#If there's another dictionary source out there

[hubridbunny]

Love this, but I'm wondering about Minthy's name. Is that translation ("Minor/Second Glyph") based on Elvish, or Drowic? Because the drow word for two is dra (or draa), according to what I can find from The Forgotten Realms wiki and the Temple of Lolth.

I can't help it, I have to nerd out a bit here. Numbers in drow are just so beautifully regular, and honestly one of my favorite parts of the language.

Ordinal numbers are formed by adding " ar " to the end of a number (or just " r " if the number already ends in " a ").

The only exceptions are the words for first, second, and third, which are irregular.

Each number also has prefix and suffix forms, which are simply combined together to make larger/specific numbers.

(I'm sure 100 must have a prefix form, but I'm not sure what it is)

For example:

To say how many times something is done, just add " 'ena " to the end of the number's prefix.

(I assume it may be added to the cardinal number form when saying something like "16 times," but I haven't seen this confirmed anywhere.)

The only exception is the word for one time/once, which is irregular.

Nonspecific numbers (like none, some, many, etc) are another part of drow I really love, because of the elegant way they're used to form compound words like nobody, someday, etc... But I could seriously go on for hours, haha.

the "you have third son vibes" line is infinitely funnier if you're a tgirl minthara truther imo

[foryouthegays]

me: only talks when watching a movie i know everyones seen or is ok with me talking through, tells facts, lore, details

my dad: stfu

my dad: talks through every movie even if no one has seen it and doesnt acknowledge his hypocrisy

[dduane]

A homebrew Iliad project

I've been fiddling with this for a long time.

Backstory: I've been dabbling in various depths of the great wine-dark sea of the ancient Greek classics since I was about seven or eight. (Might have been earlier, but I have no data to confirm that.)

I know Greek mythology like the back of my hand. (...Insert here the inevitable sound of Scotty whacking his head into an Enterprise bulkhead.) I know... a lot. And—leaving all the other stuff I know about that no one here is gonna care about one way or the other—I've read the Iliad and Odyssey probably about twice a year for the last fifty years or so. Or maybe more.

To my grief, I don't have enough classical Greek (or good enough Greek of any kind) to do any kind of respectable new translation of the work. That's far beyond my scope, or my level of scholarship. But I can sure as hell do... a retelling? A restatement? I have a number of favorite translations to use as guides, and the Perseus digital library... and, you know, dictionaries. And I'm not afraid to use them. :)

...And I'm a storyteller, and have no shame about the possibilities inherent in going where lots of others of my tribe have gone before—in restatement or in fiction. So let's just call this "a homebrew version of a work that hasn't been out of 'print' for thirty-five hundred years" and leave it there. (Is this ὕβρις? Yeah, seems likely enough. Whether this is going to be a manifestation of the downfall of the Greeks, or of the Geeks, remains to be seen.)

Anyway: my plan is to start publishing books (i.e., chapters) of this homebrew Iliad in the Fic Foundry writing website that will be opening up at last sometime over the next couple of months. The first few books will be open-access: after that they'll go subscription. They'll come out at irregular intervals (because there'll be paying work going on as well. [resigned sigh: So what else is new.])

When starting a project like this it seems like it might be wise to, in a general way, set out the goals.

Ease of accessibility. Lots of people have never read this story, or have experienced it only in one kind or another of paraphrase. (Yeah, well, here comes another one.) For maximum accessibility, I think this means what I want to do is a prose retelling. Nor am I going to get too hung up on anachronisms in the prose style. I'm reaching for the around-the-campfire sound, a little; or the story told after dinner, in episodes (and let's not throw the beef bones at the bard, she's doing the best she can).

Fidelity to the source material. This is an old, old story that both ascends to surprising heights of feeling and amazing depths of cruelty. There are things in it that some modern readers are not going to like at all: particularly the graphic gore and violence of what is repeatedly described as "the world's greatest war story". But these aspects of the Iliad, and the frequently callous, cruel and misogynistic understructure of its story, come with the territory of the original. I will in appropriate ficcer's style add trigger warnings where I think they're needed.

Completeness of the story. The temptation is always going to lurk for an adapter to decide what's important and what can be thrown out. I'm hardly immune. But it's my intention to leave the structure as intact as possible. Some people will disagree with my choices. (shrug) People have been disagreeing about ways to handle this work for centuries. What'll a few more be, among friends?

...So that's the plan. When this material starts to be ready to appear online, I'll let people here know where they need to go to access it. And after that... we'll see how things go.

I'll start this story as its first tellers did, and ask the Goddesses of epic storytelling to stand by me and lend a hand telling this one. At the end of the day, it all comes down to one angry young man: Achilles, only son of King Peleus. Achilles was completely possessed by a bitter rage that brought a whole host of troubles down on the great army of the Greeks. That unquenchable fury sent many a strong man’s soul to the Underworld, and left their bodies feeding the dogs and the vultures, while Heaven’s intentions moved inexorably on toward the Gods’ final goal...

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Sup Currently im writing a military themed story and I want to know some useful phrases and (maybe???) some links to useful thingies. I am wrapping my head around researching way too much but I dont want to make my writing unrealistic T-T So any advice for that?

Some Military Vocabulary

terminology and slang

Aide-de-camp - a member of the personal staff of a general officer, acting as his confidential assistant

Blue Falcon - Someone who betrays you (buddy f’er)

Clandestine - Military activities intended to be kept secret or concealed

Chamade - Drumbeat of surrender

Chest candy - Decorations or awards on an officer’s dress uniform

Dream sheet - Job and assignment preference worksheet for cadets

Élan - A high-spirited morale usually associated with exceptionally self-confident and elite units

Expectant - A soldier who is expected to die from their injuries

Feu de joie - French phrase meaning 'fire of joy' describing a firing of muskets one after another, closely timed to make a continuous noise, in celebration

Garrison - A a military post, especially one that is permanently established; the troops stationed at a military post

Ground zero - Point of origin for violent activity (such as where a bomb hits); specific point directly below explosion of a nuclear weapon

Hangfire - Wait for orders

Infantry - A branch of an army whose soldiers are organized, trained and equipped to fight on foot

Insurrection - The process of rising up to challenge one’s own government

Jeep - Soldier just out of basic training

Meat wagon - Ambulance

Mess hall - Hall where service members eat their meals

Moonbeam - Flashlight

NVD - Night Vision Device

Oxygen thief - Recruit who talks too much

Sky blossom - Parachute

Smoke - To punish a soldier excessively for a minor infraction

Soup sandwich - A situation that was poorly planned or has gone terribly wrong

WTHR - Weather

Zone of fire - A particular area where a unit delivers or is about to deliver fire

Some Military & Warfare Tropes

False Flag Operation: Attacking another nation and making it look like someone else did it.

Peeling Potatoes: The commanding officer makes subordinates peel potatoes when they get out of line.

Sealed Orders: Sensitive orders aren't relayed until the last moment to prevent intel leaks.

War Is Hell: The work depicts war in a negative light, such as emphasizing that people get killed in wars and demonstrating the trauma suffered by those forced to endure the bloodshed.

We Have Reserves: This particular military doesn't consider it a big deal to have soldiers die so long as replacements are easy to obtain.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some references, do go through the links because there are so many more interesting ones I wasn't able to include here. Finding that balance when researching a story can definitely be a challenge. As you write, I think one thing that could help is to keep in mind your target audience. Would the flow be disrupted by adding a certain detail? Would it be better just to exclude it? For instance, including jargon or terminology that your readers may not be familiar with, but might be necessary for your story/character. So find that balance to retain it but in a way that includes some sort of explanation for your reader (e.g., through another character or through the narrator). And here are some tips to help guide you with the tropes in this genre (and the genre, in general). Hope this helps with your writing!

Update. DOD Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms ⚜ Naval Abbreviations ⚜ YouTube Channel: Military-Related. Thank you to @anumberofhobbies for these additional references!

[jeonstellate]

my future in your eyes

mingyu still holds onto you, even after all this time.

๑彡 kim mingyu x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 divorced!au/ex-husband!au, post-break up!au, exes-to-lovers!au — fluff

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.1K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from zack tabudlo’s as you are.

๑彡 if anyone's interested, here's a link to a prequel of sorts: forever by my side :]

Kim Mingyu is a man of confidence.

Not that he uses his confidence to swindle strangers, as the dictionary suggests the title means. Rather, he exudes confidence — regardless of what he does.

There is always an air confidence around him. He can be in clothes that don’t fit the event’s theme and he’ll still seem perfectly dressed. He can be barely conversant in another language and he’ll still sound like he knows what he’s saying. He can just be standing there, doing nothing, and he’ll still appear like he’s doing something right.

Some people mistake his confidence for arrogance. Most find it admirable. But, in truth, Mingyu hardly cares.

Especially if his so-called confidence vanishes whenever you are in the vicinity and within his line of sight. Just like now.

He sees you in a table with Seokmin. Your back is towards him but he recognizes you, anyway. Despite the distance, he has no problem witnessing how animatedly you talk with your common friend.

It’s almost like he is back in college: you and Seokmin in one row, him and Minghao a few rows back. He can almost hear Minghao state matter-of-factly, "You’re staring," like he often does back then.

Really, all that’s different is Minghao’s currently preoccupied being the groom to comment on his staring. (There are definitely more things that are different now, but he doesn’t want to even begin thinking about them.)

Seokmin catches his stare. Not soon after, specifically before Mingyu can even look away, he sees him leave the table. Seokmin throws him a familiar meaningful look before disappearing into the dance floor.

Truth be told, Mingyu’s confidence comes naturally. It isn’t something that he purposely channels. It’s just always there . . . unless you are involved. Then, suddenly, he has to painstakingly gather the confidence to be near you.

"Is this seat taken?" He tries his hardest to mask his awestruck look with one of kind politeness as he waits your response.

He almost forgot how to breathe when your eyes lock into his. "You may sit if you wish," you offer him a small, polite smile. "I don’t think he’ll be back anytime soon."

"Thanks." He effortlessly returns your gesture before situating himself on the chair your common friend abandoned. "How are you enjoying the party?"

"Really well, actually. I didn’t expect to recognize a lot of people from college." Your eyes don’t leave his as you answer. He tries not to stare back too intently, to look within your eyes to see something . . . anything. "And you?"

Mingyu waits for a beat, gathering enough confidence to say what he wants to. "Better now that you’re here." With me.

He lets out a barely audible embarrassed laugh. He has half a mind to take it back, but quickly changes his mind when he sees you biting your lower lip — an obvious attempt to stop yourself from laughing.

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. There’s pride in knowing he’s still able to make you laugh, despite it being your first meeting in literal years.

You look down in a presumable attempt to calm yourself down. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, though, as he refuses to lose you from his sight. As such, he immediately notices the sudden shift in your expression.

"You’re still wearing it." Mingyu follows your line of sight — and ends up looking at the source of your comment. His hand on the table, specifically the band of gold adorning his ring finger. "Our ring."

Our wedding ring.

You and Mingyu married soon after graduating from college. It had been a blissful marriage, one that filled a home with nothing but love and support.

Your divorce was on the basis of irreconcilable differences. It was a mutual decision, for the interest of your career paths diverging too far. There was never a bad blood.

"Ye— yeah." Mingyu stutters involuntarily. He clears his throat before continuing, "It’s a great conversational piece."

Although the divorce has been finalized years ago, Mingyu still plays the faithful and loving husband role in front of strangers. He uses the ring on his finger to his advantage: may that be to wordlessly signal that he’s already taken or to gain the favor of a potential sponsor.

Likewise, even if he knows the ring might be a disadvantage, he refuses to take it off — nor to purposely hide it from sight. The same way he never tells a stranger that he is no longer tied to someone else.

"Does it work?" You ask in wonder.

"We are conversing now, aren’t we?"

You chuckle, "Touché."

Mingyu wants to tell you that he hasn’t taken the ring off since you slipped it on his finger during your wedding. Not even after your divorce has been finalized all those years ago.

He wants to tell you his ring finger is thinner near his palm because of his adamant refusal to take his wedding ring off once in a while. Not willing to separate from the only physical reminder of your marriage, not even for a second.

He wants to tell you the ring is more than a conversational piece. He wants to tell you it’s his lifeline, something he can’t bear to lose. But he doesn’t.

Instead, Mingyu uses all the confidence he has gathered to ask you a simple question. "Dance with me?"

He offers you the hand adorned by his wedding ring. He tries not to show the uncertainty he feels by masking it behind a smile.

He almost lets out a relieved sigh when you place your hand on top of his. But he stops breathing momentarily when he catches sight of the sole jewelry adorning your hand.

"You’re still wearing it," Mingyu echoes your comment breathlessly. "Our ring."

He snaps his eyes back to your face, just in time to witness your smile widen. "Yeah," you say. "It’s a great talisman to ward off potential suitors."

He leads you to the dance floor, silently marveling at how your hand still fits perfectly with his. "Does it work?"

"It’s very effective," you assure him. "Although I don’t think it works well against ex-husbands."

Another slow song starts playing right when you reach the dance floor. You and Mingyu unconsciously claim your respective hand placements during your first dance — and for any waltz you danced after.

Then, suddenly, it’s like you traveled back in time.

Mingyu pulls you closer, a ghost of a smirk is at the edge of his lips. "I think it works well attracting ex-husbands."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 27

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You shiver as you pull closed the robe across your chest. Your gait is uneven but certain. There's no more pain but the tendons will never be as strong as they were. You can do most things but you don't think you'll be running any marathons.

Your teeth chatter as you enter the kitchen, moving through the dark. It's strange to think how easily you settled in. Well, it's much better than before.

It isn't the amenities that make you doubt. It's your acceptance. When you look out those large windows, you don't think of going out. Not far, anyhow. Not away from him. It's not exactly what you want, but what he wants. So far, that's kept you safe.

You take out a mug and bring it to the fancy machine with the glowing touch screen. No more whistling kettles and creaky cupboards. You don't let your mind wander about what this place is. That doesn't matter.

You put a pod in and tap start. The machine hums as it heats up the water for a cup of earl grey. You stand in the dark and shiver, shifting foot to foot on the cold tile.

The light flicks on. You don't look back. It's not the first time he's caught you creeping around in the shadows. You don't bother with the lights when you're just going to go back and hide in bed.

 A rush of air brushes your leg and something slaps onto the floor next to you. You turn and look down at the slippers beside your feet. Steve points down and a guilty smile curls your lips. He's a stickler.

You step into the slippers as the machine churns. You turn back and watch it spit out the tea. He stands beside you. You peek over as he lifts his hands. 

He signs at you. 'Very early.'

'My stomach's acting up again,' you say aloud, signing along. It helps to practice. You're getting better.

'Could have asked me' he moves his hands in a way where you can imagine his firm tone.

'I can do it.'

He frowns. He crosses his arms. You don't need a dictionary to translate that.

You try to move past him but he doesn't let you. He backpedals to the fridge and takes out the milk. He offers it to you.

You pour it and fold the top back in. He puts it away and stops at the fridge. He shuts it and looks at you. His eyes flick around.

"What's going on?" You ask as you pick up the mug, warming yourself as you hover it close to your nose.

He raises a finger and tilts his head. His eyes narrow. He leans and listens to the door of the fridge. He looks ridiculous.

"What is it?"

He wags his finger then taps his ear.

"You hear something?" You wonder. "Hm, maybe the machine?"

You point to the machine and he huffs. He comes closer, jutting his head forward as he searches for the source. You shrug. You don't hear anything.

He frightens you as he bends. He angles around then and grabs your hip. He presses his cheek to your stomach. He stands so fast he hits the cup with his head. You manage to move it away and miss your fingers with the dribble.

"Steve."

He looks at you wide-eyed.

"What? You're freaking me out."

He leans back on his heel, take a step without looking, then another, and keeps going until he's at the door. You scoff as he disappears. You look at the tea and heave. You blow over it and sip. Jeez.

You cross the kitchen and hobble your way back to the stairs. You climb up and enter the bedroom. He's not there. You put the cup on the night table. Maybe something herbal would help your stomach more. Ugh, but you're so tired.

You prop up the pillows. There isn't much to do around here. You're still hiding from whatever it is he's running from.

Sometimes, you watch the television downstairs. You're bored. All these new shows never get renewed or are just a spinoff of a spinoff. Most of the time you read. He still brings you books when he does go out. Now that you think of it, he hasn't done that in a while.

You look over at the window. The snow is lessening. It made sense weeks ago when winter was in its depths but now, you're starting to see the promise of spring.

Steve stomps in. You look up as you cradle the empty book in your lap. He paces around the bottom of the bed. His addled demeanour has you uneasy. You wonder if you should just take your robe off now.

"Would you tell me what's going on?" You ask.

He looks at you as he combs his fingers through his blonde hair. They catch and he curls his lip. He untangles his hands and bounces on his feet. He walks another circle then stops again. He stares.

"Look," you sign as you speak. "We have been practicing so you need to start using your words. I'm too tired."

He holds up his hands. 'Wait'.

He goes to the bookshelf and shuffles around. He slides out the tablet and flicks through it. He types as his forehead creases with concentration. He hovers one hand over his stomach then nods.

He looks at you and gestures out with his hand. You frown. "I don't know that one." He does it again. You sigh. "Still don't know it."

His face contorts in frustration. He stomps over to you and puts the tablet in your lap. You look down at the translation app. 'Pregnant'. You read it out loud and snort.

"No, that's... no." You shake your head. "I had my period... um..."

He sits on the edge of the bed and touches your knee. You look him in the eye. He arches his brows and tilts his head.

"How do you know? I'm fine."

'Sick,' he signs.

"I have a sensitive stomach."

'Tired.'

You roll your eyes.

'I heard it.' He moves his hands pointedly.

"You heard it? Oh, sure."

'I hear you too,' he motions then taps a heartbeat on the back of his hand. 'Now two.'

You stare at him. "No, I can't..."

His eyes drift and he makes a face. He shrugs. Then signs. 'We do a lot'.

Your cheek twitches and your forehead creases. Can he hear your heartbeat pick up? We don't do anything. He does it. He did this. When he wants you, you don't get a choice.

You shove past him as you swing your legs over the edge. You get up and stomp to the bathroom. He follows. You slam the door before he can reach you. You lock it.

He knocks. No. How could he do this? How could you not have thought of this? Shit.

Your eyes burn with tears. You didn't have a choice in any of this. Not just this... pregnancy, but this whole situation. He took you away from your life; he trapped you in that desolate house; he set that trap; he did what he's done over and over; he killed that man; then he brought you here and now...

You turn and hit the door with your fist. You holler in frustration. You close your eyes and inhale.

"I don't want to speak to or see you! I mean it." You snarl through. "Can you hear that, Captain?"

There's a scrape on the other side of the door. You look down and see his shadow shift. You listen to his footsteps. You don't usually hear them. The bedroom door clicks and you're left alone, in sobering silence.

[hivemuthur]

In Thy Name - Ch.2. - Suffocation Day pt. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader nothing filthy yet but will be :v, gothic AU

Reader is a highly renown linguist hired by Viktor, a paranormal investigator, for a case he cannot crack himself.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 5,2K

sources: Slavic Mythology by Jakub Bobrowski & Mateusz Wrona, Slavic Bestiary by Witold Vargas and Paweł Zych, Mythology of Slavs by Aleksander Gieysztor

online sources: proto-Slavic wiki, proto-Slavic nouns wiki, proto-Slavic lemmas, proto-Slavic dictionary, this shitty translator

author's note: Playlist here! @rennethen and @mithrava thank you for beta-reading! And art, of course, by @cringemaster3!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Upon the boundless depths of a dark sea floats a small wooden boat. Above it, a sky of pale blue flame flickers, its glow reflected in the stagnant waters below.

On the boat sits a man, his face severe, framed by a thick white beard and long white hair. A hammer rests at his feet. He gazes into nothingness until his eyes drop to the surface of the water.

There, beneath the glassy sheet, another man is trapped. Eyes stare back at him, a hand reaching out.

They grasp each other—arms strong and broad—and from the reflection, a second man emerges. His hair and beard are black as he pulls himself onto the boat and takes his place beside the first.

The two men sit in silence, the boat rocking ever so slightly on the lifeless water. Then, at last, they speak. Their voices are low, words curl and twist in the air, slipping between languages, none of which you fully understand—until, suddenly, you do. Their conversation sharpens, growing familiar. A name drifts through the heavy stillness.

Your breath catches. The faintest sound escapes your lips—no more than a shift of breath, a flutter of hesitation. Both heads snap toward you, their gazes piercing, unblinking.

Your feet slip and icy water swallows you whole. Darkness crushes your lungs as you sink, limbs too numb to fight against the pull. The cold is unbearable, seeping through bone and marrow, hollowing you out. You try to grasp for air, but there is none, only the weight of the deep pressing you further down.

The last bubble of breath escapes your lips—

“Oh, Miss, forgive my intrusion, I did not mean to startle,” says the maid, her brow furrowed in concern. “Did you not sleep well?”

“That’s… quite alright,” you reply, still catching your breath. Your pulse is unsteady, the remnants of your dream clinging to the edges of wakefulness. “Just a dream. Might be the new place.” You try to muster a smile, brushing tangled hair from your face.

She nods, hesitant. Young, you notice—perhaps younger than you would expect Viktor to employ. “May I assist you with dressing, Miss?” she asks, stepping closer to the bed, hands neatly folded in front of her.

“That would be lovely,” you say, shifting to sit upright. A pause, then, with a curious tilt of your head, you ask, “What is your name?”

“Ethel Parks, Miss,” she replies with a small curtsy. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Ethel,” you say, offering a warmer smile this time. You glance around the room, then sigh. “My clothes… they are—” You trail off, glancing toward the trunk at the foot of your bed.

“Still in the trunk?” Ethel finishes for you, already moving toward it. She kneels gracefully, lifting the lid with practiced ease. “No trouble at all, Miss. I shall have you dressed in no time.”

Ethel works with quiet efficiency, her hands swift but gentle as she selects the garments from your trunk. She lays each piece carefully across the bed before turning back to you with an expectant look.

“If you would, Miss,” she says, stepping forward with a fresh chemise.

You rise from the bed, the chill of the morning air prickling against your skin as you allow her to slip the soft linen over your head. It drapes loosely over your frame, its delicate lace trim brushing against your collarbone. Next comes the corset—sturdy whalebone and brocade, its dusky hue a contrast against the pale chemise beneath.

Ethel moves behind you, gathering the laces in her hands. “Breathe in, Miss,” she instructs gently.

You do as told, exhaling as she begins tightening the stays. The first few pulls are tolerable, the firm pressure familiar, but then she draws the laces a little too tight. The breath you take is shallow, restricted. You feel the steel busk press uncomfortably against your ribs.

“Is that alright, Miss?” Ethel asks, a note of concern in her voice.

Weary of offending your host or implying dissatisfaction with his household, you hesitate before answering. “It is fine,” you say, voice even. You have endured worse for fashion’s sake.

She ties the laces securely before guiding you to sit so she may fasten your stockings, rolling them up your legs and securing them with garters at your thighs. Over this, she helps you into a petticoat of crisp cotton, its ruffled hem brushing against your ankles.

Finally, she lifts the day dress from the bed—a deep, rich shade of dark blue, its bodice structured and trimmed with subtle embroidery. The sleeves are fitted to your wrists, buttoned neatly along the cuffs, while the skirt cascades in elegant folds, flaring just enough over the petticoats beneath. She fastens the bodice at the back, button by button, the fabric smoothing over the restrictive corset beneath.

“There,” Ethel murmurs, stepping back to assess her work. She smooths an invisible wrinkle from your sleeve before offering you a polite smile. “You look very fine, Miss.”

You incline your head in thanks, though the tightness of the corset does not allow for much movement. As you adjust to the restriction, you remind yourself that it would be ungracious to complain.

Politely, Ethel urges you to a chair, and only now do you take note of the fact that the room has no vanity—Viktor must not be used to female company. Instead, a large mirror, round and heavily ornamented, is wedged into a corner. The girl pulls the chair in front of it and gestures for you to sit as she begins pinning your hair.

She struggles a bit, her fingers fumbling with the pins. Noticing her difficulty, you decide to engage her in conversation. “You don’t do this too often, do you?” you ask, watching her through the mirror’s reflection.

“Uh—f-forgive me, my lady,” she stammers, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks. “Me and the other girls do each other’s hair, but it’s nothing too fancy.”

“That is quite alright,” you assure her. After a brief pause, you add, “I take it Mr. Velesny doesn’t host many female guests?”

“No, not anymore,” she replies absentmindedly, twisting a section of your hair and securing it with another pin. She huffs a small laugh at her own struggle. “I suppose your lady’s maid is more efficient.”

“Oh, I don’t have one. Look,” you say, reaching up, gently taking a section of your hair from her hands. With practiced ease, you twist it and secure it in place with only two pins. “Nothing too fancy either.”

Ethel pauses for a moment, her expression shifting to mild surprise. Then, she grins. “Well, that makes two of us, Miss.”

She straightens her skirts and gives you a polite nod before leaving. “Breakfast will be served for you in the dining room in fifteen minutes, my lady.” With that, Ethel disappears.

You sigh—as much as you can while so tightly bound—and wonder if it’s going to be another lonely meal. Last night, Viktor hadn’t shown up to dinner. In the late hours, you had heard him shuffling through the corridors, his slow steps dragging as though he were hauling his tired body upstairs to his bedchambers.

The atmosphere had been eerie, to say the least. Eating in complete silence, where each clank of cutlery echoed in your ears like a church bell, was unsettling enough—but the lingering sensation of being watched had only added to your nerves.

And it’s not only the dining room. The house feels uninhabited, despite its grandeur. The corridors stretch long and hollow, the air thick with stillness, as though the very walls have forgotten the sound of laughter, of life. Servants move like whispers, their presence almost imperceptible—footsteps muffled, voices hushed.

Yet, despite their quiet existence, you cannot shake the feeling that you are never truly alone.

Each room carries a presence, something just beyond your reach. It’s not the dust-laden scent of age nor the weight of history pressed into the furniture. It is something else—an awareness. The library, lined with its watchful tomes, seems to breathe in your presence, its silence heavy. The music room, though untouched, hums with an unplayed melody, waiting. The grand dining hall, with its impossibly long table and its rows of empty chairs, feels like it is expecting someone—something—to arrive.

There is no laughter, no voices, no sign that this place is truly lived in—only Viktor, lingering in barely three rooms, as far as you can tell from the state of his study and the drawing room. His bedroom is an educated guess.

As you descend the staircase, you glance behind yourself, your eyes flicking to the one room Algernon pointedly avoided mentioning during your short tour. The door is unremarkable, set in an equally unremarkable part of the house. It could be a guest bedroom, another study, something entirely mundane. And yet, your curiosity—an unhealthy, troublesome little thing—stirs as you stare at it, half-expecting the door to vanish under your gaze, revealing the room’s secret.

A bell rings, breaking your trance—the breakfast call.

Crossing the ground floor, you catch a glimpse of Viktor seated on the sofa in the drawing room. Of course. You hesitate, watching him, willing him to lift his head and meet your gaze.

“Good day,” he says, his eyes still focused on the parchment spread across his knees. “How was your first night?”

He wears only a vest again, with a shirt underneath, this time paired with a cravat. His legs are spread, one crossed over the other in front of him, and a cane—different from yesterday’s—rests against the sofa. His hair is combed back neatly, and his chin is propped in his hand as he watches the paper before him.

“Ah, a bit restless,” you reply, brushing a hand through your hair as you try to shake off the lingering unease. “But I’ll settle in. Are you not headed for breakfast?”

“I take my meals here or in my study,” he replies, finally lifting his head. He pauses, taking you in with an inquisitive look, his gaze sweeping from your head to your toes twice, before he speaks again. “You are welcome to join me here after breakfast, though. We can compare sources.”

“I shall see you then,” you incline your head politely, turning to move on, your stomach tied in a knot—literally and figuratively, as your waist feels a little tighter with each movement. At breakfast, you don’t eat much, picking at the food on your plate. You poke at the soft scrambled eggs, the golden-brown toast, and the small serving of sausage, though you find it hard to swallow anything. The meal is prepared for one person only—just a modest serving, a single boiled egg resting in its shell beside a slice of buttered bread. You stay in the dining room long enough to avoid appearing too eager, though it’s a ridiculous thought. After all, you should be eager to complete your assignment.

You eventually push your plate aside and head toward your room to retrieve your books. You take as many as you can carry, clutching a small stack in your arms. As you reach the staircase, Algernon unexpectedly appears, almost as if out of nowhere.

“Miss,” he says with a polite smile, “may I assist you with those?”

You blink, startled, but nod. “Ah, thank you, Algernon. I’m afraid I’ve become rather burdened by these.”

Together, you make your way down the stairs, and you offer him a faint smile as you place the books on the table in the drawing room. Viktor, still seated on the sofa, an empty plate beside him, looks up from his papers.

“Is that all, or is there more?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m afraid there is an entire trunk,” you reply, shaking your head slightly.

“Would you be opposed to having it moved to my study?” Viktor offers, his voice surprisingly casual, though his eyes remain sharp.

“Not at all,” you reply.

He turns his attention to the butler. “Algernon, can you please arrange that? Oh, and close the door behind you.”

Algernon nods and moves to obey, swiping the empty plate, leaving you alone with Viktor as he returns to his reading. His finger follows the lines of text, and you notice how quickly he swallows the words, his gaze sharp and focused. As he reaches the end of the page, he turns to you, still standing in the middle of the room, and says, “Why don’t you take a seat?”

You nod, suddenly unable to speak, and rest on the other side of the sofa, as straight as you can manage, your hands folded neatly in your lap.

“Are you nervous?” Viktor asks, his voice soft but observant.

“No,” you reply, though the unease still lingers in your chest. “Just… adjusting to a new space.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t pry further. Instead, he shifts closer and places a stack of papers on your knees. “I suppose I should break down the case for you,” he says quietly. “I’ve been called to a household nearby, where family members claim that a mysterious illness takes its relatives one by one. Doctors excluded the possibility of it being contagious.”

“What are the symptoms?” you ask, browsing the documentation he’s handed you.

“How versed are you in medicine?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, mildly,” you answer, flipping through the pages. “I had basic anatomy classes. Why?”

“It seems to be a breathing affliction that takes them—lung failure of some kind,” Viktor says, his voice steady and measured more than the situation requires. You take note of the calmness in his demeanour, even as the matter at hand seems grave.

“Are all of them afflicted?” you ask, scanning the details in the papers.

“Only men, it would seem. And one woman, long ago, when the pattern first started. I’ve managed to get only this much information from the family head,” Viktor explains. “They have decided to engage me upon finding some writing in the basement.”

“And you believe if we discover what this writing is saying, the curse will be broken?” You ask with a polite smile, though your disbelief is clear. “Could the sickness be inherited?”

“Could be. Could not be,” Viktor replies simply, his gaze narrowing as he waits for you to give away more about your stance in this.

“Ah, as anything in this world, no?” you murmur, your tone dry.

“Are you leaning toward endorsing the 'con man' title of mine?” Viktor asks, a slight edge to his voice as he looks at you, his breath fanning across your cheek. Before you can respond, he continues, “I’m not asking you to believe anything. I’m merely asking you to translate the text for me, if you are capable.”

You consider his request for a moment, then reply, “I would like to see the writing in its original form, if that’s possible.” You pause, meeting his gaze. “And I’ve known you too short a time to lean into endorsing any rumour about you.”

Viktor’s lips twitch into a half-smile. “That can be arranged,” he says, his voice softening. “And thank you. For the benefit of the doubt.”

“Anytime,” you whisper, suddenly very aware of how close he’s gotten. Your thighs brush, and even through all the layers of skirts you’re wearing, you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t retreat; his eyes wander to your hands, your neck, then to your waist.

“Is your corset too tight?” he asks all of a sudden, his tone hushed, private.

It strikes you how Viktor behaves as if he has no idea how to act around people. What you don’t know is whether he doesn’t care or truly doesn’t know how. He is polite, yes, soft-spoken, well-spoken even, possibly even more well-read than you are, and yet, any occasion presenting itself to close the distance, he takes it as it is, without pushing for more. Eating crumbs of warmth, he abandons the rules of decorum and lingers right next to you, finger pointing at your waist, waiting.

You decide to test this strange occurrence further. Shifting so that you are angled toward him, your knee bumping his, you rest your palm on his forearm gently and say, “It’s nothing. Why would you ask?”

Viktor blinks, but holds your gaze. “Your breathing is shallow and uneven. It’s either the undergarment, or you are falling with an affliction yourself,” he replies flatly, seemingly ignoring the fact that you are touching him.

“I… might be a little bit nervous after all,” you say, thinking you are covering for yourself with a lie, while in fact, there is a truth lingering beneath it. “You are very perceptive.”

“I am,” he says simply. “But I suspect you are too,” he smiles, looking down upon his arm, where your hand rests. Discovered for what you are trying to do, you retreat, grasp the papers from your knees in both hands, and smooth them out with a shake.

An odd moment of cards being laid out on the table for both of you. One thing is sure: this cooperation will be conducted on even ground, as Viktor just admitted you are a worthy opponent, if there are any opposing forces between you. The second thing, that you are also certain of, is that you are going to learn a lot—if not about your field of expertise, then about human nature overall. The third thing, and that one is less certain, yet the one you wish for the most—you are going to learn something about him. And not whether he is a con man, a mad scientist, or a crazy fool who has sworn his soul away to diabolical forces. No. Just what kind of man he is.

You swallow all those thoughts in a loud gulp and ask, “Shall we… compare sources then?”

“Certainly,” Viktor perks up, leaving your personal space. “I have the most important things here; if you would like to delve deeper, we can meet later in my study.”

He walks up to a large table, completely covered with books, papers, and diagrams. You notice he leans on his cane heavily as he urges you to come meet him above the surface. You move closer, enamoured by the sheer amount of material he has amassed.

"Here," he begins, his voice low as he points to several old tomes stacked haphazardly. "These are the sources I've been consulting. Some are rather obscure, but I believe they hold key insights into the nature of the case we're investigating." He picks up a worn volume with a dark, embossed cover.

"The Pseudomonarchia Daemonum by Johann Weyer," he continues, his finger tracing the title. "It’s a text on demonology, from the sixteenth century, detailing the names, symbols, and descriptions of demons. Weyer was a physician, though many dismiss his work as mere superstition, I find his cataloguing of entities fascinating. There are often correlations between health conditions and historical beliefs in demonic possession."

You lean in, glancing at the pages filled with names of infernal entities. "And you really think this illness might be linked to something... supernatural?"

Viktor raises an eyebrow, an unreadable expression on his face. "Not necessarily. But in my line of research, I have found it wise not to discard the past entirely. There is often more truth in the ancient than many care to admit." He places the book aside and picks up another, this one titled De Occulta Philosophia by Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa.

"Then there’s Agrippa," Viktor says, his fingers lightly stroking the cover of the book. "His work on the occult and alchemy is as important as any text on natural philosophy. This book connects the metaphysical with the physical—much of what he writes here is directly tied to my own theories on the relationship between the mind, body, and the universe."

You nod, intrigued but slightly unsettled by the nature of the texts he holds dear. “So, you’re suggesting that there’s a connection between the spiritual and physical? That this affliction could be a manifestation of something more profound?”

Viktor meets your gaze, his eyes bright with excitement, alive and almost child-like, as if this is the first time he’s being actually listened to. “Exactly. I’ve studied the works of ancient scholars and scientists—those who dared to ask the unaskable questions. Like De Re Metallica by Georgius Agricola, for example. It’s a treatise on mining and metallurgy, and it’s filled with chemical theories. But Agricola also touches on the relationship between minerals and the natural world, an ancient view that health could be governed by the balance of elemental forces within the body.”

You glance at the text, its pages yellowed with age. "I’ve heard of scholars pointing imbalance of elements as a source of many afflictions, so I suppose this could be a lead."

"Potentially," Viktor replies. "But it’s not just the elements. I also suspect there’s something in the stars. Propaedeumata Aphoristica by John Dee, a treatise on the celestial bodies, may hold some answers. Dee was an astrologer, mathematician, and alchemist, deeply interested in how the positions of the stars and planets might influence human health." He runs his finger over a complex astrological chart spread across the table. "If the illness is not genetic or purely physical, then perhaps there’s a celestial influence, a pattern hidden in the stars themselves."

You let out a soft breath, a half-chuckle. "I’m quite familiar with Dee, call it a hobby," you say, offering Viktor a soft smile, your voice light, yet imbued with a quiet warmth.

Viktor’s gaze flickers to you, his brow furrowing for just a moment, before he tilts his head. "Oh? Are you interested in star movements?" His voice carries an unexpected note of hope, a quiet longing that tugs at something deep within you.

You glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his tone. “Yes, it’s an intriguing topic, don’t you think? Even for a linguist.” You allow your gaze to linger on him, watching the way the soft seeping from the windows catches the sharp angles of his face. His eyes seem to soften, as he blinks away an expression of astonishment.

"Absolutely. I do have a telescope, if you wish to take a closer look." Again, hopeful. Private, as he adds, "At the stars, of course. We would have to wait for a clear night though."

Your cheeks heat up, yet you don’t know why. It feels like an invitation, and now it is you who allows yourself a hopeful tone. "That would be… most remarkable," you say, your voice softer than you intended.

His eyes meet yours, a spark appears and disappears, before he lowers his gaze to the diagrams again, his fingers brushing across the paper absently. "The sky is quite remarkable when looked upon closely," he murmurs quietly, longingly.

Wondering what it is he is longing for, you swallow the first question that comes to mind and exchange it for another. "What else have you gathered?"

Viktor leans forward, his fingers brushing over a particularly detailed diagram. "Mathematics, astronomy, and even the occult are all linked. Consider The Elements of Geometry by Euclid—geometry’s relationship to the physical and metaphysical worlds is undeniable. It’s through patterns, both mathematical and celestial, that we might uncover the truth of this, eh, let’s call it curse. I’ve been mapping these patterns for some time now, trying to correlate the celestial alignments with the onset of the illness."

You watch him as he pulls out a small, intricate notebook, filled with numbers and diagrams. “And here," he says, flipping it open, "I've been applying some principles from The Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy by Isaac Newton. His work on gravity, the laws of motion—they can help explain how forces, unseen but powerful, might govern the flow of life and health within the human body. It’s a matter of understanding the unseen forces."

You pause, your gaze shifting over the dense pages of mathematical equations and celestial charts. "It seems you have found many ways to approach the same problem," you say, your voice tinged with admiration at the breadth of his studies, when something strikes you. "Viktor, how long ago have you been called to this particular case?"

Viktor’s gaze sharpens, his eyes locking onto yours with a new intensity. "About a month ago, why?"

"This is not an amount of research one conducts within a month, though, is it?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Viktor’s eyes flicker for a moment, he looks at you intently, his expression firm. "I… I work fast when I’m inspired," he replies, his voice a little more guarded.

You study him, noticing the subtle shift. “Have you encountered anything similar before?” you probe softly.

“Not that I am aware of,” he answers, his voice calm, though faintly uncertain. “I have been doing this for a long time, I assure you.”

Taking a moment to absorb, your fingers skim over the papers in front of you. “Alright then. Well, I can identify one thing missing, and it will be rather difficult to piece together,” you say after a beat, looking up at him, letting the matter drop.

“What is it?” Viktor asks, leaning in.

“I believe to decipher this,” you say, pointing at the mysterious text Viktor has scribbled down from the doomed basement’s walls, "We need to dip into proto-Slavic languages and mythology, and that matter is not well documented.” You pause, considering your next words. “I do have some treaties and legends with me, scarce, but it’s a starting point. We can also compare across other mythologies, as they tend to overlap.”

Viktor’s eyes widen with curiosity. “That’s… quite brilliant,” he says, his voice laced with admiration, his expression a mix of surprise and respect.

“Thank you,” you reply with a modest smile, though your gaze remains steady on the text. “I have been doing this for a long time, I assure you.”

Viktor huffs out a laugh, a beautiful sound, you realise. It’s a low hum, coming from his trembling throat, escaping through his noble nose and it bestows more upon you than any recognition he’s spoken out loud.

“I will need some time to sit with the text,” you continue quietly. “And as I mentioned, I would like to see it in person.”

Viktor nods, his expression softening. "Certainly. I will need three days to arrange this—the family is quite distressed, we have to give them some time to prepare,” he explains, his voice quiet but filled with an unexpected warmth. It strikes you then—this man is no fraud, no devil-worshipper, no evil scientist. The concern in his tone betrays a deep compassion for the decimated family, and you suspect this eagerness is fuelled by something far closer to his heart than he lets on.

You nod, a sense of understanding passing between you. “Of course. I shall see you later in your study?”

Viktor gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Yes. Please, just come and knock—we can lose the formality of announcement."

There’s a brief pause before Viktor steps back, turning his attention to the disarray of papers on the table. You gather the materials you need, and with a polite nod, retreat to the library to conduct your study in peace.

Just as you are leaving, Algernon appears again, seemingly out of nowhere, and you begin to wonder if the walls have ears in this household.

“My lady, if I may be so bold, the staff has gathered to meet you,” he says firmly, ushering you through the hall. Before you can answer, you are met with many pairs of eyes, each one different, every single one staring at you blankly.

“Ethel, you’ve already met,” he says. “At your disposal are also Annika and Lydia,” Algernon introduces. The girls incline their heads as soon as their names are spoken.

Then, he gestures to the figures standing near the wall, their expressions as inscrutable as the rest of the staff.

“These are the rest of the household,” he continues, his voice never wavering. “Thomas Barrow, the groundskeeper.” A tall, weathered man nods politely, his hands clasped behind his back.

“James Kent,” Algernon adds, pointing to a young man standing near the fireplace. James stands straight, his eyes steady and respectful as he meets your gaze.

“And this is Bohdan,” Algernon finishes, indicating a quieter figure beside James. Bohdan’s strong build stands in contrast to his slightly apprehensive smile, though his gaze is warm, and he gives a small bow.

“And last, but certainly not least,” Algernon’s voice softens a little as he turns to the final figure, “Ivy Stuart, the cook. She has been with the family for years.” A short woman with a round face and kind eyes steps forward. She offers you a pleasant smile, though there’s a quiet pride in the way she holds herself.

“One more,” Algernon says, with a slight pause. “Mrs. Dunlop, the housekeeper, is not present at the moment, but she is in charge of the house, and you’ll be seeing her shortly.”

“There you have it,” Algernon concludes. “Each of them at your service.”

“Thank you kindly,” you say, a bit embarrassed. It makes you wonder why now, and how difficult it must have been to gather such a sparse staff in one place at last. Steadying yourself with a breath does little to help, as the corset remains unforgivingly tight, not loosened in the least during the debrief. Unsure of what is expected of you, you incline your head and say quietly, “I am headed to the library.”

“Ring for us should you require anything, my lady,” says Algernon, giving a dismissive flick of his wrist. The staff disperses in no time, quiet as phantoms.

In just a few seconds, all sound dies away, and the house returns to the eerie silence of a ghost ship. With the soft creaks of the stairs beneath you, you ascend, gliding your palm along the handrail, papers and notes stacked under your arm.

It’s a strange mixture of comfort and disquiet—Viktor’s persona shifting from eager to reserved, the manor being both beautiful and gloomy, and the staff acting both attentive and absent. You feel as though there are many missing pieces, much like the riddle that you and Viktor are now trying to solve. With your mind drifting and breath shallow, you head towards the library when a sound—barely there—stops you. A whisper, curling within the walls, gliding through the air. It means nothing, nothing you recognize. It feels as though the Grim Reaper himself stands towering above you, taking a long whiff of the top of your head. Your hair rises, and goosebumps prickle the skin on the back of your neck. As you turn towards the door—unremarkable, unopened—a voice from the void says: imě.

[sweetinsaniiity]

MASTERLIST

𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

I'm Aren (28F) and I write Ateez fanfics most of the time, if not all the time, in oneshot formats. I can definitely write a series, but will I? Who knows.

My fics are on the longer side and they’re usually very plot-oriented. They range from angst to plot twists to morally grey areas, so if that’s of interest to you, then you’ll like it here.

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄. If in any need to translate my work, please message me. Most likely I'll message back.

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐄. There are more than a million words in the dictionary (Source: Oxford. If I'm wrong? Sue them, not me), and you have the need to replicate mine? You can do better than that.

𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃. 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞-𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. However, I am slow in producing them. I take great pride in the quality of my work, which constitutes me doing my utmost best in giving you what you want to see, and I will not sacrifice that quality for something quick and easy. If that's what you want, then I'm not the author for you. Thank you for understanding.

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒: @keopihaus @dove-net @ksmutsociety @cromernet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @pirateeznet @illusionnet

𝒦𝒾𝓂 𝐻𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒿𝑜𝑜𝓃𝑔

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 - Your sleight of hand gets you in trouble one day when you are caught stealing red-handed.

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐚 - You were forced in an arranged to pay for your uncle's debt, but you ended up discovering secrets about Hongjoong that could potentially ruin you and can't get out from.

𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒮𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒽𝓌𝒶

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲 - Seonghwa's obsession with you knew no bounds and he will do everything and anything to have you whether you liked it or not.

𝒥𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝓃𝒽𝑜

𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 - You are an ex-princess and your kingdom has been taken over by another King, Yunho, and he will break you because your father ruined everybody's lives when he was king.

𝒦𝒶𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓈𝒶𝓃𝑔

𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐞 - You fall in love with the campus outcast whose face you have never seen before since he always wears a mask.

𝒞𝒽𝑜𝒾 𝒮𝒶𝓃

𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐈 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 - An intruder breaks into your home and does unspeakable things to you.

𝒮𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾

𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 - You encounter a man who prevents you from leaving by tying a rope on your wrists while holding the other end with his big, strong hands.

𝒥𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝒲𝑜𝑜𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 - You fall in love with your best friend but it's unrequited.

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞 - Wooyoung is a sex worker you met and kept calling not to do the deed, but for company and his comfort. Until, you develop these unexplainable butterflies in your chest.

𝒞𝒽𝑜𝒾 𝒥𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒽𝑜

𝐆��𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐎𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 - Your beloved comes back to you after five years, except he wasn't the one you loved all those years.

ℛ𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂 ℋ𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈:

ateez as !mafia members

soft-turned-dom!San request

free use!San request

[nolablu]

THE MOON: A VESSEL FOR PROJECTIONS

Hello! This is Magnolia :)

╭┈┈┈┈╮

The word ‘projection’ derives from the Latin word proicere, which meant to stretch out, throw forth, hold in front, fling away, or drive out. Now, the definition of projection from a psychological perspective: According to the Oxford Languages Dictionary, projection is the unconscious transfer of one’s own desires or emotions onto another person.

╰┈┈┈┈╯

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

To sum it up, projecting (either physically or psychologically) requires one to direct and exert force outward. This is complete opposite to the Moon, as the Moon receives light from the Sun in order to reflect it outwardly. It does not merely project light on its own so in turn it cannot be a force that naturally projects but the vessel which receives these projections.

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

This sentiment is also reflected in the Moon’s alchemic metal, silver, which is known for its exceptional ability to reflect light, more effectively than any other metal, reflecting up to 95% of light that strikes its surface. Interestingly enough Silver has historically been used as a coating in mirrors because it is one of the most reflective metals, as mentioned being capable of reflecting up to 95% of visible light.

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

A mirror reflects what is in front of it, or whatever is in its surrounding environment, depending on the size of the mirror. It perfectly captures the impressions projected onto it and reflects them back to the person who projected them. However, to be in a state to receive such impressions, one must be receptive. The Moon is a receptive planet, just as it is associated with the mind, which is also highly receptive.

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

Interestingly, the Moon is the natural karaka (significator) of the 4th house, which governs early childhood, the home environment, and the experiences that shape our early emotional development. Children, much like the Moon, are highly receptive, absorbing the light and energies of the people and environment around them. Parents, particularly the mother, serve as the first and most significant sources of this ‘light,’ shaping the child’s perception of the external world.

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

Hello again! Just an interception here lol I just wanted to share that this particular paragraph (the 6th) has been edited. I just came to an awesome realization that really connected the dots for me. I tried to make it sound as understandable as possible here ahhh

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

It reminds me of Yesod’s role in the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, it’s the channel that funnels and projects energy from the higher sephiroth into Malkuth, the physical world. Unlike Binah, the form-giver that shapes raw energy from Chokmah, Yesod acts more like a mirror-portal. It doesn’t generate energy on its own; it receives, filters, and then directs what it’s been given. Since the Moon is associated with Yesod, it functions in a similar way. It isn’t just passively receiving, it’s actively channeling and reflecting what it absorbs. That makes its receptivity dynamic. 

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

Think of it like this: if the Moon is the mind (Yesod), and the body is Malkuth, then whatever the Moon takes in, such as beliefs, moods, behaviors, gets filtered through the psyche and eventually manifests through the physical form. However as I said prior to this edit, I will touch on this more and how the Moon acts as a conduit later on (down the road).

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

Now, returning to the point at hand, just like a mirror reflects whatever is projected onto it, children also reflect the energies they have been exposed to. These early impressions, formed in the home environment, can reveal the influences that the child has absorbed, whether positive or negative. The child becomes a mirror for the energies, moods, and attitudes of those around them, carrying these imprints as they grow.

This also has been a reason to why I firmly believe that Moon is rightfully associated with the Ego (the ascendant also has it’s own role in this) and also the formation of our personality rather than the Sun: https://www.tumblr.com/teepeejr/778296553212395520/the-sun-is-not-the-significator-of-the-ego-so-who

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

This leads me to also consider the 5th house, which governs creativity and children. Beyond creative expression, I believe that the 5th house can provide insight into a child’s home life and the way they are treated, as a child is a vessel (just as the Moon) that’s reflecting the influences around them. Look at the drawings of children, it will reveal a lot!

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

If you’re still wondering how all of this demonstrates that the Moon serves as a vessel for projections, consider this: the Moon operates much like a mirror. Its entire essence is rooted in reflection, rather than emission. When it does emit it acts as a portal. Due to its receptive nature, the Moon is open to external projections, much like a mirror reflects whatever is placed before it. However, due to its elusive quality, the Moon rarely reveals its true nature, which is what makes it not as easy to decipher as it seems. While the Moon is powerful in it’s own right, its inherent nature of reflection cannot be overlooked.

· · ── ·𖥸· ── · ·

Yay! You’ve made it to the end. I want to thank you for attending my Ted Talk or should I say Astro coke rants? Hm, they’re interchangeable lol. Anyways, here’s a photo of Shinji perceiving you :)

‪

[hwangism143]

love is embarrassing

synopsis: in which chan shows you that love is so much more than what you believe.

pairing: idol!chan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: jealousy, mentions of eating and rain, suggestive if you squint, small injuries, death of a pet

word count: 852 words

now playing: love is embarrassing - olivia rodrigo

requested: by @15092000volcano (have your own requests? find the prompt list here)

a/n: berry is very much alive, i just had to kill her off for plot purposes (pls don't kill me). also, lmk what you think of this fic!

"my god, love's embarrassing as hell"

You always believed the endeavor of love to be pointless. You had read the classics and watched the movies, distrust seeping into your being. How could love be worth it? How could love be worth death and sacrifice; how could it be worth endless pain and optionally putting oneself through torture?

It wasn't like love was helping pay the bills. Romeo and Juliet wasn't a tragedy due to romance in your eyes, it was a tragedy brought forth by lack of common sense, as simple as that.

That was when a young, elementary school you had finally come up with a hypothesis that would stick around with you longer than you anticipated: love is embarrassing.

And yet, you can never prove a hypothesis without putting it through a test. When you finally did, you realized that love is a startling multitude of other things.

Love is temperamental, like your mood the day you walked out of the movie after yet another rom com your friend had dragged you to watch. It's temperance mimicked that of the weather, rain beating down against the windows of the café that you were stuck in, where a handsome stranger was your lone companion.

"Hi," he said sweetly, "I'm Chan. Need some company?"

Love was ugly, like your tears that flowed down your cheeks and dampened Chan's favorite black hoodie (which you never understood the differentiation behind, a majority of his articles being black). It was ugly like the sweaters Chan had brought your first Christmas together, the same ones you wore when he purposefully dangled a mistletoe over where the two of you stood.

"Where did you even find mistletoe?" you questioned with a laugh.

"I have my sources. Stick around with me long enough and I'll promise to tell you." His lips were soon on yours, sealing the deal.

Love was disgusting, your siblings pretending to gag whenever Chan ran to you and scooped you up from behind, causing an eruption of giggles to emerge from your mouth. It was almost as disgusting as the ramen you once made, giving both of you food poisoning that was no less then unfound agony.

"There is no one else I would rather be vomiting with," Chan declared boldly, as he held your hair while you heaved the contents of your stomach onto the toilet.

Love was green, the way Chan felt after he watched you hit it off with Jisung and Changbin when he invited you to the studio, nearly forgetting about him. It's green like the lettuce you picked when you both went to the grocery store right after, deciding to confront his despaired pout.

"You're jealous."

"Am not!"

"You are jealous, and may I add, you're a terrible liar."

But love was so many things coated in happiness too, right? It wasn't just the bad parts, skipped over in the dictionary and considered as profanity. It was words that made you feel like your were flying in an abyss of harmony.

Love was soft, the way Chan's apologies sounded after an argument, always apologizing first instead of chastising you for your headstrong personality. It smoothed out rough edges, the way you ran your hair through Chan's hair while he fell asleep on your shoulder.

"I love you more than you ever know," he would mumble sleepily into your neck.

Love is healing, the way Chan was when you held him as he grieved over the loss of his childhood pet but slowly picked up the pieces of himself. The small cuts and bruises that you would get from simply doing nothing and the gentle press of a band aid against your skin and Chan tended to you almost instantaneously.

"It's just a tiny cut Chan," you whined.

"Aw come on, let me pamper you," he replied.

Love is comforting, like Chan's sweaters that you wore when you stepped out of the house, his essence melting into yours. It's comfort wove into the silence that hung around you both, never awkward or unwelcoming.

"Is it weird that my favorite sound is you, even when you're quiet?" Chan asked curiously.

"Never," you told him with a laugh.

Love was passionate, the way Chan felt about music and you felt about him. The same passion translated into wandering hands and soft gasps, stolen kisses and rumpled sheets.

"Thank you for loving me," you confessed as his limbs were tangled with yours.

"Thank you for letting me love you," he replied as easily as possible.

Love to you, was an anomaly. But loving Chan and being loved by him showed you that it was the most vivid, chaotic and marvelous tapestry that one could witness in their lifetime. Love was ugly, love was beautiful. Love was disgusting, love was comforting.

Love was damning. Love was everything.

However, you knew one fact about your love that would never change, despite how multifaceted it could be. That one fact was as sure as Chan's encouraging smiles that he sent your way and as steady as his breathing when he laid beside you at night.

Your love would always belong to him.

main taglist (reply to be added):

@linoalwaysknows @moon0fthenight @hyulino @palindrome969

@squishybinnieee @lastgreatamericandynasty1

[city-of-ladies]

Empress Sun (c. 1403–1462) was an ambitious and calculating woman who used her influence to shape the political events of her time.

The ambitious consort

Empress Sun’s father was an assistant magistrate in Yongcheng district. Her beauty and intelligence caught the attention of Lady Pengcheng, the mother of Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi’s wife, Lady Zhang.

Lady Zhang agreed to bring the young girl to the palace, where she received an education and earned the admiration of the palace women. In 1417, she became a consort of Zhu Zhanji, grandson of the Yongle Emperor. When Zhu Zhanji ascended the throne in 1425 as the Xuande Emperor, Sun was elevated to the highest consort rank, making her second only to the empress.

An empress falls, another rises

Consort Sun was known for her cunning and ambition. The empress, Hu Shanxiang, was in fragile health and had not given birth to a son—both factors that led her to fall out of favor with the emperor. In 1427, Sun gave birth to a son, Zhu Qizhen. However, some sources suggest the child may have been the son of a palace servant impregnated by the emperor, with Sun allegedly taking the baby as her own.

In 1429, in an unprecedented move, the Xuande Emperor deposed Empress Hu, granting her an honorific title. Sun was then elevated to the rank of empress. The decision was controversial. Empress Dowager Zhang sympathized with the deposed empress and often seated Hu in a place of honor during banquets—much to Sun’s displeasure.

As empress, Sun held court in her residence. She evaluated palace personnel, approved budgets, and arranged the marriages of princes and princesses. She also received visits from the other consorts and reported regularly to Empress Dowager Zhang.

Empress dowager

When the Xuande Emperor died in 1435, his son Zhu Qizhen was still a child. The ministers asked Empress Dowager Zhang to take charge of the regency, which she did unofficially, ushering in a period of peace and stability.

Empress Sun became empress dowager. In 1449, when the emperor was captured during a battle against the Mongols, Empress Sun ordered his half-brother, Zhu Qiyu, to take charge of state affairs. She tried to pay the emperor’s ransom without success but sent him warm furs and clothes during his captivity.

When Zhu Qizhen was finally released a year and a half later, his brother confined him to the palace and ruled in his place. Empress Sun was dissatisfied with the situation. In 1457, she played a key role in a coup that restored Zhu Qizhen to the throne—a turn of events that would not have happened without her influence and summons.

Empress Sun died of an illness in 1462.

If you enjoy this blog, consider supporting me on Ko-fi!

Further reading: 

Lin Yanqing, “Sun, Empress of the Xuande Emperor, Xuanzong, of Ming”, in: Lee Lily Xiao Hong, Wiles Sue (eds.), Biographical Dictionary of Chinese Women, Volume II: Tang Through Ming 618 - 1644

McMahon Keith, Celestial Women: Imperial Wives and Concubines in China from Song to Qing

[jennelikejennay]

Doyleistic History of the Vulcan Language

I prefer to talk about the Vulcan language in-universe, to come up with history and possible reconstructions. But in my search for meanings and explanations, I keep smashing my face into the real-life history of all the kinds of Vulcan that have been invented. That especially becomes a problem when I try to apply what I know about Vulcan to the canonical uses of the language.

So, after my last post on Vulcan, I decided to take a minute to talk about where Vulcan comes from, and what it means when I say I study Vulcan.

The first words of any type of Vulcan were invented for TOS, mostly by Theodore Sturgeon for Amok Time. (Not all of them were used in the final episode.) This is where we get pon farr, plak tow, kalifee, and kroykah. I don't think any subsequent version of Vulcan has failed to include these key words.

By 1968 we had the first beginnings of a fanmade conlang, by Dorothy Jones Heydt, published in Spocknalia volume 3. This version has no relation to any subsequent versions I know of, but her word "ni var" (two form, two aspects of the same thing) ended up being canonized later.

None of this was used for Vulcan's next appearance, which was in Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The scene at Gol was filmed in English, but after filming, it was decided that it didn't seem right and they wanted to dub it over in Vulcan. Thus the words invented for the scene were made to fit the mouth movements already on film. Jimmy Doohan allegedly did most of this. So the phrase thrahp, hif-bi tu throks, is specifically made to fit something like "Spock, give me your thoughts."

The next two movies use a Vulcan that was allegedly made by Marc Okrand, though I can't for the life of me find out how much Vulcan he made up to make these sentences or how he meant the grammar to work. This is where we get words like ish-veh, he/she/it, and dungi, will. But other words, such as ikh-banut or wakli, aren't parsed anywhere that I know of.

A few words were made up by novel writers. Diane Duane, for instance, invented the words cthia (reality-truth), T'Khasi (Vulcan) and T'Khut (Vulcan's sister planet).

The language most fans use, however, is from none of these sources. What is called "Vulcan," or more properly Vuhlkansu or Modern Golic Vulcan, is the creation of a fan named Mark Gardner, along with several other people. The work began in the 70s and continued till the early 2000s. There's a book and an archived website. The sources also go with the Vulcan Language Dictionary available online.

It has the advantage over all the other sources that it is actually made as a (mostly) complete and usable language. It's something of a hodgepodge, however. The base of the language was reverse-engineered from the small quantities of Vulcan used in the first three movies. The problem with this is obvious: the Vulcan used in the first three movies was not created as a consistent language. Choices had to be made. I should probably make another post about the choices I would have made, but suffice it to say, these sources are different enough from Golic Vulcan that analyzing them might well produce something entirely different. And yet one gets the impression that they are the same language because some of the words are the same. You think you might be able to understand them using the VLD--but for the most part, you can't.

Gardner's dictionary also includes words from beta canon and a few words from fanfic. The rest was invented one word at a time, based on rules the creators had set down about phonetics and root words.

So, after that, did subsequent Star Trek use any of what Gardner had created?

No. It did not. I wish it had, despite the flaws, because I always prefer understandable conlangs in shows and Paramount seems to have no intention of making their own. Conlangs can't be copyrighted; that's presumably why they felt okay picking up words like "ni var" from fans.

The Vulcan in Enterprise was allegedly also made by Marc Okrand. (Memory Alpha gives us a big fat Citation Needed for this. I can find no other source.) However, looking at the (scanty) text used in both, I don't really see any similarities. For instance, ish-veh for he/she/it does not appear, though one would think it should, and I can't pick out any grammatical structure at all. (You can try it yourself with the very small corpus at Memory Alpha. I plan to dive deeper into these texts in a future post.)

Did Marc Okrand make this? As a real linguist, if he did, I'd like to think he'd bother to make something other than simply noises, but without either more text or more translations, it's difficult to be sure. I can't tell that it isn't gibberish like TMP, in other words.

Discovery and Strange New Worlds also use "Vulcan" and I can't parse those either according to Gardner's Vulcan or according to what little exists in the corpus. This is, of course, devastating to me. What's the point of a conlang if you can study everything that exists and you still can't understand what they say on the show?

I would like to believe that STII, STIII, Enterprise, Discovery, and SNW are all using some lean but grammatically consistent conlang created by Marc Okrand, which, as more text is released, we may finally come to understand a little. However, I can find no evidence of this. There is no Vulcan language consultant credited on SNW or Discovery, although there is a Klingon consultant. Could they be altering Klingon to fit it in? Could the Klingon consultant be making up a quick Vulcan conlang on the fly? Could they have access to Okrand's secret Vulcan notebook? Hours of research have turned up nothing.

I talked to someone at a convention last year who said she had been at a talk given by Marc Okrand where someone asked about Vulcan. She said he only shook his head and said it was a mess.

SECONDED, DOCTOR OKRAND.

Anyway, that's why we're out here using the VLD, despite its obvious flaws. For better or worse, it's the only usable Vulcan there is. But the fact that it doesn't match the Vulcan from any canon but the first three movies, and that only because it was derived from them in reverse, is kinda depressing, I'll admit.

If you have any further information about the real-life history of Vulcan conlangs, please let me know!

[broomsick]

Oath-making and heathen practice

Jólablót and the winter solstice are around the corner! You might have already planned your celebration, but I'm here to give you a last minute idea! I realized I'd never really tackled the topic of ritual oath-making in my posts before, despite it being part of my personal practice. In what circumstances would oaths be sworn, historically? Where does the arm-ring come in? What sorts of oaths would be made? Let's dive into this topic.

While the importance of oath-making was somewhat exaggerated by heroic literature, keeping one's word was most certainly regarded by the germanic peoples as a crucial element in the social order. The Cleasby & Vigfusson Old Norse dictionary refers to a such a practice as heitstrengingar (heit-strengja), meaning "to take a vow".

This ceremonial event would generally occur at larger gatherings, in communities with an already established religious order. In other words, in a setting where there was a religious leader to preside over the practice. Understandably, this element can be foregone in the context of modern practice. According to the sources that history has left us with, this practice of ritualized vow-taking would more often than not be performed on Yule, at weddings, at funerals or at banquets. But where does the arm ring come in?

It's stated in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that when peace was established between king Alfred the Great and the danish army which had invaded Wareham, the latter party swore on a "sacred bracelet" to respect the newfound peace. This so-called bracelet was later regarded as the very same ring, generally made of either copper, silver, or gold, and worn around the arm, which was bestowed by chieftains onto successful warriors as a symbol of their prowess.

It's also said that some temples were equipped with a ritual ring, which would be worn by the goði in between ceremonies.

"Therewithin was there a great frith-place. But off the inmost house was there another house, of that fashion whereof now is the choir of a church, and there stood a stall in the midst of the floor in the fashion of an altar, and thereon lay a ring without a join that weighed twenty ounces, and on that must men swear all oaths; and that ring must the chief have on his arm at all man-motes." Eyrbyggja Saga - The Saga of the Ere-Dwellers, chapter 4.

It's interesting to note that oath-making was often followed by ritual toasting. In this sense, a neo-pagan can choose to prepare a drink to go along with their oath! This is especially relevant if you're somebody who has chosen, as I have, to respect the three Jólablót toasts (one to Óðinn for success, one to Freyr and Njörðr for peace and prosperity, and one for your ancestors, in the name of memory). The order in which one carries out their Jól celebrations is theirs to decide, but I've always found it practical to let the oath be directly followed by the toasts!

So, it seems you might need an arm ring on which to swear your oath, right? Don't be so sure! There have been attestations of oaths being sworn on the ritual drink itself, which bears comparison with the wider practice called symbel.

In the texts where the practice appears, a bragarfull ("promise-cup") is used as a vessel for the toast. So what's the point of adding a drink to the mix? You can regard it as adding further spiritual meaning to the practice of oath-making. After all, it's believed that the symbel must have been greatly significant in early germanic religious practice. See the following passage from the Fagrskinna which describes the ceremony during which inheritance is bestowed.

"And when memorial feasts were held according to ancient custom, it was required to hold them in the year of the death of the man in whose memory the feast was being held. And he who had the feast prepared must not sit in the high seat of the man whose memory he was honoring before men had drunk the memorial toast. The first evening, when people came to the feast, many toasts had to be offered up in the same way as memorial toasts are now, and they dedicated those toasts to their most important kinsmen, or to Þórr, or to other of their gods, in heathen times, and finally they had to drink the bragafull, and then he who was holding the feast had to make a vow on the bragafull, as did all those attending the memorial feast, and then he had to mount into the seat of the man who was being honoured, and he then entered fully into possession of the inheritance and honour of the dead man, but not before." Fagrskinna, a catalogue of the Kings of Norway.

According to the Fagrskinna, the vow is to be made after having drunk from the bragarfull. Interestingly enough, drinking from the bragarfull also seems tied to the celebration of Jól. A passage from the Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar reads:

“Hedin was coming home alone from the forest one Yule-eve, and found a troll-woman; she rode on a wolf, and had snakes in place of a bridle. She asked Hedin for his company. ‘Nay,’ said he. She said, ‘Thou shalt pay for this at the bragarfull.’ That evening the great vows were taken; the sacred boar was brought in, the men laid their hands thereon, and took their vows at the bragarfull.” Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar, part 4.

It's also said that apart from ritual drink and arm rings, an oath could also be taken on a stone. If you're someone who enjoys crafts at all, a fun way to incorporate this practice into a Jól celebration would be to paint or decorate a stone, or to carve meaningful runes carrying your intent onto it, and to make your vows upon it on the longest night.

So what sort of oath should you be making? In the context of neo-paganism, and especially for those of us interested in reconstructing historical practice, oath-making doesn't need to have a spiritual dimension at all. Historically, it served a rather down-to-earth, even political purpose. See this exerpt from the Landnámabók:

“A ring weighing two ounces or more should lie on the stall in every chief Temple, and this ring should every chief or godi have upon his arm at all public law-motes [...]. Every man who was there to transact any business, as by law provided by the Court, should first take an oath upon that ring and name for the purpose two or more witnesses and repeat the following words : ‘I call to witness in evidence, he was to say, that I take oath upon the ring, a lawful one (lögeid) so help me Frey and Niord and the Almighty God, [...] that I will deal lawfully with all such matters in law as I have to deal with while I am at this Thing.’” Landnámabók - The Book of the Settlement of Iceland, part 4, chapter 7.

You'll note here another fascinating tidbit of information regarding ritual oath-making: the presence of one or more witnesses! This element of the ritual is also attested in other such sources. If you're comfortable involving a loved one or more into your Yule celebrations, it's possible for you to do so, as they will bear witness to your vow.

If you regard oaths as sacred at all, I would advise not throwing them around lightheartedly, especially if they involve a deity in any way. Personally, I prefer to make oaths that: 1, I know I'll be able to keep for sure; and 2, I know I'll have control over. For example, changing a certain habit, working on an aspect of myself that I want to improve... Even from a historical standpoint, these ritualized oaths didn't have much to do with the Gods, but were rather centered around the human experience. In a way, this is reminiscent of new year resolutions. Since the time or year coincides, a lone practitioner who must stay discreet with their pagan practice can still take an oath in the guise of making such a resolution.

As usual, I feel the need to specify that not much is known about this practice at all, especially not when looking at it through the lens of history. This is a practice that you can take or leave, depending on your preference. What matters most in my opinion, meaning from a reconstructionist perspective, is to treat oath-making with due respect, regardless of the ceremonial elements or lack-thereof that one chooses to surround it with.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

From the Slang Dictionary

part 3

Cheugy - a slang adjective mocking someone or something as “uncool”—they are out of touch with current trends or trying too hard to be trendy. It is often used ironically.

L + ratio - used as a mocking insult on social media, often in reply to a post or opinion considered particularly bad. The letter L is used as a slang term for loss (as in the opposite of win). The word ratio is used in its social media sense referring to a situation in which a post has a high proportion of replies compared to likes or reposts, which usually indicates a barrage of negative replies criticizing and often mocking the post.

Let him cook - a slang phrase that means to freely let a person do something they are good at. It is one of many variations of the phrase let X cook that is used to refer to letting someone do what they do. Some other examples of variations include let her cook, let them cook, and let us cook. The phrase is often used to express a desire that another person be given free rein to do something or not to be held back.

Mlem - in the internet slang of DoggoLingo, mlem is the sound a dog (or other animal) makes when they stick out their tongue to lick something, especially their own nose or chops.

Rizz - a slang term for skill in charming or seducing a potential romantic partner, especially through verbal communication. It is most commonly applied in the context of men pursuing women, but not always. The term is thought to be a shortening of charisma. It is typically used in the exact same way as the older slang term game.

Sealioning - a critical term for a form of trolling that involves relentlessly pestering someone with questions and requests (such as for evidence or sources), typically with the goal of upsetting them and making their position or viewpoint seem weak or unreasonable. It is typically applied to online contexts, such as social media, forums, and message boards (although it can also happen offline). Sealioning often involves giving off the impression of sincere curiosity and an open mind, using polite-sounding language, and framing the questioning as part of honest intellectual debate. However, the real goal of such behavior is to irritate the other person until that person gets angry or upset, thus allowing the questioner to portray themselves as a victim as an attempt to diminish a position or viewpoint they disagree with.

Snowga - the practice of doing yoga in a snowy environment.

Sploot - slang for the pose an animal, especially dogs, cats, and other four-legged pets, makes when it lies on its stomach with its hind legs stretched out back and flat. The term is especially associated with Welsh corgis and is used affectionately in the internet slang of DoggoLingo.

The ick - a term used in dating to refer to a sudden feeling of disgust or repulsion to a dating partner someone was previously attracted to.

Word up - a slang phrase used to show agreement, approval, or excitement.

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Part 1 2

[a-purple-girl]

welcome to my rant about the current political situation in romania

this is the online dictionary, and this question popped up when i opened it today

"EU i support europe! EU" (european union) the answer choices are "of course" and "niet", the russian word for no.

some basic electoral info you need to understand this rant: the voting process in romania consists of two rounds of voting. the people who end up first place and second place at the end of round 1 are the only ones that make it to round 2. the winner of round 2 becomes president. the voting takes place in november/december. makes sense?

now, as most of the world is aware, our elections got cancelled back in december because of russia swaying the results . (and some fraud). essentially, thousands of bots based in russia started promoting a far right candidate named Calin Georgescu. they then paid actual people to promote him without divulging it. no one even knew who he was prior to election day. he won by a landslide, surprising everyone.

i mean it when i say this man in genuinely out of his mind. he has made many delusional declarations, such as:

repeatedly stating that he admires Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, calling him a “hero.” why is this a problem? because he founded the “legionary movement” in 1927, aka the iron guard, an religious fascist movement and political party that carried out political assassinations and participated in the romanian holocaust. over 200,000 jews and rromani people were deported and exterminated. the victims are so numerous that the exact number is not known even today.

he is also against c-sections because, and i quote, "the divine thread is being broken." 28% of women in romania cannot give birth naturally. without a c-section, there's a significant chance that they would die.

he admires Putin and says he's a wise leader.

he said romania gained nothing by being part of the EU, despite them providing our country with millions and millions of euros to catch up with the west after a dark, tyrannical, communistic period.

anyways, the elections got cancelled, as i previously said. the first round took place two weeks ago ish, and the first candidate was another far right man named George Simion. (he's the guy most people were scared of winning back in december). the second is the mayor of the capital, Nicusor Dan. he's almost disgustingly educated, like he graduated the Sorbonne?? as in one of the best mathematics universities. he also won gold in multiple international math competitions and graduated high school with a score of 9,87 out of 10.

the final round takes place this weekend. all estimates show a difference of 0.02% votes maximum. maximum. everyone is scared. i have friends that will genuinely move out the country if this guy wins. my friends are volunteering to give out flyers, despite exams, because you can't vote at 17.

and, here comes the funny part. this rapper named Martha Logue got out of retirement to release a Simion diss track. this guy is like the romanian equivalent of Yuno Miles (if you're not familiar with him, look up yuno miles- martin luther king)

the song is called "votati cu cap nu cu CUR"/"vote with your head not with your ASS" (making fun of the party "AUR" that Simion is a member of)

the lyrics are: "Îmi bag pula-n gura lor, îl votez pe Nicușor Flutur chiloții mamei lui George Simion Ca pe tricolor, legionarilor, fasciștilor Auriștilor, georgiștilor, bag pula-n gura lor" // "I put my dick in their mouths, I vote for Nicușor I'm flying George Simion's mother's panties Like the flag, for the legionnaires, for the fascists For the Aurists, for the Georgists, I put my dick in their mouths"

sources

https://www.digi24.ro/alegeri-prezidentiale-2024/declaratii-controversate-ale-lui-calin-georgescu-nasterea-prin-cezariana-este-o-tragedie-3020759?__grsc=cookieIsUndef0&__grts=58244274&__grua=80c6f2a6f29118cb043240a02d30efe3&__grrn=1

https://declaratiicalingeorgescu.ro

[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 to appease the shippers. 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 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 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 the consequence of that is nearly being 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. 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 work 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. It 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 the same: Catra feels that Adora is threatening their relationship, and the only thing 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 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 ignoring the epiphanies she already had and having 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 sort of 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.

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 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 what they're struggling 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 should never, ever come at the expense of another one's. Catra deserves a better story too — one where she truly breaks the cycle of abuse and inspires people to do the same, instead of living out a fantasy where you can keep treating your loved ones like trash and still have them come back to you in the end.