#When I slapped myself in the face (metaphorically)

[purgatoryresident]

so i can't even listen to music in peace. ok. damn.

[eightspringdays]

Just saw a TikTok complaining about fanfics that didn't have "enough dialogue" because "reading more than three sentences" was hard.

I'm not against heavy dialogue-oriented fics; they are fun, but... that's a script. You want to read a fucking script, hope you know that. A writer isn't "bad" because they are... you know, writing. Just say it isn't your thing and move on, but categorize something as "bad" because you lack the ability to fucking read... ain't the author's problem; it seems like a "you" one.

[stickbug-made-entirely-of-spite]

Hello friends! ^-^

I just made an etsy!! I only have one listing up as of now, but I'm still really excited about it bahahaha

I tried my best to make it affordable without losing too much quality, so the main listing is 25USD, while there's another version with slightly better paper for 35USD, and a framed version of the first one for 75USD :]

(that last one feels a little unnecessary, but I figured that not everyone wants to go buy a separate frame for their prints, so why not? Lmao)

Here is the link to my first listing! There is no pressure whatsoever to buy of course, but I would appreciate a share if it isn't too much trouble ^-^

The printing service I'm using is Gelato, which is connected to my Etsy shop where the products will be displayed and avaliable for purchase!

Any and all feedback is welcomed with open arms, I'm incredibly new to this so I wouldn't be surprised if I've made a mistake or two bahahaha TTvTT

That being said, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!! 🧡

Yours truly, Stickbug 🪲

[fromrory]

𐔌 ⋮ “five inches of water”

TW: blood, panic attacks, PTSD, anxiety, mention of drugs, food/sleep deprivation, disordered eating, suicide ideation, bathtub drowning attempt, grief, self-hatred, emotional breakdowns. If you're sensitive with any of this themes put yourself first and don't read it,i'll see you on the next post! wc: ~2.5k

You find him in the bathtub.

Not bathing.

Not asleep.

Floating.

Face up. Eyes closed. Water still.

The room reeks of old iron—blood. There’s a bottle of something half-empty on the counter. Not liquor. Not poison. Just sedatives, maybe. Just enough to numb the nerves, slow the thoughts, loosen the gravity.

Enough to sink.

Your heart stops.

“Jason—”

You’re kneeling beside him before your mind can even catch up. Your hands plunge into the water—grabbing his shirt, his arms, his wrists, anything to pull—and he stirs. Barely.

A twitch.

A breath.

He opens one eye.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he says.

Voice hoarse.

Broken.

Almost disappointed.

You want to scream. You want to shake him. You want to slap him and hold him and never let him go again.

Instead, you whisper, “You left the door unlocked.”

A beat.

Then, with a half-laugh, half-cough:

“Rookie mistake.”

You haul him out of the water.

He’s heavy. Deadweight.

(You don’t think about that word.)

Your hands are trembling as you wrap a towel around him, as you sit him on the bathroom floor, soaked and pale and still not looking at you.

He’s not shivering. That scares you more than anything.

“Talk to me,” you plead, voice cracking. “Please.”

Nothing.

So you take inventory instead.

Bruises. Cuts. Split knuckles. Burn marks. Bite marks.

The kind of scars you’ve learned to recognize.

Self-inflicted, or someone else’s?

You don’t ask.

Because you know.

“Why?” you whisper.

Jason closes his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to die.”

You stare.

He shrugs, mouth twitching.

“Not really. Just… needed quiet.”

“By drowning?”

He shrugs again.

You want to grab his face and shake him. You want to scream his name until it echoes through every crack in his skull.

But he looks so small.

So young.

And he won’t meet your eyes.

So you whisper, “Did you take anything?”

“Didn’t kick in.”

You close your eyes.

Breathe.

Once.

Twice.

So you don’t break.

You help him to the bed.

Not that he sleeps there much. The sheets are cold. The mattress thin. The room littered with weapons and half-eaten protein bars and prescription bottles.

There’s a half-written suicide note in the trash.

You see the top corner sticking out.

He knows you saw.

Neither of you say a word.

Jason lies on his side, facing the wall. You sit behind him, back to the headboard. Staring. Breathing.

You don’t touch him.

You don’t know if he wants to be touched.

But when you shift, the mattress creaks, and he flinches.

And that’s when it starts.

The first crack.

A shudder.

A sharp inhale.

And then he’s gasping—hands shaking, chest collapsing on itself, shoulders hitching like his body is trying to crawl out of its own skin.

“Jay,” you whisper, heart in your throat.

He can’t speak.

His mouth opens but nothing comes out—just this horrible sound, raw and ragged.

Panic.

Real, paralyzing, blackout panic.

You crawl toward him slowly. Press your hand to his back.

He doesn’t move.

“Breathe with me,” you whisper, and you mean it. You do it.

You inhale. Count. Exhale. Again.

You do it until your voice goes hoarse.

You do it until he starts to follow.

One beat at a time.

When it’s over, he’s shaking so badly you’re sure he’s going to be sick.

You sit there with him.

Still.

Quiet.

Until he says—

“I don’t know how to live with myself.”

And it hurts.

God, it hurts.

Because it’s not a metaphor.

It’s not a cry for attention.

It’s just truth.

His truth.

You press your forehead to his shoulder. Breathe him in.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you whisper.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You lift your head.

“I’d rather see you like this than never again.”

He flinches.

He covers his face with both hands.

And then he breaks.

Ugly sobbing.

Not silent.

Not gentle.

Just grief.

Self-hatred pouring out of him in waves.

Years of being told he’s disposable. That his second chance was a mistake. That love is for people who don’t shoot first and ask questions never.

You hold him through it.

He doesn’t ask.

He doesn’t need to.

Later—after the storm, when his voice is barely a whisper, and the bed’s still damp from the towel you forgot to take off him—he turns to you.

Eyes red. Jaw slack. Skin pale.

And he says, “I haven’t slept in two and a half days.”

You nod.

“I haven’t eaten in one.”

You nod again.

“I think—” He stops.

Swallows.

Then:

“I think I was trying to disappear without calling it suicide.”

You let that sit.

Then, gently:

“I think you’re hurting more than anyone ever let you say.”

He looks at you.

And for the first time in a long time—he lets you.

Let’s you see it.

All of it.

The pain. The fear. The shame. The want.

To be better. To be whole.

To not feel like a walking wound.

You don’t leave that night.

You order soup and bread and force him to take three sips before he says “okay.”

You get him clean clothes.

You braid his hair.

You put his phone on Do Not Disturb.

And when he starts crying again at 3 a.m., you hold him.

When he says, “I don’t think I deserve you,” you say:

“Maybe not. But you have me anyway.”

🔖 𓂃⋆.˚:: @simpingmyassoff @shootingstargirl2001 , @dreamerwhofell , @gothamwing , @amiratheangel , @virtaideen , @asterwriter221 , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @supahnohvaa , @vivian-555 , @piatosniathenie , @sonyboos (if you want to be added comment down below!!) A/N: Sorry @dhazefawn (I’m not)

[slvtforfiction]

Jake Webber smut where he tells you to sit on his face. That would be soooo hot

“Sit,don’t hover.”

☆ Omg anon,ur amazing

☆ Lots of love

☆ Jake Webber X Reader

☆ Pandemic times!

☆ Smut

☆ Masterlist

☆ Hey guys! Before anything else I would ask you to request anything you want because I've lost a lot of motivation and it would really help! :D (if requests are open.)

☆ Creds to @cafekitsune for dividers :)

"Fine, no orgasms and no sex for a week." He told me.

"Does that include masturbating?" I asked him with an innocent smile.

"Yes,Y/n." He snapped back.

Now how did we get here?

Well...

The break down of it being I was being a brat, which then led to him on top of me pinning me down before that sentence left his mouth.

Easy challenge,he will give up so easily, he loves it as much as I do and he won't last 3 days.

Day 1;

We still cuddled up to each other last night but other than that nothing,I gave him 2 days more and he will for sure break.

Day 2;

I barely saw him at all today,he had something to do with Johnnie but I thought when he got home he would have broken that pact,turns out I was wrong.

I'm sticking with my initial impression with 24hours left though.I'm struggling and he seems to be just fine.

It’s killing me to see how easy he thinks this is when I’m beyond tempted to pull a vibrator out of my drawer.

Day 3;

This is killing me,I thought he would have given up, but he hasn't,he hasn't even mentioned it and it's driving me insane.

I can't give up though,l bragged about it to him all day after his said that saying that I would last so much more than him.

Im as stubborn as he is and he knows it.

Day 4;

I'm fucked,he keeps grabbing my thighs and I'm melting,he knows it.

I didn't think he'd last this long,sometimes I can hear him in the kitchen talking to Colby about the challenge and how easy it is.

Day 5;

2 days left and I think Jake will break,he was talking to Colby earlier about how hard it was for him,metaphorically and physically.

Turn of events from yesterday then,I thought to myself with a smile.

He got hard last night,I felt him pressing into me I hoped he was giving up,but nope.

Day 6;

I give up.

He pressed his back into me,his hard on pressing into my ass.

He grabbed something from the cupboard above me in the kitchen and then moved away from me trying to palm himself from the painful boner he wasn't trying particularly hard to hide.

Maybe I won't have to give up?

Maybe he will.

I can only hope.

"Mh how about you fuck me? I know you have a hard on."I told him teasingly.

"You know I can't." He told me continuing to cook.

"Well how about you give up the challenge? You don't want blue balls." I told him with a sly grin forming.

"Fuck off Y/n." He told me angrily.

I smiled and walked away to the sofa reading a book that Kat had gave me for Christmas.

During the Pandemic,christmas wasn't a great time for everyone,very scary at the least.

I heard the oven being switched off but I didn't dare to turn around,so I kept my head buried in my book.

"Stop fucking reading that book and give up the challenge." Jake said into my ear from behind me clearly wanting to fuck.

"Mh,I don't think I will." I told him with a smile slapped across my face before returning to my book.

"You want this as bad as me,I know you do Y/n,I heard you talking to Kat." He told me.

Now I can't lie I did talk to Kat about how I was struggling but I didn't realise Jake was listening behind us.

"And I heard you talking to Colbs,not to mention how you've pressed 2 hard ons into my back side just begging for my attention." I smiled back at him dragging out the 'begging' and turning around to look at him leaving my book on the coffee table.

I hummed at his response of gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

God he looks beautiful.

I snapped out of it before kissing his Addams apple.

"Hm I'll give up if I can top?" I hummed looking at him. "No,Y/n,Just give up now." He snapped getting extremely sexually frustrated.

I hummed at his response as if saying no and then walked off to the bedroom.

He followed behind me and sat on the bed before I could. “I give up,sit on my face.” He said.

And I smiled turning around,more of a nervous smile to be honest. “What?” I asked unsure if I heard him correctly.

“You heard me,strip and sit.” He told me and I smiled,turning around as I took off my leggings and panties,walking over to the bed where he lied.

I sat on top of the prominent imprint on his trousers,moving my hips around as I smiled at him teasingly.

“Do you give up the challenge?” I asked him,grinding and grinning on top of him. “Yes,for fucks sake,stop being a brat.” He said and with that he lifted my body above him and sat me down on his face.

I lifted myself off slightly not wanting to suffocate him “Sit,don’t hover.” He told me,his voice sending shivers down my spine as the vibrations hit my pussy.

I sat down as he immediately started to lap at my clit. I moaned out of pleasure,my pent up sexual tension leaving my body as I relaxed.

He slipped his tongue in and out of my hole,my body feeling as if I was in heaven.

I relaxed further as he pumped his tongue in and out,his hands holding up my hips as I let him take full control.

“Jake please!” I all but screamed as I felt the knot in my stomach tighten,knowing I wouldn’t be able to stop it from snapping soon enough.

“Cum for me love.” He told me as I came on his face,riding through my high on his tongue.

“Jake please,too much.” I whimpered out as he continued his movements.He flipped me over,his head resting between my thighs as he continued.

I grabbed a hold of his hair,pulling him further into me and simultaneously pushing him away.

I came undone on his tongue again,riding through my high on his face as he let me down gently.

He kissed my thighs as I whined out,the subspace staying engraved into my mind.

He walked into the bathroom to grab a wet cloth to wash his face and clean up my thighs.

He tried his best to gently clean me up,apologising whenever he hit an especially sensitive area.

He laid down next to me,pulling me into his chest and taking his hands through my hair.

“You lost.” I laughed weakly at him as I smiled up at his looking into his eyes.

“Yeah but I’ve won the most beautiful girlfriend in the world.” He told me as he held my head close to him,pulling the covers up with his other hand.

“Go to sleep princess,you deserve it.” He said with a smile,I knew I would make it up to him in the morning I thought as I drifted off.

[emmabirb8]

I've been thinking about this for days now and man, Stanley Pines had a raw fucking deal.

He was doomed for a life of turmoil from the start. Not only did he suffer emotional (and implied physical) abuse from his father from childhood, he was kicked out of his own home at 17 for a legitimate mistake that he never intended to affect his brother's future. He struggled on the streets for ten years feeling like he'd lost his best friend when he and Ford stopped talking during that time, AND THEN received a metaphorical slap in the face when he found out that Ford did not in fact call him out to Gravity Falls to reconcile -- he only wanted a way to protect his research.

THEN, after rightfully getting his feelings hurt and reacting in anger to Ford making clear what his intentions really were, he lost his brother, the one person he'd felt closest to throughout his life, through the portal. He was left with only a third of the required information to reactivate the portal just for the chance to get Ford back -- it was never guaranteed that Ford would even be alive, let alone be able to be located and returned to his home dimension.

But Stanley fucking Pines is no quitter. He stayed focused and worked his ass off learning concepts he had absolutely no education or experience in, all the while blaming himself and hating himself and pushing through the worst kind of heartache every goddamn day for 30 years for that chance. (And honestly, God bless Mabel for betting it all on her Grunkle and allowing him that chance when the time finally came.) And it fucking worked. Just like that, he got his brother back. All that hard work and grief was worth it.

And then he was greeted with an angry outburst and a punch to the face.

This man went through hell and back for his brother, and he was met with a knee-jerk reaction and confirmation that Stanford still seemingly resented him for his past mistakes. Like, I understand Ford's perspective and where he was coming from at the time, but damn it, Stan did NOT deserve that.

He didn't end up getting a proper hug from his brother either until after Bill had been defeated, and by that time, he didn't even know who Stanford was because, once again, he sacrificed everything to save his family. (He was under the impression that his memories would be lost forever and STILL chose to do it).

I am positively beside myself over this man. And this doesn't even touch on the things he did for people outside his family. (Like, he could have easily holed himself up in the shack alone during Weirdmaggedon, but instead, he took in anyone who needed shelter, offered his food supply, and provided a safe place, I'M SORRY BUT FORD WOULD NEVERRRR)

Stanley Pines deserved better. Stanley Pines deserves the whole entire WORLD. He has the biggest heart out of ANYONE and Ford is damn lucky to have him as his brother.

STANLEY PINES MY BELOVED AAAAOOOOOUUUUGGHHHHH

[after-witch]

Two in the Hand [Yandere Sukuna x reader]

Title: Two in the Hand [Yandere Sukuna x reader]

Synopsis: Sukuna wants to eat you. 

Word count: 1000ish

Notes: yandere, threats of cannibalism, mentions of sexual conquests 

Inspired by the interaction prompt: Sukuna says he wants to eat you. Reader replies: "Ah, I'm flattered, but I'm saving myself for marriage!"

The dual reactions on Yuji’s--but not entirely Yuji’s--face play out swiftly. Yuji’s cheeks flush a pinker hue at your words, while the mouth currently planted in the center of one cheek curls downward… and then upward. 

It’s almost dizzying, the way you’re trying to pay attention to both of them at once. Yuji, your friend; Sukuna, the curse currently lodged inside him, of which you can only see a mouth that has shifted location three times during Sukuna’s diatribe about consuming you.

He means it literally. You realized this early on. Or rather, he admitted it directly without so much as a metaphor when he discussed the best cuts of human meat, the best ways to consume it to ensure best flavor, and the way that he wonders if modern humans taste better or worse than their predecessors. 

“You would let your spouse consume your flesh?” Sukuna asks, and Yuji slaps his hand over the demonic lips on his face to silence them.

”Just--” Yuji begins, but he cringes--

The lips reappear on the top of Yuji’s hand, unbothered. 

“Answer me, human. Or I’ll eat you right now.”

You almost want to ask him how he plans to eat you when he’s currently a pair of lips, but if Sukuna can make the lips on Yuji’s body speak, perhaps it’s not far off to assume they might be able to tear at your flesh.

So you start to think, and think quickly. You keep your posture meek and you even give a little bow.

"Of-of course, Sukuna." You pause. Should you call him something more deferential? It might help. You've gained the strongest sense that he sees himself as vastly superior to everyone else in the world, human and curse alike. "I mean, of course, lord Sukuna. I'd be happy to offer an explanation."

If only you could think of a proper one, beyond your initial excuse, stammered out because you didn’t know what else to say to such an awful, violent, disturbing threat aimed at you from a demonic pair of lips. 

There's a moment of silence. Two, three or four. And the lips on Yuji's hand--still there, despite Yuji attempting to literally shake them off--begin frown again. They’re starting to twist, perhaps to threaten you again, when you perk up.

“It’s just that…” You lower your head in deference again. Yuji quirks his head, but you can see from the corner of your eye that the lips have ceased to curl downward. “Being devoured is the ultimate act of intimacy. And if I’m going to be one with someone forever, my lord, it’s only proper that it’s my spouse.” 

You fiddle with the edge of your shirt. “I certainly couldn’t imagine some stranger consuming me, keeping me with them forever like that. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be proper.”

You swallow against spit and the faintest hint of bile, before daring to glance up. Yuji’s gaze goes between you and his hand, until--

Laughter comes from the lips embedded into his skin, low and mean. You can imagine, if Sukuna were in front of you, that he would throw his head back in mockery. 

And then, Sukuna says something. It’s not a word that makes any sense, really. But Yuji throws his head back and suddenly, he’s not Yuji at all.

He’s Sukuna.

With black markings on his face and a look in his eyes that makes you want to run. Only then, a thought comes to mind, something your father told you when you were little, and hiking in the woods: 

Never run from a predator. It only makes them chase you.

“You’re most entertaining,” he says, while you stand there, open-mouth, trembling like a cold wind has blown through the air. 

“Entertaining?” You parrot. You take a step back, and he matches it forward.

“Most humans are too frightened to do anything but beg for their lives, if they even get that far, when I threaten to eat them.”

You force your hands into fists and will them to stop shaking. They don’t.

“I suppose,” you begin, looking downward, partially out of the fear of not showing respect and partially out of the way you hate to look at him. “That most people are concerned with dying when they hear you say that.”

Sukuna’s smile widens into a grin.

“And you aren’t concerned with dying, little lamb?”

This conversation might as well take place on a butcher’s block, you think.And you’re the cut of meat trying to convince the butcher to put you back in the freezer. 

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to die.” You stare down at the ground. He’s taken another step forward, and his shoes--no, Yuji’s shoes--are in  your line of vision. “But that is where the question of… spousal intimacy comes in, you see. With a stranger…” You shake your head, feigning distaste. “It’s simply not proper. But with my spouse, well, I would become one with them in a manner far beyond simple matrimony.” You manage a smile, feeble, but hopefully not too fake. 

There’s silence, for a moment.

And then there’s a finger on your chin and it feels like cold steel as it tilts your chin up, and you’re forced to look at him, though you keep your eyes averted. 

“Aren’t you prim and proper?” He says, low, teasing. “You know,” he says, taking your chin between two fingers, “it was always the prim and proper ones who came the most undone in the past. They were raised to be so uptight…”

He leans in closer. There’s something awful that seems to come with his closeness, a darkness and heaviness that threatens to pull you down to the ground. 

He’s going to kiss me, you think. He’s going to kiss me and then rip open my mouth and chew the flesh and--

But he doesn’t kiss you. Instead, he lets go of your chin and takes a step back.

You look at him with what must be the loudest confusion in the world on your face. He laughs, and tilts his head back. 

“If we’re to be spouses, I intend a traditional courtship first. Kissing comes later. Wouldn’t that be proper?”

There’s hardly any relief to be felt when it’s Yuji, not Sukuna, looking at you.

“Huh?”

[teencopandthesourwolf]

read on ao3 HERE

.

“I'm good, Stiles.”

Stiles thinks about the times when, all too often, he himself says I'm good in that particular way, and thinks about how it actually means everything in his life is currently lighting up like a dropped match landing in a trail of gasoline.

In the space of a single heartbeat, he knows he would somehow harness the contents of an entire fucking lake to dampen down that metaphorical trail for Derek, murdering the thought of that lost little boy playing Hide-Go-Seek in Derek's pale eyes.

Only he isn't about to start talking about things being on fire. Not to Derek, not ever.

Instead he says, “I always had this rule, you know, where I’d flat out ignore a problem and wait for it to—and I used to swear to myself that this would actually happen—” His lips drag themselves up one side of his face as he sweeps an arm dramatically through the drizzling rain and the pressing twilight. “—just go away.”

He then allows his arm to fall unceremoniously to his side, and the sound of hand slapping khakis rings out through the sparse and quiet branches of the preserve's stripped bare trees.

“Okay.” Derek says the word with an infinitesimal shake of his head, looking as if he wants Stiles to stop talking.

Thing is, if Derek wanted Stiles to stop talking he would say Stiles, stop talking.

So, Stiles troops on.

“And it kind of worked, a little bit. For a little while, at least. ” He takes a hit of chilly November air. Releases it slowly, enjoying the crazy plume of breath-smoke it creates. “Until I met you,” he shrugs.

Derek blinks and it's a betrayal, giving away his hard-won secrets.

Stiles briefly wonders who else—who left in the world—would know this about the werewolf standing opposite of him. Stiles doesn't need to be a ʼwolf to know this stuff, not when it comes to Derek Hale.

He tries not to look at Derek's lips when Derek licks them before asking, “What are you talking about, Stiles?”

“Magick,” he answers, his feelings and other things shifting underneath the layers of his skin, crackling away like a hundred tiny Roman Candles traversing his bloodstream and manifesting as gooseflesh.

Rolling his hoodie sleeve, he lifts a cold hand between the two of them and allows a miniscule fraction of whatever beats like a heart at the earth's core to flow up through the ground and into his feet and up his legs and down an arm, warm and thrilling, to then spring free out of his right palm.

A small sphere of pure light around the size of a tennis ball now glows about an inch above his hand, kind of like an oversized firefly—and just as alive.

“Cool as fuck, huh?” Stiles mutters, basking in its incandescence, super-proud of himself. Then he gets to his point. “Deaton showed me how to harness my spark, yeah? But I would never have found it in the first place, if you hadn't followed Scott and I into the woods that day.”

Derek blinks again. His jaw ticks like a clock.

“Stiles, that's a little like saying one, two miss a few, ninety-nine, a hundred,” he deadpans, and Stiles can't help but bark out a laugh.

Then he steels himself for one anticipatory moment before daring himself to take a step closer to Derek.

Derek stays put.

“Doesn't make it any less true,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek just stares at him for a moment, before peering down properly at Stiles's little orb, for the first time since Stiles summoned it.

“You've been practising,” he says simply, his eyebrows doing their thing.

He's now staring at Stiles's effort as if he wants to sink his fangs into it, like you would a quarter to test if it's real.

“Is it freaking you out?” Stiles asks.

“No,” he answers flatly. “I think it's cool as fuck,” and he looks up at Stiles like he might want to keep looking.

Stiles wants him to never stop.

“Then here, you can have it,” he says.

He takes another step closer to Derek.

They are toe to toe, now, and still Derek doesn't bolt, nor pounce, nor warn Stiles off.

So, Stiles—really slowly—reaches for Derek's hand.

Derek lets him.

Stiles then transfers the light to Derek's palm, cupping his hand around Derek's to ensure it keeps hovering there. He directs their hands to Derek's chest, stopping right over his heart and flattening them both there, he and Derek watching as Stiles's spark dissipates into Derek's body, leaving behind a few wispy tendrils of light that Stiles guides back into himself with a couple of waves of his free hand.

“Now, whenever you're good, I can be right there being good with you, even if I'm not around,” Stiles says, and then he hopes and hopes when he asks, “Is that okay?”

Derek smiles, and it's the first truly happy-looking smile that Stiles has been privileged enough to witness blooming on that beautiful, beautiful face of his.

“It's better than okay, Stiles,” he says. “It's magick.”

.

unedited, soz! this is for @dontcallpanic (pip knows why) <3

.

...edited version now found HERE on ao3 if you want to drop me a comment xp

[sixosix]

summary your attention is elsewhere and scara gets sad. not that he would admit it, though.

or, scara shows his true colors when he’s missing you.

warning 1k words, profanity, calling wanderer ‘kunikuzushi’, you and him are in mondstadt!! clingy and pathetic scara… fluff!

what else could i talk about? you gaze at the empty sheet while your thoughts are running miles and miles ahead. you’ve been clutching your head pitifully for far too long that lisa is starting to send worried glances.

this one is no good either. you crumple and toss it to the growing pile on the edge of the table.

maybe another metaphor. about the sky and the wind? he would love that. maybe something else that would rhyme with love. would venti appeal to your poem even more if you talk about wine? he would.

the slender shape of the wine glass, the alluring shade of dandelion wine, its sweet aroma—it would be your worst work out of all the ones venti discarded, but perhaps he wouldn’t be able to refuse this one. kaeya would applaud if he were to hear this right now.

ink stains the sides of your palms. you heave a sigh, fingers getting to work on the dreaded worship poem about venti’s favorite wine. what else could you make out of this? you’re getting desperate. you just need to finish this last poem, and you will be freed from venti’s insistent clutches and your own stubbornness to see this to the end.

“boo.”

a hand slaps over your mouth before you can disturb anyone else in the library.

your first instinct is to tear this person’s limb off; however, the gloves, along with the unnaturally smooth and fair skin is distinctively familiar. you bat the arm away and face him; wanderer’s hand lowers to your hips instead.

“asshole!” you hiss with a frightening scowl. wanderer’s grin widens as if you’re the cutest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. “i told you to fuck off elsewhere while i finish this—why are you back so early?”

“it’s boring,” he says.

“weren’t you the one to suggest we explore mondstadt?” your jolt earlier caused a huge streak of ink to run across the page, entirely ruining your wine-revering poem.

“i said ‘we’, didn’t i? you, me, together. you kicked me out and left me to explore by myself.”

“you’re the wanderer. isn’t that your whole thing?” sighing helplessly at his unimpressed stare, you crumple the poem and throw it to his face. he doesn’t flinch nor blink, letting it slide off his face and land on the floor. “besides, it’s only been, like, five minutes.”

“just leave his stupid class,” wanderer hisses, glaring with disdain at your small pile of other failed poems.

“no, venti is so nice to me. unlike you.”

he rolls his eyes, plucking the quill pen from your grasp. you frown, reaching out to take it back, but he continues to pull it away, drawing your faces closer together. “ditch it and come with me,” he says.

“no. i said i’m joining and i will finish it.”

“stubborn shit,” wanderer groans, ignoring your quick ‘learned from the best’. “why are you even so persistent with learning poetry? since when did this happen? you trying to impress that kaedehara guy?”

“what if i said i was?” you flutter your eyelashes to piss him off.

it works: he bristles like an aggravated cat, irritation flashing on his face. “don’t even joke about that.”

you burst into laughter and playfully reach out to pinch his cheek. it’s a testament to how far you’ve come in building his trust when he doesn't swat your hand away from his flawless face. “you’re the one who brought it up,” you coo.

“hey, you two.” you pair stiffen at lisa’s deceivingly sweet voice from behind. “do you mind flirting loudly elsewhere?”

both of you find yourselves outside the building, shoulders slouched, resembling kicked puppies. he has his arms full of your discarded poems, a few of them slipping away as he strides ahead. you struggle to trail behind as you try to stick your quill in your pocket with your hands occupied with a stack of blank papers.

“we weren’t even flirting,” you huff.

wanderer pauses before the trash bin, dumping all of them ceremoniously.

you’re about to comment on how nice he is when he suddenly gets all up in your face, his eyes narrowed and his hand on the small of your back.

“she couldn’t tell with the bedroom eyes you were giving me, clearly,” he says, wordlessly taking the stack of paper from you and tucking it under his arm.

he is being awfully kind today, which, of course, happens nearly never. you want to comment about that, too, but you find yourself silent as you follow after him and watch his side profile. the smoothness of his skin, unblemished, untouched; the length of his lashes, rivaling the shogun herself; then his unrelenting need to have his hands on you no matter what.

thinking about all this makes your heart flutter, picking up pace in a way you haven’t felt the entire day.

then comes the brilliant idea. “kunikuzushi, what if i just write about you instead? will that satiate your ego enough to keep you from bothering me?” it’s not like it would be too difficult to write about the person you’re harboring feelings for.

he doesn’t look appalled by the idea, yet still, he isn’t pleased. “i’m not bothering you for the sake of it. i don’t like how this is the first you’ve talked to me all day.”

“so you are bothering me for the sake of it.”

“idiot.” he flicks his hand, and a gust of wind pushes you against his chest. “look at me.” you obey, and only then do you notice the way tension seems to have left his shoulders the moment you do.

a sly smirk tugs on your lips. “were you feeling lonely without me?”

“no shit,” he says, which was far from the response you were expecting.

startled, you turn to him, only to find that he’s pulled his hat down to cover his face. “kuni,” you say slowly; when he doesn’t reply, you try again, “kuni, kunikuzushi.” he is completely still, so you take it upon yourself to sneak beneath his hat to steal a glimpse of his face.

he lets out an undignified noise, looking away immediately. it was a fruitless attempt—you already saw how red his entire face was, spread from his ears to what you can see from his neck.

“stop,” he breathes, too embarrassed to push you away.

you laugh softly, encircling your arms around his neck to coax him into making eye contact with you. “i didn’t know you were the clingy type.”

“you’re just a handful,” he spits, though it’s not as intimidating as he’s trying to make it out to be—not when his face is the same shade of windwheel asters, and his bottom lip is trembling from shame.

“and you’re so cute when you’re so in love with me.”

eventually, his hand settles on your face, and he pries you off him, pointedly ignoring your delighted laughter.

A/N put a hold on the lyney fics to come back to this guy. i love writing for him he is so fun.

[nefelibatat]

She-Ra's abuse narrative: fail or prevail?

So you might have heard about this cartoon called She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. And if you've heard about that, then you've definitely heard about Сatradora — an enemies-to-lovers ship between two women who must overcome their traumatic childhood to find love in each other, widely popular among fans and beloved by the showrunner ND/Nate Stevenson. His decision to canonize the couple in the final season was met with near universal acclaim, being compared to the likes of Korrasami (The Legend of Korra, 2014) and Bubbline (Adventure Time, 2018) in terms of queer subtext finally made text.

That could be the end of it, but then you wouldn't be reading this.

We’re here right now to talk about a real sore spot that never fails to incite berserker rage in the fandom: the question of abuse. It’s pretty much the main topic of the entire show, so naturally the romance that capped it off would have something to say about that. The catch is, people can’t agree on what it did say. Depending on who you ask, the union of Catra and Adora is either a perfect conclusion to a story of healing that proves abuse victims deserve to be loved, or it's a slap in the face of those same victims that sacrifices the story's core values in favor of shipping. Abuse and shipping being issues that people are famously not chill about, the debates on the matter can get nasty.

I have a lot of thoughts about it myself and I desperately wanna put them all down somewhere so they stop bouncing around in my head like a DVD screensaver. Thus I present you a detailed breakdown of the way She-Ra and the Princesses of Power handles abuse as a theme in context of Catra and Adora’s relationship. Take a sip of water every time you read “abuse” for a week's worth of hydration.

A few disclaimers before I go to town:

As you can probably tell by now, this is not light reading. I wanted to cover everything I could think of, and the line between exhaustive and exhausting begins to blur when you have this much to work with.

Though I didn't feel like getting a psychology degree for the sake of this meta, I researched the topic and provided my sources, so all the information here should be accurate.

Healthy discussion is welcome, but I reserve the right to ignore anyone acting aggressively or in bad faith.

With that out of the way, we can finally start…

Defining the subject

What even is this “abuse” thing people keep going on about?

It’s sometimes characterized as any action that intentionally harms or injures another person — such is the phrasing you’ll find at the Free Dictionary, for example. But that’s… broad, and covers anything from soldiers fighting in war to someone tripping you on the sidewalk. I’ve turned to more specialized sources, namely: The Center for Relationship Abuse Awareness, National Domestic Violence Hotline, Love Is Respect, and Healthline. They all say more or less the same thing, which we’ll put down as follows:

Abuse is a pattern of behaviors used to maintain power and control over another in an interpersonal relationship.

The helpfully color-coded key word is “control”. While abuse comes in many different types and kinds and forms, it is always a metaphorical leash that allows the abuser to feel powerful at the expense of someone else. This is something you need to understand before you can answer the question of…

How She-Ra and the Princesses of Power writes abusers

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, henceforth SatPoP, is aaaall about abuse. What it looks like, how people respond to it, why it even happens, etc. Most major antagonists in the show are abusive, and if you examine them closely enough, you could parse out something like an abuser formula. My theory goes that every abuser in the show does three specific things that, when taken together, are a dead giveaway to their role in the narrative. Here's why:

So first, we’ve established that the lynchpin of abuse is control. Not coincidentally, this is a word that crops up very often in SatPoP's dialogue, starting with this pithy phrase.

Madame Razz: “Wicked people destroy what they cannot control.” (Razz, 1:3)

The wicked people in question is the Horde. The Horde cannot be literally abusive because it’s not a person, but it is a toxic, exploitative force that tries to dominate everything around it and leaves only misery in its wake. The allegory is hard to miss. And when we do meet the Horde personified, his last decision is to try and destroy what he cannot control, so this line is both a long-reaching foreshadowing and a thesis statement for the entire show. Later (or earlier?…), this exchange takes place.

Mara: “I need the Sword to control She-Ra’s magic. That’s what my superiors always told me.” Madame Razz: “Ha-ha! She-Ra was here long before your people arrived. You cannot control magic! Magic simply is.” (Hero, 4:9)

Here's a clear juxtaposition: the First Ones — you know, the greedy colonizers who take advantage of idealistic young women — posit control as the key towards true power, but Madame Razz — the Iroh wise old mentor character — rejects this idea. She gives Mara a better advice rooted in actually connecting with the world around her instead of subduing it to her will, as demonstrated by their encounter with the boar-thing. The idea of rejecting control shows up a couple of times since as a rebuttal to tyranny and oppression.

Adora: “I won’t be controlled.” (Destiny II, 4:13)

Entrapta: “You can’t control us!” (Heart II, 5:13)

Thusly, we can claim that control in the show is more or less synonymous with abuse, except for a few cases where it’s not directed towards other people. Put a pin in this for now. Also, I'm sorry if “control” doesn't sound like a word anymore.

The second point deals with fantastic exaggeration. One of the ways to create exciting conflict in fiction is to upscale a more ordinary, familiar situation. If you’re trying to portray a heated argument? Turn it into a swordfight. If you’re trying to portray chronic illness? Turn it into a magical curse. If you’re trying to portray puberty? Turn it into a spider mutation! This approach allows you to crank up the tension while keeping the core emotional struggle easy for the audience to grasp and identify with. As a magical girl comedy drama, SatPoP makes full use of this method to explore complex themes in a fantasy setting. Adora struggles with anxiety and pressure that many “gifted children” can relate to, except her concerns are less about getting good grades and more about saving the universe from an evil intergalactic army. Glimmer has trouble coming to terms with the grief of losing a loved one, except that nearly gets her killed by a giant monster. Peel back the hyperbole and you’re left with these very real, grounded problems. Then suppose you’re trying to broach the subject of abuse in a way that fits the high stakes of your story. What would be its logical extreme? I mean… nothing says control like literal mind control. Brainwashing is the most dramatic way of conveying the message that anyone who seeks to have complete power over another will end up robbing them of personhood. Take out another pin here.

Now since SatPoP is ultimately meant to have an uplifting tone, the forces of evil have to be defeated in the end. A victim becomes a victor by reclaiming control, or in other words, going against their abuser’s rhetoric. Like this.

Shadow Weaver: “You’ve learned nothing from me!” Catra: “I’ve learned everything from you! How to predict when you’ll strike, how to dodge, how to resist! You thought you were punishing me all these years? Wrong. You were training me for this day!” (Light Hope, 1:12)

Horde Prime: “Did you hear me, little brother? Do it now.” Hordak: “I am not your brother. You made me in your image, but I am more than that. I gave myself a name; I made a life of my own; I made… a friend. I am Hordak, and I defy your will!” (Heart II, 5:13)

Beyond just fighting back, they challenge a specific negative belief about themselves that the abuser wants to impose — that Catra is incapable, that Hordak is nothing but an extension of his maker — and get narratively rewarded for it. The majority of these epic denial speeches fall to Adora though. Protagonist privileges.

From all this we can derive three checkpoints. Every abuser in the show…

✔ Is described as controlling

✔ Attempts to violate someone’s free will through supernatural means

✔ Has the tables turned on them at a point of near-victory through their victim's affirmation of self-worth

Otherwise known as the three Cs: control, compel, and contradict. To prove the existence of this pattern, we’ll start with the trendsetter herself — Shadow Weaver. Pointed out as a control freak?

Shadow Weaver (disguised as Catra): “Shadow Weaver controls us both. She always has.” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

For sure. Tries to brainwash someone?

Shadow Weaver: “You are correct, Adora; you shall stay willingly. Because I am going to wipe your mind. You’ll have no memory of She-Ra or the time you spent with the Rebellion— Everything will be as it once was! As for the Princess, once I’m done, you’ll be happy to have her as your prisoner.” (No Princess Left Behind, 1:9)

Definitely. Told off by Adora?

Adora: “You never loved me. You just played your twisted mind games. I’m none of the things that you say I am. I’m not like you. You are bitter, and cruel, and you’re the one who used me! This is who I am. You hurt my friends. So now you’re gonna pay. […] I’m not going back. You have no power over me anymore!” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

Hell yes! Not in this exact order, but with all these elements present. Try it with the First Ones now. Control:

Entrapta: “So the First Ones made the Sword to control [She-Ra]. To use her.” (Destiny I, 4:12)

Compel:

Entrapta: “Once the planet is balanced, no one can stop it. Not even the First Ones could control it — that’s why they left! When the weapon is activated, it will channel all its power into you. You don’t get to refuse.” (Destiny I, 4:12)

Contradict:

Adora: “I won’t be controlled. I am not a piece of their machine. I am not a weapon. And I’m going to end. this. now!” (Destiny II, 4:13)

And lastly, Horde Prime.

Catra: “Horde Prime is taking control of Etheria!” (Taking Control, 5:6)

Horde Prime: “I made her anew. I saw her mind — so ensnared in rage and grief and pain. So I brought her to the light.” (Save the Cat, 5:5)

Adora: “No. You’re wrong. It’s time for you to go.” (Heart II, 5:13)

There you have it: three checkpoints, three abusers… and four acts.

Thing is, SatPoP can be divided into chunks of thirteen episodes, each signifying a different period in the story and having its own subplot. That’s the four act structure. It would’ve been four seasons too if someone hadn’t decided to do what Voltron: Legendary Defender did before and release content in smaller batches, leaving Act II cleft in twain. Given that every abuser we’ve reviewed so far had their to-do list ticked off in a single act — consider this an extra checkpoint on itself, really — that leaves a conspicuous gap.

Is there a character who's marked as controlling, who tries to force someone’s hand using magic, who gets put in their place by Adora after failing to break her, and who accomplishes all that in Act II?

Catra: “Are you kidding? I’ve got control of Adora; I am not giving that up.” (White Out, 2:5)

Catra: “As long as we have this Sword, we have the power to make her go berserk. We can turn the Rebellion’s own hero against them. That’s good. I wonder which of your friends I’ll have you annihilate first.” (White Out, 2:5)

Adora: “No, it’s not [my fault]! I didn’t make you pull the switch. I didn’t make you do anything! I didn’t break the world. But I am gonna fix it. And you? You made your choice. Now live with it!” (The Portal, 3:6)

Fits like a puzzle piece. What were the odds? But wait! There’s more!

Visual cues

A visual cue is essentially a shorthand that serves to draw the audience’s attention towards something without being heavy-handed about it or taking up a lot of time. Here’s a few examples of how it can be done: We’ve all watched Avatar: The Last Airbender, right? Then you probably remember how that show emphasizes different sides of Zuko’s face depending on the phase of his character development. His scar is emblematic of his father’s abuse, so putting it front and center is a clear indicator that he’s acting from a place of hurt as opposed to growing past it. Another story that puts a lot of accent on abusive dynamics is Tangled (2010). Here Mother Gothel is shown being overly affectionate with Rapunzel’s hair, in contrast to Eugene pushing the hair away so he can see more of her face. Since the hair in question has cool magical powers, you can deduce just from that which character cares about her as a whole person and which one only values her for the parts they can use.

SatPoP does not fall behind in the abuse-related imagery department. I’ll start with the cheek touch, since the show uses this one a lot. …like, a lot a lot.

Shadow Weaver practically owns the cheek touch, though Horde Prime’s never been deterred by things already belonging to someone else. It can be roughly sorted into two varieties: the “nice” and the “mean”. “Nice” means the abuser is hiding behind a veneer of benevolence and leveraging the victim’s deepest desires in exchange for obedience. Adora yearns to prove herself, so Shadow Weaver allows her the opportunity. Catra yearns to be loved, so Shadow Weaver gives her a taste of that. Glimmer yearns to save her people — well what do you know, Shadow Weaver can help here too! It’s giving “I will grant you whatever you want, but only as long as you behave”.

Then there’s the “mean” variety, when all masks are off except for the literal one. If in previous examples the victim either had the option to refuse or just didn’t mind, then this time the parties are in open conflict, and the abuser blatantly flaunts the fact that they’re in a position of power by forcing their victim to experience unwanted physical contact. It’s giving “I will take whatever I want from you, and there’s nothing you can do about that”.

And Catra hasn’t only been on the receiving end of this message.

Which brings us to these proxy cheek touches. What Double Trouble and Horde Prime have in common is that they understand Catra — whether it’s because they’ve peered into every nook and cranny of her mind or because they’re just that good. Therefore they know what the dynamic between her and Adora is like, and they act on that knowledge by making Catra cup her cheek. Why? While “to tease her about her crush” is a popular interpretation for… obvious reasons, this reading ignores larger context. Sure, in any other show this kind of touch might've been prime shipping fuel, but in SatPoP’s language it nearly always translates to manipulation and power play. Double Trouble says “you pushed her away”; the gesture adds “by making her feel lesser”. Horde Prime says “you can’t save her”; the gesture adds “remember what happened when you tried”.

But hold on a sec, why “nearly” always?

One exception is Angella. She’s not quite playing by the rules here, and the reason is simple: cheek touch, like I said, is as good as trademarked by Shadow Weaver, and Angella is the resident anti-Shadow Weaver. Her foil, if we’re being technical. Both are military leaders who also happen to be mothers, but where Shadow Weaver puts the “mentor” in “tormentor” despite an occasional maternal impulse, Angella is deeply caring beneath her coldness and strict attitude. Them being associated with the same visual motif makes the contrast stand out even more. Notice that both times Angella puts her hand on someone’s cheek it’s in the moment of choosing people’s needs over her own desires. She wants Glimmer to be safe and out of the battlefield, but knows her daughter would never rest easy if she wasn’t helping her friends. She wants to stay with the husband she hasn’t seen in years, but understands that her duty lies elsewhere. Angella’s affection is selfless, and that, more than anything else, is what sets her apart from Shadow Weaver. A few more examples are in Season 5’s section. If you have any pins left, this would be a good place for one.

For now we move on to electricity, an element favored by three of our not-so-fantastic four.

Catra: “Pretty good, huh? I got the idea from Shadow Weaver. At least she was good for something in the end.” (Flutterina, 4:3)

This might be a reference to Avatar: The Last Airbender, where lightning was used as an abuse metaphor. ATLA is a rather obvious inspiration for the show so it’s entirely plausible. Electrocution also has the benefit of being a non-gorey method of torture, allowing for some surprising brutality without technically breaking the age restrictions. Of course, just like the cheek touch, it does have exceptions. But instead of selflessness vs selfishness, the deciding factor here is protection vs punishment. That’s where Adora, Glimmer, and Scorpia differ from Shadow Weaver, Catra, and Horde Prime, even though all of these characters electrocute someone at some point.

The next and last recurring motif is perspective. You know how abusers tend to look down on their victims? Well, SatPoP took that a bit literally.

Not content with just being very tall, Shadow Weaver likes to up the intimidation factor by appearing as this great looming figure. It’s a good graphic representation of how abusers make themselves feel bigger and stronger than they actually are by making others feel small.

Catra seems to dig the angle too.

She’s often keeping Adora beneath her, whether it’s by following Obi-Wan’s example and getting the high ground or making her fall on the ground.

The Portal in particular puts Adora through this ordeal more times than is strictly necessary, but it does help emphasize the eventual reversal: Adora is now the one standing above Catra in a moment of payback and catharsis. They can’t be on an equal level because Catra doesn’t see Adora as an equal and balance can only be maintained through mutual effort. After Adora realizes that, she puts herself in a position where Catra won’t be able to bring her down anymore — literally or figuratively.

At this point you must have spotted something of a running theme: Catra is a copycat-ra. Unfortunately for everyone, her role model is the second worst person alive who tried really hard to be the first and only lost by a couple of genocides. The similarities between them are everywhere but they're at their most in-your-face obvious in The Portal. Again. Seriously, this episode is competing with White Out for who can scream “Catra is abusive!” the loudest.

It’s not hard to get what sort of feelings the interactions between Shadow Weaver and her wards are trying to inspire in you. Sympathy, because they're hurt and scared and vulnerable. Disgust, because Shadow Weaver is treating someone like dirt just to feel a sense of superiority. Horror, because this is a far too real scenario. Then the show deliberately takes these skin-crawling, nausea-inducing incidents of abuse and re-enacts them between Catra and Adora.

Why should they be perceived differently now?

The framing didn’t change. Adora is not any less terrified and Catra is not any less terrifying. If you weren’t supposed to view their relationship as abusive, then whoever storyboarded these scenes should’ve gotten fired faster than you can say “Eternia”.

This so far has only been about narrative devices, not real-life tactics, but worry not: there’s plenty to be said about that. Starting with…

Verbal abuse

For all the talk about sticks and stones, verbal abuse remains one of the most effective tools in abuser’s toolbox. Defined as “the use of hurtful language to assert control” and often synonymous with emotional abuse, it encompasses a wide range of behaviors, from straightforward insults to subtle condescension. Like all types of abuse, it’s a recurring pattern that exists within an interpersonal relationship, which is what sets it apart from just calling someone a poopyhead. While words cannot indeed break your bones, they might do something worse than that — break your spirit. The hows and whys of it come down to one word: familiarity. See, people are weirdly eager to believe stuff they’ve heard multiple times, even when they already knew it’s false. This bizarre quirk of our brains is called illusory truth effect. Other fancy science terms like mere-exposure effect and schema operate on a similar principle. So if continuous reinforcement is this good at drilling stuff into your head, and the thing that's being continuously reinforced is how bad you are… The result is that verbal abuse erodes self-esteem in much the same way water erodes stone. You don’t see the damage as it’s happening; in fact it’s hard to believe that something as insubstantial as water could damage solid rocks at all. But it does. Drop by drop, word by word.

Shadow Weaver: “Insolent child. I’ve come expect such disgraceful behavior from you, but I will not allow you to drag Adora down as well. You have never been anything more than a nuisance to me.” (Promise, 1:11)

Shadow Weaver: “Catra has been nothing but a disappointment to me!” (Razz, 1:3)

Shadow Weaver: “You’ve always been a disappointment. You’ve learned nothing from me!” (Light Hope, 1:12)

Shadow Weaver: “I assumed Hordak finally realized what a lazy, worthless creature you are and banished you.” (The Frozen Forest, 2:1)

At least one person would call it the opposite of a problem though. As far as Shadow Weaver is concerned, a day not spent berating children is a day wasted.

Shadow Weaver: “You were nothing before I took you in, Adora, and you will be nothing without me!” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

Shadow Weaver: “Clever. You always were. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. You were—” Adora: “Special? No. What you always told me was that I didn’t matter. I was ‘special’ only as long as I obeyed you.” (The Price of Power, 3:1)

This is yet another patented technique of hers, not that it stops Catra from parroting her anyway.

Catra: “When did you get so weak?” (The Sea Gate, 1:5)

Shadow Weaver: “You’re weak!” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

Catra: “And it won’t be over until I see the looks on your friends’ faces when they find out that you failed, that you were too weak to save them.” (The Battle of Brightmoon, 1:13)

With a few targeted remarks she saps Adora’s will to go on,

Adora: “Fine, you win. You want me to be weak? Well, I am. And I’m afraid. Because I’m no good at any of this.” (The Beacon, 1:10)

Adora: “It’s too late. I’ve failed.” (Heart II, 5:13)

feeds her insecurities,

Adora: “I don’t want any of you risking yourselves. She-Ra can do this alone. This is what she’s for.” Bow: “Adora, not even She-Ra can take out an army of Horde soldiers all on her own.” Adora: “Then what good is she⁈” (The Battle of Brightmoon, 1:13)

Catra: “Tired already? I thought punching was supposed to be like, the one thing you’re good at?” (The Battle of Brightmoon, 1:13)

undermines her confidence,

Adora: “I wanna be the best She-Ra. I wanna protect the planet! But Catra, she’s just… in my head.” (The Frozen Forest, 2:1)

Catra: “If you hadn’t gotten captured, your Sword wouldn’t have opened the Portal. If you hadn’t gotten the Sword, and then the world’s worst She-Ra, none of this would’ve happened! Admit it, Adora! The world would still be standing if you had never come through that Portal in the first place.” (The Portal, 3:6)

and affirms her greatest fears.

Adora: “I hurt people; I ruined my friends’ lives!” (Light Hope, 1:12)

Catra: “You’re the one who left the villagers unprotected. You’re good enough at hurting your friends without my help.” (Flutterina, 4:3)

This specific variety of verbal tactics is known as…

Guilt-trip

Guilt-tripping is a subtype of emotional abuse that leverages the feelings of, well, guilt. It’s a really uncomfortable emotion that puts the victim in a defensive position — they’re usually too busy trying to prove they’re not terrible to accuse anyone else of being so. As for Adora, she’s not so much guilt-tripped as guilt-hamstringed.

Adora: “I’m sorry. It’s my fault she was here; I endangered Mystacor.” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

Adora: “How could I let this happen?…” Bow: “Adora, it’s not your fault.” Adora: “It is my fault. Entrapta’s gone because of my plan.” (The Beacon, 1:10)

Adora: “Commander, it’s my fault. I—” (The Beacon, 1:10)

Adora: “[Glimmer]’s hurt because of me; I messed up. I got Glimmer and Bow captured, and Entrapta… It’s— It’s my fault!” (Light Hope, 1:12)

Adora: “I thought I could get through to [Catra], but all I did was push her further to the side of evil. Light Hope said I’d endanger my friends by coming back, and she was right. Everything that’s happening now is my fault…” (The Battle of Brightmoon, 1:13)

Adora: “Catra will make me watch all of it before she finishes me off, and then everyone is gone, and the Horde wins the war, and Etheria crumbles and it’s all my fault!” (Roll With It, 2:4)

Adora: “It’s all my fault! I-I’ve been so afraid of becoming another Mara, destroying the world the way she did, and now… it’s happening.” (Remember, 3:5)

Adora: “It must have been a diversion so that I’d leave Elberon defenseless. And-And I fell for it! This is my fault.” (Flutterina, 4:3)

Adora: “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you got hurt.” (Pulse, 4:4)

You don’t need Mermysteries-level deductive reasoning to trace the origin of those thoughts…

Shadow Weaver (disguised as Bow): “Everything that’s about to happen is your fault, Adora. You’re to blame.” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

Shadow Weaver: “Mystacor will fall, and it will be your fault!” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

…or to predict that Catra will ape her in this as she does in everything else.

Catra: “Let’s be honest here — all of this is your fault.” (The Portal, 3:6)

Catra: “You broke the world, and it is all. your. fault.” (The Portal, 3:6)

Not only with these exact words, either.

Shadow Weaver: “Adora, you must do a better job of keeping [Catra] under control. Do not let something like this happen again.” (Promise, 1:11)

Catra: “You made me this! You took everything from me!” (The Portal, 3:6)

They both make choices to harm people and then claim it’s Adora’s responsibility to stop them by appeasing their demands. Be the perfect soldier, or your friend gets it. Choose me over the rest of the world, or there won’t be a world. Comply, or you’ll make me do something horrible. Speaking of doing something horrible and not owning up to it…

Gaslight

Gaslighting is not just a type of illumination. The term comes from a 1938 play Gas Light, in which a husband drives his wife mad by dimming the lights and then denying it. Deliberately creating a discrepancy between someone’s perception and their idea of reality convinces them that their own mind can’t be trusted — hard to imagine a more vulnerable position.

Shadow Weaver (disguised as Glimmer): “I think Adora has finally lost it! Did you see her in there? I think she’s going nuts!” Adora: “I’m not crazy!” *Adora sees that no one is around* Adora: “I’m… I’m not crazy.” (In the Shadows of Mystacor, 1:7)

I’m running out of animal analogies here, but you know the drill by now.

Catra: “You’ve officially lost it, haven’t you?” (Remember, 3:5)

Catra: “You’ve gone crazy!” (Remember, 3:5)

It’s really worth noting that some of the phrases from National Domestic Violence Hotline’s What is gaslighting? are things that Catra says to Adora word-for-word. A monkey on a typewriter would have better chances of stumbling into this exact phrasing than any dialogue writer who did basic research into their theme of choice and didn't want Catra to sound like an abuser.

Catra: “You’re just seeing things. It’s all in your head.” (Remember, 3:5)

Catra: “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” (Remember, 3:5)

But does she know what Adora’s talking about?

Yes. The scenes that most clearly prove it follow pretty much the same steps: Adora confronts Catra about what’s happening; Catra’s old memories are triggered; she gets defensive and tries to shut Adora down to maintain the façade. The only part that might not be immediately obvious to the viewer is that the first memory flash was experienced by Catra and not Adora. She describes her vision this way:

Adora: “I remember… a sword, a-a bright light, and you were ther—” (Remember, 3:5)

which is obviously referring to her finding the Sword, getting flashbanged by it, and then being woken up by Catra. But that's not what we see. And it's not Adora whose face the camera stays focused on like it did every time before. This is a bit subtler than the show usually prefers, but don’t worry, because all subtlety is gone out the window in their second argument. By that point, if Catra’s guilty expression and shifty eyes don't alert you to the fact that she’s lying, then a glowing neon sign stating exactly that wouldn’t make a difference.

On two separate occasions it's made clear that Catra knows something’s up and chooses to discredit Adora anyway. She’s not acting out of genuine ignorance but a stubborn desire to keep things “perfect” at any cost, even when the cost is Adora’s faith in her own sanity.

Adora: “I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s like I’m losing my mind.” Catra: “You just need to relax.” Adora: “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m fine. Everything’s fine��” (Remember, 3:5)

Adora’s body language — crossing her arms, hunching her shoulders, looking away — indicates someone who is deeply uncomfortable. She's growing more and more certain that Catra has done something seriously bad to her and that she's not safe with her anymore, but there's just enough doubt that Adora can't take any decisive action about it. The creeping realization that someone you've trusted with every part of you is actually a threat makes Remember into a borderline psychological horror.

Adora: “I know this is wrong; can’t you see it⁈ My memories don’t match; we’re jumping around; things are disappearing; it’s like time and space aren’t working right. And I—” Catra: “Adora, stop it. Stop!” (Remember, 3:5)

Catra's not just concerned. She’s angry that Adora won’t just shut up and accept her version of reality — a reality that doesn’t require Catra to acknowledge and face repercussions for all the ways in which she’s harmed Adora. Remember what I said about hyperboles in fiction? Strip this episode of portals and magic swords and all that nonsense, and what you’re left with is a person who wants to escape the fallout of their decisions so badly they’re willing to delude someone close to them until their world is falling apart before their eyes. Despite having gaslighting as its main focus, though, it also provides a striking example of a different tactic…

Physical abuse

We all know that generally, beating people up is bad. And yet a term was coined specifically for characters who start hitting on each other after just hitting each other — that ubiquitous “enemies-to-lovers” thing that plagues every SatPoP discussion. This inevitably muddies the waters, as it poses the question of how to identify physical abuse in a dynamic that must include violence by design. There’s some nuance to the problem. We could ask whether they fight for external or personal reasons, whether they have lines they won’t cross or will they stoop to anything, and what’s probably most important, whether they attack each other equally or is there an obvious aggressor. You're certainly welcome to ask yourself that. Shouldn't be hard.

But! for the sake of keeping our waters as clear as possible, I’ll draw a hard line and not count anything that happened in context of enemy battles as physical abuse. So, does Catra hit Adora when they're not locked in honorab— well, just in combat?

Yes. Case closed; moving on.

Repentance or

—no, fine, I may as well be thorough to the end and analyze these scenes in full, even if the point has already been proven. The first one takes place almost at the very beginning. Adora has just defected, but crucially, they are not treating each other as enemies yet, or else Adora would not turn her back to Catra and Catra wouldn't bother making excuses for stabbing her in said back.

Catra: “…oh man, that was a lot stronger than I thought. Are you okay?” Adora: “Catra!—” *Catra electrocutes her a second time* Catra: “I’m sorry! It was a reflex.” Adora: “Why… why are you doing this?” Catra: *pause* “Because you left me! And if I don’t bring you back, Shadow Weaver’s gonna have my head. So enough with this weird little identity crisis, and let’s go home already. Or do I need to zap you again?” (The Sword II, 1:2)

She says she didn't mean to hurt her. Then she hurts her again. Then threatens to hurt her again. Then attempts to hurt her again. For comparison, this is Catra's expression after her other shocking betrayal.

That's the thing: we know what Catra looks like when she regrets it. And she never looks like that when it comes to Adora.

Then, because abuse is a cycle, they go through the same motions in Remember.

Adora: “Ow! What was that?” Catra: “Sorry! You were freaking out, and it was freaking me out!” Adora: “Well you didn’t have to slap me!” Catra: “Come on, let’s get you outside; you need some air.” (Remember, 3:5)

Once again, Adora learns that her life is a lie and starts to break out of it. Once again, Catra immediately responds with anger and violence. Once again, she brushes right past Adora's indignation and tries to just paper over the whole affair until things go back to “normal”, the way they always have.

And look, I hear you. She's just a kid. We can't hold someone this young fully responsible for their actions, let alone brand them the most evil of anklebiters that ever learned to count to four. Just this once, I'd like to remove blame from the equation. It wasn't Catra's fault. That does not mean it isn't an important look into their dynamic all the same. We aren't asking who deserves to be punished here — that would be Shadow Weaver — we're asking what happened and what it means for the characters going forward.

So Catra is upset that her friend has been hanging out with Lonnie. There's probably some normal childish jealousy mixed in, but from a trauma standpoint, she's likely terrified that the one thing standing between her and her abuser is slipping away. Whatever the context behind it though, the situation is more or less identical: Catra feels that Adora is threatening their relationship, and the only solution she can think of is to lash out until she gives in. Not a surprising reaction for a desperate, panicked child soldier-in-training to have, but it's one that Catra simply refuses to grow out of. Her present-day actions demonstrate that she never stopped viewing pain as a means of correcting Adora's behavior. Maybe she's not as quick to resort to it. Maybe sometimes she'll just use cutting words instead of cutting claws. Maybe she'll even apologize after the fact. After all, she's not a child anymore, so her violence is actually thought-out. Deliberate. Either way, the second Adora steps out of line Catra will go from affectionate and playful to aggressive and pitiless until she gives in… or gives out.

I'll keep my promise and not bring in the scary A-word when they're at least ostensibly fighting for their respective factions, but I will call Catra's behavior what it is: cruel. It's cruel and vicious and needlessly brutal in a way she isn't towards anyone else she faces off against, and certainly not in any way Adora's been towards her. The goal is not to incapacitate — it's to hurt. That kind of unflinching willingness to cause harm doesn't come out of nowhere.

…but enough dwelling on the past! It doesn't matter if Catra pushed her into water off a bridge, because it's all water under the bridge. They've turned a new leaf, done a 180°, started from scratch— okay, that one is poor phrasing. Point is, it's all behind them now. Right?

Repentance or repetition

Interrupting my barrage of hot takes with a lukewarm but nonetheless correct take: Catra should be redeemed. More than that, her redemption is necessary for the story to achieve its full potential. And while I get why people say it should've begun earlier, I actually think its placement in the story makes sense. I've mentioned briefly that all four parts of the show have their own unique attributes. Act I is mostly introductory, establishing the cast and their position in the world without moving things forward too much. Act II is where the plot really kicks off, with the first mentions of a mysterious weapon and a wider universe. Act III in turn is a downward slope where everyone, heroes and villains alike, are starting to unravel and hit rock bottom. What then, you may ask, defines Act IV? Change. The status quo shattered along with She-Ra's sword. Etheria being overrun means there is no longer a comfort zone to retreat to. Nearly every constant you've gotten used to over the last four seasons is ripped away, pushing the characters into uncharted territory and forcing them to adapt. Thematically speaking, this is the perfect time for Catra to finally leave her old habits behind and start anew.

Did she though?

Catra: “I keep having this horrible vision of a blonde girl, who thinks she's better than everyone, barging into my room all day. Oh, wait.” (Taking Control, 5:6)

Catra: “I told you not to come back! But you just love feeling like a hero, don't you⁈” (Taking Control, 5:6)

If you think this line sounds kind of familiar, that's because it's almost the same thing she said back in Promise when their relationship completely fell apart.

Catra: “You always need to play the hero, don't you?” (Promise, 1:11)

I just said it's not too late to redeem Catra in Act IV, and I stand by that. But it only holds true if the creators make full use of the time they have instead of backtracking on what little progress she did demonstrate and making her go back and forth some more like an actual cat who can't decide if they want in or out the damn door. Or better yet, emphasizing that she hasn't changed at all halfway through the last season. Whenever you feel bad about your time management skills, remember that at least you aren't responsible for that. (If by chance you are, DM me. I have questions.)

Catra: “Then you've even dumber than I thought.” (Taking Control, 5:6)

Catra: “I always knew you were kinda dumb, but… come on.” (The Sea Gate, 1:5)

As Catra echoes her previous lines, so does Adora. Echo Catra, that is.

Adora: “I'm such an idiot.” (Taking Control, 5:6)

Catra: “You're such an idiot.” (Save the Cat, 5:5)

Whether it was intended as “light-hearted teasing”, if Adora immediately comes back to it when she's distraught and insecure, then that's not what it was. I sure hope Catra doesn't repeat this later on!

Catra: “You're such an idiot.” (Heart II, 5:13)

Ah. The show does make a point that people don't get over themselves in a day. They do that in two days, apparently, because the very next episode opens with Catra messing with Adora as if they've been best buds for ages and she has no reason at all to be particularly careful around her.

The very face of shame and remorse right here. Catra did not apologize for lashing out again. She made no promises it won't happen again. The only reason they even moved past this is because Adora prioritized Catra's feelings over her own. Again. For a season that was supposed to be all about change, it sure gives me a lot of déjà vu.

War crimes aside, Catra's main problem has always been her inability to have healthy conflict. We already know she can be nice to Adora when they agree on everything — the real test of character is what happens when they don't. Can she express her disapproval in a constructive way, without falling back into familiar patterns? To which Season 5 confidently answers: nah.

When Adora isn't siding with her on every issue, Catra storms off in a huff so that she always has to come and make it up to her, even if she didn't do anything wrong.

When there's an opening to criticize Adora for defying her in the past, Catra takes it, even if it means twisting what actually happened.

Adora: “How are we supposed to fight our own friends?” Catra: “It never stopped you before.” (Save the Cat, 5:5)

Adora: “Don't move.” Catra: “Oh, please. You'd never have the guts.” (White Out, 2:5)

Glimmer: “[Adora] left us. She's headed to the Heart on her own.” Catra: “Of course she's gone! That's what she does, isn't it?” (Heart I, 5:12)

Adora: “Catra, please. Stay. I need you.” Catra: “No, you don't. You never have.” (Failsafe, 5:11)

And when all else fails…

This isn't about the argument itself. It doesn't matter which of them has objectively correct takes on Shadow Weaver or the failsafe or pineapple on pizza. What matters is that Catra still punishes Adora for not conforming to her expectations.

She still withholds affection if her conditions aren't met.

She still looks down on her. Wait, what's this pin doing here? …Oh, yeah. Another visual cue that came back is the cheek touch, and it captures the whole issue with Season 5 in that it's clearly meant to be recontextualized, except the narrative fails to actually earn that. Adora already uses it as a gesture of comfort before they start working on their relationship at all. There's no struggle to reclaim it despite all the ways it's been weaponized against them, and still is weaponized against Adora. It used to be bad and now it just… isn't. Kind of like everything else between them.

I'm sure some people would accuse me of deliberately leaving out the good parts in favor of things that support my own reading, but when it comes to abuse, the good parts don't cancel out the bad. In fact, the cycle of abuse specifically includes reconciliation and calm after every incident. One moment Catra sticks out her neck to protect Adora and apologizes “for everything”; the next moment she's yelling and hurling insults. One moment she's making a mean-spirited jab to satisfy an old grudge; the next moment she's going out of her way to lift Adora's spirits. One moment they're enjoying each other's company like nothing ever happened; the next moment Catra is giving her the cold shoulder for making a wrong choice. One moment Adora is left crying alone despite begging on her knees for emotional support; the next moment Catra pulls her back from the brink with the power of love. A relationship that's going up and down like a cardiograph is no less toxic than a relationship that's always down. Healing isn't linear, yes, but it's still going somewhere. Catra's relapses don't get any less intense — if anything, her lowest point this season is right before the finale. She's never called out on them by Adora or anyone else, either. Catra occasionally hurting her just seems to be a normal part of their dynamic, and there's absolutely no indication it'll go away after the credits roll.

No wonder then that the show doesn't feel too pressured to unpack everything that happened during the four seasons Catra spent gaslighting, guilt-tripping, and otherwise girlbossing. It's content enough to say that she did some nebulous bad things and hurt a bunch of nonspecific people, but none of that has long-lasting consequences that could get in the way of romance, thank goodness. If it did, the viewers might've felt a tad awkward that the person helping Catra work through her loss of autonomy is the same one she literally turned into a weapon at some point, with zero acknowledgment of that fact.

Any fear or anger or trauma that Adora might and did have regarding Catra conveniently vanish whenever she needs to take care of her. Which is a lot. No matter how badly she was treated in the past — and by “past” I mean “last time they talked” — she never once denies Catra her time and energy, being written less like an incredibly forgiving abuse victim and more like an idealized knight-in-shining-armor figure. Or a martyr.

Obviously this isn't Catra's fault. She didn't choose for this drawn-out… honestly, torture porn is the only description I can think of, crass as it is — to happen. But the writers did. They took a character who has already suffered far, far too much at the hands of her abuser, had her brutalized in as graphic detail as the rating would allow by someone who looks and sounds exactly like them, and framed it all as a great romantic sacrifice she makes for said abuser.

There is no universally correct way to write redemption — no, not even “make them just like Zuko” — and things only get more complicated when you throw a topic as sensitive as abuse into the mix. It requires a very thoughtful, careful approach to ensure that the work you put out doesn't trivialize anyone's experiences. But the writers of SatPoP seemed to care much more about cheap drama and angst than respecting their theme, and the result is unbelievably tone-deaf.

Perhaps Catra does love Adora. She certainly has some strong feelings about her, one way or another. But feelings alone aren't enough. Because if Catra's love looks like this:

then I don't think Adora deserves it, actually. …so why do so many people disagree?

The other point of view

Of all four antagonists we’ve brought up, Catra is the only one to have a clear reason behind her villainy. She’s cute, she’s sympathetic, she’s — let’s just say it — relatable. You can say a lot about what makes people look at an underdog (undercat?) who's mistreated and angry and deeply messy and go “she's so me”. There’s a reason Catra’s character resonated with so many who view her arc as the ultimate proof that they, like her, can be loved no matter how complicated their journey was or what they've struggled with. So of course there’s a violent knee-jerk reaction towards people who are seen as trying to take away that message, taint it somehow. And believe it or not, that's not what I'm trying to do. Catra matters. But so does Adora. One victim's happy ending being achieved at the expense of another victim is anything but a hopeful narrative. Adora deserves relationships where she is happy, respected, and safe. Catra deserves to truly break the cycle of abuse and inspire people to do the same. What they got in the end is at best a distorted mimicry of those things. And that's just a shame.

[bloodchapell]

castle of sand — senku i. 9: not so new revelations

brief summary: first day in the stone world. everything is worse and despite that, it still manages to be better than before

what to expect: allusions to cannibalism as a metaphor, implied domestic violence (?)

your sword's note: all past and future parts + playlist of this series available on my mistresslist

"You built all of this on your own!?" You gasped once you saw the house. He nodded with a proud grin. "That is amazing, I bow before you."

You didn't actually bow, of course. But you did look around marveled.

"Do you know how to sew?" He asked and you nodded. You both were in the house. He gave you a piece of leather, a sharp stone with a wooden handle, a bone needle and some thread. "Make yourself some clothes, I was saving that for a sleeping bag but whatever."

You spent a good time measuring yourself and then tracing lines over the leather. Senku wanted to hurry you up but like a miracle he felt full of mercy at least for that day so he simply let you figure it out.

"How do we make black dye?" You asked peaking your head outside, seeing him collect statues of sparrows and organize them in the lab he had built.

"You have clothes, they don't need to match your dark personality in the stone world. Plus with this weather making the clothes black might as well cook you alive."

"What a hateful being." You complain sighing. Seeing that you were done he went back to the house for a clay pot. You were picking up the remnants of the leather.

"What is that?" He asked immediately when he saw the clothes you had made.

"A jumpsuit. I do not fancy dresses like you." You stood up, well it was an upgrade from the vines. The jumpsuit had short sleeves and it stopped in the middle of your thighs.

"It's not a dress, it's a lab coat." Senku mentioned and you nodded.

"So I guess this is totally not a skirt and I can lift it up." You asked and he immediately slapped your hand away. "Precisely I don't wish to be running away from some wild animal holding a skirt down."

"You are taking this somewhat comedically." Senku said.

"Absolutely, I always wished to live in an environment like this. Stress is made to be scared of falling of cliffs or big animals, not being scared if my mom had a bad day at work and trying to decipher her level of anger through her footsteps." You point out and he can't help but laugh, him who had despised your presence so much being relieved that at least he had you to alleviate the horrid solitude. "I meant to ask what happened to your forehead too."

"The stone left cracks. You have a circle in your lips, since you were pouting for 3700 years." He points out and your hand immediately runs to your face, a finger examining the weird dent.

"So what is it that we are doing?" You asked and his breath escaped his lungs. The well known phrase with nothing but a single word changed.

"Rebuilding civilization, of course." He said and your face twisted into a frown of shock.

"Nono, I am far too young...I wouldn't possibly be a good mother..."

"That is possibly one of the most disgusting things that could ever be implied." Senku shook his head. "I am talking science here."

"Civilization was indeed build from the dirt around, but it feels oddly surreal, might be even pushing it." You say thinking. "On some insane levels of manpower it might be just plausible, but this is Senku we are talking about, a spring breeze has more strength... plus myself is only slightly better. What are the steps? It is like playing Little Alchemy."

Again another laughter from Senku. Had you always been this funny? Probably not, probably it was because he had just started to hallucinate the monkeys around speaking to him so having another person around was refreshing, even if it was you —his words—.

"Taiju is awake, I know it. So we will revive him and he will be the manpower. Then surviving will be easy cake and we can focus on discovering the way to revive anyone." Senku said and you nodded. "It would have been far easier if you had decided to use your brain for a noble path like science but it will do for now."

You still couldn't shake the surreal feeling of it all. After having gone insane within the confines of your mind infinite times so much that you wished to exist again, coming to see that the life that awaited you was nothing short of prehistoric made you question if it was real. Plus why the hell did Senku turned nice? You sighed trying to stop thinking about what 3700 years meant, probably it had also fried his brain into empathy.

"I am hungry." You said after some silence.

"You should still have food from our era in your system."

"I didn't eat anything." You say and he sighs annoyed.

"Go pick up berries." A basket thrown at you. "I will see what else is there to eat. Don't go too far."

You nod and walk out of the house with the basket. You walked around, not so far since you still didn't know the area, picking berries off bushes. In one of your delirious scenarios while being stone you imagined what would have happened if you opened your eyes and found yourself in a hospital, or being a ghost overseeing your funeral. It looked like it didn't matter anymore, so you didn't ponder too hard on it.

Unlike you, it was the only thing Senku could think about. For some reason he started feeling like it was his fault. He would rarely defy what his father would ask of him, and now he felt a deep guilt about having done so when it came to befriending you. Since returning from the miracle cave you two hadn't talked about it. He didn't know how to bring it up again but he knew he had to. His mind went over everything again, every possibility. If you had slipped from the roof you would have probably survived, with a few broken bones, but it would have hit him even harder; he couldn't even come to imagine what would have been the reaction of your parents. If you didn't slip and went through with it in another way, that made the chances higher, he would have come to learn of what had happened from someone else. That made his whole body go cold. By that point he had so much shame within himself that he didn't even question why he cared so much about you yet didn't do anything to help you before. Thinking about it made his head hurt and his eyes tear up.

"I found this." You say with a smile walking back to after an hour or so. Senku quickly sniffled and turned around to look at you. The basket was half full, rested on your hip, while the other hand held a bunny.

"Great, some good food." Senku applauds but the silence coming from you told him everything. "We are not having a pet."

"I am not killing this poor creature that trusted me, I would rather perish." You say and he bolts towards you to grab the bunny but you dropped the basket down and ran from him.

"Amazing, that was the world's most stupidest play of tag." He says laying on the ground breathing erratically after five minutes of chasing you. "All for the damn bunny."

"Watch your mouth." You grab his hair and he ends up nodding. Not for anything you are your mother's daughter and he could see in that split second the potential for evil in your eyes. "I will just let this absolute angel go back to its own matters. I will be eternally grateful for the epiphanies it helped me obtain."

"What epiphanies?" He finds himself asking before he can even realize what he is asking, so now while you two eat, you talk his ears off about how the bunny reminded you of the softness of life and that its act of trusting you gave you an oddly positive outlook on life in that instant.

For the rest of the day, he experiments with the sparrows and the nitric acid while he has you making stuff like your own toothbrush.

"So do we have soap?" You ask and he shakes his head. "How do you shower then?"

"In the river." He says like it's obvious. "I do need to make some soap, we will figure that out soon."

"You don't stink." You say and he frowns at your strange comment.

The sun slowly falls and Senku makes a fire. For the rest of the evening he focused on labelling the sparrows and playing around with the remaining of nitric acid he had.

"Did you feel alone?" You ask resting on the table of the lab. He lifts his gaze immediately, no reply. You don't ask again but the question turns the gears of his head. You would often speak to him about how lonely you felt and he then realized that during the two months he spent alone he had been pushed through the bridge by that horrible solitude. His eyes remained on you for a second, your hair was a little wild, he had noticed the scars in your arms already but chose to stay silent about them.

Once he was done, you two stepped outside of the lab. The campfire illuminated the area only so far, and you could see the literal darkness extend everywhere around you. Inevitably you took a step closer to Senku.

"Got scared?"

"A little." You exhale looking around distrustful of the environment. Sitting by the campfire now, you two eat more, it didn't feel like a proper meal but it was better than nothing.

"Lay down on the grass." Senku says once you are done eating and you do once you see him laying too. He is looking to the sky and you are looking at him. "Stop looking at me, look up."

You do.

There are so many stars in the sky that you can't possibly count them all like you did back in the modern times. Senku looks through the corner of his eye at you, your eyes widen and your pupils expand, the fascination you have for the stars is so clear that he is kind of jealous of how strong you feel them.

"It kinda hurts." You say placing your hand on your chest.

"What?" He turns around.

"The stars kinda hurt." You repeat. Of course that makes no sense, he should have known. "I am starstruck."

Thousands of years before, Senku did not understand what you meant when you said that stargazing felt too confidential and special, but he understood now. Since he woke up he had only taken glances at the sky, hadn't even allowed himself to wonder about the stars, but now that he was doing it, and doing it besides you, he came to realize that you were right to complain before.

"Whenever I felt so much that it became unbearable I would look through the window at the stars." You start narrating, for the first time he is eager to listen. "I have been so lonely since I can remember that I felt like I could only relate to things like the stars. I would lose my eyes in them and pretend that I was nothing but a star in a human body, feeling would be me burning so hard that I couldn't handle it because I was not supposed to be a human and this body can't possibly withstand a star. But even in my kinship with the stars I could not possibly dishonor the name of a celestial body by calling myself one. It was an odd feeling. I would be really upset when the sky was clouded and I couldn't see them."

"Almost all the elements in our bodies were made in stars by nucleosynthesis." Senku says and you laugh.

"I know. Everything I am made of used to constitute so many different things before. Every element in me formed eons ago in the depths of so many different stars." You say extending your other arm towards the sky. "Once you have reached the darkest place possible, the only thing you can really see is the shine of the stars."

Your words shook him. What you said was factual, the oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, phosphorus, potassium, sulphur, sodium, chlorine and magnesium that constituted human bodies was formed in stars, yet the way in which you said it went beyond simple factual science and twirled into poetry.

"What is the darkest place possible?" He asks and you turn around to see him. The answer comes to his mind before you even think about it. Regardless, you don't say it, but he knows you also got the answer. Before he knows it, he calls your name. "Show me. If it won't hurt you, I want to know it."

Your eyes meet his. An odd request.

"If that is what you really want then it won't matter, I will stay still while you dissect me and savor the pain in the fibers of my body. It won't hurt me because I know the darkness, I am immune to such mundane pain after marinating in the void for so long. It doesn't matter if you tear me apart."

"What are you even saying?" He says immediately.

"You can open up my chest and carve out my heart to figure it out. Eat it all up until you get to know the darkness too."

"That is so damn morbid, stop it." With a face of disgust he says.

You lay down smiling in silence for a while. Your words keep ringing in his head, it was a fucking bizarre way to talk about it. To metaphorically eat you meant to learn the truths about your darkness, it was somewhat a gruesome action, to dissect you apart and taste your pain. He was ultimately surprised with how easily you agreed to open up.

"So what am I to do? Just info dump everything on you?" You ask after a while.

"Let me ask you some questions." He says and you nod. "What is up with your family?"

"It is a bad one." You say immediately and he laughs. "I don't even think of that as a family. My mom and dad had a very bad relationship, I think that is kinda obvious. They would be separating and going back together all the time, and I got no explanations on what was happening. That messed up with me a lot. It boils my blood, even now. They would argue in front of me with no decorum or care, and eventually started to argue with me too. It was like a war field. There is no peace in my memories, dissonance is all I can remember and that is somewhat piercing."

He knew as much. It wasn't rare to see either of your parents leaving with half of the furniture all the time, one would leave only to then come back, then the other one would. When your parents would argue, whether it was on the street or in the apartment so loud that everyone could hear, you would walk covering your face, head down, embarrassed.

"What about your dad?" Senku asked then. He knew you had a better relationship with him. Before your mother came back to live with you, you were living with him. Then one day Senku never saw him again.

"My mom actually left, I stayed to live with him because well my mom is insane, dare I say clinically. He was really depressed and after some problems he had with his job he chose to leave the country. He started living abroad, got a girlfriend and well, last thing I knew, he was getting another kid." You say clearly bothered, going over what you told him on top of the miracle cave. "Left me here with the devil herself and called me occasionally saying how much he missed me and stupid stuff despite leaving me."

"Do you know about that?" Senku asks about something else and you look at him without understanding. "When we were in fourth grade, winter break."

"That he tried to kill himself?" You say with no tact and his face stays blank, not knowing how to react. "I couldn't possibly be so oblivious. Where do you think I got the idea?"

"Sorry." Senku says and you laugh, it was rare to hear him apologizing.

Senku knew half of all those truths, they stayed in the back on his mind, on the side he refused to acknowledge. It was as if he was just waiting for your confirmation. He had heard the arguments, he had seen the police been called, he had seen trucks moving stuff out only to move it back in months after, he had seen an ambulance parked by the street, he just refused to ever think about it. It was slowly coming to him that he always knew.

"But you knew all of that already?" You say rolling to your stomach, almost reading his mind. "Do you want to hear how I felt then?"

Your eyes look at his. There is an unsettling image in them, Senku can see it. "If you want." He mutters.

"I used to be very angry about it. I was an angry child." You say playing with the grass underneath your hands. "I didn't know what was happening both outside and inside me most of the time and I hated it, it was a foggy confusion. When I started to make sense of things, I became a sad child. Now I am afraid that no matter what I turn out to be, I will always be a sad child. I am somewhat glad to be here right now, I don't have to worry for not having a family, or feeling like no place is home, I don't have to worry about anything."

He noticed quickly that your worries didn't mention being kicked out or fighting with your mom or being apart from your dad, they were notions so intrinsic to you that they went beyond the daily nuisances.

"This situation kinda fucking sucks." Senku says referring to the petrification and you nod. "But at least you don't have to worry about any of that anymore."

A newly found silence between the two of you drowns the noise of the wind rustling the leaves of the trees and the ticking of the campfire. After some minutes Senku gets up and puts out the fire, he stands waiting for you to get up and once you do you get into the house. He still has questions, but would rather let you talk on your own accord.

"It's a little cold." You say.

"Well yeah, my sleeping bag went into making your stupid jumpsuit." He points out.

"Can you make me a plushie? I need to sleep hugging something." You sit down on the wooden floor.

"Sure, I will catch that bunny and make a plushie out of its skin." He sits too before laying down on the pillow he made.

"You factually cause my soul to lose color." You let your back drop to the floor. "If you do that to my bunny I might kill you back."

A shared laughter in the darkness. His hands are fidgety, you are careless.

"If you feel bad you have to tell me. You are my only helper and I can't go back to being overworked." He says with some tenderness in his voice. "Whatever it is, if it's affecting your capability of working, you need to tell me. I will listen to you no matter how long the ramble is."

"Okay."

"Do you want to talk about what you were thinking before you got petrified?" He asks being unable to say it like it was.

"No. Let's forget about that part." With your denial he doesn't know how to insist.

"Then promise that you won't think about that ever again." He grabs your shoulders.

"I don't think I will have reasons to." With all honesty you say but he shakes you. "I promise."

"When you are ready to talk about it, I will listen... or whatever." He turns around.

It is still cold, and the wood is no comfortable bed, and you have nothing to hug, but it is a good night. Even if there is no electricity, or a bathroom, or good food... you shush your brain before it ruins the bliss. You can't simply stop thinking, so you focus instead of reliving the day in your mind. After an unknown amount of time, your eyes start to feel heavy. You turn to the side and poke Senku's arm with a finger, no response, so you slide an arm around his waist and rest your cheek against his back.

He curses himself in his mind for having pretended to be asleep, but lets you hug him nonetheless.

taglist: @thelonestarinthesky

[creaman]

Hi there! I apologize for taking up your time, I am just so curious: When you tackle a comic, what does the process behind it look like?

Asking because I found myself scrolling through your blog once again and couldn't help but marvel at all the beautiful effects you use, at how flawlessly the structure guides the viewer's eye across each page, how the graphic weight seems to always be in just the right places…, and wonder how you learned doing this. Everything you put out looks incredibly professional and I aspire to reach your level of skill 😌❤️

Thank you Finz!! You're no bother at all, I'm an open book. This is such high praise for a guy that really doesn't have a set process, I feel like a hack. Ha. Rest assured my style is still developing. Besides the referencing of the linework and composition of official comic books, (practicing by redrawing panels for fun), explaining the process makes me feel like a serial killer but I will do my best.

(WIP Riddler panel, scrapped Scarecrow composition)

My comics usually stem from a single panel or concept — I like to focus on/emphasise particular panels of my pages, the heavy hitters, the main piece that catches your eye. I know I'm not a profoundly technically proficient artist so I prefer visually interesting elements and formatting, i.e. drawing characters outside their frames, negative space, notation, perspectives etc.

(Kung Fu Panda 4 sketch god I hate Kung Fu Panda 4)

I like to establish 'main focus' panels, the bits of the comic that really, well. make people want to chew on it. This is where the technical effort is concentrated, really, and the rest of the comic is generally build around these concepts.

('Restaurant Balthazar' focus panels)

Textures and effects are done on individual panels first, then the entire page as a whole to even out the unity. Generally, blocking in shadows, hatching for visual interest + middle tones, then textures/half-tones, then highlights.

(Script excerpt WIP)

I'm not a writer per se, but having a vague 'script' in your pages helps with pacing and direction. Comics are a versatile story-telling medium. I only really do scripts for comics longer than 2 pages. An optional but recommended strat is to send your script to a friend for a second opinion.

(Script excerpt — 'Restaurant Balthazar', annotated by @vincepti0n I don't know why he drew a face in the middle)

With the script crudely slapped together, I rough out the thumbnails and composition with the text, prioritising coherence and clean integration of previously mentioned 'main focus' panels.

Settling on a composition sucks the hardest. Drawing is fun, thinking makes brain hurty. Variety is good! Close-ups, wide shots, visual metaphors. Every panel is its own artwork.

The text bubbles are usually added in post, yes, but I'm just one guy and I don't have a writer to call me a good boy for doing things correctly. Bite me.

(Early 'Restaurant Balthazar' drafts)

In addition, keeping the text graphics in mind help create a sounder composition wherein even if the panels don't read cleanly left to right + top to bottom, the text can stagger and create the same reading order effect.

Panels and concepts are constantly tweaked, and my comic process is still highly experimental. A lot of industry standard comics aren't illustrated to their full potential due to deadlines and such — I strive for visual epiphany by treating each panel as its own artwork, and every page as a a bit of a mural.

(Old art hurts the soul)

Constantly experimenting allows you the insight of looking at your current art in comparison to your older works. In more recent works, I've been blocking in more shadows wiht lineart with thinner lines and more line weight, and learned to integrate the subject characters with less plain, abstract backgrounds.

TLDR: I have no idea

[glassica]

The Man of Your Dreams

Notes: M!yan spirit x F!reader, paranormal, reincarnation, implication of death & murder, supernatural, lucid dream, possession, sexual acts, implication of masturbation

Some nights, when you still lying awake alone on mattress, you could’ve heard the sound of banging on door and knob turning over incessantly. “It’s just the wind,” your roommate shrugged. Make sense, but you couldn’t brush off the feeling that someone is trying to enter the room.

Then some times later those eerie sounds stopped and finally you could put aside that unexplained fear for good. This was also around the time you started dreaming about a strange man. Not so model-handsome, but certainly charming and approachable. Right at first meeting you knew he was the perfect kind of lover you wished for. Even as dreams, the exchanges were more dynamic and effortless than with any dates you went to in real life. He was attentive to your thoughts, always recalled what brings you joys or sorrows, even the hidden secrets you had yet open up. It was safe to conclude he know more about you than yourself.

Dreams of him. Once every few months. Then fortnight. Then weekly. And now was every nights. You had discarded the real world. No longer looked forward to the first light of new day, your true life began when moon hung amidst sparkling stars and the mind drifted away into the dreamland, into his warm presence. So what if he was just an illusion, a likely product of subconsciousness? When he wrapped you tightly against chest, adorning on your neck thousands of butterfly kisses before taking off the fabrics witheld the treasure he’d craved to taste it whole. When he bit and sucked senselessly your nipple while pinching the other til both were pinky, harderned and wet in saliva. When his shaft hurriedly drilled in and out yours from the back while hands busy squeezing pair of dough so reddened from someone’s loving slaps. By the time waking up, panties embarrassingly sloppy and the tip of fingers solidated from you-know-what. Your roommates teased, what kind of wild thoughts you’d been entertaining lately?

But soon the teasing turned to clear concern. Forget close circles, everyone you met outside could sense the lifelessness of your manners. They started noticing the fatigue evident on those eye bags, the back hunched over and footsteps dragging wearily on floor. It was difficult to put in words, but it seemed as if the soul of yours was draining day by day, metaphorically and literally. You skipped classes, declined hangouts, even stopped visiting home on weekends just to get more sleeps. To get more time with him. 

So the roommates sat you down. They were glad your all-nighters had ended, nevertheless everything too much wasn’t good. Did you suffered from any illnesses or troubles, and if you needed to see doctors. In response you just waved hand with disinterest. Why should they care? It wasn’t that serious!

“You know love, my friends and family are so annoying. They keep nagging me that I sleep too much, when just some times ago it was also them telling me to stop competing with owls!”

You rolled over, nuzzling your face in his chest. It was after another steamy round, the two laid there cuddling, letting yourselves soaked in each other’s gentle warmth. Like always, you began telling him about things happened in real world, though you barely remember what your days were like anymore.

“In other words they want you to spend less time on your lover,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand on your back, “I told you so. They are a jealous, petty bunch. Not worth anything.”

“Um, that’s kinda harsh. I’m bothered by their scolding but that doesn’t mean I don’t get them. It’s true that I’ve been neglecting myself in reality a lot now.”

“...”

You got that chills running down the shivers again. Yes you were well aware how this man reacted to you defending your close people in real life, but wasn’t it time for him to start warming up on them?

…Nevermind, you should said something to distract him instantly. It was pure wish-fulfillment to hope he could be civil about your friends and family, please give up.

“A- Anyways, I’ve thought about this for long. Isn’t it tragic that we can’t see each other outside of dreams?”

“Indeed. If I could, I would’ve met and snatched you from these pests earlier,” he pulled your chin up, forcing your mouth opened for a wet kiss, “but God wasn’t fair. I wasn’t allowed to reincarnated on human’s realm again. That’s why I could only pine after you mindlessly as a lost spirit.”

“You don’t remember, but we were a couple in our previous lives. On your deathbed, I had sworn to find and keep you tight if we were to reborn in this world. You may look different from your past life, but I recognized your soul immediately. I’m such a wonderful partner, no?! I’m hurt that you went on dates with those worthless stupid guys when you had an amazing husband right there!” 

His words were sweet like honey, but the tone suggested otherwise. You thought you’d seen the worst of his madness, but that staled in comparison to the storm reflecting on his pupils. Towering on your body and both arms putting down beside your head resembling a cage, for the first time ever did you ever had an accurate visualization of how facing a devil feels like. 

“Well but you already know, I didn’t, or more like, couldn’t reborn. My soul is forced to wander on living realm for who knows how long. In the mean time, you will move on, you will marry some idiot, have kids, pass away for a second time in front of my own eyes, and I still not get out of this limbo!” - he growled angrily, thumbs caressing your neck, “So maybe, maybe if we can’t reunite in this life, you could join me instead. It’s okay. As long as we are together. As long as you stay by my side. As long as you’re forever mine.”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

Next morning, your family opened the phones to see hundreds of missed calls and texts from the roommates. Everyone woke up, except you.

[disappointmentofthefam]

Love? Love. (part 3)

Andy barber x reader

author's note:im so tired only death can fix me

.....................

Andy woke up early the next morning.

6:00 a.m.

She smells so good

6:04 a.m.

God the way she looks away when she's all shy and cute

6:10 a.m.

you wore those shorts on purpose yesterday, didnt you?

6:45 a.m.

His hand is stroking his morning wood over the sheet.

it's wrong its wrong it's so so wrong

but it's her.

her. her on her knees.

"look at daddy, sweetheart,look at me while i ruin you," she looks up at me, mascara running down her bambi eyes as she drools around my cock.

"feel good,baby? you like being daddy's little cumslut? like it when he uses your mouth? I bet your little pussy is dripping just by sucking on daddy's big cock"

she. fucking. moans. around. it. FUCK!

Andy's hands speed up, vigorously rubbing his fat, hard cock, beads of precum spilling from the pink head of his cock.

i pull myself from her mouth, "youre such a filthy little girl," I take ahold of my cock and slap the sticky head on her cheeks "no,no baby, tch tch,"

"open your eyes, look at daddy"

FUCK! the image of you looking up at him with those teary eyes while he slaps your cockdrunk face with his meaty head is too much for him. With a few more strokes,he cums all over his hands, stomach and sheets, a blissed out smile on his face as he turns to the bedside clock- 7:25 a.m.

less than 12 hours till he gets to fuck see you.

AND LESS THAN AN HOUR TO HIS COURT HEARING!

He rushes to get ready and leaves the house, thankfully reaching just in time.

........................

y/n wakes up and immediately wishes she hadn't.

as if it wasn't bad enough to try to kiss the man who lived literally opposite to you, but she also had to go to his house 5 days a week.

"you're a big girl, y/n" her friend's voice comes through the phone, "so what? you misread the situation and tried to kiss him, no big deal."

"NO BIG DEAL?" y/n screeches into her pillow, "the first time I come onto a man and HE LIVES LITERALLY NEXT DOOR WHAT WAS I THINKING"

The rest of her day, she is plagued by the thoughts of Andy.

9 a.m. Physics class

wait, what if he was trying to kiss me back

11 a.m. Math class

No,he wouldn't.

1 p.m. Lunch

but would he?

........................................

6 p.m.

All day Andy has been in an unfamiliarly pleasant mood, he even brought flowers as he left his office unusually early.

lillies? no, I think she's more of a tulips girl. But what about sunflowers. And now that I'm already at trader joe's how about condo-

CALM DOWN! fuck fuck fuck! you'll only creep her out.

7:30 p.m.

Andy is fuming.

his gritting teeth, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering, the low murmurs from his lips, all can be heard despite the clatter of the traffic.

Y/n ,on one hand is relieved

well, one less awkward rejection

on the other hand, her mind is working over time.

what if he is intentionally ignoring me?

what if he thinks I'm a loser-college-freak who kisses and becomes obsessed with any guy who is nice to her.

what if, her breath hitches, what if he has a girlfriend

Jacob notices the sudden stiffness in Y/n's body, "Are you okay y/n?", He asks with his eyebrows pinched with concern.

"Oh! yes, yes I'm alright, all fine".Y/n smiles.

After a few more minutes of studying, Jake suddenly speaks up, "You know, dad was really happy when you came over yesterday,"

y/n's heartbeat quickens,"What do you mean, jake?"

"Well, I don't know,but I've never seen him smile like that."

"Like what?"

"Like...." he pauses for a moment, "Like you know how sometimes as a little kid, you get lost in the grocery store. You can't find your mom and you get scared. But then you see her and she was over there the whole time, picking out your favorite chocolates, and you run upto her,your smile is the biggest ever"

y/n giggles at Jacob's absurd metaphor but then again, he was quite mature for his age.

"so am I the cashier of the grocery store in your little metaphoric world?"

"no ,y/n, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you were the smile on my dad's face"

"Jacob....."

The sound of Andy's car pulling into the driveway catches their attention.

Andy enters the house, 3 bouquets in his hand.

"Dad," Jacob smiles knowingly "who are those for?"

Andy's eyes try to find y/n's but she is looking at the floor, her breath obviously a little heavy, her cheeks flushed.

Andy ushers Jacob out of the room,"Come on, young man,take a break from all that studying."

y/n still isn't looking at him.

Andy settles down on his haunches before y/n and holds her chin between his thumb and he forces her to look him in the eyes.

"hi, angel"

"hey, Andy" The way she slightly shifts in her place on the sofa doesn't go unnoticed by Andy.

He picks up the flowers, "didn't know which ones you liked,so i tried my best three guesses."

The contrast of his dominant presence and the tenderness of his actions makes y/n melt into a puddle as she sheepishly plays with the collar of Andy's crisp white shirt.

"The sunflowers, Andy. I love them."

Andy picks the yellow bouquet and places it on her lap.

"I was correct,sweets," he rasps out, their lips mere inches away.

"well,technically, you were only 33% correct", she laughs.

"Well, I have got to shut your smart little mouth up"

With that Andy pulls her into a fierce kiss.

He rises onto his feet, pulling her with him.

The kiss is a perfect mix of y/n and Andy, teeth and tongue and smiles and small licks.

Their bodies were as close as they could be and it still wasn't close enough.

y/n pulls away first, out of breath and dizzy from being drunk on Andy's lips, only for Andy to chase her lips again.

"If it wasn't for the flowers, I would think you were trying to kill me, hogging practically all of my oxygen", she pants but smiles nevertheless.

"well if it wasn't for tutoring, I would think you came here just for me. did you sweetheart? did you wear this cute little dress just for me? "Andy tuts her again as she tries to hide her face into his chest, "look at me while I'm talking to you, baby."

y/n looks up at him and fuck is it a sight to behold.

Pupils blows out, her lips pouty and her lipstick slightly smudged, her flustered gaze as a small smirk forms on her lips, "are you accusing me of trying to seduce you Mr. Barber?"

"yes"

"well, maybe you're right, I wore this dress just fir you," she pauses as she feels his hands pawing at her tits.

"go on," Andy says with a smug smile.

nuh uh Mr. Barber, I will not go down with out a fight,

"In fact, i did everything for you today. I put on makeup, wore my pretty heels, painted my nails, didn't wear any panties....."

The look on Andy's face is pained and he looks almost on the brink of losing control, "really?

y/n gingerly pulls one of his hands from her chest and slowly traces it up her thigh, "see Andy? why don't you check it yourself."

Andy slowly inches his hands towards her pussy when the sudden sound of the doorbell makes them jump from their places.

Andy pecks and bites y/n's lips, "Give me a sec."

"No,you cant answer the door like that"

"like what?"

y/n shyly eyes the bulge in his pants,"like that."

"shit! sweetheart, could you do it?"

y/n opens the door to a woman.

she looks around her early thirties, aroundAndy's age, she's thin and her brown hair are tied into a ponytail.

The woman gives y/n a pointed look.

"Hi, I'm Laurie, Andy's wife."

[noobiestnoober]

Hiiiiii! Love your Wesker’s Assistant series! I especially love the latest one with HUNK. May we have some more reader, Nemy and HUNK moments please? Maybe something chaotic and badass? Hahahaha

Keep up the excellent work!

Thank youuuu!

Wesker's Assistant Chronicles - Part 5

❄️ FIELD TESTED, EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED

Part 5 of Wesker’s Assistant Chronicles

Antarctica. Cold. Hostile. Definitely not approved for mic’d interviews and glitter bats. Too bad we came prepared.

A/N:

This chaotic installment is inspired by the anonymous request.

To which I said: Absolutely. And then I added subzero temperatures, a frozen Tyrant, and Nemesis re-braiding the reader’s scarf.

I hope this blend of emotional damage, mutant mayhem, and mic'd nonsense lives up to the chaos you were craving.

Thank you so much for the kind words and the idea—you lit the match. I just threw it into an Antarctic reactor.

Read the previous parts here:

Wesker’s Assistant Chronicles – Masterlist

A Wesker’s Assistant Mini-Special – Part 5

Previously in the series…

Wesker watched the footage in silence—Nemesis in a party hat, HUNK looking like he aged seven years in a single mission, and you, holding up a Twinkie like it was a victory flag.

He didn’t sigh. He didn’t curse.

He just quietly muttered, “Send her to Antarctica.”

Classified Log – Reassignment Order: Antarctica Deployment Location: Umbrella Antarctic Base Participants: H.U.N.K., Nemesis, Umbrella Assistant (Reluctantly Reassigned) Status: Experimentally Exiled

INT. UMBRELLA ANTARCTIC BASE – ARRIVAL BAY

The doors hissed open. A blast of ice and indifference greeted you like a slap to the face from Mother Nature herself. You stepped in like you were entering a ski lodge, arms outstretched. “Cozy,” you declared, your breath fogging up your face shield. “Smells like secrets, bad decisions, and at least one buried HR complaint. Possibly two.”

HUNK walked past you without a word, his entire posture screaming do not engage. His footsteps were clipped and efficient, the kind of pace a man sets when he’s internally screaming.

Nemesis followed behind, unbothered by the cold, his massive form dusted with snow like a festive nightmare. He carried your luggage. You didn’t ask him to; he just did.

You pulled your mic from your parka pocket.

“Operation: Cold Reception has begun. Status: freezing. Morale: dangerously high.”

Nemesis grunted approvingly.

INT. CRYO-WING – 16:00 HOURS

You took a deep breath, letting the icy silence settle before dramatically stepping forward, mic outstretched like you were hosting a true crime documentary.

“This,” you whispered dramatically, “is where they keep the emotionally repressed. It’s giving ‘ex-boyfriend energy.’”

Rows of cryo-pods lined the hallway, glowing pale blue. The hum of the generators was the only sound—until your boots squeaked with every step. You leaned in to a frosted pod, mic activated.

“Sir,” you asked the frozen Tyrant inside, “do you feel trapped by your conditioning, or is your cold shoulder just metaphorical?”

A crack ran up the glass like a bad omen.

HUNK was at your side in an instant, hand gripping your collar as he yanked you backward. “Touch anything else and I’ll personally freeze you myself.”

You adjusted your scarf with dignity. “Wow, okay, hostile environment.”

Nemesis silently draped a thermal blanket over your shoulders like a gentle yet horrifying nanny.

“See?” you said, beaming. “At least one of you cares about my wellness.”

INT. TEST LAB – 21:07 HOURS

You sat cross-legged on a dusty workbench, sipping hot chocolate from a mug labeled ‘Cryo-Queen’, while flipping switches with reckless confidence.

“Update,” you whispered into the mic. “Our emotional support mutant has adapted to the tundra. Our field commander is plotting my murder. I’ve found the good marshmallows in the supply closet.”

HUNK was in the corner trying to hotwire a panel with an expression that could curdle milk. Sparks danced behind him.

“Stop. Talking,” he barked.

You gave him a thumbs-up and sipped. “Too late. This is canon now.”

Nemesis stood in the background like a gothic statue, the glitter bat strapped across his back with pride, which you had gifted it to him before this mission. Occasionally, he shuffled snow into corners with surprising tidiness. You made a mental note to recommend him for janitorial MVP. “He’s the backbone of this operation,” you whispered proudly to your mic.

“Also,” you added, “I’ve nominated him for hallway maintenance duty. He’s very organized.”

INT. MAIN REACTOR CORE – 02:00 HOURS

It was supposed to be a routine sweep: check structural integrity, record data, leave. Instead, the facility alarms went off. The room was on fire. A mutant worm had launched itself at the ceiling.

Nemesis swung a steel pipe like Babe Ruth reincarnated. A screech echoed off the walls. HUNK was beside him, mag dump steady, eyes calculating every angle.

You? You were crouched behind a crate with your mic, narrating like you were hosting a wildlife documentary on fast-forward. You imagined David Attenborough quietly judging you from heaven—or wherever he spectated chaos.

“Here we see two natural predators in their element,” you whispered, crouched low and peeking over the crate with wide-eyed awe. “One is tactical, silent, deadly—he hasn’t blinked in an hour.” You zoomed in on HUNK with your mic like you were documenting a rare species. “The other is... covered in glitter. And rage. And I love him.”

The mutant launched again. You threw your clipboard at it like an Olympic discus.

“Note to self,” you muttered, “bring throwing stars next time.”

Nemesis roared like a freight train with hurt feelings. Something exploded behind you—possibly the mutant, possibly the cafeteria. You ducked instinctively as flaming debris flew past.

HUNK, covered in soot and visibly out of patience, kicked open an escape panel so hard it screeched like it owed him rent. “MOVE!” he barked, his voice cracking for the first time ever.

You dove through the opening with the mic still recording. “That concludes today’s field report,” you wheezed. “We rate this experience: 10 out of 10 emotional breakdowns.”

INT. OBSERVATION DECK – 04:00 HOURS

You laid on a bench wrapped in three blankets, mic still recording. Nemesis sat nearby, re-braiding your scarf because the wind messed it up. HUNK paced, checking his gear like he could will himself out of this narrative.

“You okay, team?” you asked, voice muffled by marshmallow breath.

HUNK stopped pacing. “No.”

You grinned. “Perfect. Let’s do this again sometime.”

Nemesis nodded solemnly.

EXT. ANTARCTIC SURFACE – EVAC POINT – 05:30 HOURS

Snow whipped around you with vengeance. The evac chopper’s blades churned the sky like it owed them money.

You were curled in your parka, eating a granola bar and broadcasting into the mic. “Mission complete. Ice broken. Literal and emotional. Results: fiery.”

HUNK sat slumped beside the bird, bruised, silent, recalculating every life choice that brought him here. Nemesis stared at the sun like he was pondering poetry. He offered HUNK a blanket. HUNK declined with a grunt, recoiling slightly like the warmth might infect him with feelings. Nemesis then offered you one. You accepted and tucked it over both of them.

“We are a team,” you said. “The worst team. But still.”

Post-Mission Debrief – Wesker’s Desk, Somewhere Warm

Wesker stared at the screen, stone-faced.

You feeding Nemesis soup.

HUNK manually rebooting a reactor while muttering death threats.

You trying to knit them matching beanies labeled “Cryo Bros.”

Nemesis doing yoga.

He closed the laptop with a click that echoed like the crushing of distant dreams. For a long moment, he just stared at the blank screen, expression unreadable—but one vein in his temple visibly throbbed.

“She survived Antarctica,” he muttered, eyes narrowing like the words physically pained him to say aloud.

He opened a new file:

SUBJECT: Assistant Termination Attempts – Failed (5x)

Then scribbled one final note:

Consider sending her to space.

End Log.

PART 6 IS OUT!!! READ IT >>> HERE <<<

[deeps0uthdyke]

I don't want a 3rd szn without Izzy. I just don't. Call me dramatic or whatever, but I'm so genuinely heartbroken by his death. I feel so betrayed. Izzy was the heart of the show, and now he's gone.

The aftermath of his death felt rushed, he wasn't buried at sea (like what the fuck, a lifelong pirate like Izzy would've wanted to be buried at sea) and the crew was just happy to get back on the revenge and set sail without their unicorn? Everyone just gets a happily ever without Izzy? Izzy died a painful death shot by a pompous asshole and for what? Some metaphor about the end of the golden age of piracy? Piss off. Closure for Ed? That could've been achieved a number of other ways. Izzy couldn't get any assurances that HE was loved? Even on his fucking deathbed? The man who protected the crew with life and limb? It doesn't feel right, and it never will. Izzy deserved so much better, and so did Con.

And worst of all, perhaps, is that Djenkins was planning on killing him all along. The whole time, while we were falling in love with the little angry man, rooting for him and rejoicing when he wore makeup in front of the crew and was vulnerable with them...he was a dead man walking.*

*I've seen ppl make rlly good points about how death was treated throughout the show and I wanted to add that context here. If I can find whose post I'm thinking of, I'll tag them

**Edit: Izzy's death was an incredible shock. EVERYONE ELSE IN THE SHOW survived their near death experiences!!! Stede got choked near to death, stabbed (twice!), and survived all of that unscathed. Ed got his head smashed in by a FUCKING CANNONBALL, pumbled by the crew and made it out with barely a scrape. Even Calico Jack could've (apparently) escaped death after being shot with a goddamn cannonball. The Swede was poisoned but was already immune to it. Wow! We (at least I felt this way), as an audience, believed that there wouldn't be any character deaths due to the overwhelming evidence we'd been given thus far. So after alllll the in show evidence that the laws of medicine or physics don't apply to ANY of the pirates, why suddenly apply it when it comes to Izzy? Hmmm??? It makes no fucking sense. It's cruel and unusual punishment. They really killed off the queer disabled elder??? Jesus christ. Did not a single person in the writer's room have a qualm about it? The optics alone are bad. But more importantly, killing off the queer disabled elder is inherently political, whether djenkins thought of it that way or not (& i dont think he did). The mere existence of queer people is inherently political in a society (the US), which wishes for our eradication. So killing off a beloved queer disabled elder, on a show which seemed to promise us queer joy and a happy ending, IS POLITICAL. it's a slap in the face and a punch through the fucking gut.

It feels doubly awful because we, as an audience, were given something we've never had before, an unapologetically queer show. One that didn't soften or censor itself for straight viewers. It was created with such love, at least it felt like, for us. So to be given that gift, and to feel recognized and seen and appreciated, only to have it snatched away...

I can only speak for myself, of course, but it's genuinely heartbreaking. I'm so utterly disappointed. I wish so badly that Con got more time with Izzy. I think Izzy means a lot to him, and he means a lot to us, too.

❤️‍🩹🦄❤️‍🩹I love you, Izzy, and I always will. Rest in peace, my little meow meow, you were and are so loved.❤️‍🩹🦄❤️‍🩹