picking up the pace. Joyce goes as fast as she can, giving her best effort to help you get what you desperately want. You can sense it, all of her affectionate actions are rapidly building you up.

"Just like that, baby." You exhale between steamy kisses. You firmly hold her shoulders, waiting for the knot inside you to snap. You're extremely close now, thanks to her longer, more efficient fingers.

"You're almost there, just let it all go sweetie." Joyce says calmly, her thumb running over your clit to seal your fate. You kiss her hard to soften the scream that begs to escape you. Your knees buckle, and you almost fall over as your orgasm takes hold. Complete and utter ecstasy rushes through you, your insides pulsating wetly around her fingers. You continuously moan down her throat, unable to stop until the pleasure subsides. You collapse into Joyce, and she carefully takes her hand out of your jeans to put her arms around you. "There ya go. Feel better now?" She asks sweetly, stroking your sweat-dampened hair.

"Yes, much better. Thank you." You huff out the words, unable to think straight. Joyce lets you stay still like this for a few minutes, allowing the two of you to catch your breath. But as always, this content, happy occasion must be drawn to a close.

"I'd better get back, Y/N." She says quietly.

"I know. Ugh, we need a real night to ourselves one of these days." You suggest, pulling away from her embrace so you can get yourselves together. You duck under her legs again, and do up your jeans. She straightens out her own clothes, and nods.

"That would be nice. We could order in, have a couple drinks...maybe watch a movie?" You love every last word that passes her lips, and her eagerness to make actual plans with you.

"Sounds perfect, Joyce. Just tell me a day, whatever works for you." You reply, picking your coat up off the floor and slipping it on.

"I will. But I'm afraid this is goodbye for now, again." She jokes, making you both giggle lightly. She gets down from the filing cabinets, and meets you once more before she has to go. "I'll call you as soon as I can, Y/N. I promise." She gives you a small kiss, and she hesitates to pull away. You both let out a shaky breath, sharing a satisfied smile afterwards.

"I'll be looking forward to it. You'd better get back to your kids. It's getting late, so I'm gonna head home." You go to the door to leave first this time, poking your head out to see if anyone's around. The nurse's station is just around the corner, but you manage to slip out unnoticed. You make a beeline for the door, feeling really nervous that maybe someone saw you. But you know they didn't. You hope Joyce makes it back to Will's room alright, but you don't want to linger around to check.

...I walked the long way home, and it was probably one of the best ones I've ever taken. All the weight of the last few days melted away with every step. Hawkins finally feels safe again. There's no more fear roiling beneath the town's surface, no more paranoia between neighbors. Everything is the way it should be. Sure, we'll miss Benny dearly, and that other kid that drowned is unfortunate. But at least now we know that those incidents were self-inflicted, or accidents. That's the worst thing that can happen here. At least, I'd like to think so.

I spent a good amount of my walk thinking about Joyce, replaying every little detail of all our small meetings. I can't wait to see her again, and have some real time together. I'm not sure where this thing we have is going to go, if it does go anywhere at all. I don't mind a fling, but I wouldn't say no to a long-term relationship either. I'm unsure what Joyce wants, but I have a feeling that she can't fully commit herself to anyone. Not right now, anyway. As wonderful as it is that Will has been brought home safe, he still needs a lot of extra care and attention. He looked so withered and sickly in that hospital bed, I have no idea when he'll fully recover. I'm sure Joyce is going to spend her every waking moment nursing him back to health. She's such a great mom, I couldn't see her going about it any other way.

November 25th, 1983

Dear Diary,

Last night was my...date?...with Joyce. We did exactly as we'd planned at the hospital. She rented a movie, Breakfast at Tiffany's. She said it's one of her favorites, and I totally agree. We ordered in some Chinese, and ate and drank wine on my couch while snuggling up together. Ugh, she's so goddamn warm in the best possible way. It's like all this love and light radiates out of her, shining cozily upon those she cares about.

When we'd finished dinner and the film, we took things to my bedroom. We made out heavily for what felt like hours, I could've been satisfied by just doing that, honestly. But she wanted more, she was practically begging for it. And what kind of woman would I be to say no? We finally saw each other completely naked, and my god, Joyce is a fucking goddess. To see her all laid out on my bed like that, I swear I had to be dreaming. She was very pleased with my body as well, which was flattering. I don't know what it is, but being with an established woman like her caused a little self-doubt regarding my own appearance.

We did everything we've done before. The groping, fingering, and oral sex. She even went down on me this time. Joyce was a bit unsure of herself at first, but I gave her a little guidance, and she took to it like a fish to water. Shit, her mouth is something else, that's for sure. She even went so far as to lap up all of my cum when it spilled onto her face. She was far more bold than the other times, and it was unbelievably sexy. We also took things a step further, grinding our pussies together until we came at the same time. That was...a challenge, at first. The positioning is kind of awkward, and it's difficult to maintain a cohesive rhythm if you're new at it. But once we figured it out, it was unbelievable. Our sweating bodies rolling and grinding, the gorgeous moans Joyce made to harmonize with mine, being able to see each other's faces twist in pleasure with every move. I'll never forget it.

Joyce left pretty early in the morning, but not without waking me up to say goodbye. She didn't want me to wake up to her already being gone, which I appreciated. I totally would've burst into tears if that happened, convincing myself that it was all a dream. And I wouldn't have been able to bear that, not with how mind-blowing she was last night.

December 5th, 1983

Dear diary,

Well, Joyce came by the shop today. I wish I could say I was happy about it, but I'm really not. She came in with Will, who quickly ran off to check out the new releases in the corner. Joyce came up to the counter to talk to me. She said that while she adores me, and is so grateful for the times we've had, that she can't get into a relationship right now.

I get it. I'd already thought out every possible outcome of this short entanglement of ours. Most of which go exactly like this. She just doesn't have the time, or mental capacity to maintain something with me. She has to look after Will, he needs her more than ever right now. It's not personal, I know that. And as much as I thought I'd made my peace with that, and prepared myself for this to happen, it still hurt like a bitch.

I told her it was fine, even though my heart was sinking, and my stomach turned in the most unsettling way. I didn't want to stop seeing her, but it wasn't solely up to me to decide that for us. She took hold of my hand, reiterating that it hurts her to let me go. I did everything I could to not cry in front of her, and I managed to hold it all in until she walked out the door. Joyce did shed a couple herself, I know it pains her to disappoint anyone. But we said our goodbyes, and she made it clear that I could still come by Melvald's like I used to. For her support and comforting words, as a friend. And I will, once the heartache goes away. It'll just take a little time, and maybe a good rebound.

#smut #stranger things #writers on tumblr #joyce byers #hawkins #fanfiction #hippiegoth97 #joyce byers x reader #joyce byers smut #hawkins hussy #lgbtq #wlw smut

24 notes · View notes

adiprose-abernath · 1 year

Text

Rough Draft: A Wizard's Weighty Wish

To begin with, I'd like to say greetings. This isn't a first tumblr account but certainly is my first post. That being said, this is primarily for my commissions I make over at grommr. So if you are interested in more content, I will leave a link in my bio.

______________________________________________________________

A Wizard's Weighty Wish

Sir Archibald strode through the thicket with his fellow adventurer, a wizard by the name of Percival. Archie and he were heros, through and through. Though, to be honest, work in the adventurers guild was beginning to be a little slow. Simply put, monsters in the area were growing stronger and without some intermediaries, the two were getting their butts handed to them battle after battle. No matter how hard they tried, it just seemed like they couldn't cut it.

"I just don't get it," said Archie. "You would think that after a few hours of searching we'd find a village, a hamlet or, something." Percy had kept to himself at the time, simply lost in the beauty of the forest around. The swaying of the trees in the breeze reminded of him when he was home, enjoying a nice cup of tea. Ever so relaxed to enjoy just a moment of pe-

"HELLO?!?" Interrupted Archie, pulling Percy out of his day dream. "My apologies, my good man. I was simply in my thoughts. What do you need." "Clearly you can see," Archie said, pointing to his sword, dull and jagged "we've seen much battle as of recent." Percy listened keenly, aware that Archie was simply not a knight to be interrupted when in "speech mode." "Despite this, there is nary a hint of gold or a single bit of treasure that stays between my pouch. It's simply cruel." pontificated the knight. "What do you want me to do about it? I am nothing more than a simple mage." Replied Percy. "I don't know, I don't read that fancy riff raff. I'm much too busy with my training. I have to keep strong but it seems that's never enough. Don't you know any kind of spells that can...I don't know...do SOMETHING about that?"

The question left the wizard at pause as he was want to do. He had been a master at conjuration and alteration when back in wizard school. Yet, without a library to peruse, he'd have to craft his own knowhow to potentially support this hapless hero. After all, his own stomach growled due to their failings in fights.

"Alas I am not of much use without a good book, you see. I'd need to study some form of alteration spell that'd give you more strength." sheepishly quoted the wizard. The knight made a noise like the beginning of a scoff when his ears perked up. They were not alone.

Suddenly, out of the bushes, a massive slime appeared. Gooey and engorged, the beast lunged at our heros. Quick as lightning, the knight swung his blade, gouging the gargantuan grotesque giant in its oozing form. Lightning too did the wizard call from above zapping the creature splattering its mass all around the ground. The monster swung back, a dripping tentacle whipping around the knight, pulling the spellcaster into what can only be assumed to be its maw.

"PERCY!" screamed the knight before the wizard was drawn within. The sounds of battle muffled around him and he could feel himself slowly digested. Yet, there appeared to be something at the center of this mass. Using all of his might, he reached for the book in front of him and slammed it closed.

Like a pop-up book closed in on itself, the creature retreated into the pages of the book and the wizard was free! "Percy! I thought I'd lost you," cried the knight, unbecomingly beset with emotions. "I'm fine, I'm fine" said the wizard, chuckling a bit to himself at the anticlimacticness of the fight. He then turned his gaze to the book.

The cover was of a paladin, bespecled with armor and rippling muscles. Every part of him seemed to ache with power. The title, embossed in a script he'd luckily knew was in giant, said boldly "Gary's Growth Guide: A Book for the Puny Peasant in Need." Wow! thought the wizard. With a book like this, I could easily make him stronger. Hell, I could make myself stronger. I might not even need Archie. These thoughts were unheard to the knight, recovered from the shock of losing and regaining his companion, now anxiously tapping a metal foot to the ground. "Well, what is it?" said the knight, impatiently.

"I think it's the answer to our prayers." replied the wizard, eagerly opening the book to devour its contents. Different cantrips spells and rituals were detailed on the tome, each more complicated and more powerful than the last. His amazement peaked even further when he read one spell in particular: Engorge. Reading it quite quickly, it dictated that a user concentrating this spell on a target can increase the size and stature of a creature. Jackpot!

The wizard tucked the book in his bag. "I wanna try this spell out on you, but it only appears to last for an hour. I could cast it now or when we fight our next foe." The knight raised a quizical eyebrow. "What spell is it?" "It's called 'engorge' I think? I'm not exactly sure of the details but I think it will make you stronger overtime. It also states the effects might be permeant so..." the wizard explained, his voice trailing off as he imagined himself like that paladin: toned, ripped, hell he'd never need a party member again. But he had to test it first. Juuuuuuust in case.

"Well hit me with it then." said Archie, headstrong as ever. The wizard grinned a tiny bit, glad that their fortunes appeared to be turning. He turned his eyes from his friend and began to chant the spell. The words seemed to leave his mouth and hang in the air, a fiendishly red light snaking from the book to the ground. It slither and slid its way ever closer to the knight who took a cautionary step back. Suddenly, the light surrounded the knight and as the cacopanous noises and lights reached its climax, the chant was over and the two stood face to face.

Nothing seemed to have changed. The spell did say, however, that it would take an hour to reach completion so perhaps there wasn't much in that form.

Of course, this would mean that Archie would be doing most of the fighting. This was actually pretty good, considering that this gave Percy the ability to observe this craftsmanship at work.

A roar echoed over the horizon. It seems it must be their lucky day. A large direbear emerged out of the thicket, seemingly drawn into the light and sound that had permeated the plot they just stood in. It's go time! The knight swung his trust broadsword vicariously at the beast and they began to clash. Blow after blow rained upon the bear and despite the spell not seeming to do much, the knight seemed to gain the upper hand quite quickly. The surprise of it all might've been the key but that wasn't the only thing that was surprising.

He might've been imagining it, but Percy could see that red magic pulsing slowly around the torso of the knight. As it did, he could see it was growing. Yet, unlike the photo presented, the effect was...interesting. The flat and toned middle of the man began to slowly buldge, unnoticably to the hero, but steadily it grew from what could be seen as a rough bloat to a ball belly proudly owned by a drunkard.

The chainmail strained a tad at this, being held for once tightly than it normally had contained when his pecs began to melt seemingly, with breast tissue growing slightly in the area where they were. His hips swelled bloating wider and wider. The stance of the knight was shifted too as his thighs thickened and his butt began to balloon. No part of the man was spared from this growth but he seemed relentless in his conquest.

Strangely, he seemed to fight more savagely. Despite his girth going from toned to tubby, his strength seemed to ever grow as did his waistline. The knight was fighting harder and harder reminiscent of the wizard's shaft which seemed to be oddly enamoured by this display. The belly of the bloating battlemaster buldged forward slowly straining the armor he possesed. The wizard could see a second chin forming on the knight as his armor began to creak and groan.

The knight lifted his sword high into the air bringing it down on the beast with a BANG! This bang, however, was not from the corpse of their foe. Rather, the chestplate the fattening fighter shattered, torn to the ground exposing the massive muffin top ebbing further and further from the armor.

The knight realized suddenly what was happening and shouted to the wizard. "What the...WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENIN-" he was interrupted by the blast of his gauntlets, clattering to the floor in a heap as his arms once covered in muscle and siney now covered in fat and flesh. His leggings followed soon after, leaving the knight nearly nude as his buttocks shown in full view of a aroused mage. The body of the knight was simply beautiful to behold.

Like the slime they'd fought earlier, not a single scrap of muscle remained on the poor pudgy pig. Every inch of his body was piled with poundage. He truly was obese. His belly now had a fold in the middle and his moobs were like soccer balls. The arms had no definition other than pitiful, the weight sagging off. His ass, though, ballooned most, nearly doubling in size and girth. His legs, prior like branches, looked like stumps, buried deep within one another. As Archie turned, he could see the awe and...was that horniness he could see? He'd wanted the attention of the many but this...was this really what he had in mind?

The spell began to fade from view as the swelling slowly stopped, the knight nearly 150 pounds heavier than before. The wizard composed himself a tad and began to mend the armor. Silently, the wizard worked with the hefty hero wordless for what seemed like the first time.

Neither spoke a word for a time as the wizard worked carefully. Indeed, the knight had grown stronger. Quite stronger, in fact. He could feel his body radiating with a power stronger than he's ever felt before. Of course, however, it didn't happen without consequence. Lifting a bit of his gut, he could feel it flabby and smooth. This was no ordinary growth. This WAS his skin and size. The question then became, was he gonna be just a toned tiny adventurer or was he gonna give in. Though neither would say it, they both had an idea of what that answer would be.

#weight gain #fat boy #curse #gaining #gaining fiction #hunky to chunky

13 notes · View notes

persefone88 · 3 years

Text

10 + 1 Wangxian Recs - Theme Arranged Marriage

I am currently mostly in MDZS (Mo Dao Zu Shi/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) fandom. And fully and wholeheartily shipping Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian. And since I have collected 2000+ Wangxian bookmarks on AO3 I thought it was high time to pick out some of my favourite fics to Recommend. But since it is hard to pic just a few I decided to separate them into themes.

This time it is Arranged Marriage.

*Edit 21-08-24 Moving one fic to another list and replacing it with another*

Perfectly Arranged by mondengel

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20009566

Summary:Three nights before his wedding to an omega from Yunmeng, Lan Wangji meets Wei Yuandao.

Another Kind of Marriage by Titans_R_Us

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215550

Summary:Wei Wuxian gets married to Lan Wangji a different way. Did you know if you pull a Lan Sect member's ribbon off you have to marry them? Everyone knows how strict the Lan Sect is about rules. Everyone.“WHO HAS A VIRGINITY RIBBON ANYWAY?” “That is not all it stands for, it also represents self-restraint, honor–” “BUT I’M TOO YOUNG TO GET MARRIED.”

Alas, Disasterous Miscalculations Align Sects with Sudden Summer Weddings by mondengel

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736324

Summary:Jiang Cheng sends out an obviously tongue-in-cheek request for an alliance, and receives an unexpectedly serious response.

hot necromancer singles seeking dom daddies in your area by Mikkeneko

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440212

Summary:Wei Wuxian continued, stepping forward across the floor until he was right up in Lan Wangji's space. He grinned. "You're the great and righteous slayer of demons, and I'm just a weak little resentful cultivator who has to resort to crafty tricks. What can I hope to do to stop you?" he said in a singsong tone. "If you want me to repent for my crimes, why don't you make me?"--Without the aid of the Yiling Wei sect and its patron, the Yiling Patriarch, the Sunshot Alliance surely would have lost the war against the tyrant Wen Ruohan. Now the Yiling Patriarch is demanding repayment in the form of a tribute bride -- and he only wants Lan Wangji. What could a dark sorcerer possibly want out of a union with the strongest and most righteous spiritual cultivator? Whatever Lan Wangji was expecting out of this marriage, it wasn't this...

love, in fire and blood by cicer

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958667

Summary:"You want Wen Ruohan dead," the Patriarch continued idly. "You want his corpse puppets eliminated. You want his halls burned to the ground and his soldiers disemboweled and begging for mercy. Have I about covered it?"He gave another knife-edged smile."But what will you give me in return?""We would be willing to offer quite a bit in return for Wen Ruohan's defeat," Lan Xichen admitted. "But I'm afraid we don't know what an immortal such as yourself desires. Please advise us."The Patriarch waved at hand at the front of the tent. "I want Second Young Master Lan."(In which the Sunshot Campaign ends through an arranged marriage to the Yiling Patriarch, and Lan Wangji suffers the mortifying ordeal of falling in love with his own husband.)

The Distance Between Fondness and Something Akin to Love by countingcr0ws

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038865

Summary:To safeguard Cloud Recesses' interests while Qishan Wen continues to expand its territory, Lan Wangji agrees to a betrothal proposal from Lotus Pier.Lan Wangji doesn't care how his betrothed, Wei-gongzi, looks. His staffing roster for the junior disciples is a more pressing concern. Then Wei-laoshi arrives a week early, via the perimeter wall of Cloud Reccesses.-Wei Wuxian sneaks into Cloud Recesses to peek at his betrothed, only to land a teaching position.

below the clouds, above the lakes by northofallmusic (tofsla)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25220392

Summary:Wei Ying was not formally considered a Jiang until it became necessary for a Jiang to marry a Lan as a guarantee of alliance. Now, in the habitat dome which houses the palace known as the Cloud Recesses, he has to navigate a new role, a new marriage, and an unfamiliar tangle of political relationships and loyalties.

Restraint and Realization by Winglesss

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394234

Summary:As an omega from a prominent clan, Wei Wuxian expected his marriage to be arranged for him, but he naively hoped his family would choose for him an alpha he could learn to love. When he hears he's promised to Lan Wangji, he's sure the straight-laced alpha could never tolerate such a disobedient omega as him. Maybe the arrangement is a punishment for both of them. Fortunately, Wei Wuxian has a plan to get out of it. He's going to break every single rule of Gusu Lan clan. It comes as a huge surprise when Lan Wangji doesn't immediately send him back home. The alpha is an enigma. If only Wei Wuxian could read his smell.

a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635728

Summary:When the entire cultivation world turns against Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng comes up with a plan to save him and arranges a marriage between his brother and the Second Jade of Lan, Lan Wangji.

yours for the taking by SugarMilkTea

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30761996

Summary:“There’s still time to back out, you know,” Wei Ying says, quiet enough that even the attendants waiting at the corners of their table won’t hear.Lan Wangji pauses in the middle of reaching for the sash on Wei Ying’s—on his husband’s—outer robes. A pit opens in his stomach. His hand falls to his lap, and he lifts his eyes to meet Wei Ying’s. “Is that what you want?”---The components of the marriage ceremony are easy in theory. The handfasting, the bows, the feast... and the Taking.

the most beautiful man in the world by deliciousblizzardshark

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32179399

Summary:“I did the same thing,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “How could I marry you without knowing what I was getting into? What if all the stories about you being the most beautiful man in the world were a lie?”“Mn,” Lan Wangji said. “They were.”Wei Wuxian gasped. “They were not!” he exclaimed. “My future husband is the most gorgeous creature there is!”“He is not,” Lan Wangji said. “My future husband is.”orWei Wuxian wasn't interested in marrying until he began hearing rumors about a man so beautiful flowers and fuzzy animals grew and flourished wherever he went.

#mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #fanfiction recommendations #wangxian #arranged marriage

30 notes · View notes

lorei-writes · 3 years

Text

(Not so) Infinite Bachelor State

Arthur Conan Doyle x MC Fluff

Written for: Dice be Nice Request: @saphyhowl Roll: Arthur + Arranged Marriage AU + A curse/A spell gone wrong Word Estimate: 3k

Whew, here it is!

Content Warnings: alcohol (mention)

Truthfully, there was one thing Arthur always despised about his position as the heir – there was always somebody, or even multiple somebodies, always knowing better and always thinking he owed them everything, obedience included. Perhaps if they cared enough to properly talk with him, they’d learn he never asked to be put in this position, that if it depended entirely on him, he’d chose a different life, he’d be a different person, and… Well, plenty other noble things, surely. Alas, they never seemed to be interested in the matter enough, only ever being preoccupied with how harmless or harmful his various escapades and romances – ah, the way the youth acts out, they would sigh – were to the family name. The games had to end, however.

“I am no decorative bird up to being displayed in a cage, sir, no,” Arthur exclaimed, storming out of the room. The door shut behind him violently, various relatives shaking within the constraints of their portraits covering nearly the entirety of the wall. Perhaps if he looked back, he’d feel their glares on himself, all the esteemed aunties and uncles being appalled by such treatment of the elderly, even if long dead. Arthur didn’t do it, however, all the seemingly vengeful looks being thus directed at the first brave soul willing to step out of the study, an elderly man pushing the door anxiously, as if wishing to make up for excess commotion with negative noise. “Young master, please, wait, wait!” he spoke in a hushed voice, rushing towards Arthur in an odd sort of semi-run enforced by wear of much too formal kind to easily allow for such frivolous activities. “I’ve said all I had to say, and please, do not make me repeat myself. Late mother’s bust would surely turn into an earless one if that were to be the case.” Arthur gestured angrily. “But master!” “Master? I am truly quite a powerless one!” He stopped abruptly and turned around, pointing an accusatory finger at the man. “And you did not drop me even a hint of warning, not even a word! I could have been long gone form this sorry place, could have eloped and…!” A sigh leaving his lips, Arthur shook his head and resumed walking at a much slower pace. “Young master, I am deeply sorry. Your uncles – they are quite hardy men to propose such an idea, and simple caretaker, I –” “I know, I am aware. You could do little, couldn’t you? Ahh, those bloody, money-thirsty, motherfu – !” “Young master, this is not the language I have taught you!” the man cut him off mid-word. “Mother… Lovers,” Arthur finished after a pause. “Cursed be their fate for arranging this fate, and cursed be mine!”

The front door of the mansion having seemingly materialised before them, Arthur pushed it open, fully intending to drown his sorrows in water of a rather unholy kind. At least then, to properly celebrate his last day as the bachelor, the bride already waiting somewhere in his estate.

***

For Arthur to wake up to the first lights of the day was rather unusual – for him to do so without a headache after such a night, and in his own bed? Plainly impossible. Arthur sat up abruptly, his memory hazy although in a familiar way, only the last few event being a little blurry. He sighed. The luckiest day of my life, eh?, he thought to himself, his back touching the mattress again, his head soon disappearing below the duvet.

Intending to fall asleep and perhaps even be late for his own – very unwelcome – wedding, Arthur opted to ignore the rushed steps outside of his room, being even more indifferent when the door opened and somebody stepped inside. Could it be his bride? Ah, heavens, as if he cared. She could be the nicest woman in the world, but this? This felt fake, so very unlike all the stories he had read. Wasn’t he capable of finding the one on his own, when the time came? Truly, to strip him off of his agency even in that regard, what a cruel – cursed – fate… “Young master?” Arthur groaned, the servant, his old care-taker, apparently being the one sent to unearth him. He pushed himself up. “Yes?” “Your uncles wanted to exchange a few words with you.”

Somewhat surprised, Arthur dragged himself out of the bed, fully expecting to hear either one of two messages – either the lady saw him in the city and wanted to call the marriage off (meaning the family name was spoiled beyond repair and he, Arthur, was the only one to blame for such a turn of events), or they truly wanted him to know something more about the situation than “you are getting married” by itself. It is no wonder his confusion only grew, the first few words being uttered having been spoken out just the day before, the entire conversation following the very same pattern. “Dearest uncles, I do believe you take me for a fool. I did drink a little yesterday, but be not mistaken, I do recall your scheme being revealed. It should be a wedding day today, shouldn’t it?” he ground the words through his teeth. The men looked at each other, no less puzzled. “Arthur, have you drank just now? The guests only just came few hours back, it’s – ”

They didn’t get to finish, however, Arthur already storming out of the room. A cruel joke, indeed, but it was never said he had to withstand such treatment, no. Somewhat annoyed, he walked the corridors, eventually sneaking out of the dreaded estate yet once again.

Arthur woke up with a start. Somewhat confused, he looked around, the room being no other place than his very own bedroom. The door opened, the servant stepping inside. “Ah, young master, I see that you’re awake,” the man spoke, a troubled smile on his face. “Your uncles wanted to exchange a few words with you.”

***

The days stretched, each beginning in the very same fashion. The time had seemingly started chasing after its own tail, thus stopping to progress on behalf of being stuck in a loop, memories of every attempt to break it being erased from nearly every mind – at least to Arthur’s knowledge, no other person appearing to realise what was happening around. At first martyred, Arthur cursed plenty (although quietly, as not to deprive dear mother’s bust off of her ears far too many times), fully convinced it would go on for no longer than a few days, consequently only extending the duration of his personal hell. The time seemed to have a different plan, however – and when a month passed, Arthur was certain, it would not move an hour more into the future. So to say, he was locked in an infinite sort of a bachelor state, eternally stuck on repeating the last day of his freedom from dreaded arranged marriage that ultimately, was one forever of days away.

At first he spent the time leisurely, each day listening to the very same explanations patiently, then opting to play along nicely, much less desperately than previously. For all he knew, he could both party and drink with friends, falling asleep just about anywhere and waking up in his very own – very comfortable – bed. Eventually getting tired of lengthy daily lecture of his uncles, Arthur came up with ways to shorten it significantly, asking questions as to get to the very bottom of matter and be able to go on with his endeavours. Having calmed down from the initial euphoria, he returned to his ordinary life, each day thinking up stories (although not writing them down, for the manuscripts wouldn’t last), indulging in reading, and perhaps spoiling his dog with a little more attention than usually. Few skills remained completely unobtainable to him, his personal library providing at least a single lifetime worth of information… And yet, despite all the things that he had learnt, Arthur began to feel lonely, no relationships developing in any way. There was no person he could confide in, no soul who’d feel compassion to him, no partner to converse with – and to keep the conversation alive during the next day, without the need to reintroduce the topic at hand.

Somewhat lost as to what he should do, Arthur began simply walking down the corridors of his very own estate, greeting the various guests who managed to arrive for his wedding on the day that would never end. Curious to the very bone, he found himself wondering who could the dreaded bride be, his uncles still having kept the name a secret from him. A goat can die only once, he thought, climbing the staircase leading to their study, his knuckles soon knocking onto the wooden door. A voice from behind it inviting him to come in, Arthur stepped inside, a question on his lips: “Dear uncle, a certain matter skipped me during our morning talk. What exactly… Is the name of my bride?” “Well…” “Well?” he inquired, leaning closer on the dark wooden desk. “The truth is, the lady in question requested not to tell you in particular. She arrived with her entourage yesterday, it was her only request…” “Dear uncle, please, we will be married tomorrow, what’s the difference?” The man paled, his hands trembling slightly. He weaved his fingers together, soon propping his head over his knuckles. “The thing is, we do not know ourselves. Or to be more precise, we do, but all of the ladies who had arrived seem to be of the same name. And which one… Which one, you see…” Arthur opened his eyes wider, his throat and mind alike refusing to co-operate – there were simply no words to explain his state. “I see,” he uttered, turning on his heel and leaving the room behind. A curious state of affairs, he reckoned.

***

One thing his library lacked were books on magic or ancient knowledge otherwise lost to time. Given how the loop did not extend past the period of one day, he was unable to obtain anything other than wares offered in the city’s bookshop, their selection being lacking at best. Unable to break the odd curse, Arthur found himself pacing, the monotonous chatter and otherwise strangely familiar dialogue turning his personal heaven into yet another kind of hell. Perhaps he needed rest? A few months passed and Arthur began to seek a solitary state, sneaking out to be by himself whenever an opportunity arose.

One of his most treasured spots was a lone swing, hung over a tree branch by his very father when Arthur was still a little boy. How did the line survive the years? He could not know, and truthfully, cared little of it, the place being secluded enough to grant him a moment of peace. His dog sitting by the trunk, Arthur lifted his gaze, as if attempting to see through the tree crowns. “You don’t remember either, do you, Vic?” he sighed. “Although it can’t be much difference for a dog. Your days seem to be infinite either way, right?” he laughed softly. The pet rose his head. “What is it, my friend? You want me to play as well?” Vic yawned, getting up lazily as to sit before Arthur, two hopeful eyes staring at his owner lovingly. Having hoisted the animal into his lap, Arthur kicked the ground below them thus weakly propelling the swing. Absent-mindedly, he let his fingers brush through the soft fur, the wag of the tail earning Vic a little chuckle. “At the very least I’m stuck in here with you, Vic. An eternity with a dog seems much less lonely, heh…”

Too lost in his own thoughts, Arthur didn’t realise plenty things, one of them being the sun slowly sinking below the horizon – and the other one being a foreign sort of presence, a sudden inquiry startling him nearly to death. “Excuse me, have you just said ‘an eternity’?” a woman asked, leaning from behind the tree trunk. “Because, sir, you see… I seem to be stuck in an odd dream that nobody seems to be aware of.” Arthur snapped his head to look at her, their eyes locking. “Do you, by any chance… Do you wake up each day and start it in the very same manner, the very same news being revealed to you, over and over again? No matter where you fall asleep, what food you eat, what choices you make – all, everything, always the same?” he blurted out. The woman nodded in reply. “I’m Maria,” she added, extending her arm. “Arthur,” he replied, shaking her hand.

Finally, after so many days, they have met, the first breakthrough in lifting the curse having been made unknowingly.

***

To say her presence was uplifting would be an understatement, the couple growing to become friends rather fast – although it did cause few surprised glances here and there, few people wondering how two total strangers could act is if they knew each other for months on end. Each day they were asked of it, each day making up a new excuse, their explanations gradually growing more vibrant, almost detailed. As such, from a childhood friend, a long lost cousin and an apprentice he chatted with in the city few times, Maria ascended to being an orphan, estranged by her late uncles and aunts, and thus seeking support in the house of Doyle family, martyred by fate and unwelcoming humans alike. Arthur, on the other hand, evolved to don the alleged role of once met friendly, albeit unfortunate and rather superstitious, doctor-turned-writer, one who hated his very own creation beyond belief… Both introductions being lies, of course, they earned themselves pained sighs. There was little harm in it, though, wasn’t there, the memory of all other residents, of all other people, being erased with another day? Whenever they got bored, they made up new lies, all too aware that anything they’d do would be reversed. Somehow, the eternity ceased to appear merciless.

His hand holding hers, Arthur led Maria forward, careful as not to let any branches hurt her, this part of the groove still being fairly young. The setting sun finally starting to shine through the leaves, he relaxed, only the thrill of birds sounding off between the trees. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs. “Finally, some peace and quiet,” he laughed weakly, retreating his hand. “An almost married man shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t do that, I swear…” he trailed off, turning around to gaze at her. To his surprise, however, Maria stared at him intensely, her brows knitted together. “An… Almost married man?” she asked, his eyes opening wide in sudden realisation. “It’s not like this!” Arthur blurted out instantly, rising his arms in front of himself. “You see, tomorrow was to be my wedding, and today – or well, a couple hundred todays back – I was informed about it.” Maria shook her head in disbelief. “It’s not like this, I swear! It was arranged behind my back!” he exclaimed, her expression softening slightly. “I didn’t have a single say,” he sighed. “I cannot even find my bride, although she’s in this estate. Can you believe? She took a couple other girls by the same name, and my uncles – ” Arthur stopped abruptly, her arms shaking as she laughed, deeply and abundantly so, eventually even needing to rest her back against the tree as not to fall. “What’s so hilarious?” “You are!” she answered, few tears escaping her eyes. Maria brushed them off with the top of her hand. “And you didn’t tell me all this time? It could have been a clue to breaking this curse!” Arthur averted his gaze – and ever so observant, she followed him, eventually going even as far as to lean down and stare at him from below, a smile never leaving her lips. “Or… Perhaps there was some reason for this state of affairs?” she prompted giddily, already half-knowing the answer. His hand on the nape of his neck, a faint blush came onto his cheeks. “Perhaps, indeed.” “And what reason was it?” Maria asked, straightening her back a little. “I believe I’ve given you more than enough clues.” “I want to hear you say it.”

Wind played in the tree crowns, the sun hanging dangerously low. “Perhaps… I might have started to think I wouldn’t mind spending this eternity with you, Maria,” he mumbled, his head beginning to spin.

Arthur woke up in his very own bed, his ears ringing. Of course, he should have known better - yet, it was too late for it. Still somewhat drowsy, he got up and began to hastily dress himself, fully aware that Maria was somewhere in the mansion, in the very same state. He confessed – and he would get to answer in return? Unthinkable! He needed to find out soon. The door to his room opened, the very same old servant peaking inside. “Young master?” the man mused, visibly surprised. “Your uncles wanted to excha –” “Yes, yes, a few words, a wedding, yada, yada,” Arthur cut him off, frantically buttoning up a mere minimum appropriate amount of buttons of his shirt. He stormed out of the room. “Young master! The wedding! It is today!” the servant shouted after him, but to no avail, Arthur being already far away, completely unable to think of anything but her.

As embarrassing as it was, it dawned on him he never once in the many months that had passed asked where Maria lived, her whereabout thus being a mystery to him. In any other case, he’d ask Vic for assistance, her scent usually having stuck to his clothes by the end of the day… In such a case, however, he was lost, and lost he rushed through the mansion, no staff being able to tell him where his particular Maria could be. Lacking any other clue, he stepped out into the courtyard, planning to spend even the entire day at the swing where they met. “Arthur!” He turned around – and there she was, running down the stairs extending from the balcony above, dressed still in her nightgown, her hair in utter disarray… Although he couldn’t help thinking it was lovely, no less. Maria showing no intention of slowing down, he opened his arms, the woman throwing herself into them. They tumbled to the ground, and he barely managed to catch a breath, the one he loved sealing his lips with hers in a rushed sort of kiss. Too little, too slow, too sweet, Arthur reckoned as they parted, his hand stroking her back lovingly. Their foreheads touching, he felt her fingers toy with the very top button of his shirt, his mind finding it less unusual than it should, perhaps, the notion that it would be all forgotten come morning still residing within his thoughts…

“Maria!” somebody called from the balcony. They froze. “Wait until the evening, for the love of god! You’re getting married to this man today! At least get a room!” The couple looked at each other in disbelief. “Today?!” they asked at the same time. “Today!” the servant exclaimed, finally catching up to Arthur. Wheezing heavily, he leaned on the door, sweat having come over his forehead. “The venue… Your uncles wanted to… Discuss… The venue… Last… Preparations…” he forced out of himself, yet was forgotten again, Arthur staring at Maria. “So you kept some secrets as well?” he teased, his bride laughing. “Partially. I did not know which Maria was to be married.”

Tag List: @cheese-ception , @kisara-16, @nad-zeta, @rikumorimachisgirl @bestbryn , @ichigoamamiya If you want to be tagged for my works, please, do let me know :D Please, specify fandoms as well.

#arthur conan doyle #ikevam arthur #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevam #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

66 notes · View notes

dancingthesambaa · 3 years

Text

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 19

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 19: Got Your Back (And Maybe Your Heart)

“Okay let me get this straight-”

“No one here is, but go on.”

“Hush, I’m still mad at you,” Tang gave a stink eye to the Kappa before turning back to Macaque. “So let me get this straight, so not only are you the same Six Eared Macaque that has fought the Monkey King and the deity that’s known as the Wandering Healer-”

“Not actually a deity,” he inputted.

“Whatever, but I’ve been coming here for years and just now I find out that there are mythical deities and magical plants within the forest! The Yao grass that is said to be a component to the Immortality Pills, an actual Qilin living here?! And the brown bunny and that little shit stain, who probably wants to laugh his ass off, is actually a Kitsune and spirit!”

“Guilty as charged,” the Shui Gui chortled.

“Pretty much,” the monkey shrugged his shoulders.

“Yup,” Ní nodded in her fox form.

“…I am both very angry and very excited,” he grumbled. “Do you know how many questions I have?! Do you know how many things I could have tested? Do you know how long I have wanted to meet someone like you guys? Do you know how many questions I have?!”

“I think you already said that,” said the water spirit though he froze as he saw an ominous glint in his eyes.

“Oh yes I did, because by the time I leave here,” he mysteriously whipped out his phone, “I will have all my questions answered.”

“Just how many do you have?” Macaque cautiously asked.

Tang said nothing as he instead showed a folder containing many files within them. “Quite a few. Quite. A. Few.”

All three immortals, the ones who have faced many fierce opponents throughout their life, gulped at the looming trials ahead.

“Fuck,” they all unanimously said.

It was cold, damp, and thoroughly disgusting with all of the worthless piles of junk lying around, but she supposed she would have to work with what she had under these…conditions.

Lady Bone Demon quietly walked through the open sewer as she attempted to distinguish where exactly she should strike next while her underling, who has been waiting for all these years, searches for the one item she hasn’t quite found.

It was quite tricky, to say the least, all the rest of the ingredients she needed to procure, albeit a bit rare, would be much easier to obtain even if those incompetent bugs mess it up. It won’t be too hard to find a replacement for those, she just decided on them for the proximity, she does not desire to leave the city before she achieves her prize. The last item though is something that is an ingredient that is not so easily replaceable, so she will need to take her time and look through every crack and back alley down until she does.

It was quite irritating, from the conditions she found herself into the annoying bugs that seem to think they are above her to Sun Wukong.

Sometimes she just wished that she could be over and done with this little game entirely and reach the end, but alas that’s not how life works. But she will admit that it will be fun watching them all struggle to get one step ahead of her, though she can’t decide which one she’ll enjoy more, Sun Wukong look when she finally drains him of every last bit of power and torture what he cherishes in front of his very eyes or Spider Queen expression as she stabs her in the back when she becomes the component to her plans. Both sound absolutely delightful when the time comes, but for that to happen she suppose she will have to achieve this the long way, no shortcuts or cheats allowed.

But she doesn’t mind the wait, after all, she had been imprisoned for over five hundred centuries.

She has nothing but time and she intends to play this little game all the way to the end.

“So your not just some random ass immortal,” Macaque bluntly said when Shen met up with him again.

“Took you that long to figure that out,” the frizzy hair old man laughed.

“Well, how am I supposed to know that you were literally giving me Immortal wine when I have never tasted it before you all but shoved it to me?” He grumbled as he held the bottle of very rare wine once more. “You know I don’t really need this, I am still perfectly immortal without it.”

“Oh I know, Yama sometimes grumbled about it from time to time when we get together. Gods know he wants to strangle Sun Wukong's scrawny neck when he gets the chance,” he said while drinking some of the wine.

“You regularly drink with the King of the Dead?” He deadpanned, “Who the fuck are you? Cause that right there shows that you're not just a regular ass deity.”

“Hmm I’ll tell you if you tell me how you figured out how to make the Immortality pills,” he smirked at the monkey still look.

“What do you mean?”

“I may be old, but I can smell a lot of the ingredients for the pills in this forest alone. Yao grass, Biya berries, Voya roots, Gracidea flowers, just to name a few,” he tapped his nose.

“Can’t really hide the smell,” he clicked his teeth. “Alright fine I’ll talk, but you better keep your end of the deal.”

“Will do.”

And so they talked and talked and when Shen spoke of who he was Macaque all but threw the bottle in his hand.

“What the fuck Ping?!” He hissed out as he had to stop himself from bashing his head against the tree. “How the fuck?!”

“He was an interesting one,” he laughed. He met his old friend by the river where he was doing his laundry, they spoke and then he found himself another drinking buddy.

Macaque’s eyes twitched as he just slumped over and groaned loudly. “What the fuck!”

Shen just laughed wildly next to him.

“Yeah yeah laugh it up,” he hissed before letting out a sigh and sat himself up. “Shit I don’t know if I can ask you this but I might as well fucking try?”

“Hmm?” He curiously questioned.

“I may need something soon that I can’t quite get on normal means and I think-no I know I will need your help to get it,” he asked with an almost pleading voice.

“Hmm, why do you need it?” He noted the tone in his voice but didn’t say a word about it.

“There is a demon that wants to take over the land and almost nobody would be able to stop her,” the simian admitted.

“Eh, there will always be some creature that wants to take over the world, been there, seen that, but that never really happens now does it,” he easily dismissed it as he leaned in closer, “but why do you need it?”

“Because there are people that I want to protect and I know that they will be the ones that will be fighting against that monster and like hell I am letting them do this alone,” he growled.

“Oh now I have your reason, so here’s another question. How much are you willing to give for my favor?”

“Anything,” he determinedly said.

“Anything you say? Even your life?” His green eyes challenged his violet ones.

“Yes,” he replied with no hesitation as the question didn’t even make him flinch.

There was a long silence as both beings stared the other down until the red haired man broke off his gaze and chuckled lightly.

“…hehehe, always knew Ping was fond of the stubborn ones,” he grinned.

“Ping is an old coot with the perchance of running into the weirdest fucking things,” he huffed as the air around them seem to settle down.

“You're not wrong,” he nodded. “Alright I’ll help ya, but next time I drop by I expect some high quality drinks.”

“Tch, fine you alcoholic bastard. Hope you don’t mind Plum wine, have a few sitting for a couple of centuries.”

“Are you kidding? The longer the age, the better it is! It’s like you don’t know me sapling,” he said with a mock hurt expression.

“I mean I might as well as you just told me who the fuck you are!” He threw his hands in the air.

“But you know my wine tastes!”

“You've only given me one kind of wine bastard!”

“Still!”

“Don’t you fucking pout you overgrown child!”

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” MK cursed as he dashed his way through the volcanic land and ducked from a large fiery boulder aimed straight towards him. “Why does this happen to me!?”

Now you may be wondering how and why MK found himself stuck in the volcano arena, well he was visiting one of the more interesting customers he had delivered to before, as in she was trying to learn more about magic, with Red and Mei. Which is cool and all, especially since she has mastered how to change her hair color on will, but she was showing him her more advanced spells. Now it was very fun with the Bull Prince trying to explain to the young girl how each spell works and how much energy must be put into it. They were even going to try out a new spell together, but the thing about her is that while she does have quite a bit of talent, she is extremely clumsy. As she took a step forward and accidentally pushed him into the symbol on the ground and then ‘poof’ he teleported right in the middle of the fire imp territory.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem, he can handle a few enemies on his own and he did with such ease that not even a scratch was laid on him. It’s just that the problem was that they all happened to be a bit too loud and woke up a humanoid creature that was three times his size, entirely made up of molten magma and rock crystals, and looked very pissed.

Needless to say all of them booked it as fast as they could, but unfortunately it had their eyes on one creature that looked different from the rest.

“Seriously!” He yelled as he climbed up the mountain and quickly hid and he held his burnt side. He knows that he is quick on his feet, but even he can’t dodge all of those boulders and swipes aimed at him. It doubly hurts as he can feel the burning of the magma touch his skin, he desperately wants an ice bath when he escapes this.

SMASH

But until then he will continue to make his way to the ocean ahead where he hopes that it would be enough to stop the beast in its tracks. He will swim all the way back home if he has to, he can deal with the sickness later after he saves his skin.

He felt the beast let out a devastating roar and a glance back he saw the creature lift the largest boulder that he didn’t even think he could dodge. So, he instead prepared himself as he was about to bring out his staff when-

“Here comes Jade Dragon/ Blazing Bull!” Twin voices shouted as the next second two terrifying forces slammed into the creature and with a pained roar he flew back.

He blinked as he saw Mei and Red Son, one who is surrounded by ethereal viridian energy and the other encaptured in a fiery crimson aura, jump in front of him protectively.

“MK/Noodle boy! Are you okay?!” Both of them have been trudging through not only ashes clogging their lungs and spot marking their skins, but also all different types of books and ruins trying to find the right activation phrase to reopen the portal to where their friend had disappeared to. They were tired, dirty, clothes ripped, and pissed off, but in MK eyes they were the most beautiful people he has ever seen as he couldn’t stop the blush forming on his cheeks as he took in their perfectly disheveled appearance, the muscles peeking from their ripped sleeves, sweat dripping from their face, and the worried look in their gorgeous eyes.

“Y-Yep!” He involuntarily squeaked. ‘I really should not have read some of those romance books with Jin,’ he thought as he cleared his throat. “I mean yeah, yeah you guys are perfect-I mean you got here at perfect timing!” He nervously said as he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avoid eye contact.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head along the way,” she lightly teased as she kept a firm stance in front of him.

“Would be an improvement,” he smirked, but his eyes didn’t leave the Cherufu dazed form.

“Heyyy,” he whined before he realized what they said before, “Do you guys have names and you didn’t tell me!”

“Umm.”

“We’ll you see-”

“They are so cool!” His eyes sparkled, “they fit you both so perfectly, and the way you guys came in and shouted it made the scene even more awesome!”

Both of them couldn’t stop both smiles and blushes as their smaller friend, and small crush, kept on praising them, but unfortunately, their little bubble popped as the beast roared once more.

“Tch,” Mei irritably clicked her tongue at the beast ride interruption, showing off her fangs (after countless of honing to both tracing and the dragon sword, she was more than ecstatic to see that she matched with both of her boys) “I actually forgot about that.”

“You mean the walking miniature mountain that was just chasing me down,” MK huffed as he shook his head. Hopefully, the two would just blame his fluster on the heat and not drift towards the thought that he may like them more than friends.

“Yeah that.”

“You both need to really get up to speed with your Mythical beings,” Red grunted as he opted to not use his fire against the creature made of lava.

“Says the one who never knew what Advil was,” MK muttered.

“It’s not my fault you mortals inconsistently change their names for no reason!” He hissed as his hair flared up.

“Surrrreee,” both mortals said.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

“You just don’t want to admit that your wrong~”

“Shut it!

“And where do you think you're going?” Wukong flinched as he heard Macaque's voice behind him.

“Oh you know, just a little road trip,” he smiled wider than normal as he quickly turned around to hide his suitcase, “I thought that it was time I get off of my mountain and see what else I missed.”

“Uh Huh,” he noncommittally said as he casually walked forward, “and you just decided that right this week?”

“Yep!”

“Just out of the blue.”

“You know it!”

“With no thoughts in mind.”

“None whatsoever!”

“Sunny, I know you’re bullshitting me,” he bluntly said.

“Whattt?” He nervously laughed, “I’m serious, I am just going to go sightseeing for a bit and-”

“You still have that same tell when you lie, you know. Smiling too widely,” he pointed out.

“I thought I got that under control,” he muttered to himself and sighed, “alright yeah, you caught me. I was gonna go out and look for a weapon to stop her, but I have to do this, Lady Bone Demon is not someone to trifle with. You know how she can easily command someone under her will and that was when she just got out of centuries of captivity! Imagine what she could accomplish once she regains more and more power! I just can’t sit here and wait for that to happen.”

“I know, that’s why you're not doing it alone,” he pointed out.

“Huh?”

“Did you really think that talk we had the other day was just a one off thing? No no no, there are so many people and demons solely invested in this, because what Spider Queen did really pissed off a lot of people and they want revenge on not only her, but those who helped her,” he said as summoned a map and showed him. “Just see for yourself.”

The monkey took the map and he became confused about what he was looking at. “There’s just a bunch of doodles in certain areas.”

“Those are the areas that have been hit and investigated thoroughly, the ones with X are the no goes of anything suspicious or useful, the ones with question marks are the clues or hints, and the few with checks are the ones where they found positive report and/or confirmation on successful supplies that we need. All of these are for finding the necessary materials to end the Bone Demon life once and for all.”

Wukong's eyes were wide at the end of his statement, “You know how to destroy her?! How long were you planning this? How have you managed to search all of these areas?”

“Well, it helps that I have so many favors stacked up from my former clients. I usually don’t care what they pay me, but usually, it’s in either money, food, or favors and I have a lot of those. I mean just Po and his students alone have them all checking the western areas for it by themselves. He says it’s a good training exercise for them, but I think he just wants a break from those brats. And for your first one, we’ll ever since BK got possessed the family has promised vengeance upon her, and Queen Iron Fan happens to have knowledge of a permanent kill switch to ending that demon life,” he said as he showed him the formula.

Wukong examined it and after a while, he nodded his head and faintly said, “Yeah…yeah that might actually work…there is something to destroy her.” He still couldn’t believe his eyes, but it was right there in front of him, then the first part of his words hit him, “Wait, that long?”

“Yes that long,” he said with exasperation, “Am I the only one who found it fucking weird that the Demon Bull King, one of the strongest beings in the realm, got possessed out of fucking nowhere? That right there was already suspicious by itself and the ominous whispers were sure not helping her case, that just added it on. So we decided to get to the bottom of this and boy is this one deep chasm we got ourselves into.”

“It really is,” he agreed as he looked over the map and saw that some of the places that were marked were the ones he was going to go to, even some that only celestial beings can access, “You already investigated these realms?”

He looked over to see what he was pointing at and nodded, “Yeah, pretty much. As I said, I have clientele all over and I don’t really restrict unless they have really done something so fucked up that I would rather kill them.”

“You have favors with Celestial deities,” he emphasized.

“Just some minor ones,” the doctor tried to brush it off, but judging by his friend's look, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Celestial. Deities.”

“How about we talk about this later.”

“Oh we are so talking about this later, but I still have to do this. I have to make sure that she doesn’t cause any more harm to people anymore, this is my duty that I have to do-”

“You're not understanding!” He gripped his hair in frustration. “I literally gave you a map and you still don’t understand what I’m trying to say!”

“What!” He threw his hands in the air, “What can you possibly-”

“You aren’t alone dumbass!” He hissed out and froze the Monkey Sage.

“Wha-” he was cut off once more by a furious finger poking his chest at each word Mac hissed out.

“You. Are. Not. Alone. I don’t know how many different ways I have to say this, but if it gets through your thick skull then god damn it, I will.”

“I-”

“I know what you were about to do, you were about to galavant off and try to do everything on your own and not say a single word to nobody like a stupid martyr, cause apparently this is a shared trait between you and MK about being so self sacrificial that you wish to take on the burden yourself! Well fuck that! I’m putting my foot down for both of you, you don’t have to recklessly go out there and hope that one of them will stick!”

“What else am I supposed to do!” He leaped to his feet, “I basically serve no purpose other than this glorified title of hero, which I am really sick of hearing, and that Bone witch could strike at any moment and we won’t be prepared. If I leave the city then that would mean that not only would I be faster on looking for the weapon, but I would be far away from her and her attempt to sap my power.”

“But you would also be away from the city and by the time you come back, there might not be anything left to come back to,” he said with a final tone. “No one would be able to stand against her, not the demons, not the people, not MK, not the Bull Family, not even me. We would all fall by the time the morning sun rises if we tried to face her head on. We would all be corpses below her feet.”

The Monkey King stilled as the morbid images flooded into his head.

City in ruins.

Bodies sprawled everywhere.

Familiar faces all dead eyed.

Bodies collapsed.

Heart stilled

His precious student.

All of his tribe members.

The rambunctious Demon quartet.

His family to the West.

The headstrong Dragon successor.

Demon Bull with his wife and son.

Yanyu surrounded by her siblings.

Macaque

They're all dead.

Dead

Deaddeaddeadeadeadeadeadead

“Wukong!” He snapped out of his thoughts by black furred hands and looked up to see Macaque worried Violet (alive there so alive and bright, so so bright and alive) eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-” he stopped himself and remend what he was about to say, “I will be fine…I’ll stay.”

The Six Eared monkey let out a sigh of relief, “Good, that’s good. Sorry for putting that image in your head.”

“No, no I needed to hear that. I-I can’t be impulsive, not right now, not when things are becoming dangerous, I need to think things through,” he sighed as he sat down.

“You're not going to be out of the loop, you are the one who knows where a weapon may be hidden, so you can easily tell them which spot to tackle more thoroughly,” he reassured him as he sat by him.

“That would be more efficient than me just searching one at a time, okay I’ll do that,” he let out a small puff of air and managed a small smirk, “I guess that’s why I have you in my life, you somehow manage my little quirks.”

“‘Little quirks’ is an understatement,” he deadpans and leans on him, “but yeah we do fit well for some odd reason.”

“Like peaches and congee,” he grins.

“I think you are the only ones who actually dip it into the food.”

“Oh like I haven’t seen you do the same with mango,” he pointed out.

“There’s a difference okay! It just tastes better that way,” he huffed.

“Surrrre it does,” he drawled out.

“It does.”

“Whatever you say.”

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #macaque #PlumTeaAU

14 notes · View notes

juliafied · 4 years

Note

Hawke and Fenris are at the Winter Palace and Varric keeps trying to hide them? 😂

OMG midnight, I have been wanting to write this ever since I saw the post. *cracks knuckles* LET’S GOOO!

Also, Bridgerton happened to me, so maybe that explains what this is? Honestly, I don’t know. I guess this is a kind of high society rag’s perspective on the events described above, and it really got away from me LOL. This is literally ridiculous.

@dadrunkwriting | AO3

Haute Societé Bi-Weekly | 14 Harvestmere, 9:41 Dragon

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any Orlesian lady worth her salt in attendance at a ball must be in want of some salacious gossip. And it is my pleasure to report, dear reader, that I have come in possession of hearsay of the rarest, most delicious kind.

You have no doubt heard, dear reader, of the momentous political events that have transpired last Saturday evening in the Empress’ palace in Halamshiral. Though these events are of much interest and import, I do not take it upon myself to report on them, as there have been many publications that have done so in recent days, and I will not attempt to speak over them. Nor is this periodical meant to describe the power plays of the Grand Game; it is this lady’s humble opinion that each person of political significance, real or aspirational, learn using their own judgement. However, I do pledge to continue as I always have: to inform the discerning eligible single persons of Orlesian haute société of the latest dalliances, proposals, engagements, and notable appearances of the social season.

Beginning with the mundane: the vicomte of Ghislain has been spotted in the company of the young Arianne de Laval - one might wonder, dear reader, what this could mean for his relationship with her older sister, Juliette. Is this mere brotherly interest, or could the strength of the talented Arianne, having placed third in this year’s Grande Tournée despite her young age, have caught his eye? Perhaps the discerning reader may wish to keep an eye on any tension between these two sisters at the upcoming ball at the duke of Montfort’s estate.

On the subject of dukes: our most ambitious of readers may be chagrined to learn that Sébastien Harcourt, proclaimed by many to be the catch of the season, has accepted a proposal from none other than the mysterious Antivan marquesa that we, alas, know so little about. However, I have received certain interesting information that shall be reported in our next issue, pending confirmation from trusted inside sources.

However, all of the aforementioned events will make you yawn, dearest reader, for I can now safely reveal that the ball at Halamshiral played host not to one, but two renowned Thedosian figures of great controversy. Yes, the rumours are true: I spotted none other than the Champion of Kirkwall herself, in the company of her mysterious tattooed elf, and of course, the esteemed dwarven merchant prince Varric Tethras.

You will not be surprised to note that she wore a gown of scarlet and ebony, though the style was perhaps two or three seasons out of date, as was her mask. I admit, she may have otherwise gone unnoticed by yours truly, as I have no doubt was her aim, but for perceptive members of high society such as I, a season or two out of style is all it takes, I’m afraid. Not even the efforts of Master Tethras to whisk her behind some velvet curtains in the trophy room kept her from my watchful eye.

I can therefore faithfully report that Serah Hawke indulged heavily in the punch bowl, and was spotted pouring the contents of a flask into an ice fountain serving lemonade - perhaps this explains the unusually atrocious taste of the beverage. Other publications may have attributed this to Antivan lemons being out of season, but the true explanation could not be clearer: Fereldan liquor has seldom improved much of anything.

It is with great satisfaction that I confirm long-standing gossip about the nature of the relationship between the Champion and the elf called Fenris - it is, indeed, romantic. Hold your gasp, dear reader, and do not admonish me: I would never follow a couple into the gardens, so to speak, no matter how scandalous the match. In this case, however, certain affections were exchanged in full view of the dance floor, and I am certainly not the only soul to have noticed, though perhaps the only one aware of their true identities. Did I glimpse a flash of silver on the Champion’s left ring finger? I did not dare approach to investigate further, but this is more confirmation than most have provided. Perhaps we may see a continuation of the noble Amell line yet!

I will end my report with a description of the rather ridiculous jig performed by the Champion and Master Tethras in the ballroom. Luckily for them, most respectable nobility had retired to the private salons by these small hours of the morning, so perhaps the Champion thought this would be a dance of a more private nature. I will not elaborate beyond commenting that the Champion leaves much to be desired in her dancing skills, and that Master Tethras makes a much better waltz partner than one might expect. Unfortunately, there is not much evidence to suggest that Serah Hawke has any awareness of what a waltz looks like. Perhaps she has more knowledge of those charming Fereldan square dances? Only future appearances in high society can tell.

Varric puts down the newsletter and groans.

“Do you know how much distribution this damn thing gets? Josephine is going to kill me.”

Hawke grins wickedly, and even Fenris gives a wry smile.

“Worth it for the jig, though!”

#dadwc #julia writes #what the hell even is this #prompt fill

31 notes · View notes

lokidrabbles · 4 years

Text

Across Time (Loki x Reader)

Loki reminisces about Sigyn and his current relationship with Reader

A/N: This is also mildly setup as a Loki x Sigyn story, but it is more used as a device for Loki’s perception of his present relationship. As always, Gender Neutral reader! Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Some implied smut, fluff n’ stuff

The young prince leaned against the marble column, arms crossed over his chest in a sheer display of disinterest. The large hall in which he stood was inhabited with a variety of Asgardians of all ages and trades, eagerly involved in the splendor of food, music, magic and chatter. While large festivities weren’t foreign to him, that being one of Odin’s sons, he felt out of place. This wasn’t your average conjoining of individuals, for this was Thor’s day of birth, and Odin had made sure his eldest son received every single demand and desire he voiced out.

Thor’s entourage involved the Warriors Three, a loud bunch of individuals who felt forced to involve Loki in their little shenanigans, Lady Sif, a woman too serious for her own good, and other belligerent Asgardians who drank and ate mercilessly. Thor was in the middle of it all, letting out a roaring laughter, blatantly drunk and uncaring of the spectacle he was making of himself. Everyone at the gathering cheered and clapped at Thor’s ongoing display of strength and cockiness, causing Loki to roll his eyes, embarrassed at how this man could ever be considered his brother.

He was content however. It was seldom when Odin allowed Thor to fully be his reckless self without reprimanding him on his role as the eldest prince, and Loki knew his brother better than anyone else. Thor needed these foolish events as to not collapse under the pressure of his royal duties, and so Loki only humored him from a distance.

From the corner of his eye, Loki caught a slender figure slowly approaching him, already recognizing her long golden locks and her habit of holding her hands behind her back when near him.

“My prince.” She began, curtsying before him.

“Lady Sigyn.” Loki replied, bowing his head in recognition. “How are you enjoying the merriment?”

“Oh it is quite wonderful. My family is so very thankful for the Allfather to have invited us.” She said softly, positioning herself next to him. “Although now I see how different both you and Prince Thor are.”

Sigyn belonged to a noble family, and the rumors had spread out of the possibility of Odin seeking her father’s approval to marry one of his sons. All clues suggested for Loki to be her suitor, as Thor would probably scare her off with his boasting nature.

Loki chuckled. “Yes quite. My brother takes much to Odin in the same way I take to my mother. Though irritating at times, it can be quite amusing seeing him make a fool of himself.”

“Oh, Prince Loki. You shouldn’t say that about your brother.” She replied jestingly. “ Though I do recall the one time he had passed out on top of the entire desert table. A lot of the nobles weren’t to happy about that.”

“Ah yes! That was indeed hilarious. Father had single-handedly dragged him to his quarters by his ankle. He was absolutely furious that next morning, and I did not envy Thor one bit.”

She let out a gentle laughter, causing Loki’s heart to flutter briefly. Both Loki and Sigyn were introduced to each other as young adolescents with prospects of them bonding and forming a tight knit relationship. Sigyn, like Loki, had studied under her family to master the art of seidr. Their first conversations involved talking about the mystic magic, comparing their abilities and attempting to teach each other what they have learned. Sigyn focused on healing abilities, spells which would replenish one’s energy and stamina, while Loki would learn a variety of defensive and offensive spells from Frigga. They complemented each other in abilities, and matched in their calm nature, drawn towards literature and increasing their knowledge base.

One would argue it was a perfect marriage in the making. As Loki grew older, he found himself naturally attracted to Sigyn’s blossoming. She had grown to be a beautiful woman, adorned with wavy locks, beautiful brown eyes and soft, sienna colored skin. She was kind and gentle, but also very confident with herself and with her abilities. While the deal was still to be sealed, both did share hidden kisses and intimate touches behind corridors, away from eavesdropping guards. At times, the thrill of seeing her and perhaps teasing her by playing with her hair or placing a hand at the small of her back was all he could think of. He pondered about a possibility like that playing out now.

“My prince, I take it you have something else in your mind?” She asked as a coy, pink lipped smile formed.

“Perhaps.” He said teasingly. “I admit, I was beginning to wonder what had taken you so long to approach me Lady Sigyn. Could it be possible you’ve grown bored of me?”

“My prince!” She sounded offended. “What could ever give you that idea? I was simply waiting for the attention to be drawn to Prince Thor. And since it is so, shall we meet by the balcony to discuss our affairs more appropriately?”

“How bold of you my lady. Quite inappropriate to be talking to a prince in such a sultry manner.”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, to which he responded with a cocky wink. “Shame on you. But alas, I shall retreat to said balcony all by my lonesome self.”

Loki lowered his head to kiss Sigyn’s forehead, knowing his duty would be to protect her and provide her with the care she so desired. “I shall meet you there soon enough my lady.”

She curtsied again, a flush of pink present in her cheeks. Sigyn soon disappeared behind the columns, far into the depth of the palace. Loki smirked to himself as a comforting warmness filled his chest. Was this love? Or perhaps just the excitement that his youth years would blind him to. He knew sooner or later, both Odin and Sigyn’s father would come to an agreement, and Loki would become her betrothed.

He once had a conversation about the possibility with Frigga. Who best to provide Loki with sound judgement to determine if Sigyn would indeed be a good wife? As any young Asgardian would, Loki shared his uncertainties with his mother. He understood the duty he would uptake once as a married man, while still addressing his duties as Odin’s son.

It seemed to make the most sense, and it was almost expected at this point. Loki and Sigyn simply got along well, they were both skilled and highly intelligent, and both came from nobility. The union of their families would make for some very powerful heirs, which was always an interest for Odin. Yet, the sense of doubt naturally picked at him. He was still young, and arguably inexperienced. Love, while the concept not foreign to him, was a new experience, and Loki wasn’t sure whether this was what he felt for Sigyn.

Frigga, knowing her son best, provided Loki with words of encouragement, for which he forever continued to carry with him.

“Trust your intuition Loki. Perceive your happiness with them, as the best blessing a partner can offer you is the opportunity to grow beside them. I believe in you, my son.”

Both Loki and Sigyn soon became engaged, and for a brief moment in his long life, Loki felt as his everything had fallen correctly into place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ugh. Come on.”

Loki popped one eye open upon hearing your groan. You had propped yourself up against your pillow, texting away furiously on the bright screen of your phone. The light was absolutely blinding, especially in the middle of the night. He blinked and squinted, catching how you had knitted your eyebrows together. You were rightfully annoyed, and he deducted you must have been awakened by the beeping of your device.

“Who has upset my dearest?” He asked, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Tony wants me to go in tomorrow for some maintenance crap. I’m telling him to stop messaging me in the middle of the night.” You responded, voice still groggy.

He made a disapproving sound. “I am not eager about Stark having contact with you so frequently. He’s a fool, and now he has disturbed my slumber with you.”

You tossed your phone by your dresser and pulled the sheets up to your face. You scooted closer to Loki, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. Loki’s body responded, soon placing his arm around your waist, hand resting on the small of your back.

“He’s my boss, his money pays my bills. But yes he’s stupid.” You muttered under the sheets.

“You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing you insult him.” He chuckled lowly. “You certainly have way with words.”

“Also, if I would have never gotten hired by him, I would have never met you. So technically-”

He shushed you immediately. “No. Do not dare say Stark’s intervention brought us together. I’d like to believe it was simply meant to be due to my charm and charisma.”

You snorted, your breath tickling the skin on his neck. “Fine, fine. I won’t say it. I gotta admit tho, you look super cute whenever you get upset by that.”

“Then it is no wonder why you always seem to infuriate me.”

You both laid together quietly, your soft breaths beginning to lull Loki back into that blissful comfort. His arm continued to be looped around your waist, bringing a deep, inward sense of protectiveness. You were small compared to him, yet it had come to a point where he needed to feel your body closer to his, clinging onto him for security. It was bizarre. He knew his past self would have never dreamed of the day where he would lay in bed with a human, much less have an intimate relationship with a human. The prospect was very difficult to accept at first, especially considering the circumstances of how he had settled down on Midgard. Despite this, Loki weirdly felt as if this made the most sense to him. The planet he swore to conquer almost a decade ago, now became his home. The humans, which he swore to conquer, had now accepted him to some degree. And now, he proudly called one of these humans as his own. This foolish human who had presented him with kindness, genuineness and often made him upset at the foolish comments they would make.

He relished in your touch, and how soft your skin felt. He found himself always seeking out your touch. There was a contrasting difference between human and Asgardian skin. Human skin always felt much more delicate and thinner, while Asgardians tended to have tougher and firmer skin. Your skin would bruise easily, especially if his grip would become harsh. He sadistically liked this, feeling as if he could easily mark you at any moment, claiming territory on this small Midgardian. He mindlessly began to make circles in the small of your back, feeling the shivers spread all over.

He smiled to himself once he felt your own arms loop under his arms, circling his broad chest. You picked your head out from under his chin, and reached up to plant a sleepy kiss upon his lips. A blessing for him. Your lips were much too tender for him to bear, and he kissed and suckled on them in return.

You giggled and pulled back from him briefly. “I need to sleep but I don’t want to anymore now.”

“Oh? Any particular reason?” He asked, smile still displayed.

“Yes. I just really want to get on top of you now. And maybe kiss you all over.”

He hummed approvingly. “I don’t have any reason to stop you. You have laid claim to me already, human.”

Eagerly, you removed your hold and climbed over him, your thighs tightly at his hips. He adjusted himself, just enough so he could ensure his grip on your waist would be secure. You lowered down to his face, peppering it all over with fleeting kisses and pecks. You ended on his lips again, this time kissing deeper and passionately, leaving Loki practically breathless. At times your displays of affection were overwhelming. Humans were always so physical with each other, and always giving themselves into that intense gratification. it was years and years since Loki experienced this type of fondness and the lustful pleasure of feeling someone on top of him. He was undeniably attracted to you, his little human, who proved their worth by his side. Tongues soon clashed with one another, and Loki groaned into your mouth, already feeling his blood rush into his core.

He halted however, knowing you would be reprimanded the following day if you stayed up the entire night. He hated Stark, but he also didn’t want to jeopardize your working relationship with him.

“Sweetling, although I would love nothing more than to fuck you right now, perhaps it is wiser for you to get some rest.”

Even Loki could see your childish pout through the dim light of the window. “I hate it when you’re right.” You said, laying your head on his chest in defeat.

He leaned inward and planted a reassuring kiss at the top of your head. “Once you are done with your duties tomorrow, we can resume our intimacy in the evening.”

You rolled off of him, still laying close by his side, arms clinging onto his chest. “Knowing myself though, I might annoy you about it in the morning instead.”

“Then sleep now. And I promise you will be awakened by a very pleasant surprise.”

The rest of the night continued, and soon Loki felt you doze off into deep sleep. He remained awake, as he always did, until you were fully resting. He focused his attention still to the weight of your arm over his chest, slowly caressing your hand with his. Loki began to feel his eyelids droop, slowly drawing back to a familiar memory, and a familiar set of words which he had forgotten about long ago.

He felted blessed with you. And his intuition affirmed it every single day.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x sigyn #lokyn #loki drabbles #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki (mcu)#loki laufeyson #loki odinson

124 notes · View notes

5lazarus · 4 years

Note

Prompt: Snape needs an ingredient for a potion that is a complete pain in the ass to obtain. He can't buy it--he has to find it himself, and it's not going to be easy.

thank you my friend! it took me awhile, but I did it, and this one made me laugh. trying an oilier Snape in this one. Maleficari’s Mutinous Munitions: Sprout grew the wrong kind of mandrakes--mandragora, rather than English mandrakes, and no one knew that there actually was an infinitesimal difference--so Severus needs to save the day before Lockhart can. A little of Slytherin cunning, a willingness to embezzle, and a sense of spite wins the day. Read on AO3 here.

Pomona planted the wrong kind of mandrake--a mandragora, not a proper English mandrake--though none of them knew it would be the wrong kind when they reviewed the syllabus. The faculty is stunned. Severus leans back in his chair and rubs the bridge of his nose. The headache is not building yet, but he knows it will. Sure enough, Gilderoy Lockhart begins to speak. “Well, no matter,” he flourishes. Severus’ expression tightens, and he exchanges a glance with Minerva. Lockhart continues, “Now, with my fast-growing Miracle-Gro I concocted on a swift trip to the American South, asked by the natives of the colony of New Georgia to battle kudzu, their offshoot of Devil’s Snare--” “Kudzu and Devil’s Snare are completely unrelated,” Pomona says repressively, “and not to mention that you would want the opposite of growth with--” Lockhart barrels on, “My unique fertilizer will win the day for us. Never fear, colleagues! I am not just the five-times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile award--there are brains a plenty to back up the beauty.” “Brains,” Severus says, “so that is the secret to the shellac of your hair. I assumed you used a dingbat.” Minerva does not elbow him, and she does not laugh, but she does wink. Severus, of course, does not smirk back--that is his customary grimace crossing his face. Before Lockhart can offer to share hair care tips, for the price of a single smile, Severus turns to Pomona. “I will consult my suppliers in Diurn Alley. Mandrake, rather than mandragora--who wants to tell Granger there is an infinitesimal difference?” Lockhart says, “Man drakes, woman drakes, what does it matter? With my Miracle-Gro compound, your potion will hardly know the difference!”

Pomona puts her head in her hands, and the staff meeting adjourns before Severus can get nasty. Fuming, he billows down the corridor. Lockhart infuriates him. Anyone would have been better than him, anyone--the most notorious pureblood fake on both sides of the Atlantic. Surely Dumbledore could have begged Emmeline Vance to come back, or even had the staff rotate the lessons so the curse would be watered down. At least he can take some satisfaction that something nastily embarrassing will happen to Lockhart by the end of the year. Severus hopes it’s the fatal kind of embarrassing. He hopes his teeth fall out as he attempts to skewer a teenage mandrake, his earmuffs going askew as he panics, and as the mandrake screams in rage and pain Lockhart is knocked unconscious and slams his head against a wall, dying instantly. Severus smiles grimly to himself at the fantasy: but fate is not that good to him. Footsteps patter up to him, and he whirls around to see Minerva staring at him. “You need to get those mandrakes, Severus,” she says. “I will...keep Professor Lockhart entertained.” “Truly the long-suffering Gryffindor,” he returns. “I should think it’s only right we volunteer Albus for the job.” Minerva snorts. “Diabolical. He’s already left for the Ministry, to request us a permit. It’s too late.” Severus says, “The man should’ve been a Slytherin. Bastard. You take Lockhart, and I’ll have those mandrakes found, cut, and stewed by daybreak.” He beats a retreat before she can change her mind. Dumbledore will get him the permit, so Severus Floos to his flat in Diurn Alley and walks quickly and unabashedly to Knockturn Alley, where he’ll get better prices. It is always better to ask forgiveness rather than permission, he feels--every time he has asked, he has been told no, and the school cannot wait for him to scheme his way into the Ministry’s good graces. Besides, he can breathe here. The usual snarling denizens of the darker side of town eye him. A hag attempts to sell him some bile, he flicks her back and she spits at him, so he spits back. He can always use an excuse to fight, since he cannot blast Lockhart to eternity. He enters Maleficari’s Mutinous Munitions with a sneer fixed on his face and the goal to spend no more than two galleons for the whole lot. Pomona is too easily distracted by the wares, and Minerva too prone to refusing to bargain in a self-righteous huff. Only he has the mixture of silky disdain and oily flattery that can win them this--and a flagrant disrespect for the law, but that is neither here nor dare. Dumbledore is taking care of that bit, and Dumbledore never fails a promise. People, yes, he’ll perpetually disappoint, but an iron-clad vow? That Dumbledore will never break. The shopkeeper looks up and says, “Professor Snape. How good of you to peruse my wares. Might I interest you in a drink?” The drink will be poisoned, of course, that is part of the fun of Maleficari’s Munitions. Severus keeps a bezoar on his person for trips such as these. He bows slightly. “Alas,” he drawls, “I am here for business, not pleasure. You have heard of the trouble at the school?” He casts the line and waits for Maleficari to be hooked. Maleficari’s strange jeweled eyes glitter. He deals in ingredients, yes, but who doesn’t also love a bit of gossip? “Witch Weekly’s Walking Smile causing complaints?” Maleficari offers. He pours himself a steaming green shot of what seems to be wormwood liqueur mixed with ground doxy wings. Severus’ nostrils flare: but he assures himself the effects are negligible. “Professor Lockhart performs adequately by his own standards,” Severus says neutrally. “He has only deboned one student, who has no living parents to complain, and thus meets the bare minimum standard of Hogwarts classroom etiquette. But no,” he draws closer, looming over Maleficari and drinking in the scent, “I have come for other trouble. A favor for the faculty at large.” “Extracurricular?” Maleficari whispers, tongue darting quick over his lips. Severus smiles grimly. “No,” he says. “Some old magic has wakened in the school. At least two students have been found petrified solid--but their vitals in status. Old, interesting magic.” Maleficari says, “And an enigma too. You don’t know what it is yet, do you?” “The school is requisitioning five teenage mandrakes from the Ministry,” Severu says archly. “I thought I would save you the paperwork and come to you directly.” Maleficari laughs. He stares at him with his refracting diamond eyes and Severus Occludes hurriedly. He feels the Legilimancy probe, and offers up an old memory of leafing through paperwork with Albus, Minerva pacing in the background. Maleficari withdraws, and Severus looks at him expressionlessly. Most know that he is a Potions Master, some know he is an expert Legilimens, but he keeps his mastery of Occlumency to himself. “Living or dead?” Maleficari says. “I’m certain we can arrange something before the Ministry raids my stores.” Severus smirks, pays two galleons, and writes off five in his expenses. If Dumbledore knows he certainly never asks.

#snapefic #severus snape #harry potter fanfic #pro-snape #fanfic #masaotheheckindog

8 notes · View notes

blurrypetals · 4 years

Text

Queen of Air and Darkness by Cassandra Clare - blurrypetals review

originally posted dec. 9, 2018 - ★★★★★

A-T. L-A-S-T.

I am so absolutely overwhelmed by everything that I've experienced in the last few days while listening to this. As Cassandra Clare's longest book to date, a whole dang fuckin' lot happens in this book. To sort my way through this review, the following paragraphs are gonna be chock full of a whole dang fuckin' lot of untagged spoilers, so continue at your own risk. I do think you're doing yourself a huge disservice if you do read this review before you've read the book, though. It's also incredibly likely I'll drop a spoiler or two on every Shadowhunters book so, if you're here and you have not, for some reason, read The Mortal Instruments, The Infernal Devices, the other two books in The Dark Artifices trilogy, and all of the short stories in The Bane Chronicles, Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, and Ghosts of the Shadow Market, I implore you to amend that, to go and read those fourteen books and this fifteenth book before reading this review, just in case I ruin anything for you by accident. Okay, now that's out of the way, let's talk about sequels and how to finish a grand, epic fantasy story. It was difficult for me to not compare this book to three other books. The first two are, of course, Cassandra Clare's other finales, City of Heavenly Fire and Clockwork Princess. This handily bowls City of Heavenly Fire straight under the table because, even though City of Heavenly Fire is still a 5-star book, it's the weakest of The Mortal Instruments hexalogy and, other than perhaps The Bane Chronicles, it's also maybe the weakest in The Shadowhunter Chronicles in its current entirety. Clockwork Princess, by contrast, however, is, in my opinion, the best of the entire series. As a finale, Queen of Air and Darkness here sits comfortably as the second best Shadowhunters finale yet. So much happens in this book. It's split into three different parts which could have easily been split into three shorter books with near-perfect three act structures in place for each of them, making this book a nine act book with two "false" climaxes that would have made for quite the cliffhangers if they had been split up for any reason. The first act deals with the aftermath of Livia's death and, because it has a lot of rising action, it's actually a little frustrating in some ways, even if it was frustrating in an incredibly enjoyable way. One of my absolute favorite scenes in the whole book is Julian running to Magnus for help in the middle of the night because it so perfectly mirrors the scene in Clockwork Prince when another blue eyed boy named Will Herondale was at the end of his rope, desperate not to love a girl he was cursed not to be with. I loved the contrast between a Herondale's plea for salvation and a Blackthorn's last hope to avoid damnation, separated by a hundred years yet tied by the same plight and the same warlock's magic. Emotionless-Julian was a really compelling read, even if I was almost as angry and frustrated with him and Magnus as Emma was. I loved to hate how cold and calculating he became without his love and compassion around to guide his moral compass. I hated his betrayal of Emma so fucking much it hurt but I've always loved Julian's ruses, schemes, and plans, and his dealings with the Seelie Queen, the Black Volume, and a skilled calligrapher and wizard called OfficeMax. Damn. So fucking good. Also, speaking of Julian's plans and schemes, his war council and Livia's Watch is one of the most satisfying scenes in The Shadowhunter Chronicles as it currently exists; I'm so proud of my son. He is so great. Hot diggity. Speaking of reminders from past stories, we get the entire cast of The Mortal Instruments during a lot of this book. I was really excited anytime we ran into anyone from The Mortal Instruments, especially the part when Julian and Emma ended up being thrown in the same Unseelie prison as Jace and Clary were and that was Jace and Clary's first appearance in the whole novel. It could have easily gotten overwhelming; I was, in fact, rather worried that Jace and Clary would steal the spotlight for a good spell in the final act of the book, but they didn't, since Emma and Julian were, eh...too big to ignore, and the book even ends with the long-awaited Bane-Lightwood wedding of the centuries, but the story proper closes on Julian and Emma on the beach together. Even though The Wicked Powers is still yet to come, this book felt like a huge culmination of all fourteen of the prior books in a huge way. We had Jem and Tessa from The Infernal Devices, we had Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, Alec, and Magnus from The Mortal Instruments, and we had Emma, the Blackthorns, and all their friends and allies from this series and it felt huge. I also felt the weight of what's to come in a super hardcore manner when it came to Kit and Ty, Dru and Jaime, and, of course, Ash. I genuinely feel as though I can't wait any longer to see how Kit and Ty's stories turn out. I'm especially pleased by the fact that Jem and Tessa decided to adopt Kit and that Kit will have the family he's longed for his whole life and, not only will he have two capable people parenting him through the rest of his adolescence, but he'll also have that younger sibling he's been longing for, someone he can teach and take care of in the way he wasn't when he was small. I really hope at least one of the two forthcoming Ghosts of the Shadow Market stories focuses on Kit and his new life and new home with Jem, Tessa, and hopefully their new precious tiny one. Thoughts of the future of The Shadowhunter Chronicles in Drusilla, Kit, Ty, and, specifically, Ash, bring me back around to the second section of the book, which is the most absolutely bananas thing Cassandra Clare has ever written but is also actually incredibly compelling. I fucking loved the alternate universe stuff, everything to do with the exciting return of not-Jace, the introduction of alterna-Livia, other-Cameron, and living-Raphael (especially the part where he begged Emma and Julian to tell Magnus and Alec to rename Rafael; I was in tears laughing about all of that biz), and the temporary absence of emotionless-Julian and how he and Emma ended up healing so much of their relationship there. I also am so totally down with not-Jace being the main villain of The Wicked Powers, or at least a main villain. I am really impressed with Cassie—which, when am I not, honestly?—in the way that second section of the book was written. It felt like a huge love letter to me as a longtime and dedicated fan of The Shadowhunter Chronicles in general because we got to see these, for lack of a better term, a fanfiction AU turned canon that doesn't read like a fanfiction in the least bit because it remains relevant, interesting, tense, and important the whole way through, even though it's literally a gigantic non-sequitur that some could argue is "pointless." I am not one who would argue that, though, because I loved it so damn much. It gave me what is probably my favorite Emma and Julian scene in all of The Dark Artifices, just after they return to the resistance stronghold. You know the scene. Okay, rapid fire because I could honestly go on forever about this book; I pinned 108 different clips throughout this book, which is the most pins or post-its I've ever put in one single book before. I adored the fact that Simon gave Julian his iron Lord Montgomery figurine before he and Emma left Idris. Michael Wayland's ghost showing up for Robert Lightwood's funeral fucked me up in a super hardcore way and the fact that Kit was the only one who could see him or even sense his presence really got to me and I really teared up because Bitter of Tongue from Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy absolutely wrecked me and this poked at that wound. Everything in regards to Mark, Cristina, and Kieran was incredibly sweet, sex positive, loving, trusting, and healthy and I just...gah they are perfect. A most excellent thruple, one for the ages. A great many of my pins have something to do with Kit growing into his inborn Herondale talent of being a master in snark (think candy gram and "Alas, poor Yorick,"). Everyone in the alternate realm being grossed out by endarkened-Emma's and endarkened-Julian's PDA was hilarious. Julian realizing art requires pain and morality about snapped my sad tiny bird heart clean in half. Feline death on a massive scale. Anytime Jace's more playful, youthful side showed because he's a happy boi now was delightful, especially the parts where he wanted to get to hold the mortal sword and when he declared, "We're the bait!" Magnus hallucinating was great, but my favorite hallucination was when he was flirting with a vase like it was Alec and then very seriously offering to buy it from the Institute. I also loved it when Magnus called Clary "biscuit". It made my heart all soft and nostalgic. Julian's smile at Emma when he got his emotions back tot me emotional, dammit! Caterina meeting Kit for the first time made my heart feel like it was too large for my body. Jace using finger guns, because finger guns are always hilarious. Dru realizing she was looking at the face of a parent when she looked at Julian. Kit responding to being called "Herondale," when Magnus said, "Stay away from my children, Herondale." Emma telling Diana that she showed her the kind of woman she wanted to be. Emma's terrible pun about Manuel being tied up. "Ragnor Lives." An old lady accidentally complimenting Julian on being tall. Emma and Julian deciding to go to the other at the exact same time. Alec would look better on the money. Mark trying (and failing) to make balloon animals and accidentally making them all snakes. That's not even a third of them all. Near the beginning of the review, I said I was having a difficult time avoiding comparing this book to three other books, two of which were past Shadowhunters books. The third book, however, is Kingdom of Ash by Sarah J. Maas, which is another very long final book in a series, one that somehow managed to get voted as the best YA fantasy of 2018 and, because of that slap in the face, I couldn't help but wonder how this book, technically the fifteenth in a series, managed to feel fresh, new, fun, and lovable from minute one to hour thirty of the audiobook even though this is the fifteenth time I've experienced a book in The Shadowhunter Chronicles for the first time and I've never come close to feeling the same sort of apathy or anger as I do for Sarah J. Maas and Throne of Glass. This is how you end a series. This is how you end one part of your series. This is how it's done. Take notes, everyone else. Get on Cassie's level.

#queen of air and darkness #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #2018 #goodreads mirror #blurrypetals

2 notes · View notes

needtherapy · 4 years

Text

soaring, carried aloft on the wind…continued 10

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 … HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read.

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit.

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 10

The next day dawns with perfect golden radiance, lighting a sky as blue as the eggs of the little brown catbirds that nest outside of the Cloud Recesses. It is too fine a day to spend inside, so instead of the hospital tents, Huaisang takes him and Qingyang to the fighting rings.

“Huaisang, what does ‘sent home without a horse’ mean?” Xichen asks quietly, unfortunately not quietly enough for Qingyang not to hear him. But other than a slight pause in her step, she continues walking, head up, seemingly unconcerned. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. It sounded somehow ominous.

Huaisang laughs. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s what we say. He’s going back alone, with only enough supplies to get him home, and no pay. ‘Without a horse’ is a lot faster to say. Also, he doesn’t get to take a horse, so...” Huaisang shrugs amiably.

Xichen frowns. Huaisang may not want to dwell on the previous day’s ugliness, but Xichen thinks it’s a long way back over the mountains. He’s not sure if it concerns him or pleases him.

“Will he survive?”

It is Qingyang who answers with a scowl. “Undoubtedly. He’s a...gau. Gau marai. They always find their way.”

A painfully sharp rock, one of the many fascinating swear words Xichen’s Orera vocabulary is now in possession of. It’s a remarkably apt description.

Patting Xichen on the arm, Huaisang grins, but there’s iron behind it. “She’s right. He’ll be fine, Xichen. Even if it hadn’t been you and Qingyang, no one is allowed to harm anyone we’ve given sanctuary to. It would be a bad precedent. Don’t worry about it. It’s our way. Look!”

He points ahead of him and Xichen stares. It is not fighting rings. It is a fighting arena. Unlike the two-person circular spaces Xichen is used to training in, the Beifeng soldiers are sparring in twos and threes within a single, enormous rectangle. Fighters dance in a chaotic melee through the space, using each other as screens, blocking around other fighters, and Xichen can’t imagine how they keep track of their sparring partners, much less avoid killing each other. He wants to try it so badly his feet tap in solidarity, and he has to resist imitating some of the better combinations he sees.

“Yes, I am showing off a little, but there’s a purpose, I swear,” Huaisang admits, seeing Xichen’s wide-eyed interest. “After you healed anakau, and after yesterday, we realized it might also be helpful for you to understand more about how our soldiers fight and get wounds. Since we can’t very well send you into battle, this will have to do.”

Xichen listens to Qingyang and Huaisang’s explanations and translations of the different weapons being used: long double-edged jian (iraho), single-edged swords similar to the dao he knows (ipira), curved blades he’s never seen before (ipiramotou), even pairs of daggers (maheti). He tries to pay attention to Huaisang’s dissection of the Beifeng training regime, but he’s too engrossed in watching the fighters.

The Beifeng wield their magic differently in battle, far less often than his people but with far more devastating effects. Xichen is used to the power being a part of him, and it comes through in every swing and block, but these soldiers look like they are creating magic in order to use it. They only deploy it when they have enough time to force their opponent back or when they duck around another sparring pair. Still, when they crook their fingers or draw lines in the air to pull that strange darkness into themselves, the release can send the other person flying, force them down like a heavy weight on their back, or even freeze a charging soldier in their tracks. Now Xichen is even more glad he stopped Damias before he could use this magic against him.

“Would you like to spar?”

Huaisang’s question breaks through Xichen’s concentration, and he feels a pang of loss. After their mother died, the sparring ring is where Wangji and Xichen spent most of their time together, away from memories, away from other people, away from looming responsibility. His hands long to fight, but as childish as he knows it is, he misses his sword, and he misses his brother. He tries to evade the question.

“I do not have a sword.”

Huaisang claps Xichen on the back. “Zewu-Jun, I think we can find you a sword.”

He whistles sharply to a man standing at the edge of the arena, shouting a command when the man’s head turns. Within moments, he is standing in front of Xichen, offering him his choice of jian or dao. They are both perfectly decent weapons, and Xichen’s pointlessly stubborn resistance fades. He picks them both up, considering their weight, and chooses the jian—iraho, he thinks, practicing the word—as it seems the most familiar. He can’t help smiling at the comforting feel of a sword in his hand.

“I do not have an opponent either, Huasiang. Will you spar with me?” Xichen asks, guessing that no one else will be allowed to endanger him, and they have no way of knowing just how skilled he is.

“Alas, I am no soldier,” Huaisang demurs, and there’s a hint of mischief on his face that makes Xichen immediately wary. “Anakau...Elder Brother...will be your opponent. He has been...curious.”

Xichen’s eyes close, and he considers stabbing Huaisang. When he opens them, the arena is empty except for Mingjue.

“I do not think I like you,” Xichen hisses at Huaisang, but he swallows his agitation and ignores the traitorous laughter that follows him.

Xichen stands before a solemn-faced Mingjue, aware of the crowd of Beifeng soldiers milling around the edges of the arena. He debates the wisdom of this idea, but since it was obviously Mingjue and Huaisang’s idea, he doesn’t debate it for too long.

With a polite bow, Xichen raises the sword, leaving the scabbard on. It’s a show of bravado, as only a confident swordsman wouldn’t bother to unsheath his weapon, and Mingjue obviously understands the gesture. He lifts an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth tips up as he draws the ipira from its sheath on his hip—a beautiful sword, Xichen’s expert eye notes. The blade is an unusually dark metal and the handguard is set with a deep crimson stone. Hence the title, Xichen thinks.

Mingjue taps Xichen’s sword, giving him first strike as a master would give his student. For the first time since he’s been here, giddy laughter threatens to overcome Xichen. He’ll take the advantage and see if he can surprise Ipira’orhew Ikira.

Normally in a fight against an unfamiliar opponent, Xichen would spend the start of the bout in defense, watching the person’s feet, their eyes, their reactions. But one of his greatest strengths has always been his speed, and he decides to attack immediately, darting forward and sweeping from low to high in a series of swift opening slashes. Without giving Mingjue a chance to parry or riposte, he spins, forcing a burst of power through the sword and smashing it into the other man’s blade. The strength of Xichen’s magic slams the swords together and sends Mingjue skidding backward.

Xichen doesn’t know how fast or strong Mingjue is yet, but he knows he can not afford to let Mingjue recover or use his own magic, so he chases him, throwing the scabbard as he runs and aiming a hard, flat swing at Mingjue’s midsection, forcing him to block at an awkward angle. Mingjue lifts his sword—his strength is unbelievable—hauling Xichen’s strike up into the air. But Xichen lets the momentum of the sword continue in an arc, and he ducks low under Mingjue’s ipira, angling the point of the borrowed iraho up toward Mingjue’s neck.

It’s a reckless move for a friendly bout, and Xichen doesn’t know why he’s made it. Even against his brother, who is nearly his equal, he would never have risked injury like this. But as he suspected, Mingjue is even faster and more agile than he appears, flipping backward and avoiding the hit. Still, it’s given Xichen a chance to rethink his strategy, and the moment Mingjue is back on his feet, Xichen attacks, this time swiping down and to the side in a pattern of slashes, recognizing that Mingjue will have less power on a lift than he would for an overhead block. It is so good to move, to fight, to use his gift so fully, he feels like flying. He doesn’t even care if he wins.

Xichen looks at Mingjue’s handsome face, relaxed and confident, and changes his mind. He’s definitely going to try to win.

Mingjue sidesteps the last slash—Xichen chides himself for making one too many of the same attack—and finally brings the ipira down in a bone-jarring hack that Xichen only barely blocks. Instead of sliding away as Xichen would have done, Mingjue turns his blade, letting the swords drop between them. A smile flickers in the corners of his eyes as he leans in, forcing Xichen to hold the iraho steady with two hands and all the magic he can manage against the heavier ipira and the stronger man.

This close, Xichen can see every line of Mingjue’s expression, and the hint of a smile turns into a wide grin that inexplicably flusters Xichen. He drops the block and lets himself fall backward, bending at the waist and rolling to the side to absorb the momentum. The sudden release of tension on his ipira sets Mingjue off balance and he staggers forward, but he drops to his knees and spins, crooking his fingers as he moves and throwing up a dark shield between them, blocking Xichen’s jab. Without thinking, Xichen reaches out with his own magic, throwing a golden flame into the middle of the shield. It doesn’t break the magical barrier, but it sinks in slowly, like a stone into honey. Mingue recoils like it stings the tips of his fingers, and now it’s Xichen’s turn to grin at the look on Mingjue’s face.

Mingjue only falters for a fraction of a second before he plants his feet and shoots forward, jabbing the ipira at Xichen’s side, which Xichen easily brushes away, stepping forward into Mingjue’s guard space instead of moving away and using his longer reach to attack. Mingjue’s sword slides past Xichen, and with six quick steps—spin to the side, turn behind Mingjue’s back, swing the sword in a full circle—Xichen brings the edge of the iraho to Mingjue’s neck before he can pull the ipira back to block.

“Do you yield?” he asks, more out of habit and not expecting Mingjue to understand him.

Mingjue’s sword clatters to the ground and his increasingly familiar hands circle Xichen’s waist, slide into his hair, tip his head back, and not even bothering to avoid the sharp edge of the iraho at his neck, Mingjue kisses Xichen in front of an entire army.

Without even the semblance of resistance, Xichen lets him. Not only lets him, enthusiastically encourages him, dropping his sword to twine his arms around Mingjue’s neck, immersing himself in the heat radiating from his body and opening his mouth when Mingjue rubs his thumb against Xichen’s jaw. Mingjue bites Xichen’s lip with a sound between a growl and a moan that cuts Xichen more deeply than any blade, and he stops caring about the cheering crowd and his own embarrassment.

“Xichen?” Mingjue asks against his mouth, and Xichen doesn’t allow himself to think about why his name always sounds different coming from this man or second guess the answer he knows he’s about to make.

“Yes. Ani. Yes.”

Mingjue whistles a series of notes and grins at Xichen, who has no idea what he’s doing, but can’t resist smiling too. He loses track of time in Mingjue’s dark eyes, and only bounces back to reality when Mingjue lets go of him, just long enough to expertly fling himself onto the bare back of the black horse that has suddenly appeared. He extends a hand to Xichen, giving him one more chance to decline.

The part of him that realizes everyone will know where they’re going and, presumably, what they’ll be doing, sounds like one of his father’s lectures on virtue and morality. He stifles it. His father would have given Wangji to this man with no consideration for his feelings or his future. At least Xichen has chosen his fate, and he chooses it again, reaching up and letting Mingjue pull him onto the horse.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #soaring au #nielan #lan xichen #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #luo qingyang #arranged marriage au #the untamed fic #cql fic #sexy sword fighting

3 notes · View notes

hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

Text

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 1

Master Post

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 2

Osvaldo Oyola , J. Lamb and Noah Berlatsky (who hates super heroes on principle btw), along with other dumbasses, have often said they are male/white supremacist power fantasies.

Nah fam. They are nothing more and nothing less than a HUMAN power fantasy.

Follow me along here for a while.

Human beings are animals.

We are. That’s a simple matter of scientific fact.

When push comes to shove we are really, really, really smart monkeys who share something like 50+% genes in common with chimpanzees.

As animals and all forms of life the overwhelming majority of us are biologically hardwired towards one ultimate goal: survival.

The desire to survive drives us innately in ways that go unnoticed most of the time. As we evolved into smarter creatures with higher brain functions capable of comprehending the world around us and constructing complex relationships and societies, that survival instinct was reinterpreted through various means.

The survival instinct in human beings and other mammals takes several forms but most commonly can boil down to two things:

a) Survival through preservation of the individual

b) Survival through procreation

Type a) involves getting food, shelter, rest, avoiding and recovering from injury and of course defending one’s self from threats, which can take the form of other living creatures, including members of our own species.

Type b) involves spawning offspring and at the same time looking after their wellbeing.

But the survival instinct goes deeper than that because we are biologically hardwired to work towards the protection of our very species. That is the very reason why type a) and b) even exist. By preserving ourselves and our offspring our species survives.

We are also communal animals. Much like chimpanzees and gorillas we live in groups for mutual benefit and protection. Thus, as part of survival of ourselves, our offspring and our species, we have a biological investment in protecting members of our group and of our species.

But seemingly paradoxically we are also hardwired to compete with and fight one another. This likely a by-product of how in the wild we’d have to compete for resources like food and shelter. Sometimes this involves two different groups from the same species competing with one another for survival.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because deep down all those things I have just talked about are innate to 99% of all human beings. It is little wonder that as we as a species evolved we expressed these biological driving forces in certain ways no other creatures could.

This is where the concept of our deities, Gods and figures from folklore and myth come from.

Jupiter, Vishnu, Thor, Hercules, Sun Wukong, Sampson, the Biblical version of Jesus Christ.

Whether they adopt the form of human beings or other entities, virtually every single culture on Earth, even those in isolation of one another, have conceived of beings greater than themselves. Beings with abilities beyond the average human being. And they’ve also conceived of those beings from time to time using their abilities to defy the laws of nature (such as averting natural disasters), combat dangerous or malevolent forces/creatures/individuals, and/or safeguarding the lives of others.

It is a form of explaining the world around us, and an act of wish fulfilment of the human experience.

We want to survive and since we are by our nature group animals we desire to be protected. Thus we conceive beings greater than ourselves who could potentially do that.

We want to survive by preserving our individual selves, so we imagined beings that are so powerful that they are not as reliant upon rest and sustenance like normal people. And who are powerful enough that they either cannot be easily harmed and are are capable of defending themselves from potential threats.

We have within us a vested biological interest in preserving our species, and so are hardwired to protect members of our family/group; our kin. Thus as part of our human wish fulfilment fantasies we imagine beings we’d like to be who could have the power to protect members of our species.

We then come to the modern superhero.

Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, etc. Fundamentally they are the exact same thing.

Individuals with powers beyond those of the average human being, who use those powers to help and protect people, typically from numerous threats (which most commonly take the form of individuals with malevolent intentions). This can include perceived social ills which plague society and by extension pose a threat to the survival or quality of life of ordinary citizens.

One can exchange Hercules fighting the mythological Hydra for Superman fighting Darkseid or Captain America fighting H.Y.D.R.A. terrorists and it is ultimately the same thing. Batman battling crime in Gotham city fundamentally is no different from Theseus defeating criminals and bandits on his travels. When Spider-Man swings into action to save Mary Jane from the Green Goblin, it is an expression of much the same thing the Indian deity Rama went through to save his bride Sita.

Many super heroes though are also vigilantes, someone who imposes their own sense of morality whilst working outside of the law. Vigilantes in the real world and in myths, folklore, fiction and so on can also be found throughout history. Perhaps the most notable example being Robin Hood, who denounced his noble status to steal from the rich and give what he took to the poor who were being over taxed and oppressed by a corrupt system. Other examples would be the Scarlet Pimpernel or Zorro.

What I am trying to say is that at their core, modern day super heroes are fundamentally modern riffs of the folkloric and mythic traditions and/or similar expressions of the universal human experience (which are informed by innate biological imperatives).

Ostensibly, in creating Superman (the first true superhero), Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were either:

a) Consciously/subconsciously influenced by these older mythic stories when they created Superman (and thus birthed the entire genre), or

b) basically tapped into the same kind of thinking which birthed Robin Hood, Hercules, Sun Wukong, etc. in the first place. Across the centuries great minds seemingly thought alike

Superman in particular was possibly heavily influenced by the figure of super strong Sampson or the Clay Golem of Prague, both of whom are part of Jewish religion and folklore (Siegel and Shuster being Jewish immigrants). He might even be seen as a kind of Moses figure. Someone sent away from his natural people to grow up elsewhere, but nevertheless destined for greatness. Or maybe he was just a messiah figure. Whether Siegel and Shuster had Jesus Christ in their minds at all or not, the Jewish religion does (I believe) talk about a saviour figure and Superman could very well be an expression of that.

Figuring into Superman’s creation was 1930s depression and the shadow of impending global war as Hitler was gathering power and invaded Poland the year after Superman was created. In his debut Superman is not only superhumanly powerful but uses these powers as a vigilante to do things like:

· stop wife beaters

· rescue someone framed for murder, whilst apprehending the real murderer

· capture gangsters and rescue a kidnapped person (Lois Lane)

· bring a corrupt politician to justice

This was an expression of 1930s fears and frustrations. Of Siegel and Shuster’s desires to right the wrongs of a system which was perceived to be broken…or at least envision someone who could do that seemingly impossible task.

The next year in 1939, Batman would come along and express many of these sentiments even more acutely, in particular when it came to crime.

As time went by and the superhero genre was consolidated and evolved, many heroes had their histories altered in order to make them more coherent. In Batman’s specific case his home of Gotham city was painted as so utterly corrupt from the lowest criminal to the most powerful political figures that Batman was literally the one and only effective deterrent to crime. Hope of legal or political reform was next to impossible, thus Batman’s brand of vigilantism was the only thing which could stand in the way of criminals from just doing whatever they wanted.

Bearing all this in mind the idea that the superhero genre is an inherent white construction (and therefore inherently racist, deliberately or otherwise) is, you know…fucking bullshit.

There is a difference between something defined by someone of one race or another and it being something which in indicative to them ONLY. There is also a difference between something having ‘white supremacist undertones’ and something simply being created at a certain point in time when cultural norms were (sadly) different to what they became later on.

As originally created Superman (and by extension the genre) was functionally the same kind of wish fulfilment expressesed by countless storytellers from countless cultures across human history, all informed by universal biological impulses to survive.

Yes, the superhero genre was created and constructed by white people and is therefore literally a ‘white construction’. Yes there weren’t many (if any) non-white characters outside of horrible racial stereotypes. Yes many of them took the law into their own hands.

But that doesn’t mean they are in support of white supremacist notions ala the Ku Klux Klan.

In fact given that Siegel and Shuster were of Jewish immigrant descent, one could argue that Superman was a reflection of how minorities need to be BETTER than the majority to be accepted and/or he was arguably an expression of their frustrations at being mistreated themselves an minorities.

On the other hand let’s say that ‘white supremacy’ strictly meant that superheroes operated with the belief in white people being the default, and as the majority, they were better than the non-whites. Superman was created at a time of segregation after all.

The problem is there is no evidence I know in support of Superman, by his mere existence, is consciously implying that white people are better than non-white people. I wouldn’t put it past Siegel and Shuster to believe that given the times they were from, but ALL media was like that. To an extent they honestly didn’t know any better. But just because they believed that and the social context of the time informed people of this, that doesn’t mean that those ideas are inherent to the superhero genre.

Because again, the superhero genre ultimately embodies beliefs and practices which date back throughout human history and can be found in many non-white cultures.

Yes. Their brand of heroism and the beliefs about heroism they embody were gifted to them by their white creators. And those creators were informed by white social norms (as in the white society they grew up in informed Siegel and Shuster that wife beating was bad). But that doesn’t mean that the superhero moral compass is inherently something that is itself white by design. Rather, it goes beyond that to form a mostly universal form of morality. And lest we forget American society and its laws were mostly informed by Jewish and Christian religious beliefs and practices, which themselves were not only innovated centuries before American society, but by people who were NOT white.

Yes, these superheroes are vigilantes, many of which wear masks and employ secret identities. But not only is that a matter of practicality within their work, as well as part of generating drama within the narrative, but this does not (as the above mentioned dumbasses believe) mean they are inheriting a legacy from the Ku Klux Klan.

Theseus and Robin Hood acted as vigilantes of a sort who again predate the KKK. The Scarlet Pimpernel is widely regarded as the originator of the secret identity trope, and he was created by a Hungarian born British woman!

Just because a superhero might act as a vigilante and impose their sense of morality outside of the law (maybe even using force to do it) doesn’t equate them with the KKK, because it completely and utterly ignores the specifics of the circumstances. It is like saying anyone who kills is a serial killer, when they might have killed for justifiable reasons. Superman and Batman might be operating as vigilantes with secret identities but we the readers can plainly see that they are genuinely justified in what they are doing.

But that’s because the writer has established that!

I hear you cry.

Yes that is true...so what though?

If the writer has set up circumstances which justify the superheroes actions then you can’t just IGNORE those. You can’t just choose the evidence you take under consideration to fit the conclusion you want. In this case that’d be the interpretation of superheroes are endorsements of white supremacist notions ala the KKK or police officers who abuse their powers.

That’s like desiring to interpret Star Wars as the story of white supremacy because the ‘black’ clad figures of the Empire are ultimately overthrown by the white Rebel Alliance and the ‘light side' of the force. It ignores the respective actions of the Empire and Alliance in-story.

It’s is presuming the Empire to represent black people and the Alliance white people in the first place and then working backwards from there. Equally it is presuming superheroes to be stand-ins for ACTUAL police officers or KKK style vigilantes in the first place.

And that cop analogy inherently doesn’t work because superheroes are only SIMILAR to cops. The analogy ultimately breaks down because they aren’t subject to ANY legal sanctions, many of them do not kill and their crime fighting efforts stereotypically takes the form of them intervening ONLY if they hear about a crime/crisis ahead of time or if they observe it in progress.

I mean one of the above morons conflated Spider-Man’s Spider-Sense to be a stand in for racial profiling which is an utterly inappropriate analogy. The Spider-Sense was originally constructed as a clumsy plot device that first and foremost operated as a personalised danger sense to Spider-Man of threats. Outside of contrived writing it categorically doesn’t alert him to ANY potential crime or criminal. And it doesn’t discriminate the way racial profiling does. It more often than not allows him to pinpoint precisely who might be a potential threat because they ARE a potential threat.

Spider-Man or Superman or Batman in the course of their work have these skills and it enables them to be ABOVE things like racial profiling. Again, taking their stalking of a potential criminal to be a tacit approval of police methods is an interpretation being overlaid ONTO the superhero and then presumed to be factually what it is.

But it’s not.

It’s just an (mis)interpretation of what is going on informed by one person’s personal experiences and baggage through life. It is the same kind of logic which will take say a female character who has a male love interest as 100% definitely an enforcement of the idea that women ‘need a man’ to validate them when that isn’t necessarily the case of the story at all.

Building upon this is the oft-repeated interpretation that superheroes are fascists and are supportive of fascist values. That is an incredibly simplistic and literal reading of the superhero genre that ignores aspects plain as day on the page of the stories. It again is CHOOSES to see something in the concept which frankly misses the point but is nevertheless accepted as plain fact regardless.

An article in the Atlantic addresses this very eloquently:

This [fascist] reading of superheroes is common but wrong, a symptom of trying to impose political ideology on a universal, fictional myth. Superheroes do say something about the real world, but it’s something pretty uncontroversial: We want to see good triumph over evil, and “good” in this case means more than just defeating the bad guy—it means handling power responsibly.

The “fascism” metaphor breaks down pretty quickly when you think about it. Most superheroes defeat an evil power but do not retain any power for themselves. They ensure others’ freedom. They rarely deal with the government, and when they do it is with wariness, as in the Iron Man films, where Tony Stark refuses to hand over control of his inventions.

Indeed, superhero tales are full of subplots about how heroes limit their own power: hibernating once the big bad guy has been defeated, wearing disguises to live ordinary lives, choosing not to give into the temptation to ally with the villain or use their powers for profit or even civilizational progress. That’s because the creators of some of the most foundational superhero tales weren’t writing solely out of a power fantasy. They were writing out of a fantasy that a truly good people who find themselves with power might use that power only for good—and only in the face of extreme evil.

YES superheroes are a power fantasy.

But there is NOTHING wrong with power fantasies so long as one understands the distinction between the fiction and reality.

More than this...the hard truth is violence is part of being human. We are biologically hard wired to be violent and dominate others. That is innate to us like many, many, many animals. The flipside to that though is what also makes us human is the ability (and perhaps more importantly the DESIRE) to NOT be like that.

Most superhero fiction simultaneously offers us the opportunity to enforce those values whilst at the same time providing us with a safe outlet for our violent urges. We transfer those urges into the heroes and villains fighting one another. Kinda like how in Ancient Rome gladiator fights and other spectacles were used as a way of avoiding the populace of Rome from erupting into violence.

And don’t sit there and tell me that they ENCOURAGE violence.

If someone is going to be violent like that frankly there are almost ALWAYS further underlying factors often to do with their home life And

Human beings have been killing each other and acting in immoral ways LONG before the invention of popular media. Preventing ourselves from being like that is an act of learned control as we grow up. It is otherwise innate to our instincts.

Furthermore the concept of superheroes as being police officers who enforce the status quo and therefore help keep white people in power is incredibly flawed.

First of all Doc Ock nuking New York city hurts everyone regardless of race. Second of all Batman stopping a mugger in the middle of assaulting someone isn’t upholding white power, it’s just safeguarding life. Reading it as more than that is a projection these asshats are injecting INTO the stories themselves when they aren’t warranted.

Finally, the law might be stacked in favour of white power and minority suppression. But that not only has a lot to do with ABUSE of the law, but at the same time large chunks of the law are there legitimately for the well being of EVERYONE. It is illegal to murder someone, to mug them, to exploit them. None of that ensures white power, it ensures the well being of everyone. The problem is that those laws are often warped when being applied to minorities by the police force.

But superheroes don’t represent the police force. They represent something grander than the police force whilst at the same time representing what the police force SHOULD be like. The message isn’t ‘this is what the police are like’ or even ‘the police are heroes so anything they do is therefore a good thing’. It is providing a strong moral ideal and saying ‘You and everyone else should try to be like this’.

It is because of this that the superhero concept REVEALS the warts and shortcomings of the law and law enforcement as it really exists. Which was a part of 1930s frustrations Superman et al were giving vent to. Again, Action Comics #1 showed us corrupt politicians, commentating upon a flawed system.

Basically Superman being who he is doesn’t tell people that a police officer is justified when he racially profiles a black person as a criminal. Quite the opposite, he reveals us that they were WRONG in doing that because Superman would NEVER do that.

Ultimately, yeah these characters were created within a white context, but my point is fundamentally the same thing was created in non-white contexts as well throughout history.

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 2

Master Post

#Marvel #DC #DC Comics #Marvel Comics #Super heroes #Superheroes #Superman #Batman #Wonder Woman #X-Men #Spider-Man #mythology #folklore #Robin Hood #Noah Berlatsky #Osvaldo Oyola

19 notes · View notes

charmingturkeysandwich · 5 years

Text

“Hope at Christmastime”: A CS Secret Santa Gift

Merry Christmas from your CS Secret Santa, @thislassishooked! I hope you’re enjoying a wonderful holiday season. From our exchanges, I decided that I wanted to do something from Killian’s POV that incorporated lights and decorations. And for some reason, I felt very strongly that I wanted it to be somewhat canon... so here you have it!

This is a season 1 mostly compliant one-shot in which Killian is a fisherman in Storybrooke, and he meets Emma and Henry a few times. Intrigued and oddly hopeful because of Emma’s fiery spirit, he embarks with her on a Christmas quest for bringing about joy.

It’s not pure fluff and leaves some to the imagination, but I felt like it stayed true to their kind of dynamic. I really, really hope you enjoy!

I know I’m a little early, but I’m sick as hell and worried that tomorrow I might not be conscious, so here you have it on Christmas Eve Eve :)

@cssecretsanta2k19

---

It was an odd feeling, being half in love with a woman you’d practically just met. But it had been years, decades, lifetimes, probably, since Killian Jones had encountered such a fierce, witty, engaging, interesting, and bloody gorgeous woman like Emma Swan.

He’d been living in Storybrooke, Maine… since forever, really. His brother had been in Storybrooke General since his accident years before – still alive, of course, but the doctors continually warned Killian against having any kind of hope that their lives would ever return to the normalcy of Granny’s for breakfast in the off-season and hard work lobster fishing the rest of the year.

It wasn’t just that Emma was the liveliest woman he’d met in ages, she was simply the liveliest being, as if she somehow was part of a totally different, vibrant world.

Storybrooke was… fine. It was safe. He made a living. The people were well enough – he enjoyed talking with Miss Blanchard, the teacher who often read to the coma patients in her spare time. Archie was kind and generous, if not a little bit condescending at times, but his dog was sweet and always made Killian smile. Even Dr. Whale was all right – understanding about the phantom pains from the loss of Killian’s hand that he couldn’t even remember.

But Emma? She was pure magic.

Rumor was she was the mayor’s son’s biological mother, and little Henry had dragged her from her home of Boston to Storybrooke because he was so damn miserable. It made sense. Regina Mills was possibly the least nurturing person he could think of in the whole of Storybrooke, and no one ever really understood why she decided to adopt a child. Henry was wonderful, though – Killian had always thought so. Precocious, inquisitive, kind… many traits he can now attribute to nature versus nurture.

The fist time he spoke with Emma happened to be while she and Henry were walking along the pier one afternoon. Emma’s brows were stitched together in worry, her voice low as she spoke to her son, the boy clutching a large children’s book and never breaking eye contact with her. It felt intrusive to even witness the exchange, but alas they were in his way, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid them when he needed to get all of his supplies back to his ship without somehow losing another limb.

“Excuse me, love, Master Henry,” he mumbled breathlessly, twisting to the side to pass them by without knocking either of them in the head with something large and possibly rusty (when was the last time he’d gotten a tetanus shot? Did they even offer them at the hospital here?).

“Hi, Mr. Jones!” Henry called excitedly, rushing past his mother and following Killian onto the Jewel.

“How’s your day going, lad?” Killian asked after hefting the pile of supplies onto the closest surface. The boy looked happy, as usual, but seemed to have an extra glint in his eye.

“Henry, what the hell!” Emma shouted as her boots stomped onto the ship, her blonde curls now mangled from the seaside breeze.

“Don’t worry, I know him! This is Killian. He’s Captain Hook.” Henry said it so matter-of-factly that it didn’t even cross Killian’s mind to be offended about the possibly jab at his handlessness. The way Henry was talking you’d think he was just reading from a biography.

“Kid, what did I tell you about that? Operation Cobra is for you and I only, and, like I said, it might be time to take a little break from it.” Emma’s eyes were full of concern, genuine worry for her boy, but also fear. He knew that well enough from his vague recollections of the accident(s) that scarred him and rendered his brother near lifeless. What was she so afraid of?

His attempts to quell her worry were for naught, as she wasn’t about to trust a single hair on his body. “Love, the lad and I are great friends, aren’t we Henry?”

“I’m not your love. And Henry shouldn’t be running on board the boats of near strangers when I’m hardly trusted to keep him breathing let alone keep him from being kidnapped by Peter Pan.” Emma snapped.

“Mom, he’s Hook, not Pan,” Henry corrected, his tone that of an exasperated teenager despite the boy being no more than ten or eleven.

“I don’t care who he is, I’m not letting him be the reason I’m never allowed to see you again, Henry! You know if your mother knew that you ran onto some dude’s boat who apparently you thought was a pirate under my watchshe’d have me jailed. Again!”

“It’s actually a ship here, love,” Killian couldn’t help himself from pointing out, his amusement at her fiery attitude entirely inappropriate for what was clearly a very strong emotion she was experiencing. But it was simply so foreign to him, a person having… feelings. Beyond despair, anyway.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mo-om,” Henry chastised, though it wasn’t clear if he was offended by her language or embarrassed that she wasn’t quite a fan of Killian’s… sass.

(Killian hadn’t remembered a single other moment in his life where he’d said something so… unfiltered. Damn.)

“My apologies, love, I’m not sure what’s come over me. I’m usually much more polite. Henry, we all know your mother – Mayor Mills, that is – would look for just about any reason to throw this lovely fireball out of our town permanently. Emma is right to worry. Now how about you two go about your way and I’ll show you more about fishing the next time that Regina approves it?’”

“So, never?” Henry mumbled, rolling his eyes and walking toward the gangway. Emma turned to follow him, but Killian wanted one last chance to apologize.

“I really am sorry, love. I can’t imagine you’re having an easy go of it here in Storybrooke and I just wanted… well, I just wanted you to know that there’s at least one more person on your side than you thought.”

Emma finally looked back at him, incredulous, and Killian suddenly felt quite naked. Reaching to scratch behind his ear, he clarified: “Me, I mean. I’m also on your side.”

She rolled her eyes yet again, but a spark came alive in the smirk she shot back at him. “Good to know, pirate, but I’m not your love.”

From that day, he’d had numerous minor interactions with the Mills/Swan duo. He saw them at breakfast at Granny’s one morning, and Emma refused to so much as look at him, while Henry excitedly told him all about the website he’d used to find Emma (he glossed over how he stole his teacher’s credit card, a fact that Emma still appeared to be quite peeved about). The following week he saw the two of them at the playground that Killian passed on his way to his ship. He re-introduced himself to Emma, as she was yet to actually acknowledge she knew his name, but she only responded with some variant of, “OK Pirate,” which had led to her and Henry laughing like fools for at least five straight minutes.

About a week before Christmas, he finally ran into Emma without her son, and while he’d thought that was something he was hoping for – an opportunity to get to know her without her hiding behind Henry – he realized something awful. That fiery spirit in her – the one he so admired – was dimming. This town, it was getting to her. Was she doomed just like the rest of them to live forever without a happy ending? Or even a happy middle? Was this safe, sweet, seaside town nothing but dashed hopes and broken dreams?

“Uh, Miss Swan?” he asked, cautiously approaching the bench she was sat on, her blonde hair whipping in the breeze, her hands tucked tightly into her flame red jacket.

“What,” she called back, not even looking at him.

Even their non-conversations previously had been some type of banter, some kind of force in his dreary life, but today, she seemed defeated.

He didn’t know much about the world – didn’t really care enough to participate most days – but wasn’t this seasons supposed to be the one where you believed even more strongly than ever that everything might just end up being all right?

“Can I sit?

“It’s a free country.”

“My purpose in sitting with you is to speak to you, and while I could talk at you, I’m actually hoping you’ll talk back. Is that a reasonable wish or shall I keep on moving?” With great effort, he kept his voice light and teasing, when in reality his heart was breaking right along with hers. From what he understood about her life, Henry was new to it, but had nonetheless become its center. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have had hope dangled in front of your face only to possibly have it snatched away.

Instead of snapping back at him, she slowly lifted her head, swept her hair to the side, and patted the seat next to her. “Why would you want to talk to me?” she asked, her eyes once again trained on her feet.

“You look like you could use a friend.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“You could. I’m here,” he offered.

She exhaled deeply, shaking her head and gripping the bench at either side of her legs. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I have no right to Henry… I had him young and gave him up for his best chance. And, as usual, I was wrong. And as usual there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m fighting a losing battle. It’s not like anyone can defeat Regina.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ve certainly gotten under her skin.”

“Yeah, making it all worse for Henry. I’m just being selfish here, aren’t I? Wanting my son back because he says his rightful mommy is an evil queen? I’m sure that’s something a lot of kids his age feel. I just… I just wanted to be wanted, I guess.”

Killian let his right hand graze the back of hers as he shifted slightly closer to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he allowed his hand to fully rest on hers, squeezing ever so slightly.

“You’re not making Henry’s life worse by being here. Believe me, Emma. I know you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I have eyes. Henry has always been a bright spot in an otherwise lightless town, but since you’ve arrived it’s like he’s a whole new kid. Confident, excited, hopeful. And don’t discredit what you’ve done for everyone else. Miss Blanchard seems happy to have a roommate. Ruby loves when you visit with her at the diner. Granny seems to think of you as a surrogate granddaughter. Our world was black and white and you brought us color, love.”

The shock in her eyes at his words was enough to both warm his heart and enrage him – it’s not as if he was saying anything that should be surprising to her. Who in her life had made her feel so worthless and how soon could he stab them through the heart with his hook?

You know, if he had one.

But her shock wore off as a bit of mirth seemed to take its place. “Now, I can’t take credit for all of that. Granny likes the money I spend. And Mary Margaret… let’s just say I’m not the one fucking her, so I’m definitely not the reason for the extra smiles.”

“Miss Blanchard!” he gasped theatrically, clutching his heart and hamming it up.

“Oh yeah. You might be the native here, but I know all the secrets, friend.”

“So tell me another.”

“Hmmm. Granny’s lasagnas are frozen.”

“No!” This time he was actually shocked. That crazy loon…

“Oh, yeah. And her nonfat pizza crust? Definitely still has fat.”

“That’s it. I’m calling the health inspector.”

“You know, we don’t have one. I think you’d have to call the sheriff,” she chuckled, flipping her hand over on the bench so her palm was against his.

“Hmmmm, think I have an in with her? I’ve heard she’s a spitfire.”

“I don’t know. Depends on the day you approach her. I’ve heard she has mixed feelings about you, Jones.”

“Oh, so you do know my name,” Killian teased, adjusting the fringe around his hat with his stump.

“I tend to remember the people who try to annoy me to death,” she deadpanned, but he caught the ghost of a smirk at the corner of her lips.

“What if, insteaed of annoying you to death, maybe you let me help you?” Killian offered, absolutely no clue what exactly he could offer her when she wasn’t wrong about the futility of fighting with Mayor Mills.

“Hey now, I’m no damsel. No one saves me but me,” she said, pulling her hand from beneath his and tucking it back into her jacket.

“Easy, love. I’m well aware that you’re more likely than any other person in this god forsaken town to actually have some success at anything.”

“You been reading Henry’s book?” Emma turned fully toward him for the first time since he sat, her cheeks red and her eyes dancing with cautious amusement.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Why?”

“Well. According to his book, I’m here to save everyone. Bring back the happy endings.”

“Oh? And where exactly have they gone?”

“The Evil Queen – Regina, actually – has ripped them from you. But I, the daughter of Snow White (Mary Margaret) and Prince Charming (the former coma patient she’s been banging) am the ‘product of true love’ and therefore can break the curse.”

“Damn, you should sell that shit to Disney. You’d make a fortune.”

“Hah. Maybe I should. It’s about the only way I could ever afford to fight Regina the real way, you know with lawyers and money and not … magic.”

It struck him at that moment how true Henry’s story actually rang. Sure, there was no way it was actually real, but hadn’t Killian himself thought countless times how full of life Emma was, how she seemed magical in a world of nothing but ordinary hopelessness? Even if he didn’t believe Henry’s story… scientifically, or what have you – he believed it in his heart.

Emma might not be an actual princess, but she definitely had the power to save. And he’d do anything he could to help her.

“It’s the season for magic, you know?” Killian pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward the wreaths haphazardly hung on the lampposts that led back to main street.

“Are you going to help me achieve a Christmas miracle, Killian?” She reached back toward him and took his hand, squeezing as her eyes sparkled with a plan.

“I’m damn well going to try.”

Together they stumbled through the slippery streets toward Granny’s, armed with an idea and the hopes that Ruby would facilitate their ridiculous plan to bring Henry as much joy as possible, even if Emma couldn’t directly be involved.

“So, you’re telling me you want me to let you decorate the shit out of this place, just so Henry sees it?” Ruby questioned, her one eyebrow nearly touching her hairline, her face so skeptical.

So Killian jumped in. “Listen, Ruby, you know damn well fighting with Regina never ends well. We just have to give the kid some hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

“Are you sleeping with Mary Margaret now, too, because damn that girl gets around.”

“Ruby!” Emma shouted, smacking her on the arm.

“What? Have you seen him? If Mary Margaret isn’t taking her chance with him and you’re not interested, then hello sailor, fancy taking me for a ride?”

“Ruby, fucking focus yourself. Can you help us? And by help us I mean literally offer free decorating service that will likely increase your tips?”

“Oh, fine. For Henry.”

“For Henry!” Emma and Killian repeated, scurrying off to whatever store they could find that carried Christmas lights, tinsel, blow-up polar bears, and any other kind of purchase-able holiday joy.

Once they’d filled three whole carts, they rolled them back to Granny’s, sat down to sip hot chocolate until close, and then went to town, covering every surface with glittery tinsel, jingle bells, reindeer, elves, and pretty little lit-up presents. Killian borrowed a ladder from the short pharmacist so he could string icicle lights across the courtyard outside and Emma filled the big windows at the entrance with those giant bulb style lights of all different colors. At some point after 2am, Ruby texted Emma that the electricity bill was going to be something she’d have to take up with Granny, but Emma just laughed and Killian said he’d pay it and they kept decorating until about 5am when Granny appeared to start baking in preparation for the morning crowd.

“I’m not even going to ask,” was all Granny said to Killian as she entered her now Christmas paper-wrapped front door and Killian’s heart definitely grew two sizes or more when his eyes traveled over to Emma, carefully arranging the Hallmark Disney castle on the ledge next to the table that Henry and Regina often sat at when they stopped there before school.

It was a losing battle they were fighting, Killian was sure of it – nothing in Storybrooke ever led to winning for anyone who wasn’t Regina Mills. But one look at Emma and all he wanted to do was keep fighting, keep trying, keep hoping that one day their world would be full of happy endings again.

Someday.

#cs ff #cs secret santa #keisha writes #this is a gift

65 notes · View notes