#rob was getting very up close and personal with the buckle

[warpedwings]

Misha Collins - Belt Buckles, Part Two

📷: [4] JeannineD [5] & [7] Kreespa [8] Melissa Fudge

Part One Part Three Buckles & Tummy Denver

[chairteeth]

Nemu's life as a wheelchair user and how terrible f4 is at portraying it (or, well, Not portraying it)

Buckle up I have a list of PointsTM. I will be going into Japan's history with disability as well as what life is like on a wheelchair.

First though, because I want this to have the intended effect, I recommend going over Nemu's swimsuit costume story again. It is Very Relevant. I recommend you enjoy the fluff of it too, before I dump the depressing thing about it on you. Though I will say I really REALLY appreciate how far Touka always goes to make Nemu feel comfortable and supported and listened to and cared for in every situation and- is shot.

So, apparently this room has a big mirror, and Nemu gets uncharacteristically giddy and we get this scene that Will hurt you. She even says that she finds this just as important as the liberation plan.

They had ALL OF THE SETUP, ALL OF IT. And now I would like to also share a recent analysis of Nemu's wheelchair that I dragged some wheelchair users to do, then I'll start thrashing and yelling about the significance of such a change. For reference we mainly have the sprite right:

I'm going to provide the relevant texts directly for you:

no theres like zero leg support beyond the foot plate and even the way the foot plate is designed implies that she has pretty good motor control over her legs

ya no calf pads or anyting smh

and whats with the armrests those dont look v comfy??

i doubt she needs much body support beyond the walking there's proper cushioning elsewhere, though

I can't see a headrest either, and the backrest is not very high, so I'm pretty sure she just can't walk and everything else is largely fine

Me:

it's a separate continuity, but in the anime Nemu can stand. We don't see her walking but we see her standing a few times, and some of them are at points where she has to have walked at least a little bit, so I definitely think it's not "100% can't walk" but rather something more complex. Even before she was a magical girl we saw her standing in the hospital, though you could argue that was before whatever anime illness she has got worse

huh. that sounds like chronically ill person energy conservation to me at least in the anime. me and (name omitted) do that, were usually on our wheelchairs because a walk to the grocery store may be too much and we might keel over from the pain or exhaustion. what about the game?

Me:

I don't think she can walk at all in the game? The times she's not in her wheelchair, someone is carrying her, iirc. I told you that the cause of it was her shaving away her life force repeatedly, and I've explained the other symptoms, but truth be told, we don't see those other symptoms again post Arc 1 (which I think is just because she's under less stress and not constantly shaving away the aforementioned life force), and we were sadly robbed of any kind of "discovery" scene where we get her actual reaction and yk, her assessing the permanent damage done to her body?

Me:

I told you guys how soul gems work as essentially the girl's soul puppetting her body, right? My personal theory is that she did so much damage to herself that it significantly weakened part of the soul gem-body connection. I thought it may have been severed, but if that were the case, I'm pretty sure her legs would just rot off, since magical girl bodies rot when separated from their soul gems for too long iirc, plus she can feel temperature on them so

WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US ABOUT THE TEMPERATURE THING

Me:

I'M SORRY IT'S AN OBSCURE ASSUMPTION BASED ON A QUOTE OR TWO ABOUT A FUCKING KOTATSU, THEY NEVER FUCKING TALK ABOUT THE DETAILS OF THE LEG THING, I WAS TRYING TO STICK AS CLOSE TO THE TEXT AS POSSIBLE

Me:

she's also never complained about pain from her legs, she's lamented the whole being unable to walk once or twice ("this body of mine can't help in any significant way") but never said a word about pain or other complications. Granted, she's also a people pleaser who would rather put on a stoic face than mildly inconvenience literally anyone

yea then it might just be she cant do the walking motions reliably. didnt you say she has an overprotective gf? The gf may have argued for the wheelchair thing to be on the safe side

mmmmmmmmmm ye sounds about right

They also talked a bit about control pads and wheels but this was the summary one of them gave me:

So in short, Nahi: mobility and feeling all good, but no walkies or will fall on face and fracture skull

That's the analysis and conclusion of that part, which will help discuss the next one. Now, first of all... I have complained MANY TIMES about our lack of any scene where this permanent damage is revealed to the characters. They skipped over that. Which I thought, oh, okay, maybe we'll get it in a costume story for the wheelchair sprite. We did not get that! And that's important. Because see, Nemu I think might be able to hide her initial raw reaction depending on who was in the room with her. If she was alone or (preferably and probably likeliest) with Touka, she might not hide it, but it has to have sunk in that she would be dead to her family again. And for a character who so desperately wanted to fit in with her family, go camping with them, and presumably do all the outdoorsy and sporty stuff with them, YEAH, A SCENE LIKE THAT WOULD BE NEEDED, especially because Nemu has the tendency to both self-flagellate excessively (Touka also does this) and to hide all of her feelings and suppress them as hard as humanly possible.

With that out of the way, I am going to go on my certified rant about living in a wheelchair. Let's start at the general inaccessibility of Japan. Nemu's wheelchair isn't exactly... compact or foldable from what I can tell so that doesn't help her in the least. Here is a non-exhaustive list of things to consider:

- Less maneuverability or no access at all in some places, such as hotel rooms, restaurants, and stores

- Way longer wait times for nearly everything

- The temples are shitty to access because 90% of them have The Stairs, and the parks surrounding them have gravel grounds that make it almost impossible to run a wheelchair through (or at least, it's really hard. Think of when Sakurako had to carry Nemu on the beach, sand/sand-like ground and wheelchairs most often do not mesh, especially electric ones)

- The general congestion of large cities is not good but at least Japanese people tend to be nice and polite about it and try not to bother/touch wheelchair users, however this is unavoidable and oh boy haha rush hour

- In the end a wheelchair user in Japan is pretty limited in what they can do if not accompanied, which absolutely sucks

Streets are often narrow too so gestures at list. Plenty of buildings, especially old ones, are never really upgraded/don't have ramps or accessible elevators either, and I have literally seen a Japanese building that needed you to climb seven steps to get into the elevator?? Okay, alright, I will try not to bitch too hard. If using Yokohama as a base, the thing with large cities is that actually, the subway and train networks are generally good for wheelchair users (though they have to take extra steps and a trip that would take an able-bodied person one hour may take the wheelchair user double that amount of time, plus the station staff will choose your train for you). Everything else however, not so nice, and again The Stairs.

Now I go on the funny historical tangent! Around the 1960s in Japan, there was an increase in disabled children being separated from their families and placed in residential institutions, many of which were converted from the ones built for disabled veterans after WW2. At the age of 18, many of these children were then transferred to adult facilities where they would remain until death. As you may be able to imagine, these institutions were not great! Cue many many MANY human rights violations, including child residents being used as guinea pigs for their doctors in surgical procedures and disgusting amounts of incidents of sexual abuse towards female residents. The traditional Japanese notion that disabled people should be hidden by their families like a shameful secret was veeeeery prevalent! That is why these places even existed. Those beliefs are, Still ShiftingTM so to speak but it is much better now because hey at least they finally have an anti-discrimination law. By "finally" I mean that ten years ago they did not have one. You see, the literal basic anti-discrimination act for people with disabilities in Japan only came into effect in 2016 (for the reference of the Americans who may not know and for an easy example, in the US, the same thing happened in 1990, which is still recent-ish but not, "less than ten years ago" recent). That's only eight years ago. So let's not even talk about how VERY highly Not Possible a fully wheelchair-adapted/comfortable home would be in Japan. It ain't great chief, basic programs are still being implemented, and I highly doubt people are very widely educated on the matter unless it affects them personally. I think that is most of the funny historical tangent, so... time for me to talk about adapting to life on a wheelchair.

Let's start with showering and bath/general bathroom difficulties. First of all, it's MUCH likelier for a person in Nemu's position to slip and hurt themselves in the shower/bath, not even likely to be able to stop their own fall because Legs No Worky, secondly washing up unassisted when you're in a wheelchair both takes longer and is difficult/inconvenient, particularly if you don't have a specific chair or other thing to help you in the tub/shower (I am unsure if her family would be agreeable to this or if she'd even ask). For Nemu's benefit we are going to go with my interpretation that magical girls do not have periods, because otherwise oh dear god well that's way worse! But yes there's that whole complication and see, if you live with your family you have people you can ask for help. However we are talking about Nemu, and Nemu would rather starve under a bridge than ask for help (in 99% of cases). We have a section for internal effects of leg loss don't you worry but like, girl already felt like a burden before, imagine how she feels now when she actually does have to depend on others occasionally. Showering/bathing must be an absolute nightmare every single day for the poor girl. You don't realize how much you rely on walking and having usable legs inside the house until you lose that ability.

This leads me into another very funny thing: reach. Imagine having short person struggles. Okay, now imagine your height is cut in half and you have to be sitting down for everything. Who wants to bet you are now unable to reach A LOT of the things at home? Bathroom setups vary so that one you can circumvent, however! Consider the following: Nemu displays an enjoyment of cooking. Have you ever tried to sit down in front of most kitchen counters? They are pretty high up from that position. Which is fine when you're maybe just resting on the chair but can stand up/take steps around, but when you can't... well. Cooking just got a whole lot more inconvenient and complicated! Nemu seems to keep doing it, so I imagine she's figured out the kitchen table hack (kitchen tables are often lower than the counters and therefore often used to do the prep work instead of the counter because it's more comfortable). This still does not account for the stove but we haven't heard of Arc 2 Nemu cooking solo, only either with her mom or Sakurako, so I assume Nemu's family has the decency not to send her to make dinner like they do in Arc 1.

On the topic of short reach, have you ever realized how inconvenient doorknobs can be if you're sitting down? And doors in general when it's not so easy to move, really. This is more the case for those with less grip strength or less mobility than Nemu, but doorknobs are still generally placed high enough to be inconvenient, doors depending on how they open can be annoying (though sliding doors I've heard are better, so long as they're not too heavy), and let's not even talk about the heavy-ish doors that you have to push against. Because while that might be easy outside of a wheelchair... not so much on a wheelchair. The inconvenience of doors and doorknobs aside though, and back to public transport for a second, you cannot be spontaneous. According to a couple of Japanese wheelchair users I gnawed at for the purpose of research, you need to warn literally everyone at least 30 minutes in advance if you want to be able to board a train. If something comes up or is urgent, I assure you, you won't be able to hop on whatever train or taxi you want.

For Nemu in particular taxis may not be possible, but f4 ignores this really hard (like most things that have to do with Nemu's disability, given that it is acknowledged as a thing that exists LIKE TWICE after the initial timeskip scene at the end of Arc 1, mainly in Christmas string where she laments not being able to help with physical labor in any significant way due to "This Body Of Mine" [she's very dramatic about it but also this is an important hint to how she actually feels now that she's experienced at the very least months of living like this and now that she's alone with Touka instead of self-flagellating in public]). In Mokyu's MGS, I remember that moment when Touka calls for a taxi very much On The Spot and they both get on to follow Mokyu, seemingly very fast, and I was just like "????". I'm not really sure that's... a thing they can do that easily, f4...

But anyway, how about another item? Let's talk clothing. This is also not something able-bodied people usually consider or think about, but clothing generally was not designed for sitting. It will likely never fit right for wheelchair users, and many pieces of clothing may not even be comfortable, not to mention they may not be able to wear a lot of things (such as long/drapey fabrics that could interfere with movement, whether of the wheels, the control pad, or their bodies), and depending on how much mobility they have, changing itself can be another nightmare to do unassisted, or at least, it takes longer and takes more effort (we will get back to the "effort" part soon). This depends, sure, but it's often worse for kids and teenagers because they're still growing. It's okay though, I'm sure Touka would be really offended about this and would just take Nemu to get clothing custom made. What a good partner. The clothing issue is often overlooked, but Very Much A Thing. Some pants are not comfy to sit in for long periods of time, or maybe they fit well when you're standing but not when you're sitting... imagine only ever sitting.

I think I've made my point with the clothing aspect so let's move on to ANOTHER THING! Yes, I have more. Some things like transferring may be more inconvenient in Japan than they would be in the West. Transferring, in case you're not aware, is what a wheelchair user moving themselves from their wheelchair to another place to sit (such as a dining table chair, if they want, or a sofa), or back to the wheelchair, is called. It may be more inconvenient in Japan because well, The Floor. Transferring largely relies on upper body strength in most cases, and see, you can park a wheelchair next to a sofa or other chair and move yourself there reeelatively easily, but the floor may be a bit harder due to the difference in elevation from surface to surface. Once again, it depends on the specifics of the wheelchair user in question, overall. I've heard a couple of people say that the floor is Very Bad to transfer to and from, but one of them has mobility issues in the upper body and the other has arm weakness (he can only get back up because he's able to push a little bit with his legs).

For Nemu there's also the possible school complications, but I have not looked much into how accessible Japanese schools are for students on wheelchairs, though I do want to call a bit of attention to how we've seen Touka at school in Arc 2 but never Nemu, and I feel like that might be one of the reasons. Studying from home I suppose could be an option, though it would be iffy to me because of the whole part about being stuck inside and hidden away.

Before I move on to other things, let me. Talk about this other thing. That is specifically heartbreaking for Nemu. That being physical intimacy (we're talking hugs and the like, people, don't get ahead of yourselves). Quick quiz question for you to think about before I answer it, have you ever thought of how to comfortably hug a wheelchair user?

Normally, when put on the spot, the typical able-bodied person who has never thought about it says that well, you can just bend over to hug them! And while that kind of works, that is not exactly a "full hug" and also requires more effort and more Going Out Of Your Way on the able-bodied person's part than a hug to an able-bodied person that you can just easily walk up to and hug without any adjustment, which makes it less likely that the wheelchair user will get casual affection through that. A common one is the hug from the back, which works just like you'd do it for any sitting person, however the hug from the back is not exactly common and depends on how close the two people are. And then there's the other main way to do it, if it doesn't hurt for the wheelchair user. Which is the lap hug. Able-bodied person sits on the wheelchair user's lap and that is how the hug happens. Most wheelchairs should be able to bear the weight, since you have to account for things like carrying groceries or Other Stuff already, so the capacity to bear weight is built-in (some wheelchairs can carry up to 700lbs/317kg). However you will notice that a lap hug is a significant leap in intimacy that not that many people might be comfortable with, particularly in a less touchy culture like Japan. Personally I think Touka is princess enough, has enough of an ego, and enough of a bond/trust with Nemu that she'd have no qualms sitting on her lap, but Yeah. Holding hands is another one that may take a while to adjust to, since it's basically a MASSIVE height difference that you can't bridge, and also walking-walking vs walking-rolling (or whichever verb you prefer for wheelchair users) areeee different let's just say and speed adjustment can also be a bitch

What I'm saying is if poor Nemu was already affection deprived before, It Got Worse. I will touch on this more when I talk about the social consequences losing her legs must've had. To sum this all up so far, it's an entire reevaluation of the world you live in. Things that were once convenient are now inconvenient, or at best, don't help you anymore. People are often stumped as to what to say to you or what to do or how to act around you, especially if you bring up any and all struggles that have to do with the wheelchair thing. It's not Nemu's case but if she had a friend group, that would also mean possible distancing from them due to being unable to do as many activities with them or go to the same places as before. The world is built for the able-bodied, and the effort it takes to just navigate life in a wheelchair can be extremely draining. And SPEAKING OF EFFORT, it is time for the spoon theory! Those of you already familiar with it may skip this part, as I'm simply going to copy and paste from the original creator of the spoon theory, but for anyone who has never heard of the spoon theory, please, do read this part. It may help you understand something extremely important for the daily lives of so many people, and it may even give some of you who the spoon theory does apply to a new tool to use. This is the spoon theory:

My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.

As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become.

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.

We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.

When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”

It's hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.

And that folks is the spoon theory. The spoon theory of course applies to wheelchair users. In Nemu's case it's more of a magical affliction and doesn't seem to affect her beyond the part about not being able to walk, however, as we've covered, that part is significant. It takes a mental, physical, and emotional toll. Then, other than this whole thing, there's issues with agency and independence. Yk, being able to live unassisted. I think Nemu could mostly handle it because I mean it's all she's ever done (insert parentification issues and her basically having raised herself, etc etc). Now here is a fun topic. How about social consequences? They are in fact significant as well! We just don't see it as much because Nemu's social life generally starts and ends at Touka, who is arguably the best-equipped person for this. You can bet Touka pulled three all-nighters to do research on this the moment she realized Nemu was not going to recover or at least not in the near future, and we already know she's extremely attentive from what we saw in Arc 1, so. Literally the best possible person for Nemu to hang out with, who will also never try to encroach on her decision-making or her boundaries, never try to take freedom or agency away from her, etc. Unfortunately there are more people around Nemu who may not handle it as gracefully (or well. Whatever Touka is doing. Her stunted social skills are actually a good thing when it comes to this).

Let's go from worst to better: Nemu's family. They are literally not mentioned again after Arc 1's final battle, ever. Not even when Chapter 8 happens. Not at all, zero mentions, at least none as far as I know. Which is concerning. Nemu still speaks fondly of them in Arc 2, from the Christmas quotes, but I mean. Desperate for love. Desperately learning her family's favorite foods and colors, fretting over what gift to get her brother. Which is just extra sad knowing that she's probably dead to them (again). I don't think it's a stretch to say that Nemu's family would have ZERO CLUE how to handle the entire topic. Common reactions are either avoidance/pretending it's not there, or severe awkwardness and hesitation that there is no way the wheelchair user won't notice. Particularly if they're a very perceptive person who pays close attention to the people around them (Nemu). I think Nemu's family might be the avoidance type, since they're allergic to making any effort to get to know her or yk treat her as their daughter instead of, parentifying her to hell and back at best. But let's take another couple of examples: Iroha and Ui.

I think those two might be the awkwardness type. Which is, "I have never encountered this problem and I'm not sure how to go about it but I don't want to hurt or offend this person" and normally leads to general insecurity/anxiety about mentioning specific things around the wheelchair user, or inviting them to things, or assigning tasks to them because the person fears they might hurt themselves/be unable to do what you asked, feel worse, etc. It can manifest in many ways and is normally born out of politeness or genuine personal concern for the other, but alas wheelchair users are not (all) blind, so they do very much notice. On their side it's also awkward and hurtful, in most cases. It's bad too when they get condescended or infantilized or as I mentioned before people take their agency away. It's that thing where you assume the wheelchair user needs help for (insert task) and that you're just being nice by lending them a hand but hey, hey. Maybe ask instead of assuming and moving to do a thing for them that you don't know with 100% is something they need help with. Maybe they don't actually need your help (cough savior/hero complex) and I assure you they appreciate being able to do whatever they can by themselves. Yes, it's well-meaning, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt the wheelchair user or make them feel bad/worse about themselves. The infantilization thing is often related to this too.

Next and last, the inner consequences of a significant loss such as this one. This part is about self-perception, perception in regards to the world and to others, and obviously it ties into Nemu's previously established concerns, fears, and general IssuesTM. This is another "sigh where to begin!" moment for me, because as I have established before, Nemu has major issues. Take literally every issue Nemu has ever had and them pump them full of steroids, then assume that bits of those issues drop off the bigger issue blob and grow into new connected issues. That is what this caused. There is of course a fun set of new issues that relate to the old ones but aren't fully connected as well. That being the feeling of being broken, incomplete, defective. For a person like Nemu whose worth is in considerable part determined by how useful she can be to others, that's not good. She's very much the type to keep things in rather than express them, except the precious scarce few times when we see her alone with Touka (you'll notice that usually we don't get scenes of them alone together save for Christmas String where there was A Pressing Issue to solve, normally it's the rest of the cast going to them for something so it's not exactly the correct atmosphere or moment for a vulnerability moment, Nemu has them, we see some, but they are Very Few).

The one comment from when she and Touka were moving their books out of Touka's private room in the hospital (still real gay of Touka to casually of her own will give Nemu a permanent space in her private room just so she could store her books), the one where she gets all droopy about being unable to help with the whole book moving process? Yeah that's your confirmation that as suspected, yes, she was lying when she said "this is fine" at the end of Arc 1. This is not by any means fine. Sure she has accepted it and thinks she deserves it but this is Nemu "I am to blame for damaging the economy of Japan" Hiiragi (I have a screenshot of when she said this) so like gestures vaguely. By that point in Christmas String, as I said before, she's probably been on a wheelchair for months at the very least, so she's had a chance to experience what that's like, among other things. I can't imagine she feels great about it. While simultaneously thinking her intestines should be bundled up with a pitchfork every day at noon for her sins, of course (insert aforementioned self-flagellation issues). Because she blames herself for literally everything and likely also blames herself every single time her inability to walk leaves her unable to do something she could've done before, and may even push herself beyond what's safe and healthy for her at times. Therefore, internally, yeah, Nemu is way worse than before. FORTUNATELY the stress of the Magius and the physical strain from making uwasa are no longer a thing and she has a safe place to be in every day with her partner who understands and loves her and doesn't even think of any adjustments as "effort" (of course this is nothing for Touka, she's a genius, I can hear the Toukitty saying with her nose up in the air like that). So that is, one good thing. And she can likely read more easily.

Unfortunately, Arc 2 also brings stress and more guilt due to the factions. There's the NM guilt and the PB guilt mainly, but also the stress of the few people they care about besides each other (such as Ui and Iroha) being in mortal danger. And what bothers me is, the way this entire thing affects and stimulates Nemu's concerns and fears from before is so criminally overlooked and outright ignored? We saw from her quotes and personal memo that she desperately wants to be loved, desperately wants to not be forgotten, and to leave behind a legacy (this is about the being forgotten part too). A common issue for wheelchair users is, in fact, that they are neglected and forgotten about, often only an afterthought, particularly for the administration. And so it annoys me endlessly that f4 are allergic to handling their disabled main cast member whatsoever and neglect her in much the same way her family does.

Anyway, this isn't exhaustive, there's definitely more to unpack, but it's already very long and I thank everyone who has read this far for your time. I hope it helped you guys understand at least a little bit better.

[ijwrite]

Female mothfolk x Female reader

Designer lamps, salt lamps, standing lamps, chandeliers, you name it. You had it all. A nifty little shop on the corner of a bustling city, your little space of peace. Customers came in a steady supply, everyone needed a lamp once in a while, and you were content with your calm life in the middle of the busy city.

You were spending a rainy day at your shop, sitting down with a nice hot beverage and a book, expecting a very slow day, when the chime rang, signaling a customer. It was a person covered head to toe, long coat, hat, gloves, sunglasses and a scarf obscuring their identity. You wondered shortly if you were about to get robbed, but the figure began nervously fidgeting around one of your himalayan salt lamps, before grabbing one of them and marching over to the counter. They put it down quietly and pulled out their credit card. You rang them up with a smile and wished them a good day as they rushed their way out into the streets.

Now, it was a fairly cold day, so you didn't think too much about the mystery person for a month. Until they appeared again.

Once again it was raining as they came into the deserted store, nervously looking around as they fiddled with their fingers. This time they chose a globe with a light inside. It wasn't normally what you would carry, but you found them neat as you were ordering your stock for the month, and now you were happy that you did. The person was still silent as they paid for their lamp and left. You once again wished them a good day and went about your own.

The third time it was raining again, but there was another customer in your shop. The mystery person just managed to close the door before freezing as they saw someone else at the counter. It was just a sweet elderly lady who had to have a cable replaced on her old reading lamp.

The person went through your shop quickly, always peeking at the lady who was still talking about what happened to her lamp as you finished the simple repair.

"-So I was very confused when I heard foofy give a yip and so I of course went to check on him, and I swear, I have not laughed that hard in ages, all his fur were standing straight into the air. Turns out he had chewed on the cable, and I simply can't go to sleep without reading before bed, so I had to come out in this dreadful weather-" she rambled on and you smiled at her story. It wasn't the first time someone had a pet bite an electrical cord, fortunately no animal had ever gotten more than a scare. Well except that one dwarf hamster, but they die if you sneeze in their general direction.

You gently handed the repaired lamp back to its owner and she thanked you graciously, paid and left.

The mysterious person saw their chance to get out of the shop and hurried over to the counter with a box of fairy lights. You rang them up, wished them a good day, and once again they left without a word.

This became a regular occurance during the spring, they visisted around once a month, bought a light and left silently.

It was soon summer, and a hot one at that. The mysterious stranger hadn't been around since it became warm, which kinda made sense. You don't know why this person were so insistent on staying anonymous, but you were never one to pry. You were sitting in your usual spot behind the counter, a pitcher with ice cold water beside you and the ceiling fan on max, when you saw the stranger once again. You were quite surprised that they were still wearing the same outfit they used during spring, which would be unbearable in the heat of summer. It looked to affect them too, they staggered slightly when they walked and kept tugging on the collar of their coat. You were slightly worried for them, they didn't seem to be doing so great. They leaned on one of the shelves before their knees buckled under them and they fell to the floor. You jumped out of your chair and hurried over to them. They must be having some kind of heat stroke. You heaved the surprisingly light person to your chair behind the counter and sat them down.

"I am going to take off your outer clothes okay? I am trying to help you" You tried to calm them as you took off their hat and scarf. What greeted you were antennae and a short buzz of white fluff, going all the way down from their head, to under their shirt. You also pulled off the heavy raincoat and gloves, before filling a glass with cold water. You put the glass in their hand, still keeping yours on it, and helped them lift it to their mouth. They drank greedily until it was empty. You turned around to fill the glass again, and as you did so, you heard a slight flapping. You turned around and promptly covered your eyes. The person- woman had taken off her long sleeved shirt and were now sitting in only her bra as her wings were flapping slightly.

"Uh... Ma'am? I think you should go I to the back before someone else enters" You squeaked out, apparently waking her up from her daze.

"Yeah... Okay" The sweetest voice you ever heard in your life answered you. You took your hands away from your eyes, though you still keot your gaze at the floor, and offered her your arm. She groaned as she stood up.

"Urgh... I feel sick" She sounded miserable. You opened the door to the back and led her in.

"Yeah, heat can do that to you. You can cool down back here and I'll go get you some more water. If you need to throw up, I have a trashcan by the door" You sat her down on one of the boxes and went back out into the shop. A customer has entered while you were occupied with the woman, so you quickly told the person that you would be back soon, before hurrying the pitcher of water out to the woman. She grabbed the pitcher and started gulping water like there was no tomorrow. Satisfied that she seemed to be slightly better, you tended to the customer. As soon as the transaction was over, you grabbed the discarded clothes and went to check on the woman in the back. She was holding the empty pitcher close to her as she was looking around. She had taken off her sunglasses, and you could now see her large pitch black eyes. Paired with the wings and the fluff she had on her whole body, you quickly determined her to be a mothfolk. She looked back at you, before quickly looking at the floor.

"I- I am sorry, please don't tell this to anyone" She sounded very ashamed.

"Hey, don't worry. I usually don't run around talking about how people almost fainted in my shop" You gave her the clothes you had taken from her earlier. She looked up at you and looked away again. She bit her lip.

"That's not... I know it's funny. A total stereotype for a mothgirl to frequent a lamp store. I get it. I won't come back again" She sighed and hang her head.

"Why would it be funny?" You asked quietly, not really understanding her apprehension. She curled even more into herself, hugging the pitcher as if it was a stuffed animal.

"I can't sleep without looking at a light, but I keep breaking them. This is the only place that doesn't know who I am. But I guess that is over now" She sounded as if she was close to crying. You sat down on the floor in front of her.

"I don't think it's weird. I like light too. I mean, I opened a whole ass shop about it, so I kinda understand what you mean" She looked at you.

"I don't really know the stigmas about mothfolk, but I don't mind you visiting. As long as you don't give yourself a heat stroke again" You gave her a gently smile, which she hesitantly returned. You then cleared your throat.

"Well, I will let you get dressed again. Use as much time as you need to cool down back here. There is more water in the fridge over there" You stood up and left a slightly flustered mothgirl behind.

After your first official meeting with "Clarrisa" as she told you to call her, her monthly visits continued. You learned a lot about her, how she really liked oranges, that she worked as a programmer and how she always fluttered her wings when she giggled. You had developed a friendship over the autumn, and Christmas was around the corner. You wanted to give Clarrisa a gift, though you had no idea what it should be. You had been wracking your brain trying to come up with something, but it only came to you as you were absentmindedly browsing a catalogue for new items for your store. A Bluetooth lamp, which projected a coloured night sky onto the ceiling. This would be the perfect gift, you just hoped that she would like it.

With the gift neatly wrapped and placed under your counter, you waited for Clarrisa. Christmas was a fairly busy time for your shop, and you made a good amount of money by selling Christmas lights. But all you could think about was how Clarrisa would react to your gift.

As the days passed, you became more and more anxious. Clarrisa had not been in your shop for a couple of weeks, and you started to overthink the past couple of interactions with her. Had you come off too strong? Did she not feel comfortable in your shop anymore? Had she found another lamp store?

All the questions were driving you crazy, and it only got worse the closer you got to Christmas.

At the last day your shop was open, you resigned yourself to the idea that Clarrisa wasn't coming. You were just putting on your jacket as you heard frantic knowing on the front door.

"We are closed!" You yelled over your shoulder, but the knocking persisted.

"I said- Clarrisa?" and it was indeed her standing out there, and you hurried to open the door. She was standing in the snow, no coat on and breathing heavily. You ushered her in, closing the door after her.

"What are you doing out in this weather without proper clothes? I'm starting to think you have misunderstood the idea of coats" You brushed some of the snow off her fluff.

"Well I..." She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, and you gave her time to find her words. She sighed deeply, shuddered, then looked back up at you.

"I wondered if you would like to come have hot chocolate at my place?" She asked, then looked back down at her feet.

"I mean, if you have the time, it doesn't have to be now, I just thought-" You placed you hand on her shoulder and smiled.

"I'd like that" You said softly. She smiled back.

"Though, you are borrowing one of my jackets, you must be freezing" You went into the back to get a jacket for yourself and her, sneaking her gift into your pocket.

She shook her wings free from snow and tucked them under the jacket you lent her, still looking slightly flustered. You turned off the rest of the lights and followed Clarrisa outside.

Clarrisa lived in a small and cozy flat in the outskirts of the city. It was filled with personal touches, small things that made the space feel lived in. She had a 3d printer occupying a portion of the small living room, her walls had pictures of family members and the entire place smelled like her citrus perfume. She nervously cleared a bunch of papers from the coffee table with a muttered apology and asked you to sit in her small sofa while she made the hot cocoa she had promised. You could hear her moving around the kitchen, the distinct whirring of a microwave being started before she suddenly spoke up.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to the shop this month" You turned around to face her.

"I have been working on something, but I couldn't quite get it right. I panicked today when I realised that it was the last day I could see you" She moved over to her desk and pulled out a small packet from behind her computer.

"I wanted to give you this. Merry Christmas" Her hand shook as she gave you the gift. You opened it carefully and a small 3d printed figure fell out. It was a little cat figurine.

"God, it is such a lame gift, I understand if you wanna leave now or something" She scratched the fluff on her neck nervously as you inspected the small figurine. It was very well made.

"Well, I like it. It is cute. Thank you" She looked at you surprised for a moment before giving you a bashful smile. You then plucked out the present from your pocket and gave it to her.

"Merry Christmas" She took it with a curious expression, turning it in her hands before opening it. She gasped as she saw what it was. She looked from the gift to you, and then back again. And then she launched herself at you, engulfing you in the most comfortable hug you've ever had.

"Thank you" She whispered. You hummed in confirmation. The moment was interrupted by the beeping of the microwave and she slowly let go of you, not looking you in the eye.

"I'll just uhh... Get those" She mumbled and went to fetch the mugs of cocoa.

A few minutes later you both had your steaming cups of cocoa with whipped cream on top. You quickly fell into comfortable conversation, the earlier nervousness forgotten. You both talked for so long that it had gotten very late, and it seemed that the both of you had fallen asleep on the sofa. You woke up cuddled into the softest fuzz and felt more warm and comfortable than ever before in your life. Clarrisa had her hand securely around your waist, still snoring softly into your hair. You could get used to this

[pinkbutterflygaming]

Okay, heads up before I say this, do note that I haven't had the courage to watch Wish myself in the nearby theatres due to what people have said (man, I almost did, but it comes much later in my place, and reviews went out first).

I will only be watching it on Disney Plus if it ever comes there if my family just so happens to be subscribed to it at the time, since I still want to see what went wrong in that movie myself (and go into instant denial of what the movie could've been).

I do have a rough idea about what happens from analysis videos and reviews, but let me know if I got something wrong.

So I saw this post a few days ago and was just randomly thinking about it, specifically the idea of the Princess Character was supposed to have a wish that's only half of the message, it is a wish that's also missing something for it to be complete.

Putting together the dots, I realized that this was actually the original purpose of "This Wish". It was SUPPOSED to be missing something.

And looking more into it, I realized what the original intended theme of Wish was in the concepts, and I am in shambles.

Wish's theme was originally about the importance of having your own wish. That it's okay to want something for yourself.

If I'm right about this, we weren't just robbed, they also burnt everything and nuked it. No way this didn't have any corporation meddling. They ruined what would've been a classic, not just with a love story, but with such a unique message when it comes to wishes and love.

Buckle yourselves up.

I personally love "This Wish", at least on its own anyway, listening to it a lot and just envisioning what the film could've been.

When thinking about it, I realized there was indeed something missing about "This Wish", something Asha is leaving out throughout the song.

Herself.

The song talks about Asha wishing for something more for her community for her people, but if you think about the lyrics closely, you realize that Asha actually leaves herself out of the equation, what she wants for herself out of all of this.

Looking back at what apparently happens in the film, this seems to be a constant running theme for Asha. Well, there was an attempt anyway.

So apparently, Asha is said to have "too caring" as a weakness, the Queen also says she is "generous", "cares for the people". What's even more striking is the fact that Asha seemingly doesn't even have a wish. And then she sings a wish for the people, but not for herself.

Yes, I have heard that this wasn't executed well, was shown through more words than actions. But this seems to be somewhat consistent enough that I can't help but think this is intentional...

What if that's originally supposed to be what sets up her character arc? A girl who thinks of the wishes and wants of others, but never what she wants for herself? A girl who is too selfless.

That's it. Maybe the reason why we don't get Asha learning from her weakness, or get a any closure on her character arc was because they have removed the very thing that was supposed to make her grow as a character.

The Starboy.

Yes, everyone is crying over the scrapped love interest, something we havent had in... 10 years? Me included. Dammit.

But perhaps what makes his removal more tragic is that it may have done more damage to the story than we thought, to the point it even destroyed the original theme of the story, and the character arc Asha was supposed to go through.

Because if I am right about Asha's character, then Starboy is exactly what she needed. She NEEDS a love interest for her to learn what's missing. Since her character revolves around selflessness, she needs a something that makes her wish for something for herself, something that makes her whole wish thing in the movie to be more personal. And perhaps, it takes love.

The film Tangled even touches on this concept a bit. Where in the end, Eugene says that Rapunzel has become his new dream, and Rapunzel says that he was hers.

"At All Costs" (demo ver.) isn't just some love song. It's actually the very song where Asha slowly realizes her own wish, a wish not for others, but also for herself. A wish for love. For Star. Maybe at this point she's still oblivious about her own wants, but this is the moment where in her heart, this is what she wants.

And interestingly, Star probably would've had the exact same character arc, despite possibly being the opposite to Asha in personality. He's the personification of a wishing star, someone who grants the wishes for others, but never something for himself. For the first time, through Asha, even stars can have wishes and wants of their own. There's a hint of that in this one line.

"If you ever told me the feeling you'd bring"

"I'd think it untrue."

This seems to describe how impossible the situation should've been for him, falling in love with a human.

"Leave you here, I don't want to..."

"I want to..."

"...Love you as one does"

And he doesn't want to leave.

Two characters, who live in servitude for others, learn the same lesson through their love for each other, that there's nothing wrong with wanting something for themselves. Love becomes their wish, their want.

And that's not a bad thing.

I read your post about this subject, a running theme in Disney is that you must have faith, be kind, and your wish is granted.

Asha is supposed to be a character who embodies this, she is supposed to be a character full of love and brings happiness for her people while also being a character of faith and supposedly with enough faith to wish on a star.

So she fulfills the criteria of getting a wish granted, making it all the more fitting that a Star is able to come down for her wish.

Yet ironically, she is actually missing her own wish.

Maybe that's a part of what the journey was supposed to be about. Star comes down, but not just to help Asha's people, but help her realize what her wish is so that it could be granted. The journey was supposed to be about Star trying to figure out Asha's wish while Asha tries to find out what is going on in the kingdom with Star's help (I personally think Asha found out Magnifico's schemes too early in the film).

Its interesting because the two having the same goal here is what leads to them learning the story's message. Two characters, trying to fulfill the wish of the other, forcing both to realize what they want for themselves.

I think this could be partly why Star was going to be a playful character loke Peter Pan, it's actually just him trying to understand what Asha wants, and thus, he tries to understand who Asha is. It's a star trying to understand a human being through his own wacky ways.

But through their journey, Star ends up being mesmerised by what he finds in Asha, and Asha is charmed by Star's antics and starts to understand who she is through him.

Having your own wants and needs is okay. Wishing something for yourself is okay.

But it's not some simple, one-sided message either, something that another movie (*ahem*, Raya) was heavily criticised for. This is where the original villains come in.

Remember how the villains were supposed to be Magnifico and Amaya together? A Villain couple? How that's clearly meant to be a juxtaposition to Star and Asha?

If Asha and Star is all about servitude for others, then maybe the Queen and King were supposed to be the opposite, representative of the lesson that Asha and Star eventually learns but taken to the extreme: the selfishness of love. Because love can be selfish and cruel too. (The subversion of what love has been depicted in so many Disney films)

"At All Costs" can have a double meaning. Such a title can have such negative connotations. When you pursue love no matter what, to the point you take away and even hurt those around you for it. They're the definition of "I will sacrifice the world if it means protecting you." kind of thing.

Remember how I said that Star and Asha represent the theme of selflessness by granting people's wishes rather than themselves?

And how in the film, Magnifico TAKES WISHES? Notice something there?

Asha and Star giving, Magnifico and Amaya taking?

Yep, it was all supposed to be a metaphor. Selflessness vs selfishness, giving away vs keeping to yourselves.

The wishes themselves weren't supposed to be the theme, they were probably originally a metaphor for the theme. They represent the wants of the people, Asha and Star serves for them, Magnifico and Amaya takes them away and keeps them for themselves.

This could've been such a unique take on the villains and also their villain song if they went this route. Instead of truly just going against the message, they would've served the second half of the lesson that Asha and Star needs, a warning of what would happen if you do follow the moral and taken it to the extreme. It's the kind of thing that another movie, Raya and the Last Dragon, needed when it came to their moral. This adds complexity to the story's theme. This gives that crucial balance that other films can miss.

Asha and Star would learn that its okay to not be so selfless all the time, but it is also through Magnifico and Amaya that they learn it's not okay to become purely selfish either. They can both serve the people around them while also have pursuing their own wants and needs.

And so, the villain couple gets defeated because they failed to change and grow like Asha and Star did. They never learn altruism, the importance of giving as well.

Oh goodness... imagine a scene where Star sacrifices himself for Asha, she cries for him, and instead of him saying something conforting to Asha, he goes "But I don't want to leave you..." like ALSJSKSNND. He gets resurrected because Asha's wishes for him to come back, and then happy ending but MAN.

And this whole message and theme? If you look at it more, you realize that this even has an underlying subtext about SELF-LOVE.

What a powerful, deep and complex message. If they had went with this and executed it correctly, we could've had a beautiful and most profounding story about the complexities of love, an instant Disney classic in this modern era, joining the ranks of the great movies this year.

And you know what... they threw it all away.

WIthout Starboy, it's all just gone. And they had to make another moral lesson for the movie because they can't do love stories now apparently????

It seems they still kept this "flaw" with Asha, because a character needs flaws.

But with Star being changed, they couldn't make her learn from it. They tried to keep this flaw, but they ended up making her personal life obsolete, because she's no longer allowed to have her own "wants" without going against this established character flaw. Which is funny, cause Wish seems to reveal her being being a bit selfish too. Nothing makes sense with every single trace of the "romantice love" themes being scrapped. She became a character with nothing for herself, and still nothing in the end.

WHAT.

Disney characters often if not, ALWAYS had an "I wish for this" song, they even emphasized the importance of this when making "This Wish".

But they were always something that the character wanted for themselves. The OG Disney Princess had "find true love" as wish for herself, and you're telling me Asha's character arc could've THAT as the point of her CHARACTER ARC???? Are you kidding me!?!?

Imagine, you write a story where the literal moral lesson of the story "it's okay to want to fall in love", the perfect way to bring it full circle, back to the first Disney Princess film, and then Disney just goes "NOPE, SCRAP IT"???

Its so tragic, and also HILARIOUS just thinking at the sheer irony of it all.

You DESTROYED such a beautiful message that also has a subtext of SELF LOVE, on learning that you can serve the the community better by realizing your own wants and needs first????? A subversion yet also a beautiful tribute to the previous Disney films that come before????

I SWEAR IF THIS WAS THE ORIGINAL INTENDED MESSAGE OF WISH, WALT DISNEY, YOU BETTER COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW-

Disney doesn't need to change "the formula." That's the last thing that Wish proves.

What Wish proves is that "the formula" only works when you know why the ingredients are in it, and you use them the correct way.

The Princess Character is meant to wish for only half of the movie's message, and go through an adventure that teaches her what the other half is; what her dream was missing. Ariel dreamed of understanding but she was missing love. Tiana dreamed of achieving her goals but she was missing faith. Jasmine dreamed of freedom but she was missing trust. Belle dreamed of adventure but she was missing being understood.

The Villain is meant to highlight the opposite of the movie's message. Jafar gets what he wants through trickery and manipulation; that's the opposite of Aladdin's "truth will set you free" message, and he gets imprisoned in a lamp. Scar thinks being a King is having his way all the time and can't learn from his past of living in Mufasa's shadow; that's the opposite of The Lion King's "Let the past remind you of your responsibility to selflessness." Gaston loves only himself and is always obsessed with appearances; that's the opposite of Beauty & the Beast's "true love is found within a heart of self-sacrifice." That's what makes them such good villains. (and that clear direction is what drives good villain songs, since Magnifico's is what everyone is talking about)

The sidekick is supposed to compare/contrast with the main character's qualities. Abu is a greedy thief, which is what everyone in Agrabah thinks Aladdin is; when he scolds Abu and teaches him selflessness, it shows us who Aladdin actually is. Flounder is easily frightened and looks at the glass half-full; when Ariel coaxes him and leads by example, we see her bravery and positivity reflected in Flounder's tiny character arc. Timon & Pumbaa do whatever they want all day just like young Simba always dreamed of; when Simba goes to live with them, he finds that "getting his way all the time" makes him forget who he really is and feel empty.

The setting is supposed to show off the characters and highlight the movie's message. Rapunzel's tower is designed to be pretty on the inside because of her influence; if it were too dark and prison-shaped, we'd wonder why she didn't work up the courage to leave sooner. Just like how Quasimodo has made his corner of the bell-tower beautiful, too; they're taught the world is cruel and they're not strong enough for it, but they make their own worlds beautiful enough to hint that that's wrong right from the start. Ariel's grotto is shaped like a tower with no roof so that she only has one window to the forbidden Surface, and it's the light that comes from that forbidden world into her dark grotto which literally makes her able to see human things differently. Tiana's apartment has no interesting features except her father's picture, a perfectly made bed, a drawer with no extra outfits but stuffed with tip money, and only two dresses; both of which are for work.

None of that is happening in Wish, because they didn't know why the formula ingredients are there. Disney needs to understand and return to the formula the right way; forgetting it was what got them here.

Asha learns nothing to add to her dream, unless you count "the power to grant wishes is in me." Which you shouldn't, because we didn't even know she was confused about that until the animals sang a song that was completely off-topic and she had the chance to jump in and sing "I'm a Star!"

Magnifico does not demonstrate the opposite of Wish's message effectively because his character has nothing to do with a philosophy against making wishes, and everything to do with power. (He is the strongest character in the film. But because the message and core concept of what wishes are are so bad, that's not saying much.)

Valentino, and Asha's friends, do not highlight anything about her character through compare/contrast. Valentino is brave and all over the place. Her friends are seven-dwarfs parodies. Happy, Doc, Sneezy, Dopey, Bashful, Sleepy, Grumpy. None of that contrasts with Asha's vague characterization of "cares too much." None of it compares to that characterization, either.

The setting is empty. There are no interesting details that teach you something about any of the characters. None in Asha's home, none in the neat-and-tidy one-dimensional forest, none in the Rosas square, and none in the bland, empty castle. Magnifico's study is the closest anything gets; there's a loose concept that all of Asha's friends have to work together to open the roof, and take a leap of faith to weigh the pulley system down. Unfortunately, none of these characters is shown struggling to work together, OR to take leaps of faith, at all, before this point.

The ingredients of the formula are in Wish. They're just not being used correctly. This is how not to use the formula; it's not the formulas fault. If it ain't broke. They should never have let people convince them to try and fix it.

[pinkteapotwriting]

Their Perfect Y/N

Wolfstar x Fem!reader

Warning : Smut, pretty chill though. Daddy kink. That kinda stuff.

 Word count : 2532

---

Your first order meeting. You were so young, you just got out of Hogwarts considered an adult in the muggle world. Only 18, and you had a war to fight, friends to defend, lives to protect. It’s funny how determined you were to obliterate every death eater, but your heart was caught in your throat at the prospect of entering headquarters. You tried to ignore it, this was the first step to saving the people you cared about. You watched the houses split apart and sucked in a big breath before knocking. 

Walking through the doorway was easy enough, being immediately overwhelmed by a high pitched, brutal shriek.

“MUD BLOOD, BLOOD TRAITORS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS. DISGUSTING, FILTHY-”

“SHUT UP YOU FUCKING HAG!”

You were frozen in a state of terror, already you were messing up and you haven’t even said anything yet. 

“Y/N, right?”

Your wide eyes moved towards the figure with sleek ebony curls. The intense grey eyes were intimidating, but once you looked closer you saw the twinkle of humor in them. You shook his tattooed clad hands and tried not to let your knees buckle under his firm grasp. 

“Yes, and I’d ask you yours, but the daily prophet has done a great job of introducing me already.”

His smile was genuine, but you could read into that touch of sadness. But he was quick to shake it off.

“Don’t mind my mother, I promise she’s just as unpleasant as you get to know her.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that-”

“Oh don’t worry about it love. No one told you. It’s amazing that you could come, Remus says you were one of his best students. Really exceptional at defense against the dark arts.”

Heat flushed to your face at the praise and the mention of your favorite professor.

“Professor Lupin is here too?”

Your question was quickly answered when those familiar arms you would stare at entranced in class were draped over Sirius’s shoulders.

“Nice to see you Y/N, but you’re not my student anymore so please, just call me Remus.”

“Feels illegal but sounds good Remus.”

You all found your way to the dining room table and tried your best not to be intimidated by the row of wizards you admired and respected so much. Before you got the chance to breathe though Molly had you trapped in a tight bear hug.

“Oh Y/N, so good to see you dear. Of course I’m not happy about the circumstance, but all the same, glad to know you’re here and safe.”

There was no oxygen left in your lungs to respond, so you just smiled and accepted her warm embrace.

“Molly, if you want her safe and healthy you might want to give her the chance to breathe.”

Grateful for Remus’s interjection you gave Molly a quick peck on the cheek, while she released you bashfully. 

“Thank you Molly.”

 The meeting itself was fine, it was the dinner afterwards that had you terrified, because right across from you was Sirius and Remus. Two of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen and their unrelenting questions and invested eye contact had the embarrassment coming up all at the same time. That didn’t deter them though. If anything it sprung even more questions and conversation starters. You didn’t even notice everyone else had left, leaving just you three at the table. You were cupping some tea between both hands, while Remus was leaning against Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius was replicating the affection by wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

It was peaceful, never had you felt so comfortable in the presence of other people before. So safe. 

“Y/N, I’m glad you came, like I said Remus speaks very highly of you and we need all the help we can get. So if you want to invite your boyfriend or something to join, you should.”

“Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend actually, but speaking of which I had no idea you guys were together. You’re a really beautiful couple.”

Remus only smiled a little, but Sirius’s grin was proud.

“Thanks Y/N, you’re really quite beautiful too. We’re actually not gay though though, we’re both bisexual. We’ve even been known to have thirds in relationships. Nothing permanent though, haven’t found that right person.”

“Does that mean that you’re still open to-?

“Oh absolutely, there’s this girl we actually have our eyes set on right now.”

Your face fell.

“Oh, well if you two like her then she must be lovely.”

Remus and Sirius shared a look, clearly amused by your cluelessness and we all know what teases they can be. Remus spoke up this time.

“OH yeah, she’s a darling. She just joined the order.” 

“She has Y/H/C and Y/E/C. Exactly our type wouldn’t you say Remus?”

“An absolute beauty, exactly our type that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, she looks particularly cute when she holds a cup of tea, with an adorable confused expression.”

“I don’t understand, well I think I do but-”

Remus was sitting up straight now, zoning in on your troubled expression.

“Y/N, we want you. If you’re uncomfortable we can drop it and give you space from here on out and we’re so sorry for making you-”

“Wait. You guys like me? Like that?”

Sirius snorted at your surprise.

“How could we not? You’re completely captivating. Do you feel the same love?”

“I do, it’s just that I’m not experienced, like, at all. And you guys are so it’s intimidating.”

“We would never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable or unsafe. How about we talk more about this more tomorrow.”

Remus’s words were sincere, and well thought out. Yours were less eloquent, much more desperate sounding than you would have liked.

“No please, I need you now.”

Sirius was a man who smiled a lot. Always quick to let out a genuine, hearty laugh. But this was different. It was a taunting smile, a dangerous smile. And you were completely captivated. 

“Yeah? What’s got you so needy love? No one’s done anything yet.”

The table between you felt like it was keeping you miles apart. So you pouted, but Remus tutted. 

“Answer his question Pup, good girls speak up when told to.”

“I-I don’t know, I can’t help it. I’ve never felt like this before and I just need you.”

---

Clothes were discarded slower than you deemed necessary. Their clothes at least, not yours. You were only left in your underwear. They really just wanted to take their time with you, not worried about them, but you. You just looked so pretty sprawled out on their bed, it was impossible not to stop and admire your trembling figure. Remus slid behind you, allowing you to rest against his now bare chest. While Sirius knelt in between your legs, hovering over you, thumb running over your bottom lip. 

“So pretty baby. Can I take these off now?”

He was referring to your panties and you were all too eager to be rid of them. Except Sirius was still fully clothed, which wasn’t exactly ideal.

“Sure, but could you take this off?” You tugged at the bottom of his shirt suggestively, but Remus was tugging your arms back.

“That’s not how we ask for what we want love, try again.”

You bore into Sirius’s grey eyes. The twinkle of humour was gone, there was love and respect there, but mostly they were filled with hunger. His blatant lust had you nervous, not ever experiencing such intensity before. It had you subconsciously closing your legs. So Sirius was pouting.

“Darling you don’t have to be shy, we like hearing what you have to say.”

You sighed and spread your legs again while Remus robbed your arms soothingly.

“S-siri, can you take off your shirt please. I wanna see you.”

“Good girl for asking so nice.”

He departed from the bed to remove all but his boxers, and it just reaffirmed that you’d be spending hours tracing his tattoos later. Emphasise on the later, cause at the moment you’d rather spend time with him doing something else. He seemed to be feeling much the same, but had to pause to chuckle at your dazed reaction.

“See something you like?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

Remus pressed a kiss to the back of your head. 

“Alright love, you ready? Do you want this?”

“Yes, please. Do you want this?”

“Of course love.”

Once Sirius was nestled between your thighs again he gave one reassuring peck before making his journey downward. He started sucking right below your ear, and you were already whimpering. He could get drunk on that noise. All the sounds you released so willingly as he nipped your collar bone, kissed your hip, and sank his teeth into your inner thigh. Right next to where you needed him most. He didn’t give you much time to complain though, cause soon enough that last barrier of clothing was being discarded and your fingers found their way through his black tresses. The vibrations of his moan against your clit had you bucking into his face. He kept his palms planted firmly on your thighs.

“That feel good Puppy? No one’s ever made you feel like this huh? Gotta stay still though, can’t make you feel good of you can’t stay still.”

“F-feels so good.”

“I know baby, Moony how bout you help her practice for another time.”

Remus seemed to understand what he meant and you were confused until-

“Open up pretty girl.”

Until Remus’s fingers were brushing past your lips. You started sucking on them as if it was second nature. 

Sirius went back to suckling against your clit, but this time one of his fingers was teasing your entrance. Which once had you whining against Remus’s fingers, so he pulled them out to let you speak. 

“What is it baby.”

“P-Please Siri.”

“By that way, how does she taste?”

He answered by inserting his pointer finger briefly before bringing it to Remus’s lips. Remus released it with a dramatic pop. 

“Now I think I’m jealous, Hurry up Pads so I can get a turn.”

You never thought you had this type of response in you, but Sirius’s fingers thrusting in and out of you was sending shocks through your body. Every touch burned in the best way possible and it was only a short matter of time until the coil snapped. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for us Y/N?”

“Y-yeah. Please, feels so good.”

“Bet it does, let go for us darling, I know you can.”

He placed delicate kisses across your shoulders as you released all over Sirius’s face and fingers. Despite not being the one who came Sirius parted ruefully with a heaving chest. Remus beckoned him closer and as soon as he was within reach Remus was cleaning off his glistening face with his tongue. A sight you found all too arousing.

“Did so good Y/N, you too Pads. My turn now.”

“Please I need to be inside of her so bad.”

Remus pondered for a moment.

“Could you be gentle with her as she needed. You’d have to be.”

“She was clenching around my fingers… don’t know how I’d respond with her wrapped around my cock. You’re right Moony.”

And there you were, wishing they’d skip the whole talking like you weren’t even there, and just fuck you already. Luckily your desire looked as if it was going to be satiated shortly as Remus and Sirius switched places. When Remus removed his clothes you stared at his member with complete and utter desire. He mistook it for nervousness though.

“It’s alright love, if you want to stop we can. We can go at your pace and I promise if you’re in any pain at all that we can-”

Your voice sounded pained, raspy and desperate as if you were being deprived of oxygen.

“Remmy, I need you. Please I need it so bad.”

He sighed in relief and stroked his length as he settled over top of you.

“I got you. Such a good girl using her manners. Tell me if it hurts at all okay.”

Chest against chest was not close enough, even that could not satisfy the desire, the need, to be close to Remus. It seemed he was replicating your feelings as he drank up every moan that flew past your lips. If Sirius wasn’t rubbing your arms and soothing your hairline you never would have been grounded enough to tell that this was reality. 

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding Pads. She’s so tight I can barely move. You feel so good love.”

Your high pitched moans were gradually becoming more staccato as Remus thrust into you.

“I-it’s not my fault you’re so big.”

“S’ not a bad thing at all Pup. You like my cock, you like being stretched out like this?”

“Yes yes yes. So much, please please Da-”

Embarrassment creeped up from the back of your mind, all the way to your cheeks, but Sirius noticed.

“What were you gonna call him baby. C’mon now, don’t be shy.”

Remus halted his movements to stare at your face intently.

“I- I don’t wanna, M’embarrassed”

Remus gave one more thrust to emphasise his point.

“Say it.”

You knew by the stern look on his face it was better to obey, or else you wouldn’t get what you wanted.

“Daddy, please let me cum. You feel so good. You’re so big daddy I-fuck”

You were cut off by your own moaning as Remus proceeded to thrust at a rapid pace.

“Cum then.”

It was like you were being blindsided. If you were standing you would have been knocked off your feet. Sirius held your hand the whole way, and your grip only tightened as Remus chased his own high. 

“Where do you want me to cum baby?”

“Please cum inside me Daddy.”

“Yeah, you want Daddy to breed you? So pretty and innocent, didn’t know you were so dirty baby. I’m gonna stuff you full sweet girl- FUCK.”

He bit into your shoulder as he painted your insides with his release, and you found yourself whimpering as he pulled out. Remus was always a good caretaker though.

“It’s alright sweetheart. You did so good. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“No wait-”

“What is it pup?”

“Siri needs to feel good too.”

“If you’re sure then go ahead love.” Remus scootched out of the way so Sirius could situate you where he wanted. And that was face pressed into the mattress apparently. He sheathed himself fully inside of you, pressed his chest against your back so he could reach your ear and whisper.

“My turn, we’ll see who you’re calling Daddy at the end of this.”

---

Bonus

The prospect of war was terrifying. You were so focused on protecting everyone around you. So it was a great comfort knowing, as you slept in between Sirius and Remus, that you had two people who would go to all ends to keep you safe.

Because besides each other they now had something even more undeniably precious. 

You.

Their perfect Y/N. 

---

@sunny-bunnny @quindolyn @accioweaslcy @bluemoonyblurbs @weasleyposts

[arvandus]

Congratulations on the big 500 ^-^ I'm so happy for you! Could I get a fluffy #24 with Dabi, pretty please? 🥺👉👈

I’m finally getting to thissss! I’m so, so sorry for the delay. For some reason I struggled with this one for a while, then suddenly something clicked, and inspiration took over. I really enjoyed writing this, it felt very cathartic. It might feel a little heavy/emotional at first but trust me when I say that it ends with fluff.

#24: You're The Only Thing That Matters

Pairing: Dabi x GN!Reader

Word count: 1825

Warnings: light angst(?), fluff

---------

You hadn’t meant for this to happen. Then again, no one ever does. It’s not like anyone ever plans for their apartment to get broken into, their personal items stolen...

Then again, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, not with a neighborhood like this. But it was the neighborhood you could afford. Now here you are, hanging out across the street at the local market, too afraid to return upstairs to your ransacked home. You don’t have a car to drive yourself to a motel to stay the night, you don’t trust nighttime public transportation, and you don’t have enough money for an Uber. But you have to go somewhere. So, you take your phone and called the first person that comes to mind...

Dabi.

You can’t help but laugh that his number is the first one you think to dial. From the surface it makes sense – you two have been seeing each other, so of course he should be someone you can trust enough reach out to. But this is Dabi. Even with your intimate relationship with each other, he is often distant and, more often than not, entirely unavailable. It doesn’t surprise you too much... he’s a villain, after all, and sometimes that villain life requires him to disappear for periods at a time.

Which is why you are honestly surprised when he picks up.

“What?” he says gruffly, like he doesn’t have your number saved in his phone; he knows it’s you on the other end.

You bite your lip before answering. “Um, hey, Dabi. It’s me.”

Already you’re struggling to keep your voice from quivering with unshed tears. If you let yourself cry now, you wouldn’t be able to stop, and this really isn’t the place for it. You watch as an old man pushes a cart past you at a snail’s pace, his gnarled fingers grabbing a bag of rice from the shelf.

Dabi must have heard the emotion in your tone though, because his next words come out slightly softer. “Hey, doll. What’s up? Ain’t it a little late for a phone call?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just...” you take a steady breath through your nose in an attempt to ease your jitters. “My place got robbed, and... I need a place to stay for tonight.”

You hear voices in the background, and Dabi growls at them to ‘shut the hell up.’

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “Am I bothering you? I didn’t realize you were working...”

“It’s fine, doll.” Dabi replies. “Yeah, you can crash here.”

More arguing. But a moment later, you hear the click of a door being closed and the background noise disappears.

“I’m headin’ over.” Dabi’s voice comes through clearer than before now that there are no other voices coming through the receiver. His deep tone makes your pulse slow down to a manageable pace, and you take a deep sigh a relief. “Where are you?” he asks.

“I’m at the grocery store across the street.” You reply.

“Stay there.” His words are an order, his voice unusually firm. Is that... concern you hear?

“They close in fifteen minutes.” You say nervously.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

You hear the click and the call ends, and you really wish it didn’t. Then again, there was no telling where Dabi was, or what he was in the middle of when you had called.

The minutes tick by slowly as you wait, each minute dragging on longer than the last until you’re certain that you’re in hell, watching time slow to an endless crawl. The ten-minute mark comes and goes, and Dabi is nowhere to be found, and now you’re struggling to keep the panic down. What if he doesn’t come?

But just as the dreaded thought enters your mind, he’s there, appearing next to your shoulder like an apparition, a dark angel disguised in a black hoodie, his mouth covered. You nearly jump out of your skin when he puts an arm around you before you quickly realize it’s him, your protector.

Already you can feel the tears brimming in your lashes, but his words quickly interrupt the flow like a stopper.

“C’mon, doll.” He whispers in your ear. “None of that now.”

He guides you out of the store into the dark night and you stare across the street at your apartment complex. The building is tall and old, looming over you like a bad dream as visions of your ruined home flash in your mind.

“D’ya need to grab anything from your place?” he asks. You shake your head. You don’t want to go in there, even with Dabi present.

“Didja lock the door?” he asks again, and you shake your head again.

“Whoever it was broke it.” You reply. “Please, I just want to go...”

He stares at you for a moment, his blue half-lidded eyes reading the look on your face before he looks away.

“Well, c’mon then.” He says. He guides you to the subway. Once you get on the train, you sit next to him and rest your head on his shoulder as the empty train car sways and bumps on the tracks. You can feel the fear begin to fade away with each passing of the flashing lights through the dirty windows, graffiti carved into their acrylic surface. You interlace your fingers in his, and for once he doesn’t fight it, doesn’t recoil his hand to the safety of his pockets.

The ride is silent and so is the walk to his hideout. He leads you in through the rickety door with the dented doorknob where a ragtag group of people lounge on dirty couches. Your body stiffens instantly, your hand tightening around his as if doing so would fill you with courage you didn’t have.

A man with white hair with the slightest tint of blue-grey glared at you with red eyes. “I thought we agreed on no outsiders?” his voice comes through with a growl, carried on a sneer past scarred lips.

“Shut up.” Dabi snaps at him as he leads you past the group to another door that leads to a hallway.

A couple doors down and he pulls you into what you can only assume is his room – after all, it’s your first time being here; Dabi had never let you visit him before.

“It’s not much, but it’s safe.” Dabi comments as he closes the door behind you.

The bed is messy, the mattress old. You don’t care though. The space smells of Dabi, and as soon as your brain registers that you’re no longer in danger, you buckle down onto his bed and begin to cry with your face in your hands as the aftermath of emotions overflows into your palms.

Dabi removes his hoodie and kneels before you. He watches you in silence, the glaze of his eyes never betraying the emotions tucked away in secrecy. He hates seeing you like this, hates watching you fall apart in front of him. It makes him feel useless. Cautiously, he reaches out and takes your hand from your face, holding your fingers in his warm palm. He can feel the wetness of your tears on them, and he fights the urge to increase his body temperature, to evaporate the evidence of your pain from his skin. Your eyes catch his, red and puffy, and before he can react you throw your arms around his neck and fall into his lap. He catches you – how could he not? – and holds you to him as you empty your emotions into his shoulder.

When the well of your tears has finally dried, you wipe your eyes with the heel of your hand and pull away from him slightly. Dabi can see the exhaustion falling over you in real time, your shoulders slumping and your hold on him loosening into a relaxed grip.

“I’m sorry, I... I just... it’s been a really bad day.” You say, your eyes downcast.

Dabi can’t help but give a dry chuckle as he helps you up to your feet. “Yeah, no shit.”

He sits on the bed and pulls you with him until you’re both lying down on his messy sheets, with you curled into his side.

“Thank you for coming to get me...” you whisper as you rest your cheek against his chest.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he teases, but his smile falters when your breath hitches and you don’t answer.

It cuts him deeper than he expects, but at the same time he’s not surprised... he hasn’t exactly been the best boyfriend – is that even what he is? Is that what he’s been to you? It wasn’t like you two ever discussed it; you two just... were. He’s given you so little...

Dabi swallows before he continues, his voice quieter this time, quieter than he’s ever been with you before. “I’m just glad you’re not hurt.” The confession feels weird on his tongue, like a foreign language, but he pushes forward, determined to say what he should have told you sooner. His voice drops even lower to a barely audible whisper. “I’ll always come for you.”

Despite the hush of his words, they feel like a shout. The admission leaves him feeling embarrassed and vulnerable, and a part of him wishes he could take them back, simply because of what they mean. But they don’t come without their own reward - you relax at his words, your body molding against his as your arms tighten around him. It’s the first time he’s been so open with you and the nervousness in his veins gives way to a light euphoria at your acceptance. His arm tightens around you as if he’s afraid you’ll melt away, as if his touch is the only thing keeping you real, his perfect dream come to life. Within minutes, your breaths become deep and even, and Dabi realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on him, your body giving way to its exhaustion after all that had happened. He stares down at you for a long, quiet moment, watching you sleep on him.

Dabi had never put anyone else first before, not even you despite your closeness. But when he answered your call and heard the fear in your voice, it was as if the ground had been pulled out from under him, his entire world thrown into chaos. If anything had happened to you... If you’d gotten hurt in any way...

His grip on you tightens a little more and he brushes his lips against your hair. Maybe it’s the bravery he’s feeling at your acceptance of him. Or maybe it’s the fear of what could have been. But his next words come out in a hushed whisper, a secret confession meant more for himself than you.

“You’re the only thing that matters.”

And even though you’re supposed to be asleep, your soft words hum into his chest, burying themselves like sunflower seeds.

“I love you too.”

[yionji]

Open wide

A/N: So i got insipired by this today,so here I go.

Tags: Vibrators,smut,humillation,denigrated reader,slut shaming,hair pulling,rough,denigration,piss kink,hits,personal use,deepthroat,overstimulation,forced stimulation, personal use,someone hearing,big cock,forced wetting,urine,cum inside,dirty talk,blowjobs,human,stepping on reader clit, toilet,light mind break,semi passed out,sub reader,pubics hair,urine retention,gaggin,crying.

Pairings: Getou x f!reader

Summary: Getou is obbsesed with y/n so he start being possesive.

“Well, if you’re so terrified of someone overhearing us…” Getou said, his voice lower than previously. “We could always go somewhere more private.” You didn’t even agree with or deny his statement, still, he just started walking away, with you following like some obedient dog

You were still in your academy uniform, he was playing with you for a long time, he even put a vibrator in your pussy everything you did was under his control, he always had fun speeding you up very fast in serious situations. He lead you back to your dorm room, halting in front of the door and making you open it. Once the two of you were inside, he closed the door behind him.

With a simple flick of his wrist, Getou dialled the vibrator up to its highest setting. You barely bit back a squeal and your knees buckle. You were panting and shaking, not daring enough to look him in the eye right now. It was too much, you were so sensitive it nearly hurt. Shame thrummed in your veins with his gaze burning holes into you, yet it just served to make you more aroused, your thighs impatiently rubbing together. Despite how the stimulation was driving you crazy, it was even worse once he turned it off and you whined in protest.

“I don’t think you should be complaining right now,” He said in a voice a little too cheery for this situation as he took another step towards you. “You should feel lucky I’m even considering putting my hands on such a filthy mutt .” In any other situation those comments would’ve made you upset or annoyed, now it sent a pang of arousal between your legs.

Getou gave you a harsh shove, which sent you falling to your knees. The impact hurt, but with the pleasure still clouding your mind, it only made you let out a weak moan, now he was the one looking down at you. You felt pathetic and small, slick dripping from your abused hole. You’d been kept on edge for such a while now, the only thing you could think of was that you just wanted to come already.

“Now that’s more like it!” He turned the vibrator on its lowest setting and you shuddered. It wasn’t enough to get you anywhere close to an orgasm, nonetheless, it was way better than nothing at all. Getou pushed your legs slightly apart, shoving his foot against your clothed crotch. "Ooh the smell of your pussy is so disgusting it gets up here, it makes me want to fuck you" he exclaim with a deep voice and a smile.

You immediately began grinding against it but because of your position, it was hard to get any actual relief from it. He just snickered, clearly revelling in your pitiful display.

“God, even I couldn’t have imagined how much of a whore you actually are. You’re like bitch in heat,” The words cut at you and made you whimper pathetically as his foot applied more pressure. “But I’m getting a bit bored here, you’re the one having all the fun!” Judging by the bulge in his pants he was definitely enjoying this, yet you kept your mouth shut. Nevertheless, a small smile spread over your lips. With your flushed skin and shivering form, it looked coyer than you meant it too.

“What are you smiling at, stupid slut? Didn’t I just say it? I’m. Bored. Do something to entertain me!”

“Well, uh,” It was hard to think straight, given the state you were in. The vibrator was still buzzing away, giving you just enough pleasure to feel good but never enough to get you to cum. You couldn’t really get creative right now. “What do you want me to do?...”

Getou sneered at you, one of his hands grabbing a handful of your hair and tugging harshly on it. A moan was ripped from your throat, pain and pleasure mingling together. “Do I have to think of everything for you? You can’t even think of a way to distract me momentarily?” He huffed, digging his shoes against your clothed clit painfully. “You really are only good enough as a wet hole for me to fuck.”

Keeping his fingers tied into your hair, he uses his other hand to unzip his pants. His dick is hard and leaking from the tip when he pulls it out.  “Open wide!” He said with a deep voice, before shoving his cock into your mouth. Getou didn’t give you any time to adjust or to let yourself relax, instead making you gag by immediately thrusting. You couldn’t breathe and tears welled up in your eyes. He kept your head in place by keeping a tight grip on your hair, his fingernails digging into your skin. This wasn’t a blowjob, no, he was using your mouth as a fleshlight.

Getou was anything except quiet, moans and grunts constantly falling from his lips and the sounds coming out of your mouth were loud and sloppy, Getou was so entertained playing with your mouth that he was distracted from what was going on around him that he didn't realize that gojo was listening to everything from outside your room.

"Maybe I can use y/n later for myself" he said quietly to himself.

Getou continue,though you weren’t sure if they were all real, or he was just acting at some points. “Ahh- You must do this soooo often, rright?” He panted out, smirking down at you. “I bet you’d suck a-anyone off if they asked!”

Your teeth scrape against the underside and he actually let out a high pitched whine. If your mouth wasn’t stuffed full and you weren’t almost suffocating, you would’ve laughed.

He didn’t appear to like it as much, however, he dug his shoe against your pussy. Hard, practically digging in. Getou was still fucking your mouth, though his hips were starting to stutter, and his foot moved because of it. Now, he was putting a lot of stress on your bladder more than anywhere else. You’d been too strung up to use the bathroom for a while and with this weight, you were sure you’d piss yourself if this was kept up for too long.

But you were unable to speak while he was still fucking your mouth, so you couldn’t tell him what was wrong. Any attempt you made merely sent vibrations up his cock, making him moan appreciatively. You hollow out your cheeks and are rewarded with a sharp moan and another tug at your hair as he hits the back of your throat. Your legs shook with the effort of keeping it in.

A gush of urine escaped at a particular harsh movement and once it started, there was no way you were able to stop it. The stream made an audible hissing sound, making an embarrassed flush rise to your cheeks. Your body sent mixed signals to rush through you, both bliss and utter humiliation and you shivered in confused pleasure. The heat was trapped in your skirt for a few moments before it leaked through, turning your skirt a darker shade and allowing a small puddle to form beneath you. On one side you wanted to curl up and never open your eyes again, but the relief felt just as amazing as an orgasm could have. Tears streamed down your cheeks because of the conflicting emotions.

You didn’t, couldn’t, look him in the eye as he stilled his hips and almost pulled out completely, allowing you to breathe again and to make the blurry edges of your vision return to normal. This surely had to be the end of it, right? He couldn’t possibly be into this, he would actually get grossed out and leave. Honestly, you didn’t want that to happen, the thought of it making you nauseous.

Getou had been brought into a stunned silence, a blank expression overtaking his features. He blinked once, twice. You were about to mutter out an apology and usher him to leave so you could clean up, nonetheless, before you were able to do that, he let out a low hum and the familiar, condescending smirk returned to him. Looking up at him, his cheeks were red and his breaths were stuttery and quick.        

Could it be?...

“I’d say you almost look pretty when you’re crying,” Every thought is robbed away again as his hips make contact with your face once more and he let out a cackle. “B-but you look prettier sucking on my dick~!” It only took him a few thrusts, with your throat constricting around him further with every movement, before he finished inside you without warning, grunting loudly as he did so. You didn’t have much of a choice except swallowing.

He pulled his veiny cock out of you again.

"You know men have a certain urge to pee after they finish," you couldn't believe what you were hearing, could you?

Without a squeak he grabbed you roughly by the hair making you swallow his cock again and the tip of his head hit the back of your throat, you star gagging and crying so much more than before.

"Shh, shhh" Getou said as he pressed your head with his hips, your nose tickled his pubic hairs, he smelled so great.

Getou took a long breath and you began to feel a liquid running down your throat and into your stomach.

He let out a breath of relief and a grunt and continued to pee until he finished and looked down to see your face.

"You really look good sucking my cock, y/n" He let go of you roughly causing you to bang your head against the wall, only to hear the sound of his pants buckling.

"You're such a grear human toilet,my human toilet"

You coughed and wheezed for air once he finally fully released you, glad that air was freely available. Your head hurt and your throat felt scratchy and sore, the fabric of your plants clinging against your skin. Basically, you were a disgusting mess. Once you returned to reality.

“Good luck cleaning, whore!” He called out while glancing over his shoulder for the last time. “See you next time!” Then, he slammed your door shut. You simply continued to sit there for a few seconds, brain still struggling to comprehend that all of that had actually happened.

Well, that definitely was an experience.

<3

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Wound By a Key

I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser​ for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!

Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

---

The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime. 

He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.

“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”

“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”

He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now. 

He needed food and lodging, first.

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life. 

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face. 

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself. 

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.  

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman. 

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found. 

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place. 

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody. 

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang: 

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance. 

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides. 

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep. 

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark. 

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover. 

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did. 

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly. 

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion. 

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That’s wound by a key.”

[amerrierworld]

Hands Off

for the request: The world lacks Lou Miller x reader fics!! Can you do one where Lou gets mad and defensive over reader 

Summary: Lou’s friendly biker gang always welcomed you with open arms, except one.

Characters: Lou Miller x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,551

Warnings: fluff but defensive & angsty >:( Lou, harassment, swearing and a lil bit of physical violence (all within good reason I promise)

For the longest time, you thought Lou only really hung out with Debbie, some of the Ocean’s crew, and colleagues from her club. But a couple months into dating she casually slipped in how she hadn’t seen much of her biker gang lately.

“What?” you shrieked from the couch, dropping your book in your lap. She jumped and looked at you from the kitchen, nearly spilling her beer.

“You’re in a biker gang?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, rather matter-of-fact like, “I’ve got a bike. It’s only a matter of time until you’re in a group for bikers.”

“Really? What do you guys do, rob stores and terrify regular home-owners?”

“Yes to the second, no to the first,” she laughed, coming over to sit with you. You threw your legs over hers on the couch, still rather flabbergasted at this revelation.

“So you haven’t seen them in a while, you said? Why not invite them around?”

“You don’t know them, baby. They’re a bit intimidating.”

“Uh, yeah, not yet. Come on! I wanna know your friends, please?” you grinned, wiggling your toes. She caught one of your big toes between her fingers and held you still.

“Fine then, but you’ll have to get some proper biking attire.”

So now, after multiple trips and a few drink nights at Lou’s club, you were heartily welcomed into the biker gang even though you didn’t have a bike yourself, and mostly just tagged around with your girlfriend. And even then you didn’t come on all their trips, finding the cramps of sitting on the back of the bike for too long unbearable sometimes.

Mary was an older, chubby-faced biker, with the face of the neighbourhood grandma who bakes, yet covered from the neck down entirely in tattoos. Paul was her husband, with an afro as white as winter snow, and chains hanging from every pocket and belt loop.

The two of them chatted, joked and laughed with you when in slower traffic or making a much-needed burrito pit stop whenever you went out. The rest of the group was around Lou’s age or younger, and though you felt welcomed by them, you kept to the three of them mostly. It felt nice and familial to hang around, and Lou seemed the most comfortable around Mary and Paul as well.

Then there was one member of the club who would come and go, and you didn’t often see him around, but when you did you weren’t the most chuffed at the sight of him. Tommy was a middle-aged balding man who didn’t seem to really like anyone in the group, but was still there for reasons unknown.

Your distaste was clear to Lou, and you managed to successfully avoid him.. most of the time. On one trip you had taken a well-deserved break near Central Park, lounging in the cozy late-evening weather, with Lou donning her iconic all-black leather outfit and heeled boots that made you swoon.

You were wearing a pink leather jacket yourself. Lou had chortled with glee at the sight of you trying it on, so contrasted to her black leathers and jewel-toned fabrics. Perhaps the rosy coloured leather wasn’t something you would’ve bought for yourself, but every time you wore it, Lou would grin to the point where her eyes would shine nonstop. So you wore it almost every time you went out on her bike together. It was a little bit Pink Ladies-esque, but you quite liked the way it looked.

But Tommy had been looking at you quite.. harshly, somehow. But you could tell he wasn’t checking you out, rather just judging you and your look. He seemed set on being around Lou, who couldn’t be bothered to give him the time of day, only having eyes for you and talking to you as you relaxed by the park.

“Lou,” you began, watching him scamper off to the other side of the group. One of the nice things about being in a biker gang is no one seems to want to bother any of you, letting you hang around in peace.

“Hm?” one of her hands was running through your hair.

“Does Tommy like you?”

She slowly blinked at you in baffled amusement, “like me?”

“Yeah.. I mean either he likes you and is sizing me up cause I’m your girlfriend, or he just despises me as a person.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t give him the time of day, love.”

“Why is he in the gang anyways?”

Lou shrugged, “him and Paul go way back. I don’t mind much, he’s usually not around anyways.”

You pursed your lips in worry, so Lou grasped you close in a tight embrace,

“Don’t worry about him, baby. He isn’t bothering you, is he?”

“No, just his annoying face.”

Lou looked over and saw that indeed, Tommy was giving you a repeated once-over, lingering on the small studs of the pink leather jacket, and her expression immediately soured.

“If he comes close again, I’m gonna clock him,” she growled.

“Hey now, don’t say that,” you giggled.

“Hmph.”

The rest of the time spent at the park seemed to be going fine, if it weren’t for the constant tugging at the back of your mind from Tommy’s incessant stares. The silent harassment from his eyes were making you uneasy, and Lou noticed.

“I am definitely going to clock him,” she said to you again. 

“Don’t,” you whined, but not very convincingly. 

Later on, Mary started a warm conversation with you, helping your nerves a bit.

“You’ll have to tell me where you got your jacket,” she said, “I have never for the life of me found a jacket with a colour like that. Only browns and blacks, and it’s so boring.”

You laughed, enjoying the way Lou absentmindedly rubbed your waist with her thumb.

“We’ll go shopping then,” you said, barely noticing Tommy walking in and joining in on the conversation, “I’m sure we can help you find something, Mary.”

“I don’t think pink is quite your colour, Mary,” Tommy piped up, eyeing you again, openly now that all focus was on you. You blushed, not from shy happiness like when Lou looked at you, but rather from sickening dread.

“Where’d you get this anyway, a cheap community theatre production of Grease?” Tommy grinned, tugging at the buckle of one of your shoulders. Your eyes flashed, and you slapped his hand away, every hair on your body standing up at his toothy smile, the ugly flash of a worn golden tooth growling back at you.

The tough crunch of Lou’s well-jewelled hand landing on Tommy’s cheek caught you by surprise.

He stumbled back into his parked bike, knocking it over as he landed on the ground, letting out a filthy curse as his nose began dripping blood.

“You broke my nose,” he cried out, “you bitch!”

“Wish I had done more than that,” Lou snarled, her hand still clenched in a fist. Mary and Paul had rushed forward to hold her back, but she didn’t seem too interested in punching him again.

She reached out for your hand and looked you up and down, as if he had given you a kick to the stomach rather than just bully and tug at your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” she asked, while your jaw was still a little unhinged.

“Y-yes, I’m fine,” you replied, a bit lost for words, “but what about you?”

She shrugged, but you noticed her tightly clenched fist and the redness of her skin. As you inspected her hand, Tommy had got up, managing to stop the bleed and gave a rude gesture towards Lou who simply glared back.

“Fuck you,” he said, hoisting his bike back up straight. No one else bothered to check on him or lend a helping hand as he clumsily sped off down the street, leaving the rest of your small group to hang around on the street. Paul sighed in disappointment, but didn’t seem bothered by him leaving. Hopefully for good, you thought.

Mary was the first to break the silence, clapping Lou on the shoulder and congratulating her on a job well done.

“I never liked him anyways,” Lou muttered, as you lifted her hand and kissed her reddening knuckles.

“I think we should get some take-away burritos, don’t you, Mary?” Paul suggested, locking down his bike.

“Oh, yes, come on all of you, on the house,” Mary grinned, taking his hand and heading down the street to the nearest burrito place, the rest following.

“Burritos?” you waggled your eyebrows at Lou, and slowly the anger dissipated from her eyes, because you shoved your hands in the pockets of your pink leather jacket, and with your combat boots and jewelled belt, she thought you had never looked more like a biker, while somehow being the cutest thing she’d ever seen.

“Alright,” she hooked here arm through yours, “but maybe don’t get the spicy one again? You didn’t seem to enjoy it much last time.”

You shoved her playfully, “yeah well, you said that I could take it, and I trusted you completely, which I never will again.”

“You wound me,” she gasped in mocked pain. You lifted her hand again and pressed it against your mouth,

“Only when you sucker punch creeps to defend my honour.”

A/N: Defensive girlfriend Lou Miller to the rescue? yes please!

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 3

Bundy

Cult girl gets some unbelievable news.

Trigger warnings: death, emotional manipulation, discussion of cult leaders Koresh, Jones as well as Ted Bundy

"Who the fuck are you, and what the shit are you doing with my dead cousin's phone?" You said, the slam of the car door audible from the speaker.

"Cheerio to you too, [F/N]." Anna answered.

You brought the phone to your chest to muffle the speaker and heaved a sigh.

"It's fucking Anna." You told Hannibal as he climbed into the car.

He buckled his seatbelt. "Put it on speaker."

You pressed the speaker button. "Froot Loops. Why do you have Theresa's phone?"

"Don't you remember?" She asked. "I took it when she died. Hers had a much better camera than my old one. I thought I told you to update that in your contacts?"

"Oh yeah, I do remember that." You nodded. "The body wasn't even cold and you'd already gotten to grave-robbing."

"Hey, that's my sister you're talking about." Anna snapped. "Show a little respect."

You rolled your eyes so far back into your skull you could practically see your brain cells dying. "Why are you calling, Anna? I'm fairly fucking certain I told both you and grandma to never speak to me again."

"Well, grandma won't be doing much speaking anymore." Anna snapped. "Because she's dead."

You sighed. It wasn’t the first time you heard those words, and it was never true. Faking her death was the hammer in her gaslighter toolkit. Meaning that the desired outcome could be produced just as effectively using a combination of other tools, but none were as efficient as a good old-fashioned bashing. The first time, you went through the whole five stages in ten minutes to really sell that you felt something other than relief at her passing. This time, you didn’t have the energy. 

“Did somebody finally strangle her to death?” You asked. “Shame, I would have liked to do it myself.” 

“Are you so completely void of human emotion that you can’t even pretend to be sad?” Anna shouted. 

“No, because I think this is another one of her manipulations.” You explained. “She probably roped you in thinking I’d believe it if it came out of your mouth. But the joke’s on her, because you’ve been her puppet since preschool.”

“You really are something else, [F/N].” Her voice wobbled, as if on the verge of tears. “The woman who raised us had a stroke and died. That’s not a manipulation, it’s the truth!” 

You began to consider the possibility that Anna wasn’t lying. Your voice took on a more solemn tone as you resigned to give her the benefit of the doubt. "A stroke, huh?"

"She died in the hospital." She said, softly.

There was real emotion in her voice. You thought back to that high school production of Legally Blonde, which proved that she was not skilled enough at acting to fake it.

You sighed. The crushing realization that you may very well have been the jerk in this conversation hit you. "So, what now?"

"I know better than to ask you to help out with the funeral." She said. "You didn't come to Theresa's, after all."

The reason you gave for not going to Theresa's funeral was schoolwork. It was a flimsy excuse, but hid your real reasons well enough. Those were much touchier. You couldn't bear the thought of listening to people lie and embellish stories of your cousin's positive influences on people's lives. But you also couldn't bear the fact that at least some of it wouldn't be lies.

You were the one that killed her. Your fiancé chopped up her body and served it to your friends for dinner. Theresa was a sociopath, a narcissist, and plenty other highlights in the DSM-5, but the pain she left after her death was real. It was the most real thing about her. You weren't desensitized enough to face that.

"Good call." You answered, flatly.

"Liam and I will be flying out tomorrow night." She said. "I know I'm in no position to be asking for favors, but if you could come pick us up from the airport-"

"Sure." You answered with a nod. You didn't know what exactly you were agreeing to as you did. Anna's words were just dissipating into the air, hardly reaching your ears.

"Thanks." She said, as emotionlessly as you. That was perhaps the most mutual understanding you'd ever achieved with Anna. And it only lasted a couple of seconds.

That was about as natural a conclusion to the conversation as you could have hoped for, so you hung up.

Hannibal pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. "What are you thinking, love?"

You leaned your head against the window and looked up at the few visible stars. "I've spent so many years wishing her dead and now that it's finally happening, I don't know what to feel."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, knowing exactly how to keep you grounded when your mind started to wander off. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. He kissed you on the head.

"I thought her dying meant I never had to think about her again." You shrugged. "But now I'm thinking about her and hating every minute of it. And that probably means I loved her. Which is terrifying to think about."

"You think about Jim Jones and David Koresh quite a bit, don't you?" Hannibal asked, squeezing you tight. "Do you love them?"

You shook your head. "That's different. That's academic curiosity."

"But why do we remember them?" Hannibal posited, stroking your arm. "Is it reverence?"

"It's to learn." You answered. "To make sure history doesn't repeat itself."

"Death isn't a sacred thing, my love." He whispered. "Don't feel bad for remembering her as cruel. That's what she was. Don't let anyone forget it."

You chuckled. "Did you know that when Ted Bundy died, a bunch of people near the prison shut their breakers off so the electrocution would be more painful?"

"Interesting." He said, referring less to the fact itself and more to the reason why it came to mind when it did.

"That is to say, I don't actually feel bad that she's dead." You clarified. "I feel bad because I know I should and I don't."

Hannibal pulled you into his arms and placed a kiss on your forehead. "I thought after four blissful years together, you would know you don't have to pretend around me."

You lowered your head. "I guess I'm just scared that if I take off my person suit around you, I'll never be able to put it back on."

"You never need to worry about that, my love." He assured you. “I know it’s scary, but all it takes is a little practice.” 

“In that case,” You felt a smile creeping onto your face, so you let it. “I think we should celebrate.” 

"Well that can be arranged." Hannibal rolled your hair. "With a bottle of Cava in my office."

You felt a laugh coming on, but it just came out as an ugly wheeze. "That is so unethical. I would love to."

"No," He corrected, opening the driver's side door. "It would be unethical to empty a bottle of wine down that pretty throat of yours without a little food."

"It's the middle of the night, Hanni." You objected, though the rumbling of your stomach told a different story. You slammed the car door shut.

Hannibal smiled to himself, disregarding your protests entirely. "Foie gras au torchon, with a bit of brioche, perhaps?"

"Well that sounds like a proper celebration." You grinned, tightening your grip on your clutch excitedly. “Do you mind if I get cleaned up?” 

“Of course not, love, take your time.” Hannibal said, releasing you from his embrace. 

You headed towards the house, a little extra spring in your step. 

“Oh, [F/N]?” He called out after you. 

You looked over your shoulder. “Yeah?” 

“That thing you said about Ted Bundy.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry to tell you, but that’s a myth.” 

You frowned, feeling kind of stupid. “Shit. I really wanted it to be true.” 

Hannibal smiled, reassuringly. “But hundreds of people still celebrated his death.” 

[emmyhem]

right where you left me (l.r.h)

a/n: hi everybody! so this is a bit of a longer one that is inspired by the song “right where you left me” by taylor swift on evermore. it’s one of my favorites by her because i love the writing and the concept. whether you’re a taylor fan or not i suggest reading and then listening to the song with the fic in mind, it makes the song hit extremely hard. also expect more taylor inspired stuff in the future because she’s one of my all time favorite artists. this one is sad but i live for the angst so what’re you gonna do? my calum piece, “everything you’re missing” should be up by the end of the week and i’m working hard on my very first michael and ashton pieces as well, which is really exciting. anyway i hope you all enjoy and are being safe (get vaccinated if you can!) once again my messages are always open and feedback/criticism is always appreciated. hugs and kisses to all, thanks - emmy <33

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader 

summary: you met 20 year old luke hemmings in a coffee shop eight years ago and were sure your life had been decided. you once told him you’d wait for him until you were sure he was happier without you. you never thought that day would actually come.

warning(s): angst, cursing, alludes to possible infidelity, it’s a sad one so buckle in. 

word count: 6.2k

Current time - December 14th 

The familiar ring of the entrance bell pulled your attention from the worn book beneath your fingers to take a routine glance at the patrons rushing in from the early December chill. Mitten covered hands, and icy cold flushed cheeks entered one after the other. Your typical seat in the corner of the small cafe was shielded from the penetrating winds that accompanied each person in their entrance but you still shivered in sympathy at each new arrival. 

Your steaming earl grey had faded into a tepid puddle at the bottom of your mug as the hours passed on the analog clock that adorned the brick wall in the front. Olive, a barista you had become friendly with over the years approached your table with the cafe’s winter speciality, an orange cranberry muffin in hand. 

“Last one.” she said, sitting it on a pine green napkin in front of you. 

You reached into your purse for a few spare bills to cover the cost when she stopped you by placing a hand on your forearm. 

“On the house for our favorite customer.” her eyes were filled with pity as she nodded down to you, and you were too tired to feel embarrassed. 

“Thanks, Liv.” you sighed. 

“It’s my pleasure, besides I always feel like we’re robbing you when you pay full price, you only ever eat half anyway.” she added as she walked away. 

You picked at the baked good, memories flooding your brain with each bite. 

Eight years ago - December 14th 

As you clutched your books with a death grip you cursed yourself for forgetting your gloves in your dorm. The wind was picking up and it wouldn’t be long until they were numb completely, and your sweater paws were less than effective in warming your frozen fingers. 

A flickering red light glowed just a bit down the street and a sugary citrus aroma was pulling your stiff limbs towards it against the wind. The closer you got the more mouthwatering the smell became and soon enough you had reached the door, bracing yourself for the chill of the copper handle as you pulled it open. 

Sweet, warm air enveloped you as you stepped inside. The red brick walls were chipped in more than a few places, red and green christmas lights twinkle from a tree in the corner, and the crackling of the fireplace was like music to your ears. You wondered how you had never noticed the quaint cafe before as you took your place in line behind a tall man wearing only a thin black hoodie and beanie for protection from the cold weather. As you got closer to him a piney scent cut through the sweet smell of pastries and you caught yourself leaning in to get a better whiff of its freshness. 

Your eyes scanned over the menu that hung behind the cash register while he ordered and did your best to ignore the chill that ran up your spine when his soft aussie accent invaded your ears. 

Once he finished and stepped off to the side to wait for his order you moved forward and placed your books on the counter. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” a young ginger barista with an abundance of freckles said. 

“Hi,” you paused and located her name tag. “Olive, I’ve never been here before but there's this smell that-” 

“Our orange cranberry muffins.” she interrupted pointing to a chalkboard in front of her that read, “Warm up with a wintery treat, try our famous orange cranberry muffin today!” 

Your stomach growled quietly at the thought as you nodded. 

“I would love one of those and...a medium early grey, please.” you replied, pulling a 10 dollar bill from your pocket. 

“Sadly, we have just sold our last one to the customer in front of you.” she nodded to the enticing blonde man that had caught your attention earlier, who was now staring down at his black vans as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 

You narrowed your eyes at the muffin thief when he glanced up at you innocently while accepting his coffee from another worker. 

“We do still have our gingerbread and pumpkin muffins if you’d be interested in one of those instead.” Olive continued motioning a hand to the glass display of tasty treats to your right. 

You let out a disappointed huff, “That’s okay, just the tea please.” 

You paid for your order making sure to leave a few extra dollars in the tip jar before taking a seat on a worn burgundy couch near the fire to wait for your drink. 

Leaning your head against your hand for support you allowed your eyes to drift closed and listen to the pops and crackles of the fire meshing with the soft holiday music echoing through the place. You only opened your eyes back up at the feeling of the couch dipping beside you. 

Sitting too close to not acknowledge, was the boy from earlier who was now alternating sips of what smelled like a strong latte with bites of the muffin that could’ve been yours. 

“Are you doing this on purpose?” 

His head snapped in your direction at the sound of your voice, and he finished chewing before responding.

“Doing what?” 

“Taunting me with your stupid muffin.” you were aware of how childish you sounded but hunger had always brought out the irrational side of you. 

“It’s actually quite delicious.” he smirked, ignoring your frustration. 

You groaned in jealousy, “Don’t rub it in.” 

Realization sparked in his eyes. 

“Got the last one didn’t I?” 

You nodded. 

“M’happy to share.” he grinned, breaking off half and holding it out to you. 

“No, really it’s fine. I’m just being annoying.” you waved him off. 

“I’m not annoyed. Really, take it. I’d have to throw it away otherwise.”

Your eyebrows raised at his comment. 

“I’m stuffed.” he explained, patting his stomach twice. 

“I don’t believe you, but I’m starving and this smells incredible.” you responded, accepting the baked good. 

You closed your eyes and let out a satisfied hum after biting into it. 

“Holy shit, this is like the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” 

The boy watched you and laughed at every pleased noise that you released. 

Once you had finished your half you turned back to see him still watching you, he had scooted even closer to you and your knees knocked together at your movement. 

“Thank you, that was amazing. Although it was pretty rich I don’t think I could eat a whole one either.” 

“Your welcome,” when he paused you realized you hadn’t even introduced yourself but still stole half of this guy’s muffin. 

“I’m y/n.” you filled in. 

“Luke.” he returned. 

You nodded and repeated it, testing how it felt on your tongue. 

“Thank you again, Luke.” 

The two of you began talking about, school, work, music, your favorite movies, astrology, anything really. By the time you glanced up from the conversation the cafe was nearly empty and the fire in front of you had burnt out leaving a smoky debris hanging in the air. 

“I think they’re closing.” you said while checking the time on your phone. 

“Fuck, I’ve got a paper due tomorrow.” 

“Sorry, I kept you back.” you apologized, both of you gathering your things as you talked. 

“No, s’not your fault.” he dismissed as you both began to walk to the door.

Standing a few feet away from the exit you could already feel the nip that was permeating through the glass, it sent a chill through your spine making you wiggle your shoulders. As you stared at the floor over the books in your arms, trying to decide what the best way to ensure you would see Luke again was, you heard the buzz of a zipper. You lifted your head to see your new acquaintance removing his arms from the sleeves of his black hoodie. 

“Are you crazy? It’s freezing out there.” 

“I know, you’re shivering.” he answered, swinging the fabric behind your back until it dropped and wrapped around your shoulders. He pulled on the sleeves till they were hanging in place and you watched through your lashes, completely in awe of his concentrated expression. 

“Luke, I can’t wear this you’ll freeze and I can’t just take your clothes.” 

“C’mon of course y’can. I’m warm blooded. I'll be fine and you aren’t taking it. I’m gonna want to come in for one of those muffins tomorrow and you know I can’t eat the whole thing, so you’ll just have to be here to share with me. We meet, we eat, I retrieve my jacket, all is right in the world.” He smiled through his words, attempting to warm you up by rubbing his hands up and down your shoulders quickly. “Think you can do that?” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Excellent. Meet me here at 9:00 tomorrow.” 

You nodded as he pushed the door open and despite him trying to act unaffected you could tell from his rigid stance he was freezing. 

“I’m counting on you alright? Stay warm, y/n.” he reiterated through chattering teeth before exiting the shop. 

Current Time - December 14th 

When they talk about one moment defining your life it seems silly, and unrealistic. One day of your life is hardly even a blip so one minute defining everything seems completely ludacris. You would have never bought into it eight years ago, right up until Luke muttered those three words to you before braving the cold. 

“Stay warm, y/n.”

He said it and you had one of those moments. One of those, “and then everything changed.” moments. 

You had always been sure that your purpose would come to you later in life, maybe you’d have a spiritual awakening while in some foreign country. Maybe you’d read a book that would change your view on everything, or god forbid you’d have a close encounter with death and the epiphany would come then. You would’ve never guessed that a nearly missed encounter with the world’s best muffin and a lanky Australian guy would do it. 

But here you were eight years after the encounter, your hair was longer, the crinkles that appear by your eyes when you smile now linger, and Luke was nowhere to be seen, but some things haven’t changed at all. A half eaten muffin, the comforting cafe, and your unwavering certainty that your life’s purpose was to love and to be loved by Luke Hemmings all remained. 

Seven years ago - March 27th 

The door swung open to a positively beaming Luke, he leaned in to press a swift kiss on your cheek before hurriedly pulling you inside. 

“I have a surprise for you.” 

“You do?” you questioned, taking notice of the subtle burnt smell in the air and the smoky atmosphere of his apartment. 

He nodded excitedly pulling you by the hand into the kitchen where you were met with messy countertops packed full of lumpy and slightly charred muffins. Your mouth fell open and you turned to face your boyfriend who was smiling timidly at you, eyes scanning over your face. 

“I made you our muffins.” he smiled, proudly looking at his work. 

“Wha- how? How did you even get the recipe?” 

“Olive helped me out.” He responded, taking a seat on one of the bar stools by the island. 

“Lu, this is incredible. Thank you.” you praised, moving to stand between his legs. 

“I hope they turned out good. Y’know baking is a lot harder than it looks.” he tutted while unwrapping one for you. “Open up.” he instructed, tapping your chin. 

Your teeth struggled to bite through the dense baked good, and while your taste buds fought with the bitter crumbly substance you questioned whether Luke had actually followed any recipe at all because what you were eating tasted nothing like the warm, gooey, and tart treat that the two of you had come to love. 

You chewed slowly to avoid swallowing and kept your face as neutral as possible. 

“How is it? Good?” he spoke nervously and the little glint of hope in his eyes forced you to swallow it down and paint on a pleased smile. 

“Mmm” you moaned “It's delicious, Luke.” 

“Yeah?” he beamed. 

“Really good.” you nodded, your eyes drifting longingly to the sink. In that moment you would’ve killed for a glass of water. 

“Wow, I mean I thought they’d be alright but this is great. Lemme try.” he brought your muffin up to his mouth and in a panic you snatched it from his hands, squeaking out a small “No!” before shoving the rest of it in your mouth. 

“Babe, there’s plenty, no need to be greedy.” he laughed while unwrapping another. And you really should’ve thought this through because with puffed out cheeks full of possibly the worst muffin in history you took a step back and watched him bite into one. His face twisted in disgust and he quickly spit what he had taken back into the wrapper. 

When he looked back up to you, you were standing there with a full mouth and wide eyes. He cocked his head to the side in confusion, “You enjoyed that?” 

The second you shrugged your shoulders, feigning innocence Luke burst into a sharp cackle, his legs kicking up into the air from the force of his laughter. You took that as an opportunity to run to the trash and rid yourself of the awful taste in your mouth. 

Luke was still struggling to catch his breath while you finished pouring yourself a glass of water. 

“It’s not funny, Lu.” you argued between sips.

“Why didn’t you just spit it out?” he chortled, beckoning you closer with grabby hands. 

“Because, it was so sweet.” you reasoned. 

“Really? I would argue it was more rancid than sweet.” 

“Not the muffin you goon, the gesture.” you elaborated, smacking his shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you ate the whole thing.” 

“Shut up. I was trying to be nice.” you pouted. 

“Hey,” he said, standing and opening his arms. “M’sorry I know.” 

You waddled into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his back. 

“I love you for that.” he sighed, before kissing the top of your head. 

You froze in his hold, those three unexpected words echoing through your head. 

“You what?” 

His chest shook lightly as a laugh fell from his mouth. 

“I love you.” he repeated. It was so nonchalant, as if he’d said it to you a hundred times before. “You alright with that?” 

You nodded before pulling back just enough that you could see his face. 

“I love you.” you returned. 

Luke’s hands cupped your cheeks, a groan passing his lips before he pressed a soft kiss to your now pouty mouth.

“Say it again.” he pleaded into your mouth. 

“I love you.” you sighed, chasing his lips with your own. 

“And again, and again, and again…” he continued, rewarding you with one lingering peck for each declaration. 

“Mmm” he hummed in content when he decided he was satisfied. “Never stop saying it.” 

Current Time - December 14th 

A whirlwind romance like the one that the two of you had shared was never meant to be sad. It was the kind of love that constantly feels like a cheesy montage full of sweet moments that happens at the end of a rom-com. Unsuccessful baking attempts, cozy study dates, spontaneous weekend trips, hundreds of shared muffins, piggy back rides home from the bar, that’s what made you Luke and y/n. 

The two of you didn’t do well with the hard stuff and it worked because there just wasn’t any. Everything was easy and it felt good. It felt right. 

It had never even occurred to you that the hard stuff was part of any great love, that inevitably one day things would get hard. It really hadn’t occurred to you that pushing through the hard stuff was something that Luke may not be up for. Because you were and you always had been, all in. 

Six years ago - February 17th 

You had gotten home late after a long shift at the library you worked at part time . Luke was sitting on the couch scribbling something in a notebook and taking tiny sips of his steaming cup of tea, too impatient to wait for it to cool properly. 

You’d been listening to an audiobook while organizing the shelves that day and the somber tone of it had seriously dampened your mood. It also made you extremely grateful that you had Luke to cuddle away all your sorrows. 

He had noticed your sad expression the second he saw you and was quick to pull you into his arms and press you for information. 

“What happened baby?” he cooed as you nestled as close into him as physically possible. 

“Sad book.” you mumbled into his chest. 

“Aw, love you shouldn’t let that stuff get to you. S’not real, there’s no need to get upset.” This was something you had heard plenty of times before, seeing as you were an extremely emotional person and felt things strongly. 

“It was so sad though, bubs.” You reasoned that talking through it with someone else might dull the ache that it had left on your taut heartstrings. You explained the whole plot, how the couple had met on a plane and spent their two separate vacations together and along the way fallen in love. Luke would hum or nod every so often indicating he was listening but you knew most of his focus was on the fact that you were tearing up through your explanation. He let his lips rest along your hairline as you got to the climax of the story, speaking through cracks in your voice to tell him that they had lost each other’s numbers on their way back and while the woman was able to move on and find love later in life, the man waited at the airport for years hoping that one day he would see her again. 

Luke’s hand ran through your hair while your head rested on his chest. 

“I don’t think there’s anything romantic about it. It’s just sad.” he concluded. 

“I disagree.” 

“Really?” 

“I’d wait for you.” you confirmed, running your fingers over the fabric of his shirt. 

“Not forever though,” he added. 

“I’d wait until I knew you were happier without me.” 

“Yea, me too.” he agreed. 

“I’d never be happier without you.” 

Current Time - December 14th 

One thing that you never doubted in your relationship was whether or not Luke loved you. You knew he did. It was something that had always been casual between the two of you, it was as much a greeting as it was anything else. 

As the sun rose and broke through your curtains the words to break the silence that lingered from the night before wasn’t “Good morning” it was “I love you.” Before leaving for work instead of an impersonal “Bye!” you shouted “Love you!” through the closing door of your apartment. It was a phrase that had been repeated millions of times, and despite the casualness of it all, it never lost its meaning. 

Even now, five years since you’d last seen him you knew with every bone in your body that no matter where he was right now, half the world away or two blocks downtown, he still loved you. 

Luke always kept his promises, a million times he had promised that he would always love you. And a million times you had promised it right back. 

A hundred years apart wouldn’t change that, let alone five. 

Five years ago - December 13th 

You watched the snow fall from the living room window, what you would normally find peaceful was making you go insane. It had been perpetually silent around your apartment for the past couple of weeks. Luke was hardly ever home, when asked he would tell you that he had a big project at work and needed to teach the new intern how things were done in the office. You hadn’t thought much of it, there were times when you were busy and had to put things with him on the back burner to focus on the uncertainty of work. It had never been an issue because as far as you were concerned things were set between you and Luke. There was the unspoken promise of forever. 

Of course, that didn’t stop you from missing him tons. On this specific occasion the cold weather had left you with clogged sinuses and a bad headache, one that you would typically soothe with a cup of  earl grey from the cafe and an abundance of snuggling. Since Luke wasn’t around to fulfill your touch deprivation you decided that wearing one of his favorite sweatshirts would have to do for now. 

You blindly reached into his drawer to search for it but stopped when your hand caught on a folded piece of paper. You pulled it out and walked to the bed, flicking on the lamp as you sat. Once the light turned on you were able to see it clear as day, two airline tickets to Sydney departing on the 20th and returning  on January 3rd. The two of you had briefly discussed travelling to Australia at some point so you could finally meet his family but nothing had ever been confirmed. 

The naivety that had always been a part of who you were began to connect non-existent dots with hopeful lines. Luke was planning on surprising you with Christmas in Australia with his family. It explained why he was never home, it also explained the secretive phone calls you had started picking up on after he scurried out of bed in the middle of the night a while ago to speak to someone in hushed tones just outside the bedroom door.

That night when he finally got home at nearly eleven you had made sure to leave half a muffin with a note that read, “Miss you, stud muffin. You work too hard. Love you -y/n” on the kitchen counter. From where you laid in bed, you could hear him laugh as he read it aloud. You quickly sat up in bed when the laughs you were reveling in started to sound like sobs. 

The dim lighting in the kitchen didn’t stop you from seeing the tears on Luke’s face as he looked up to where you stood, stunned in the hallway. 

“What’s wrong?” you hurried to him. 

He made a sniffing sound before gathering you in his arms. He held you so tight that if it wasn’t so sincere it might’ve hurt. 

“Lu, what’s going on.” you squeaked out. 

He tightened his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your hair, emitting soft cries every so often. 

“I love you, y/n.” 

“I know. I love you too.” 

“I swear I’ll always love you. I swear.” 

“I know. Hey, Lu I know.” you soothed as his breaths became more labored. 

At some point you had managed to calm him down and coax him into bed, you reasoned that he was just so tired that his feelings got the best of him, something that had happened to you many times before. And honestly you were just happy to be back in his arms once again, so when he was wrapped around you in bed, his hands playing with your hair like they always did when he got anxious, you didn’t think twice about it when he said,

“We need to talk tomorrow, over breakfast. We can go to the café if you want?” 

You nodded against his chest as sleep overtook you, the last thing you heard being “I promise I’ll always love you.”  

Current Time - December 14th 

Your reminiscing was interrupted by a high pitched screech from the front of the cafe. When you followed the sound your eyes landed upon a distressed toddler, about three years old if you to guess, who was pouting up at a tall, gorgeous woman that was apologizing profusely to Olive for her son’s outbreak. You wouldn’t have looked twice at the scene if  it wasn’t for the way Olive’s troubled expression and wide eyes were directed precisely on you. 

The child was screaming through his cries “I want daddy’s muffin!” His face was red and blotchy from tears and the cold weather but didn’t completely overtake his creamy skin tone that complimented his familiar blue eyes. He was an adorable kid, a full head of blonde ringlets and chubby cheeks that you were sure turned a light pink when he smiled. 

He kind of reminded you of Luke. When the thought entered your head you were quick to dismiss it though, because if you were being honest most things reminded you of Luke. 

“I’m so sorry about this. He isn’t normally so loud, it’s just that my husband loves these muffins and he promised Sammy one.” you heard the gorgeous woman say. 

“It’s fine, the cranberry orange muffin is a big hit around here. They sell out almost everyday.” Olive responded, her eyes unbreaking from yours. 

“Yea that’s what Luke always tells me.” 

Five years ago - December 14th 

The walk to the café felt longer than it typically did and you had no idea why, for some reason you didn’t notice that Luke was dragging his feet. Maybe it was because you were sure that this impromptu breakfast date was to tell you of the surprise Christmas trip to Australia. Maybe it was because any amount of extra time you got to spend holding Luke’s hand in your own you considered a gift. 

When you finally arrived you were quick to usher him to your favorite table, one that was secluded in the corner, enough to have a bit of privacy but also allowed you to people watch on slow days and have telepathic conversations with Olive from across the room. 

You noticed that Luke wasn’t eating after a few minutes, his muffin half sat untouched in front of him and his nervous demeanor was driving you crazy. 

“I have to admit something.” you finally said, tired of the silence. 

Luke nodded for you to continue but refused to meet your eyes as you spoke. 

“I know about Australia, I found the tickets in your drawer so if that’s what you're so nervous about, there’s no need. Of course I’ll go with you, you have no idea how excited I am to meet your mom, she can finally show me all those baby pictures that she’s always telling me about.” you were so busy picturing your potential trip to Luke’s hometown that you didn’t notice Luke’s teared up eyes and anxious tapping. 

“Y/n, the tickets aren’t for-” he cut himself off before the approaching crack in his voice could prevail. “I met someone.” 

“Okay?” 

You didn’t even know what that meant, he met someone? You met people all the time, what does that have to do with the trip?  You lifted your mug to take a sip while you waited for him to continue.

“I mean I-I have feelings for someone, uh someone else.” 

You didn’t even feel your grip release, you didn’t hear the shattering noise, you didn’t feel the scorching liquid seep through your top onto your skin. 

Luke was leaving you. He fell in love with someone else. It was serious enough that he was bringing her home. Luke was leaving you. Luke was leaving you. Luke was leaving you.

“I don’t understand.” The crying had already begun, and although it didn’t surprise Luke he couldn’t bear to watch it. He stared at the spilled tea and shards of glass. The entire cafe’s eyes were on you and you didn’t even notice all you could see was that Luke’s weren’t. 

“Look at me.” you pleaded. There was a time when he would’ve seen your face, seen how distressed you were and gone back on everything solely because it hurt him too much to see you hurt. 

When did that stop? Why hadn’t you noticed? 

“I love you y/n, really I do. But I love her too.” 

“You love her more.” you didn’t even try to phrase it as a question, there was no point, you already knew the answer. He must’ve loved her more because he was leaving you for her. Luke was leaving you. 

Your acknowledgement of his feelings didn’t make it hurt any less when he didn’t deny it. Luke was leaving you. 

You sat in silence for at least five minutes, it felt like years. Luke watched you cry, fighting the urge to wrap you in his arms, and sway you back and forth until you stopped. He wouldn’t do that because it was selfish, it would ease his troubles more than yours, he deserved to see how his hurtful actions affected the one he swore to shield from any and all pain. 

“I’ll have everything out of the apartment by the end of the week.” 

The end of the week? You had planned on spending the rest of your life with him and he was telling you that he would essentially be out of your life by the end of the week. Luke was leaving you. None of it felt real. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I love you.” 

Watching him leave felt surreal, you couldn’t hear anything but your blood pumping, you hardly took any notice when Olive rushed to your table and pulled you into her embrace. 

Luke left you. 

Current time - December 14th 

You could feel his presence as soon as he stumbled out of the bathroom.

How could you have missed him coming in?

You dragged your eyes up his body from his feet, and when they fell upon his face it was like someone had pressed play after fast forwarding through the years that had been taken from you. You weren’t 23 anymore, and Luke certainly wasn’t either. He’d always had a strong build, but he held himself differently now. He was confident and collected, very sure of himself. He had a bit of scruff lining his jaw but you could tell it was well kept and intentional and a pair of black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. You reacquainted yourself with his appearance from your spot in the corner. 

With each subtle change you catalogued in your brain, vivid images danced through your head, like a kaleidoscope of what could’ve been. You saw lazy Sunday mornings on the couch leisurely sipping coffee, the open windows next to you bringing in a sweet breeze making the house smell like fresh grass after it rains. You saw yourself pushing a stroller through a park, Luke chasing behind one of your little ones just a few feet ahead. You saw roadtrips, vacations, theme parks, crowded family dinners, trick or treating, white gowns, and wedding cakes. You saw binkies, and bottles, tangled sheets, ruffled hair, pecks on the forehead, lunch boxes, and I love you notes. 

The last scene you saw, one that felt so real you could’ve sworn you were really there, started with Luke sitting on the floor surrounded in wrapping paper a toddler curled up in his lap. He wore flannel pajama pants and a ratty shirt he had purchased at the concert you went to for your third date. He took sips from his mug of lukewarm coffee every so often, and you were sure if you got close enough you’d be able to smell it on his breath, not that you would mind. His curls were grown out more than he typically liked them, they were messy from sleep and obstructing his vision slightly. Just as you reached out to brush them from his forehead, it was like you had been thrown backwards by a force strong enough to make your stomach drop. 

Reality. 

You could still see Luke from where you stood but he was so far away now. You reached your hand out again, gasping in shock when it hit a sheet of glass, you knocked against it firmly but nothing happened. It was like a window where you watched the scene unfold. A woman you had been in the same position as not seconds ago stood up and revealed her face. It was his wife, she handed Luke a small gift bag and waited patiently as he opened it. He acknowledged the gift, a framed photo of the two of them and leaned forward to press a thank you kiss to her lips. 

“Stop!” you called.

No one can hear you. 

“Luke, I’m right here.” you yelled, slamming an open hand to the glass. 

Hot tears fell from your cheeks as you continued to knock and shout. 

“Lu, please.”

As he pulled away from the kiss a grin plastered his face. And it hit you, he was happy. He really was happy. 

Realization of the thing you dreaded the most in the world happened quickly, but not painlessly. Luke’s eyes flicked to your own, he saw you through the window. He saw you calling for him, crying for him, begging for him. He saw you and then he looked away. 

And reality snapped you back yet again, right into the present moment. You were in your café, staring at your empty mug, your face felt hot and wet. When had you started to cry? You reached a shaky hand out for a napkin to wipe your tears, but ended up knocking the mini poinsettia pot in front of you over instead. A crash echoed through the café and everyone turned their attention to you and your frantic demeanor. Everyone, even Luke. 

You forced your eyes up from the glass that sat shattered on the white tablecloth with slow movements and shallow breaths until they finally found the culprit, the reason for your pain. You could see right through the light blue of his eyes, shock and bittersweet nostalgia pooled in the cerulean waves. 

Just like you were suddenly 29 and hurt when you saw Luke. He was suddenly 20 and enamored when he saw you. 

He physically winced while taking notice of the black streaks that cascaded down your cheeks. It reminded him of leaving you. It was all his fault. 

He met your gaze with a desperate one of his own, silently praying that you could still read him well enough to understand. 

His eyes released unspoken declarations with every slow blink. 

I can’t believe I’m seeing you. I miss you. I still love you. I’ll always love you. 

You can’t be here right now. I’m with my family. I’m happy now. I’m happy without you. 

Every silent, stabbing confession all summed up into one that you had been afraid of for the entire eight years that Luke Hemmings had stolen from you. 

I love you, but somehow that stopped being enough.

The place was silent. All eyes on you. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

You weren’t quite sure who you were apologizing to or what for,  it could’ve been to Olive for making yet another mess that she would end up cleaning. It could’ve been to all the customers you disrupted when you broke the flower pot. Or Luke’s son who you had stolen a muffin from. Or maybe his wife, that you had been demonizing in your head for years, seeing her only as the woman who stole the love of your life. It could’ve been to Luke, you were sorry you hadn’t taken him seriously, he was in love and he had a family and you were still waiting around for the day he decided to come back for you. The day that would never come. 

Deep down though, you knew you were saying it to yourself. Eight years is a long time, you had stopped living for yourself a long time ago. You did miss Luke, of course you did but maybe part of the hole in your chest that you had been so desperately trying to fill, was yourself. You really missed you. You without Luke. How could you have forgotten about her? 

“I have to go.” this time you knew exactly who you were talking to and as your feet carried you to the door you didn’t even contemplate turning around when Luke’s voice broke through the silence of the café to say,         

 “Y/n, wait!” 

You kept walking, past the stunned patrons, past Olive, past Luke. You kept walking until you were sure that no one would catch up. You just kept walking because after all this time you were so done waiting.

[angelhummel]

Task for you: Rank the Glee dads, then separately rank the Glee moms

(For Glee dads ik we didn’t meet many, but you could also use characters like Santana & Blaine’s dads since we’ve heard things about them)

Ahh I managed to think of a ton of moms and dads on the show lasfjsdkl there's 19 glee dads and 20 glee moms so buckle up. Hidden under a cut bc obviously its very long

Glee Dads!

Burt. There isn't much competition

Puck. Surprise! He wanted to be a good dad even tho he had no clue what he was doing

Hiram & Leroy. Idk what they did to Rachel but at least they're fun to watch on screen

Will Schuester. Wanted to be a dad so bad for the longest time. Was really cute with Daniel

Dwight Evans. Struggling really badly but tries to keep his family afloat

Al Motta. The whole glee club's sugar daddy fight me on it

Ryder's dad. We get one line about him but he's a single dad doing his best to raise his son <3

Will's dad. Didn't have anything to do but who doesn't love Victor Garber? Oh yeah, Victor Garber was on Glee

Paul Karofsky. Seemed like a chill dude but did raise Karofsky. Wasn't mentioned as hating him after he was outed so ?? points I guess

Michael Chang Sr. Was a dick at first but came around. Growth

Artie's dad. Was apparently available to drive him to sectionals in s1 but disappeared at some point between then and Wonderful. RIP Mr. Abrams

Mercedes's dad. Brings home the bacon but doesn't support Mercedes's dreams </3

Pierce Pierce. Annoying, waste of my time, not funny. Also not even Brittany's real dad despite the fact that they have so much in common

Puck & Jake's dad. A bum and an asshole but at least he mostly left them alone

Rusty Pillsbury. Racist against anyone who isn't ginger

Blaine & Santana's dads or dad maybe they're secretly related ooooh. Grade A assholes in my mind but it is mostly speculation and a couple of actual lines to go off of so idk. They don't actually exist but I don't like them

Rob Adams. Apparently chill with sending his kid to conversion camp? Evil

Russell Fabray. Nasty, evil, sexist, alcoholic, cheated on his wife, threw his pregnant 16 year old daughter out of the house. Electric chair

Christopher Hudson. Fought in the army and posthumously made Finn think he had to join the army. Made Carole have to raise Finn alone. Horrible man all around

Glee Moms!

Nancy Abrams. Apparently a single mother since her husband disappeared. Made her whole house wheelchair accessible singlehandedly. Very encouraging and supportive of Artie's dreams

Carole. Amazing woman, another amazing single mother. Is really great on her own but she did raise Finn so :/

Maribel Lopez. Was really nice and encouraging and accepting of Santana. Just wants what's best for her daughter and wants her to be happy

Jake's mom. Another hard working single mom. Raised Jake <3 Also is Aisha Tyler. What else do you have to say??

Millie Rose. Yet another single mother just doing her best. But also I think a lot of her encouragement of Marley was misguided and she ended up doing more harm than good alkjfsdlk even if her heart was in the right place and things were difficult

Emma Pillsbury. Feel like we hardly see her with her kid(s) but she's a good person so she'll be a good mom

Mary Evans. Doesn't understand why Dairy Queen makes Sam wear so much glitter. But seems nice and also works hard

Julia Chang. Seems nice, supports Mike's dreams more than his dad does. Should've stood up to her husband about it tho

Puck's mom. My reasons for putting her so low are purely speculative a la Mr. Lopez & Mr. Anderson. But. Single mom, working hard, etc etc

Will's mom. Alcoholic? Bad. Hooking up with Josh Groban? Great.

Judy Fabray. Also spineless, also an alcoholic. At least ended up kicking her ain't shit husband out of the house so that's good. We can pretend she got better

Whitney Pierce. Also annoying as fuck but at least it's Jennifer Coolidge. Yes Jennifer Coolidge was also on Glee

Pam Anderson. Seems nice but where was she for six years? Don't think she's actually Blaine's mom

Mercedes's mom. Also doesn't support her dreams. Also if that was her in 2009 then she was like "yes this girl is racist and belittles you and your talent but you will make each other better so stay close to her <3" like ma'am

Quinn Fabray. Was going to terribly insane lengths to get her baby back but eventually realized the best thing for her child was if she was not in her life

Rose Pillsbury. Also a ginger supremacist

Sue Sylvester. Seemed to forget she had a child at some point. I don't blame her

Doris Sylvester. Also horribly neglectful of her children. Also I think they revealed she wasn't even actually hunting Nazis??

Betty Adams. Also cool with sending her daughter to conversion therapy apparently so fuck off

Shelby Corcoran. Belongs in jail. Broke the law to manipulate Rachel into coming to see HER, then decided she wanted nothing to do with her. Scoops up Quinn's baby and dips, then comes back 2 years later to dangle Beth in front of Quinn's face and tease her with the possibility of seeing her daughter again

[serendipity8832]

Ocean's 11 but it's Now You See Me

I just randomly remembered today that this has been sitting in my google drive for a couple months and I decided it needs to be shared with the world.  It’s gonna be a long one, so buckle up.

Danny Ocean is of course the experienced, charismatic illusionist. He's well-known in the magic circuit and has lots of friends despite preferring to work alone. Basically a jack-of-all-trades, he's proficient in almost every area of magic, although as previously stated he's especially good at illusions and fooling the audience into seeing something that isn't true. Essentially J. Daniel Atlas but more likeable.

Rusty started as Danny's partner when they were young before branching out and doing his own shows. He's kind of like the Henley Reeves to Danny's Atlas, except they're still on good terms. I mean, come on, look at the way the man dresses. You can't tell me he wouldn't adore the kind of flashy shows that Henley puts on. He works mainly in Vegas, which Danny avoids, but they meet up when they can and sort of have a long distance relationship (neither of them is seriously seeing anyone else, at least).

Linus and Jack Wilder are cut from the same cloth. Both are fairly new on the scene, both look up to a mentor in their chosen profession who doesn't seem to appreciate them the same way (despite the fact that they are very clearly competent), both are eager to prove themselves. The list goes on. I like to think that, very similar to Jack, Linus would have a few… extra skills padding out his magician's repertoire. When Linus finally gets to perform with Danny, he's ecstatic.

Saul is the wise old magician of the circuit. After his many years in the game, he found the easiest thing to pull off in his later years was mentalism. He's a bit like Merritt McKinney in that way, but not in temperament. Danny, who learned under Saul, was never a good mentalist, so he trash-talks that branch of magic privately to Rusty. He respects Saul too much to do that in front of him though. Saul mostly makes the rounds in retirement homes and vacation spots, performing and then eating free food before the staff realize he doesn't belong there.

Basher and Livingston make crazy contraptions that shouldn't work but somehow do, and then show them off to people who can never figure out how they operate. Where Basher is the spokesperson, Livingston refuses to go on stage, so he mostly provides behind the scenes tech support. They're famous for their many Rube Goldberg machines, which are both wildly popular and wildly complicated.

Turk and Virgil are your typical adrenaline junkie disaster duo that pull off increasingly insane stunts that should get them both killed but end up with them walking away unscathed every time. The one time Turk sprained his ankle he smiled through the pain and the audience never knew. A crowd favorite is one or both of them being fired from a cannon, which they've done so many times at this point that it's actually one of their safest tricks.

Yen is like a freelance assistant-for-hire when someone needs a person to flip a switch or get sawed in half. He's especially sought after for his ability to squeeze into tight spaces, and the fact that he's cheaper than the models on the Las Vegas strip. He mostly works with Basher and Rusty and has his own acrobatics/contortionism show on the side, although he's not as popular as some of the others, which is why most of his income is from being an assistant. His fan base is growing, though.

Frank and Reuben aren't magicians themselves, but work closely with most of them. Reuben, long a patron of the arts, funds most of their shows, especially at the beginning of their careers and at smaller venues that can't necessarily pay the magicians themselves. Frank acts as a manager for a lot of them (although he probably doesn't get paid enough for that shit), booking their shows and keeping track of finances. He and Reuben are frequently in contact. He also tries to coordinate Danny and Rusty's schedules as much as possible ;).

Terry Benedict got roped into funding a huge three-day magic experience featuring "Ocean's 11" during which they robbed him blind. He's held a grudge against them since then, but they did a good job of lying low and/or staying one step ahead of him in the immediate aftermath, so he was never able to catch them. Sort of an Arthur Tressler character, although Ocean's crew didn't really have a personal vendetta and he wasn't responsible for cheating other people out of their money, so they didn't give it to the audience.

Tess is the FBI agent assigned to the magicians’ case directly following the Benedict incident. Choose your own origin story for her, anything works as long as it somehow leads to a minor obsession with tracking down Daniel Ocean. Isabel is the Interpol agent who arrives to help her because Benedict had some holdings in Europe or something. They fall in love while pursuing the magicians. Basically Dylan Rhodes and Alma Dray.

Francois Tolour is a washed-up magician turned skeptic who spends his time debunking other magicians' acts. He takes a special interest in Danny, and by extent the other ten, because he's absolutely convinced Danny's better than he was and he hates that. Both Benedict and Tess seek him out for help finding Danny, but he either can't help them because his own search has failed, or he's still bound by some remnant of the magician's code and won't assist them.

[xempasuchil-love-blog]

Hope (Harry x Uma) one-shot

Summary:  Sometimes the VK’s cannot believe that true love exists. It is something so alien that it sounds like a farce, a story that parents make up to scare. Mal proclaims from the rooftops that she has found it, but her false smile is fooling no one. But when the VK’s see Harry and Uma, they can't help it. They feel hope. They do not know what it is love, no one has taught them, so they cannot name what they see between those two, they only know that it is a bit similar (and so different) to what Auradon calls love.

HOPE

10 years

Uma, daughter of Ursula; and Harry Hook are two of the most unusual children on the Isle of the Lost. The adults know it, and they try not to run into them, because the monsters know no limits. No one respects a good villain anymore these days (most are just old and pretty tired, though the evil hasn't left their dreams and bones), and if you run into the pair of bored kids, you're more than likely to end up being the target of some particularly painful joke. No, thank you very much.

A villain, on one of his good days, can put either of the two children in their place; drag Uma by the braids to her mother's shop (though it would surely end with a good handful of scratches and bites) or lead Hook's son by the ear to the docks (who gives a real hook to a ten-year-old boy, anyway?), but it happens that they are never separated. And together… together they are a true force to fear.

They ravage the isle like a tornado, robbing stores, painting walls and emptying pockets. They spend every stolen penny as innocent as they should be at their age, buying sweets and trinkets, and enjoying them on the deck of the Jolly Roger. (They always share their loot.)

The girls on the isle want to be like Uma (until Mal has a fit of envy, throws a bucket of shrimp at Uma's head and, since everyone is afraid of her mother, they decide they want to be like her), and kids envy Harry's hook.

11 years

A year has passed since the incident, and Uma has not been able to get the shrimp smell out of her braids. Every day for the past year she has gotten up earlier than everyone to earn some soap in the daily supply shipments, but even when she gets it, the smell never goes away. Uma screams and curses Mal in all her rage, because during that year in which Uma's life has taken a nosedive, Mal seems to win everything. She is considered one of the meanest girls on the isle and Maleficent has given her a bit of territory to terrorize; all Uma gets are screams from her mother, the beginning of a severe case of anemia, and the nickname Shrimpy.

But Harry is there for her, her faithful friend. He holds her when her legs buckle from exhaustion, lets her hit him when she's so mad at the smell of her hair that she wants to burn it, and threatens to hook on anyone who dares to call her Shrimpy.

Maybe Uma has gained something: a best friend.

12 years

Harry is about the perfect age to look like Peter Pan, and his sly, cheeky personality causes his father to throw him off the ship for a few months. He won't admit it, but he's scared. The only consolation he has is his hook, and suddenly a wonderful idea occurs to him. His father will want him back when he sees that he has a real hook hand, right? So, he leans over the water and waits for hours for Tick tack to show up. When the crocodile finally starts to close his mouth over his hand, Harry panics, somehow manages to get a punch at him and runs all the way down the dock towards Ursula's shop, his hand dripping with blood because anyway, the crocodile's teeth ripped a bit.

Uma yells at him more than she has ever yelled in her life, even more than with the shrimp, and she is not at all soft when heals his wound. She is beyond angry, she is so furious that she cannot see him in the eye without starting to insult him; she looks so exhausted, and Harry notices that sometimes it is hard for her to breathe, but she gives him a place in her bed (even though they fight at night over the only blanket she has) and steals some of the food from the store for him.

When his father finally lets him go back to the Jolly Roger, Harry promises himself that he will find a way to make Uma's heart beat slower, to erase the daze from her face; so, he struggles and every food he steals, if it is edible, he gives it to her. Uma giggles in his face, cheeky, but in the end, she ends up eating so hungry that it hurts Harry to watch. Still, he looks.

(He can't deny that he cares about her).

13 years.

Uma's heart beats at a normal rate, she has regained her strength and demands that Harry teach her to fight with swords. She's tired of feeling weak and small, so she runs in the morning, she trains with Harry every night, and her arms start to get muscle. Like, real muscle.

She wants to be a pirate, the sea in her blood calls her to have adventures and be free, take whatever she wants and live each day as if it were her last. Harry is not only satisfied with teaching her, he pushes her to the limit until one night she seems to forget everything and the only thing that can be heard on the beach is the thunder of metal colliding with metal, furious, and suddenly Harry is no longer giving blows but stopping them, until he realizes that his sword is lying on the ground and Uma smiles triumphantly, screams with joy and turns on the beach laughing, her arms outstretched and her braids moving in the suffocating sea breeze. Harry could only stare at her in a daze; because he suddenly notices that there is a delicate curve in her waist and her features are more delicate.

Two months later, when Harry walks into the Chip Shoppe one morning, as usual, he can't find Uma anywhere. Without daring to ask Ursula, he sneaks into the tavern and runs up the stairs to where Uma's room is. He worries that she's gotten sick again and hasn't told him, or something like that; he remembers seeing her grumpy for the past week, but what he doesn't expect is to find her curled up in her bed, scared.

"Uma? Are you okay?” Harry asks, and she looks up at him. He is her best friend, she should trust him (even when everything on the Isle is about mistrust, they like to break the rules), right?

But she seems torn between shame and fright. Harry approaches her bed, and she looks away from him as she forces the words out of her lips, even a few angry tears escape because she is not used to being afraid.

"I'm bleeding."

But no matter how hard Harry looks for a wound on her face or arms, he can't find it. So, she seems to want to die of embarrassment and it all fits into Harry's mind, because he remembers Harriet crying the first time it happened. He is relieved to know that Uma is fine, but he is still a thirteen-year-old boy, so his face turns red. He swallows his pride to place a braid behind her ear with his hook, in a gesture that pretends to be affectionate (but he does not know affection, so he does not know if he achieves it very well).

“Don't worry, it's normal. I'll go find Harriet to ask for her help and I'll come back. Right?"

Uma nods without looking him in the eye, and when Harry is about to walk out her bedroom door, he hears her say thank you. Uma has never said thank you or please, so he can't stop a smile from spreading across his face.

That year, no one attends her birthday party (The Sinister Thirteen) because Mal has decided to have her birthday party on the same day. Harry and Gil, Gaston's youngest son, take her to steal some alcohol and get drunk for the first time in their lives.

Uma doesn't want to know why alcohol makes her want to be closer to Harry or what is this strange feeling in her belly that she can only name as needing. She never says anything about it, anyway.

14 years

Harry is upset. He has had to listen to several guys say how hot Uma is, how much they want to kiss her face and that her waist is so provocative. He has been wanting to break faces all week, but he can't do anything, because he reminds himself that he lives on the Isle and that any little weakness he shows can be twisted in the worst way. He reminds himself that he would be putting Uma in danger, because the Isle has a motto: "if you can't have it, break it." They would break her just to amuse themselves with his anger. So, he grits his teeth, squeezes his hook until his fist turns white, and goes on his way.

There is a part of him that doesn't understand why he gets so upset. Uma is one of the most beautiful girls on the Isle, so she is more exposed. But he has heard the same comments about Harriet, Mal, and other girls. He realizes that what bothers him about that is the way they talk about her, as if she were just another girl, when Harry knows that Uma has divine heritage running through her veins.

They should have more respect for goddesses.

For what else could she be, whose laughter sounds like the tempest, whose blue-green braids are like the tide, whose voice can be as sweet as foam and as cruel as a typhoon?

The next time he says her name, he can't help it sounding like a prayer.

15 years

Sometimes Uma wishes Harry would stop flirting with everything that moves. (She's not jealous at all!) But there is something about it that irritates her. It seems like a lie, and although everyone on the isle lies, she doesn't like to see him lying to himself. She can't help but wonder why he does it if his eyes fill with pain as he smiles (and the girls swoon at his feet).

One night, Harry steals his father's alcohol, and they hide on the beach, staring at the sea and cursing Auradon (because they realize their future is having no future) and making fun of Mal and her entire gang, and Uma feels so good to be there with him that she forgets to be cautious and gets drunk.

She is tired. She hates working for her mother, she hates the Isle and she hates lies. She hates secrets. So she, emboldened by alcohol, decides to be honest with herself. She looks at Harry, who seems happy and relaxed, staring up at the sky, always trying to find the Neverland star, and she tells herself that she's sick of this shit: she accepts that she's in love with him.

Uma doesn't try to deny it. She has no patience for such nonsense.

"I want you to be mine," she tells him (it's the closest she can dare to say her feelings), and Harry is so shocked that he accidentally drops the rum bottle, spilling its contents all over the beach. She is claiming him, more or less, and Harry feels incredible satisfaction from that fact.

"I already am," he tells her, all dangerous serenity.

Uma kneels on the sand, impatient, and then sits on Harry's lap with her legs on either side of his hips. Her sense of need returns, but she finds that she feels a little sated if she rubs against him. She likes the way his lips moan and his eyes blur, for her.

Harry kisses her, his lips taste of rum and adventure, just like a pirate should. Just like she always imagined Harry would taste. Afterwards, they look for any excuse to lock themselves in closets and rooms. Lust is common on the isle, but Harry's touch is reverent, and Uma finds the most tender side of her, which is like the sea breeze and calm waves, to caress his lips.

And he does not make her his as a prize, an easy conquest, an object that is used or a simple means to satisfy his needs. When he makes her his, he makes sure Uma knows that he loves her. (He can no longer deny it).

16 years.

Harry and Uma are unusual on the isle. Sure, everyone fears Mal and her gang, so when they are sent to Auradon, basically betray the villains and forget about them, the fear easily turns to hatred and desire of revenge. Uma and her new crew take over Mal’s old territory and, although it is impossible to believe, things improve a bit, because Uma doles out the supplies and the fear that Harry instills keeps the territory, to some extent, safe. The safest thing that can be being the Isle of the Lost.

It is not a secret that Uma hates Mal, it is not a secret that she wants revenge on her. Everyone on the isle knows that now the queen of the place is not a queen part fairy, but a Pirate Queen, everyone knows that she is dangerous, deadly, and that she would not hesitate to cut a neck with her sword.

Sometimes the VK’s cannot believe that true love exists. It is something so alien that it sounds like a farce, a story that parents make up to scare. Mal proclaims from the rooftops that she has found it, but her false smile is fooling no one.

But when the VK’s see Harry and Uma, they can't help it. They feel hope. They do not know what it is love, no one has taught them, so they cannot name what they see between those two, they only know that it is a bit similar (and so different) to what Auradon calls love.

And not even the cruellest dare to break it. It is like seeing a single flower being born in the middle of a field where nothing has ever sprouted, it is like finding an oasis in a desert that stretches across the entire horizon.

Uma smiles at Harry, and he looks at her like she is the world.

Although the swords hang from their hips.

[voiceless-terror]

Resignation (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Twenty Eight: Mugged

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker

Summary: 

Who was it this time? Plenty of avatars seemed to have a bone to pick with him these days. He closed his eyes, not even attempting to fight back. Just waited for the inevitable “Archivist” said with utter loathing. So the words he heard next surprised him.

“Empty your pockets. Now.”

Jon gets mugged. It’s surprising how little this bothers him.

He could almost laugh at the sheer mundanity of it. 

Stumbling towards the tube, soaked with rain and bone-tired, Jonathan Sims ran into some trouble. He’d been running into trouble a lot lately. Just last week he’d been burned, thrown through the sky, and hunted like a dog in the span of hours and now, here he was, being pulled into an alley and thrown against a brick wall with painful force.

Who was it this time? Plenty of avatars seemed to have a bone to pick with him these days. He closed his eyes, not even attempting to fight back. Just waited for the inevitable “Archivist” said with utter loathing. So the words he heard next surprised him.

“Empty your pockets. Now.” 

Jon opened his eyes, baffled. It was a human. A man with wild, desperate eyes and an unwashed smell. But human. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill robbery. He was getting mugged. He couldn’t help the delirious smile that made its way to his face. This of course didn’t please the man robbing him and he was promptly slammed back against the wall, his head bouncing off the brick with a painful thunk. Stars flooded his vision as shaking hands moved in his pockets, pulling out a phone and a mostly empty wallet.

“Here,” he whispered, holding his hands out beseechingly. “It’s all I have. Sorry.” Sorry was his default response, apparently. Even when getting assaulted. 

“Fuck’s sake,” the man murmured, flipping through the empty wallet and holding Jon against the wall with one fairly lax hand. He wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t even fighting. Jon was very, very tired of fighting. The man paused, seeming to consider his options.

“The jacket too, then,” he demanded, ripping it off one of Jon’s shoulders. He hastily complied, peeling the other arm off and handing it over. It was one of Georgie’s, oversized and warm. He would miss it, and she certainly wouldn’t be pleased. His legs started to shake as he watched the man grapple with his things- it had to be over now, Jon had nothing left. Except for perhaps his shoes, the one nice thing he had been wearing when he went on the run. The man was agitated, conflicted. Just leave, he pleaded, unable to get the words out. I don’t have anything else to give you.

“Stop lookin’, freak!” A hit to the face, another slam against the wall but this time the hands didn’t stay, letting him sink to the cold, wet ground. A kick to his ribs for good measure and finally the man was off, his footsteps echoing on the pavement as Jon keened in pain. 

Everything hurt, the pain throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His head was swimming and black spots were dancing in his vision. He couldn’t call anyone, not without his phone. Why not just cough and shiver for a few more minutes, perhaps someone would walk by and see? You left at midnight, idiot. No one’s out except for you. And robbers. He would have to handle this himself, then. So with great effort, he managed to raise himself with weak arms into a sitting position with his back resting on the wall behind him. Blood trickled down his cheek like a stray tear- that must be where the throbbing in his temple was coming from.

It was strange to think about how easily he let things happen to him. He was so shocked, so pleased that it wasn’t another supernatural being coming after him that he did nothing, acting like it was inevitable. He could still hurt, still feel pain, still experience things that normal humans did. It certainly wasn’t normal that he found this so comforting. He let out a bark of laughter that turned into a groan of pain- time to get out of the cold. The Institute wasn’t so far, he had only been walking for ten minutes. He could do ten minutes, if he leaned against a few walls and took a few breaks. Jon would manage. 

It was painstakingly slow and each move was torturous, but he eventually made it back, leaning against the front door with so much force that it slammed open and he stumbled to the floor on all fours. Nausea rose in his throat but he couldn’t throw up, not in the main hallway. It was bad enough that his palms left a bloody handprint that would surely spook the janitor; to leave him with vomit as well would be too much. Ed was always so nice to me, he thought, mind in a fog. Even when I didn’t deserve it.

On all fours was how he made his way over to the door to the Archives. Standing was no longer an option, not with his consciousness fading like it was. He had no time to feel embarrassed about scooting down the stairs like a child; by the time he collapsed in an office chair, he was already gone.

______

Another day in paradise.

Tim arrived unusually early to the Archives that day; he accidentally left his charger at the office and his phone was his main source of entertainment nowadays. He could always convince Martin or Melanie to take a long lunch break with him to make up for it. What the boss doesn’t know, the boss won’t mind!

There was a wet floor sign in the lobby, likely the result of last night’s rain, although the sidewalks had looked fairly dry as Tim walked in. He’d grabbed a coffee on the way, feeling unusually perky for another day in the hellscape they called the Magnus Institute. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad day after all-

No, it wouldn’t. It would be even worse.

The Archives were dark; not unusual since he was the first one in. On flicking the lights, however, he found his desk to be occupied by one sleeping boss.

Fucking Jon.

He groaned aloud but still the man didn’t wake. What the fuck was he playing at- the man had an entire office at his disposal and he decided to take a nap here, of all places? Was Jon trying to piss him off? Tim stomped towards the desk, ready to shake the man awake with a hand on his shoulder when he paused.

Jon’s shirt was oddly damp, like he’d been caught in the rain and never truly dried off. Tim could feel his shoulder blade through his shirt- this was typical for Jon, he’d always been bony, but this was verging on downright unhealthy. And he was shaking, small, trembling motions that Tim could feel even from his light hold on his back. 

Concern warred with anger in his chest. Jon had always inspired his big-brother instincts, small and nervous as he was. But now the over-protectiveness was unwanted, a burden to the rage he kindled in his heart. You don’t deserve my sympathy. Not anymore.

But he found himself pitching his voice low and shaking his shoulder as gently as possible. “Boss?” he whispered. “C’mon, time to get up.”

“Hnngh?” the voice that responded was nasally and barely audible from the pillow of Jon’s arms. Tim let go as he watched Jon come to, raising his head to reveal a grotesque crime scene of a face. It was bloody and bruised, even swollen in parts. His nose was coated with blood and his eyes blackened. 

“What the fuck?” he swore, grabbing at the bottom of his face and pulling it towards him, shock overriding his concern. Jon gasped in pain from the motion and his arms curled around his stomach as if shielding himself. He looked like he’d been beaten, and badly at that. Tim felt his ire rise- whether it was at whoever had done this to Jon, or at Jon himself for letting this happen, he couldn’t tell.

“Seriously, why are you here?” he asked severely, grabbing onto the man’s shoulders and ignoring his wince. “Go home, or the hospital or wherever the fuck you need to- not work, not my fucking desk.” He let go as the man seemed to shrink in on himself, looking so small and defenseless. Jon had no right to look like that. “Should I be calling an ambulance? It’s too early for this shit.” The anger kept spewing forth. It was easier to blame Jon than see him as a victim. It didn’t feel great- but then again, what did anymore? 

“I’m- m’ so sorry,” Jon croaked. His eyes refused to focus, staring somewhere left of Tim. “Took m’ phone, took-took everything.” Jon’s eyes were starting to water and Tim had to look away; he couldn’t face this pathetic, vulnerable display. He didn’t like what it made him feel. “Nowhere else t’go, not- not anymore.” The hiccup was the final straw and Tim found himself shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around Jon’s shoulders in an almost involuntary gesture.

“Only you would get in this mess,” he muttered, unwilling to match his words to his actions. He gingerly took a hand to Jon’s side, ready to help him up. “C’mon. You’ve got to go to a hospital. I’m not letting you bleed all over my desk.” Jon began his typical protests, mumbles of “I’m fine” and “Jus’ take me to my office” that Tim ignored in favor of gathering the man up in his arms as gently as possible. His head was already lolling against Tim’s chest, surely a bad sign. He went completely silent as Tim carried him out of the institute, only waking when Tim managed to buckle the seatbelt across his lap in his car.

“Wher’ we?” he swiveled his head around, trying to get his bearings. “Where we goin’?”

“The hospital, like I said,” his voice struggled to carry the irritation he wanted it to. “Like you should’ve done last night. What happened, anyway? Piss off another person trying to get a statement?” He pulled the car out of the parking lot in an unsafe maneuver and merged into traffic. 

“Nnnh,” Jon’s head dropped back to his chest and Tim sped up in response. Damn, damn. “Jus’ a guy, y’know?” And he laughed. It was an unhinged and painful sound; Jon grabbed at his sides again. “Jus- just got jumped. S’ kind of sad.”

Tim let the information sink in with a growing dread. Jon had been jumped, robbed, and beaten to shit and his first response was to go back to work. To laugh. To think a year and a half ago this would have horrified him- Jon would be inconsolable, embarrassed and angry. Jon wasn’t angry anymore. Tim had enough of that for the both of him. He wanted Jon to get angry, to be mad, to yell. At least then he would recognize him.

Jon went on, every word a dagger in his chest. “Y’know, this is the sec’nd time this happen’d in a week. S’weird.” He paused, his eyes squinting ahead in confusion. “I mean, if y’count Daisy. Took my stuff. Laughed. She gave it back, though. When- when Basira convince- convinced her not t’kill me. Dead-” Another hiccup and a laugh. “Dead men don’t need wallets.”

“Stop,” Tim said, his voice hardened. “Just stop. Stop talking.” No more reminders that Jon almost died. That the woman who did it still walked around the Archives and Jon said nothing. That if this were six months ago, Tim would have killed her for even touching a hair on Jon’s head with the intent to hurt.

“S’rry,” Jon mumbled. They didn’t speak for the rest of the way.

Tim waited at the A & E for more than a few hours, firing off a text or two to Martin, telling him not to worry if he saw any blood at his desk. This had the opposite effect, but Tim was too tired to deal with his fussing. He’d had enough excitement for the morning.

Jon was released surprisingly quickly, a nurse hurriedly pushing him into Tim’s arms with a rather false sounding “Feel better soon!” Jon had bandages all over his face and neck, and Tim could see through his thin button-up that he’d had his ribs wrapped up. He was listless as Tim wrapped him in his coat again, leaning heavily into his side as papers fell from his hand- a pamphlet on broken ribs, concussions, and a prescription for heavy painkillers. Tim balanced him with one arm, reaching down to pick up the paperwork with the other.

“That was quick. They ask a lot of questions? You look like a battered housewife. No offense.”

Jon laughed a bit at that- more loopy than unhinged. “Just tol’ em I worked at the Magnus Institute- didn’t ask questions after that. Wanted me in and out, I suppose.” Another horror of their job- nobody to run to when things got rough. Turned out hospitals were just as bad as the police. Fucking figures.

They continued to walk out to the car, Jon limping along in his hold. “This had nothing to do with whatever shit Elias has you doing, though,” he responded, slowing down as Jon winced in pain. “Shouldn’t you be reporting this? You lost your wallet, your phone. Gonna need that.”

“Oh, Tim,” Jon sounded so resigned, but gave him a soppy, unnerving smile. “S’not worth it. Who's gonna call me, anyway?” 

Tim didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just buckled him into the passenger seat and got in the car, sighing. “Where’s home?”

Jon gave him a surprised look. “Institute’s fine, really-”

“No,” Tim raised his voice, stern. “I’m not taking you back there. Just give me an address, and take one fucking day off. No arguments.”

Jon shrunk back at his tone; he’d forgotten how much he hated yelling. Never reacted well to it. Even when Tim was trying to be nice, he still fucked it all up. Jon rattled off an address about twenty minutes away and they drove there in silence, Jon’s hands fidgeting in his lap and Tim’s hands gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force.

He didn’t help Jon to the door. He didn’t want to see how he was living. If he needed help getting around. When Jon tilted out of the car, trying to shrug off his coat, Tim stopped him with a hand to his arm.

“Just bring it back tomorrow. You look like you need it.”

And Jon nodded, so surprised and so thankful. It’s just a fucking jacket! He wanted to scream. Stop looking at me like that!

He watched as Jon stumbled up the stairway, knocking at a door. It opened and a hand reached out to steady him, Jon leaning into it gratefully. Tim drove off before he could get a better look.

Jon came in the next day. He limped and Martin fussed. He tried to smile at Tim. 

Tim did not smile back.

_______

Months later, Jon will wake up in his cot, curled around the jacket. It was Tim’s favorite- well-worn but expensive. Jon had tried to give it back but Tim just shook his head. A week later, he died. And then it didn’t matter anymore.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251512

[moolovesyou]

Graveyard | JJ Maybank

Request:  93. “I’m gonna need a safe word before you pull shit like that again.” jj x reader!!

Author’s Note: ehehe it’s during the scene where they go to redfield’s grave. jj being a big idiot energy :D

Genre/Type: Fluff and kinda spoopy ooOoooo

Warning(s): 985

  John B had gathered us all and drove without telling us one bit about where we’re going. I had been assisting Kie at The Wreck, so I got a glimpse of him pleading for her to come along. I hopped into the car to be met with JJ and Pope.

“There she is!” JJ threw his hands into the air, a big smile adorning his face. He leaned forward and hugged me tightly. I turned away, my blush probably being noticeable. Pope was looking at me with knowing eyes and a teasing grin. I rolled my eyes at him. 

I’ll admit I might have a small, very tiny, not even that big crush on JJ Maybank. The way he was so carefree and brave made my knees buckle. His blonde hair, blue eyes, and strong body was just a bonus. It might be extremely noticeable every time he winks at me or his hand brushes against the small of my back. My heart swelled at the thought of him every night.

The door slammed shut, shaking me from my thoughts. Kie sat in the front. John B stepped on the gas and we headed onward. JJ pulled out a blunt and lit it, beginning to talk about ‘creativity’ and arguing with Pope. 

“Y/N, you want a hit?”

“I-I..No thanks. I’m good.” I muttered. I rubbed my arms awkwardly. 

“Come on...” He nudged me. 

“JJ leave her alone.” Kie commented, glaring at him. He surrendered and held his hands up. He glanced over and winked at me. Oh my god.

“We’re here.” John B turned the engine off. We all hopped out and realized where we were. A fucking graveyard.

“Are you going to kill us? Why the fuck are we here?” I spoke up. Passing branches poked my skin making me jump at the touch. JJ snickered behind me. 

“This place is scary.” Kie whispered. I shuddered at the sound of the wind whistling. 

The group had gone silent as we walked further past the graves. I couldn’t believe there were rotting corpses under the ground I walked on. Any sound made chills crawl up my spine. Two hands grabbed at my shoulders and pulled me back. I yelped loudly, shoving the person away from me. I turned to see the blonde I’ve come to love hunched over laughing. I put my hand to my chest.

“That was not funny!” I smacked him over the top of his head. His laughter died down to little giggles. “I’m gonna need a safe word before you pull shit like that again.”

Pope shushed us, trying to listen to John B explain why we were here.”But, it’s not a place. It’s a person.”

We looked up to see bold carved letters reading ‘REDFIELD’

“Holy shit...”

The guys began to push on the door, but it wouldn’t budge one bit. Pebbles and dust fell down. A hissing noise made them coil back. A snake slithered down to the ground. JJ rambled on about the snake and began barking. 

I pinched the bridge of my noise. “Shut the fuck up! Do you want to get us killed?”

He stopped barking and nodding silently. Everyone looked at me in shock at my small outburst, I shrugged. Kie suggested that she’d get in. Once she was inside, I wandered around the grave. Someone tapped my shoulder and I saw JJ holding a dried bouquet. 

“It would be better if these weren’t from someone’s grave.” I patted his chest. He scoffed at me.

 I looked back at my friends to see Kie had already gotten out. A FedEx package was in John B’s hands. I could hear the faint words.

“.... this is from my dad.”

The sound of a vehicle approaching made my head snap over. JJ had heard it too. We looked at each other, slight fear in our eyes.

“Code red. Square groupers.” 

“We got to go.” My voice quivered. 

Everyone squatted behind the grave, but I was frozen. JJ grabbed my hand and pulled me down. He sat me down between his legs and turned off my flashlight. His hand held my shaking one tightly. I looked him in the eyes and he gave my hand a squeezed. My back was pressed against his heaving chest. We’d never been this close.

“Screw this.” Kie grumbled. She bolted for it, Pope and John B following behind her. JJ pulled me up to my feet and dragged me along. We reached the fence and everyone began to hop over it. I tried boosting myself but I couldn’t. 

“I got you.” JJ pushed me up by my thighs and over the gate. I would’ve freaked out because he was touching my thighs but I was too pumped. He jumped over it easily and we began to run to the car until we noticed Pope was stuck. 

“HURRY UP!” I yelled, adrenaline taking over me. 

JJ pulled out his gun and aimed it at the gate. I smacked his wrist and stared at him like he was crazy. Kie gave one final tug and Pope’s pants ripped off. 

We got in and drove off, laughing like crazy. 

“Never doing this again.” I panted. JJ put an arm around my shoulders. 

“You’re lucky I was there to protect you.” He whispered teasingly into my ear. I scrunched my nose up at him.

“Yeah, definitely. How would I be alive if you hadn’t scared the shit out of me back there.”

He pouted. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll take you out on a date.”

I tried my best to look deep in thought. In reality, my heart was beating out of my chest, “Deal.” I grinned. The adrenaline was still pumping in me. I unexpectedly kissed his cheek. He grew red and his breath got heavier.

“I didn’t know grave-robbing was all it took for you to go on a date with me.”

                                                      <+++>

Tagging these lovelies: @thatboogiebro​ @anxietyismyspiritanimal​