jadewolf22

[jadewolf22]

[reader’s blog]

So this 42yo woman told me to do whatever I wanted to do to her so I took my makeup bag and gave her a makeover. This bitch looks so pissed off for some reasons

(just had fun editing my fav girl with makeup on so I thought I would use it here)

[jadewolf22]

Found this brightened version of the scene without the music here

Gotta say, it makes things much more... visible <3

[jadewolf22]

Rule of Legends... This actually fits really well with the theme of a WIP I'm working on that doesn't have an official title... Might use it.

Spin this wheel first and then this wheel second to generate the title of a YA fantasy novel!

(If the second wheel lands on an option ending with a plus sign, spin it again)

Share what you got!

[jadewolf22]

A-fucking-men!! Couldn't have put it better myself.

Okay. I need to talk about this otherwise I WILL explode. If you don't want to know anything about Wednesday Season 2 from the clips on Thingtok then this is your warning to not read on from here. If you don't mind it, then go on ahead! Principal Barry Dort. This man INFURIATES ME. AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW HIM. It was the comments about Weems that got to me. Walking around the place talking about "righting her wrongs", GET OOOOOUUUTT. He acted like she was some mindless Principal who did everything she did because she was just bitchy and had some sort of prejudice against normies. That wasn't what she was about at all. To put shade on her name when she literally DIED for the kids at Nevermore is WILD. Now I'm not gonna sit here and be the person who preaches that their favourite character could do no wrong. Obviously some of the things Weems did were morally (and legally in some cases) wrong. Covering up a death with her Outcast abilities, for instance. She is a morally grey character, that I will acknowledge. But the things she did were never done with the wrong intentions. Nevermore and its inhabitants were Weems' pride and joy, she would've done and did anything in her power to protect them. It is absolutely infuriating to see her actions dismissed and mischaracterised by this guy. I know he's probably supposed to be that way but I don't care, it really got on my nerves ;-; Weems didn't get everything she did right, but she was trying, doing her best to do what she saw was right for her students. As anyone in her position should. She was, in the end, willing to hear Wednesday out and even went along with a plan that I can only imagine sounded bizarre to her when it was explained. After everything Wednesday had done, she should've realistically just sent her off back to her family. But she listened, and she went along with it because she genuinely cares for her students, Wednesday included. She was prepared to die for them, and she did. Dort coming onto the scene and immediately outright shaming Weems' decisions and actions in regards to both the Hyde situation and her handling of Normie relations grinds my gears so hard they are spitting SPARKS. The feminine rage rn

[jadewolf22]

I am genuinely nauseous over what they’ve done

The smear campaign upsets me on a level unknown to man, it made me sick and I want to throw hands with everyone involved.

[jadewolf22]

Fanfics? Someone?? Please??!!

i have no idea how to name ship Leblanc x Ambessa BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH

[jadewolf22]

Thank you so much, @h3llbutterfly for the tag!!

@weemssapphic @weemsfreak @blondelover2772 @vii-v @barbarasstar

favirote moots?

(People you tag have to reblog and say their favorite moots)

Okay wait

@ibrokeurheartbcuzubrokemine @foliverfalls @allyeilishh @addisonraesbaby @emiliesblohsh @bilsslut @noodleswashere @bilsbabyy @bitchesbrokenpromises @billsdollie

[jadewolf22]

Ghosts

Larissa Weems x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Grief, verbal aggression, light physical contact, mentions of coma and ventilators, etc.

Summary: After seeing Principal Dort slander your mother in a public video, you storm Nevermore Academy to remind him that ghosts don’t always stay buried.

A/n: I cannot even begin to express how pissed off I was when I saw this video. I couldn't make it past the first 30 seconds without wanting to throw my phone across the room. Fuck Dort. Fuck Netflix. Fuck anyone who thought slandering Weems (and, by default, slandering Gwen's role) in that video was okay.

Word Count: 1,019 words

You hadn’t even made it through the full video.

He blamed her for the attack on Nevermore, said that “her repugnant devotion to all things normie was a disaster,”, as if your mother hadn’t spent her entire career shielding that school—and every ungrateful soul inside it—from the world outside.

The moment Principal Dort’s smug face filled the screen, you were already on your feet. You didn't bother to grab a coat. Your hand shook around your phone as you slammed it screen-down onto the kitchen counter and marched for the door. There was no time for rationality. No patience for protocol.

He wanted to talk about your mother?

Fine. He could say it to your goddamn face.

---

Nevermore Academy looked even worse than you remembered it. Grey and skeletal beneath the overcast sky, the once-beautiful facade now resembled a mausoleum. A sick joke, considering what you’d come for.

You stormed through the gates like you owned the place. Your boots hit the stone steps like war drums. When the admin assistant tried to stop you, you barely spared her a glance. One flash of your ID and she paled, visibly, before letting you through.

Good. Let them shake. Let them remember.

Principal Dort’s office door—no, her office door—was already open when you arrived.

“Can I help—?”

“Do you really think you can say that shit about my mother and not expect someone to show up?” you snapped, stepping inside the space and slamming to door closed with a bang like a gunshot (something your mother would have screamed at you for). “Or did you forget she has a daughter?”

He blinked once. “Miss Weems, I assure you I—”

“Oh, spare me the bullshit,”

You crossed the threshold, every ounce of grief and rage twisting in your chest like a knife. Dort’s expression shifted from practiced calm to something a bit more defensive, though he stayed seated, folding his hands on the desk—your mother’s desk—like he actually thought he was in control of this conversation.

“I don’t know what you think you saw,” he began, “but I was asked to comment on the administrative legacy of my predecessor. That’s not slander, it’s—”

“You called her a failure,” you interrupted. “You blamed her for everything. You dragged a dead woman’s name through the mud like it was sport. And for what?”

His mouth tightened. “This institution needs transparency. It’s not my fault if people are only now realizing how deeply flawed her tenure was.”

You laughed—harsh and humorless. “Right. Because under your leadership, it’s going to go so much better.”

He stood at that, as if height might help him win. “She protected liabilities. Let a violent woman into this school. She got herself killed.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Your voice had dropped to a whisper, but it carried like thunder. The air between you turned electric.

“You think you can rewrite the story because she’s not here to tell it?” you hissed. “You think that little performance was going to make people forget who she was? What she did for this school?”

Dort circled around the desk, frustration etched deep in his brow. “You’re upset, I understand that. But you’re grieving, and it’s clouding your judgment.”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” you said, stepping back. “Don’t you dare weaponize my grief to justify your mediocrity.”

He reached for you—too fast, too desperate—and his fingers caught your wrist.

Wrong move.

Before you could stop yourself, your free hand whipped upward and cracked hard across his face.

The slap echoed through the office.

Dort stumbled a step back, stunned silent.

You yanked your arm away and stood your ground, breathing hard, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

“You touch me again,” you said coldly, “and I’ll make sure your career ends faster than hers ever did. And if you ever open your mouth about her like that again, publicly or otherwise, I will come back here and that slap will be the least of your problems.”

He blinked, a hand rising slowly to his cheek. “Is that a threat?”

You tilted your head.

“No,” you said. “That’s a promise.”

You turned to leave. Every inch of you wanted to run—run from the weight of it all, the pain clawing at your ribs—but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

You made it to the doorway before his voice rang out again.

“She’s dead, you know,” Dort called after you.

You paused.

Then, slowly, you turned your head over your shoulder, just enough to meet his eyes.

“We haven’t seen her put in the ground yet, have we?”

The color drained from his face.

You left him standing there, too stunned to follow.

---

Home was quiet when you got back.

The sun had gone down during your tirade, leaving the windows silvered with moonlight. You shut the door gently behind you. Your chest still heaved from the argument, your fingers itched from the slap, but the rage had quieted—cooled into something quieter, something that burned lower but deeper.

You made your way upstairs, past the familiar paintings, past the dusty shelves she used to straighten even when they didn’t need it. You paused outside the guest bedroom door. Your hand hovered for a second before you pushed it open.

The air inside was colder, humming with the faint noise of machines.

There she was.

Your mother. Larissa Weems.

Lying in the bed, pale and still and impossibly beautiful even in sleep. Her platinum hair spread like silk over the pillow. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator, steady and mechanical. Beeping monitors and IV lines were the only proof of life in the room.

You crossed to her side.

Gently, reverently, you reached for her hand—the one that had once smoothed your nightmares away, adjusted your collar before exams, held your chin during lectures and whispered, “Chin up, darling. You are a Weems.”

Your fingers curled around hers.

“They’ll regret underestimating you,” you whispered, forehead gently resting against the back of her hand. “They always do.”

Because ghosts never rest easy.

And your mother?

She wasn’t done haunting them yet.

[jadewolf22]

The Protector She Raised Pt.3

Larissa Weems x Daughter OC (HelenaWeems)

Series Warnings: Mentions of attempted murder, PTSD, Hurt/comfort, mentions of absent parents, angst, fighting (verbal), detailed account of assault & torture, possessive/protective family members (both Larissa and Helena), etc.

Chapter Warnings: Verbal fighting, dysfunctional family, overbearing parent, etc.

Summary: After Larissa’s brush with death that year her daughter, Helena, joins the Nevermore staff in an attempt to keep tabs on her mother. But Helena, plagued by visions of both the past and the future, soon realises that what Laurel started isn’t over and must choose between her mother and her morals.

A/n: I apologize for the slow start, but I promise things start picking up a bit in the next chapter.

Word Count: 1,300

That week, lessons went just as smoothly as they had the first day. Helena had easily found her rhythm, and the students seemed genuinely engaged—even Wednesday. 

But, of course, the smooth sailing didn’t last long.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the greenhouse windows, casting golden streaks across the long wooden tables. Helena moved through the room with the quiet efficiency of someone who knew exactly what needed to be done. She set out fresh soil samples, arranged trays of seedlings, and prepared a list of talking points for today’s lesson. Everything was meticulously in place.

The only thing she wasn’t prepared for was the sudden presence of her mother.

The door creaked open, and Helena felt it before she saw it—that distinct, looming presence that she had spent the better part of her life trying (and failing) to avoid.

Larissa stepped inside the classroom, poised as ever, her long coat flowing behind her like a cape. Helena didn’t turn to greet her. Instead, she kept her hands busy with the plants in front of her, lips pressing into a thin line as she waited for whatever her mother had come to say.

“I’ll be sitting in on your class today,” Larissa said, her voice smooth but undeniably authoritative.

Helena stilled for half a second before forcing herself to continue with her work. “Oh, will you?” she replied, keeping her tone neutral.

Larissa stepped further inside, heels clicking softly against the stone floor. “Yes. As headmistress, it’s my responsibility to ensure that the new faculty members are up to standard.”

Helena finally turned to face her mother, fixing her with a flat, unimpressed stare. “You don’t do that for the other teachers.”

Larissa’s expression remained unreadable. “The other teachers didn’t go over my head to get their positions.”

Ah. So they were still on that.

Helena crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head slightly. “I didn’t realize you were so eager to hold a grudge, Mother.”

Larissa’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This isn’t about grudges. This is about making sure you understand that I run this school—not you.”

Helena smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Duly noted,” she said lightly, turning back to her plants. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to prepare for.”

Larissa didn’t move.

Helena ignored her.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Finally, Larissa let out a quiet hum, as if she were already evaluating Helena’s reaction. “I’ll take a seat in the back,” she said simply. “Don’t let me distract you.”

Helena grit her teeth behind closed lips.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell her mother to get the hell out of her classroom and let her do her job without the suffocating weight of her constant supervision. But she also knew how to pick her battles. And right now, fighting Larissa would only make it look like she had something to prove.

So instead, she forced herself to exhale, to unclench her jaw, and to turn away from her mother as if she didn’t care at all. “Do whatever you want,” she said breezily.

And with that, she focused on her work, refusing to let Larissa get under her skin.

But oh, was it a challenge.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the students arrived, they filed in with their usual energy—some bright-eyed and eager, others dragging their feet as if showing up to class was a punishment. The room filled with the usual shuffle of chairs and the murmur of conversation.

Then they saw the headmistress.

The mood shifted instantly. Conversations halted. A few students exchanged wary glances, clearly wondering why the most powerful woman in Nevermore had decided to grace their classroom.

Helena didn’t acknowledge Larissa’s presence.

She simply leaned against her desk, arms crossed, and addressed the class as if everything was perfectly normal. “Alright, settle down. Today we’re discussing plant hybrids and their unique genetic adaptations, so let’s get started.”

The students hesitated, their eyes flickering toward Larissa, as if waiting for an explanation.

Helena offered none.

Slowly, the lesson moved forward. At first, there was an undeniable stiffness in the air, the unspoken tension of having an audience. But Helena was good at what she did. She spoke with confidence, guiding the discussion effortlessly, asking pointed questions and challenging the students to think beyond the basics.

Through it all, Helena could feel her mother’s eyes on her. Watching. Evaluating. Judging.

But she refused to let it rattle her.

She spoke as if Larissa weren’t there.

She moved through the room as if she were the only authority figure present.

And by the time the class had fully engaged, it was almost easy to forget that her mother was sitting in the back, observing her every move.

Almost.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment the last student had exited the room, Helena braced herself.

Larissa stood from her seat with the kind of slow, deliberate movement that only meant one thing—she was about to say something that would piss Helena off.

And sure enough, she did.

“You’re competent enough in the classroom,” Larissa said, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her dress. “But your posture is too casual. You let them get too comfortable.”

Helena inhaled slowly through her nose. “That’s how I teach,” she said evenly.

Larissa raised a brow. “You mean, that’s how you want to teach.”

Helena’s fingers curled against the edge of her desk. “If you have a problem with my methods, you can take it up with the school board,” she said, the sharp edge in her voice unmistakable.

Larissa narrowed her eyes slightly. “Helena—”

“No,” Helena cut in, voice rising. “I know exactly what you’re doing. You came here today not to evaluate me, but to remind me that you’re in charge. You’re trying to make me feel like a child again, like I need to prove myself to you.”

Larissa’s expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something sharp.

“I simply wanted to see how you conduct yourself in a professional environment,” she said smoothly.

Helena scoffed. “Bullshit.”

A tense silence fell between them.

Then, Larissa crossed her arms. “You may not like it, but I am the headmistress, and I will oversee my faculty as I see fit.”

Helena let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because you love pulling the strings, don’t you?”

Larissa’s lips parted slightly, as if the accusation had caught her off guard.

Helena took a step closer, eyes flashing. “I’m not your fucking puppet, so I would appreciate it if you would quit trying to pull my strings.”

The words rang out, sharp and final, cutting through the room like a blade.

For the first time since Helena had arrived at Nevermore, Larissa Weems looked genuinely speechless.

Helena didn’t wait for her to recover.

She grabbed her bag, brushed past her mother, and stormed out of the classroom without another word.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helena spent the rest of the afternoon pretending that she didn’t feel bad.

She told herself that her mother had deserved it—that Larissa had been the one pushing, the one provoking, the one treating her like a child who needed to be corrected.

But the truth was…

There was something bitter in the back of her throat.

Because as much as she hated to admit it, she knew that she and Larissa would never stop doing this. Never stop arguing. Never stop pushing each other away.

And part of her wished—just for a moment—that it could be different.

But Helena was nothing if not stubborn.

So instead of apologizing, she threw herself into her work, into preparing for the next class, into ignoring the nagging feeling in her chest.

Because apologizing meant vulnerability. And Helena Weems did not do vulnerable.

Taglist: @barbarasstar, @notmeellaannyy, @ness029

(If you want to join my taglist, please leave a comment!!)

[jadewolf22]

The Protector She Raised Pt.2

Larissa Weems x Daughter OC (HelenaWeems)

Series Warnings: Mentions of attempted murder, PTSD, Hurt/comfort, mentions of absent parents, angst, fighting (verbal), detailed account of assault & torture, possessive/protective family members (both Larissa and Helena), etc.

Chapter Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: After Larissa’s brush with death that year her daughter, Helena, joins the Nevermore staff in an attempt to keep tabs on her mother. But Helena, plagued by visions of both the past and the future, soon realises that what Laurel started isn’t over and must choose between her mother and her morals.

Word Count: 1,390

Helena wasted no time in settling in that night. Her apartment in the teacher’s wing was small, quaint, with enough space for a small kitchen and sitting area as well as a decent bedroom. Her things were unpacked by dinner and she ate on the couch with her lesson plans spread out on the coffee table before her. 

Her circumstances were undesirable, to say the least. She was coming in midway through the second term—her predecessor, Laurel’s successor, had left rather unexpectedly, claiming that “the position was too strenuous to fill,”. Whether that was because of the stresses of being a teacher or Laurel’s reputation, Helena didn’t care. She had fought tooth and nail to get this position, and nothing was going to deter her from seeing the school year to an end without incident.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her classroom smelled of damp earth and freshly cut stems when she walked in for the first time that next morning, the faintest hint of floral sweetness lingering in the air. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting shifting patterns over the wooden tables lined with pots, gardening tools, and neatly arranged bags of soil. The greenhouse-like atmosphere of the botany classroom felt almost sacred in its own way—a controlled space where nature was meant to thrive, even in the presence of students prone to chaos.

Helena stood at the front of the room, her hands resting lightly on the desk as she surveyed the sea of young faces before her. Some students were watching her with open curiosity, others with skepticism. It wasn’t surprising—Nevermore students were accustomed to mystery, but new teachers were always under scrutiny, especially when they were replacing someone as infamous as Laurel Gates.

Helena had learned a long time ago that first impressions were everything. She wasn’t here to intimidate or impress them; she was here to teach. And, more importantly, to watch.

She allowed the silence to linger a beat after the final bell had rung before she finally spoke.

“Good morning, everyone. As some of you may have already heard, I’m Professor Helena, your new botany instructor.” Her voice was smooth and even, carrying a sense of quiet authority without trying too hard.

A few murmurs rippled through the class, but one voice cut through the noise.

“Is that really your last name?” Bianca Barclay—if the seating chart was anything to go bye—asked without invitation, leaning back in her chair with a knowing smirk. She was the kind of student who enjoyed testing new teachers, if only to see what they were made of.

Helena met Bianca’s gaze with a cool expression. “It’s not,” she answered simply.

More murmurs.

Bianca raised a brow. “So what is it, then?”

Helena could feel the weight of the students' curiosity pressing against her like a physical thing. 

She tilted her head slightly, offering Bianca a small, unreadable smile. “I’d rather not be called ‘Professor Weems.’”

That was all she gave them.

The murmurs grew louder, the realization sinking in for those who hadn’t connected the dots yet. Helena was Larissa Weems’ daughter. The daughter of the formidable headmistress herself.

Before the students could fully unravel that particular mystery, the classroom door swung open.

The murmuring died instantly.

Wednesday Addams stepped inside, dressed in her usual black uniform, her face a mask of impassivity. Her gaze flicked over Helena with the kind of assessment that most people would have found unsettling, but Helena wasn’t most people.

She had been waiting for this.

Helena clasped her hands together, nodding in greeting. “Miss Addams,” she said, her tone as calm as ever. “I’m glad to see you’ve chosen to rejoin the class, given your history with Mrs. Thornhill.”

A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the mention of the former botany teacher.

Wednesday remained unimpressed. “The curriculum is tolerable,” she said flatly. “And I’d rather not be forced into another elective with lesser intellectual merit.”

Helena raised a brow. “Ah. So you’re here because you’d rather not suffer through the mediocrity of other classes?”

Wednesday nodded, as if that was obvious.

Helena hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. I was under the impression that you enjoyed suffering.”

A few students chuckled under their breath.

Wednesday’s expression remained unreadable, but Helena caught the flicker of something in her dark eyes. Not quite annoyance. Perhaps mild intrigue.

“I do,” Wednesday admitted. “But only when it’s worthwhile.”

Helena allowed a small, knowing smile. “Then let’s hope I can provide you with suffering that meets your standards.”

Wednesday didn’t react beyond a slow blink, but Helena could tell she had won this round.

She turned her attention back to the class, brushing off the encounter as if it had never happened. “Now that we’ve established that I am, in fact, your new teacher, let’s get started.”

As she moved into the lesson, she kept a mental note of each student—who paid attention, who whispered under their breath, who seemed genuinely interested, and who was already counting down the minutes until class was over. But her focus kept drifting back to Wednesday.

It wasn’t just the girl’s intellect or her unsettlingly sharp demeanor that caught Helena’s attention.

It was her eyes.

Onyx. Cold. Sharp like cut obsidian.

The exact same as Helena’s.

She hadn’t thought much of it at first—dark eyes weren’t exactly rare—but the more she looked, the more she realized that Wednesday’s gaze held the same eerie depth, the same endless darkness that people had always found so unsettling in her own.

It was like staring into a mirror she hadn’t expected to find.

Interesting.

But for now, she set that thought aside.

The class moved forward, discussion flowing as Helena guided them through the lesson. She kept them engaged, keeping a careful balance between knowledge and challenge, giving them enough to think about without giving too much away.

And all the while, she kept an eye on Wednesday Addams.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the other students filed out of the classroom after the bell, Helena didn’t immediately call Wednesday’s name. She simply waited.

And, as she expected, Wednesday lingered.

The moment the last student had disappeared through the doorway, Helena turned her attention to the lone girl standing near the back of the room.

“I need a word,” she said smoothly.

Wednesday arched a single, unimpressed brow. “How ominous.”

Helena didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she gestured toward one of the empty desks. “Sit.”

Wednesday didn’t move. “If this is about my past encounters with botany professors, I assure you that my body count remains at zero.”

Helena smirked slightly. “Reassuring, but no. This is about something else.”

Wednesday hesitated for only a fraction of a second before moving to sit, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at Helena with quiet calculation.

Helena leaned against her desk, taking a breath before speaking. “I wanted to thank you.”

The words felt unnatural in her mouth, like something foreign and difficult to swallow. She hated expressing gratitude—it always made her feel like she was handing over a weapon for someone to use against her later. Vulnerability was dangerous.

But this? This needed to be said.

Wednesday’s gaze didn’t waver. “For what?”

Helena’s jaw tensed slightly. She hadn’t expected Wednesday to make this easy. Then again, why would she?

“For saving my mother’s life.”

There. The words were out. Unavoidable now.

Wednesday studied her, unblinking. “She would have done the same for me.”

Helena tilted her head slightly. “Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe not.”

She didn’t mean it cruelly—just honestly. She knew her mother, and she knew how Larissa operated. She protected the school, and she protected her students, but she didn’t take unnecessary risks.

And yet, for Wednesday, she had.

Helena didn’t know what to make of that.

Wednesday, for her part, seemed unimpressed. “Regardless,” she said, “your gratitude is unnecessary.”

Helena let out a dry, amused breath. “Trust me, Miss Addams, I am very aware.”

Wednesday stood. “Is that all?”

Helena considered her for a moment longer before nodding. “For now.”

Wednesday gave her a small, curt nod before turning on her heel and walking out of the classroom, leaving Helena alone in the quiet.

Helena exhaled slowly, her eyes lingering on the now-empty doorway.

Wednesday Addams was going to be a problem.

And she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing yet.

Taglist: @barbarasstar, @notmeellaannyy

(If you want to join my taglist, please leave a comment!!)

[jadewolf22]

This user is a fan of Larissa Weems

[jadewolf22]

ok, OK! hear me out

listen baby girl, I know Disney has been stinky lately. I know their live action remakes are cash grabs that dishonor the original work. I know Disney would never remake, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, in live action because it was a financial flop the first time around. But in a perfect world, where Disney would remake this movie into a quality live action film that has good writing, and honors the original work. In that world if they do remake, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, there is one woman, and one woman only whom I would want to play Helga Katrina Sinclair,

and that is Gwendoline Christie.

Tell me I'm wrong, a tall distinguished blonde, and an impeccable actress. Playing a mature villainess, who is beautiful yet unconventional, seductive and a genuine threat.

You're gonna look me in my eyeballs and tell me no.

I don't believe it.

[jadewolf22]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[jadewolf22]

Recom Sevika because I can 🫣❤️

[jadewolf22]

I think Sevika's first question at Jinx post-Silco's death, "Are you here to finish me?" tells us so much about the extent of the abuse Sevika had to endure at Jinx's hands. That question should've stopped people in their tracks. Sevika, who is not fragile, who is not hesitant, who takes beatings without complaining, and is explicitly framed as the one who keeps Silco's enterprise running (Finn researched that), is not defiant. Not bitter. Just… bracing. Because that's what you do when you live with the expectation of violence and no protection, or at least permission to defend yourself. That's abuse logic. That's survival calculation. That's the strategy you develop when you live under threat while having to stay functional.

It is so telling. I mean, we see Jinx humiliate and torture Sevika (and it takes quite some percentage of Sevika's total screen time in S1) to communicate her discontent to Silco. However, Sevika's initial reaction to Jinx implies that this was not the only instance of Jinx abusing Sevika. And Silco enabled it. Because Jinx is perfect. If she needs to hang Sevika's body from the ceiling and shame-mark her skin to regulate and express herself, he'll accept that. Jinx's abuse isn't treated as transgression; Silco accommodates it. And let's not forget that Sevika gave her arm to save Silco from one of Jinx's/Powder's bombs. And sure, Powder/Jinx mutilated Sevika unintentionally, but she also never shows any remorse, apologizes, or even notes that she didn't want to hurt Sevika.

In S1, we see Jinx belittle Sevika, insult her, abuse her (and her abuse absolutely qualifies as sexual assault!), and humiliate her. Functionally, Sevika is much more vital for Silco's operations (one of the things he needs her for is cleaning up Jinx mess, and Jinx loses her shit so hard over it, she makes an even bigger mess). Silco didn't just fail to intervene. He designed a system in which Jinx's unchecked volatility was normalized, while the people around her, especially Sevika, were told to manage, absorb, and tolerate it.

Sevika’s never bringing it up afterwards? Not stoicism. Trauma response. You don’t complain about mistreatment in a place where your abuser is glorified and protected by leadership. You endure, you go silent, and you build internal escape routes. You internalize.

Found family between Sevika and Jinx is not cute or wholesome. Because found family ≠ safe family. What we see is a trauma bond. It's an abuser maintaining emotional, functional, and social access to her victim through intermittent cycles of physical violence, emotional humiliation, 'helping/care,' and abandoning/letting down (you know, Jinx hiding away playing with her emotional support child Isha).

"But Jinx reconstructed Sevika's arm!"

Exactly! Horrific as fuck! It's not uncommon for abusers to find ways to keep access and control over their victims, maintaining dependence. Imagine your abuser literally shaping and branding your body (the arm literally blasts Jinx's theme song) like this. It's a constant reminder of who holds the power (e.g., bodily infrastructure, self-determination, functionality), who "helped," who owns the narrative of your survival/recovery. That's textbook coercive control: Do something "kind" to mask the ownership. Remind the victim of who holds the tools. Reframe "fixing" as restituation instead of access, but the fact that Jinx not once apologizes for anything she did to Sevika or the cause Sevika mutilated herself for physically, emotionally, morally, ethically, socially, is a dead giveaway. Embed yourself in their life. Hide behind emotions. Because how can anyone blame the abuser when they are hurting?

"But Jinx said, 'It was something I could fix.' She wanted to help"

Yes. 'Helping,' 'fixing,' or 'supporting' are common ways to keep access and control over their victims. (My mother, for example, offered me money when I was in financial peril.) I know how terrifying it is to be indebted to your abuser.

Note Jinx's wording, "It was something I could fix," instead of, "You needed a replacement," or let alone ask Sevika. "What do you need? What can I do? How can I help? Do you even want my help?"

So, Sevika's arm is about Jinx and her need to control, not Sevika's need for bodily autonomy. That's not compassion. It’s ownership.

Jinx can’t fix her own pain or losses, but she can control others, repurpose their injuries, and center herself in their recovery, using their bodies as her art project or redemption tool. The Jinx/Sevika duo is so fucking disturbing to me.

Free my woman! (Jinx apologists DNI)

[jadewolf22]

Arcane Master List

Ambessa (WIP)

Sevika (WIP)

Mel (WIP)

Jinx (WIP)

Vi (WIP)

Caitlyn (WIP)

Caitvi

Melvika (WIP)

Amvika (WIP)

[jadewolf22]

Caitvi Masterlist

Fluff 💕 Angst 💔 Hurt/Comfort 💜 Smut 💋

Series

One-Shots

Last Dance of the Night 💋