#Amos smack of approval

[pinkslipxox]

Mami:

Summary: rough sex with Miko

Warnings: smut 🌶🥵

*requested via DM, hope you like it, love!*

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“Please…” you gasp, choking back a sob as the sound of the smack to your ass echoes the bedroom. You’re desperate to cum. Miko has denied your release two times already two times, and you feel as if you’re about to crack. You cry out as the palm of your girlfriend’s band slaps down on your skin again, harder than the last one, and you can feel your arousal slowly trickle down your inner thigh.

“Dime a quien te perteneces,” Miko growls, her grip on you tightening. “Si lo hagas, I’ll reward you.”

“A ti, a ti,” you whimper, desperate for your release, and Miko scoffs from behind you.

“‘A ti, a ti’,” she mocks, delivering another smack to your ass. “Say my name, say it, Y/N!”

“M-María Victoria,” you moan, your eyes fluttering close as Miko rubs where she’s spanked you, soothing the sting.

“Lie down with your legs spread out. Ahora.”

You’re quick to obey her, much to her approval, and you close your eyes at her command. Before you know it, you feel her hovering over you, and you feel her strap brush against your entrance. Moans escape your lips as you feel Miko’s own lips leave harsh but pleasurable kisses along your shoulder, collarbone, and breasts.

“Miko… Miko…” you whimper, moving your hips towards the rainbow colored strap but she is quick to hold you in place. Her grip on you is tight, firm, locking you in place. You try to squirm but to no avail, and Miko chuckles at your failed attempts to break free.

“Paciencia, mami,” Miko murmurs, her voice low and hoarse. She then hooks your left leg over her shoulder and trails kisses along your inner thigh.

You cry out as she thrusts inside you, throwing your head back against the pillow, clenching the bedsheets for support. As Miko thrusts into you, she rubs your sensitive clit in the most heavenly way, and you curl your toes, moaning her name. She’s switching back and forth between whispering dirty thing in your ear, telling you how proud she is of you taking her so well, that you’re the best she’s ever had, and that she feels you so fucking tight around her.

“Cum for me, baby girl,” she commands, her voice sultry and smooth, and your vision blurs and your back arches off the bed as your come undone, crying out her name.

You’re shaking, sweating, whimpering but you’ve never felt so alive before.

“Te amo, Miko,” you murmur, brushing your nose against her’s and she coos, gently pressing her lips against yours.

“Yo te amo más, Y/N,” she says softly and molds your lips together again.

[always-tilting-at-windmills]

The first Amos smack‼️

I just tugged into a feed from Ganymede, and uh, hey, when you sent that message to Fred Johnson, you didn’t give him our names or anything, did ya? No, ‘course not.

[always-tilting-at-windmills]

‼️The Amos grab, yank, stare & approval smack.

That Amos smile 😊

That Holden smile 🤩

[johannas-motivational-insults]

I for one was seething while Ms assh... Weaver basically confirmed to her designed punching bag that she keeps her around because she's a decent emotional support for Adora, so... wanna go even deeper and stab the reader s'more?

Oh I love stabbing the reader. And I love this scene so I’ll do the whole fuckin’ thing. (Commentary is bolded.)

This scene really is heartbreaking. It was easy for me to write, though, because Catra and (Shadow) Weaver have a very particular dynamic that I vibe with. It's such a pivotal scene for Catra too, because it confirms her fears that her success would be met with pushback and that Weaver really doesn’t love her or care about her at all. It makes her feel dehumanized both in the sense of being treated as subhuman and being treated as a tool. Something to be kept around only so long as it’s useful, discarded the second it’s not. This is the moment when she learns for certain just how little she means to Weaver and it’s painful to read.

*Content Warning for abuse*

The sound of keys in the front door makes Catra frown in confusion as she unloads the last of her books. No one is ever home this early. Even when Weaver doesn’t have any sponsored clubs or other teacher bullshit to deal with, 3:15 is the earliest she ever gets home.

But Catra’s always had sensitive ears, and those are definitely Ms. Weaver’s footsteps crossing the floor. When the woman pokes her head into the kitchen, no doubt to investigate the smell, Catra gives her a jerky nod. “Went to work after all?”

“No, I had some errands to run,” Weaver replies flatly. “Lying around all day like a lazy sack of meat doesn’t come naturally to me.”

Me @ Weaver:

Bitch she’s baking cookies, she’s clearly not lying around all day. Why you gotta be like that?

“Yeah, me neither,” mutters Catra, deflecting the obvious implication.

“I have something for you,” says Weaver, and Catra can’t help but look up in surprise. Weaver tosses her something and she instinctively moves to catch it. Just before it hits her hands, she realizes what it is and her stomach drops. Fingering the rough edges of the rolled up newspaper, she tries to breathe steadily as she forces her eyes up to meet Weaver’s. (Oh gotta love that trauma response.) The woman looks more unimpressed than predatory right now, but Catra knows better than anyone how that can change at the drop of a hat.

“Looks like your little ploy paid off,” she remarks.

Sighing, Catra sets the paper down on the table. “I told you, it wasn’t a ploy. Just a play.”

“I see. And I suppose the fact that this article was written by a close friend of yours is a complete coincidence.”

LOL clearly Weaver knows nothing about Entrapta if she thinks she could be bribed into writing something she doesn’t believe.

“I had nothing to do with that,” Catra denies swiftly. When Weaver’s expression doesn’t change, she insists, “Really, I swear.”

Weaver’s head tips the slightest bit, that familiar predatory tinge seeping into her eyes and voice. “And why should I believe you?”

Catra huffs, arms crossing defensively over her chest. “Why would I do something I know would get me in trouble?”

“I don’t know, Catra, you tell me,” says Weaver, slowly closing the gap between them. “It’s not as though you’ve been doing that your entire life.”

Me @ Weaver:

Like okay, it’s kinda true. But still.

Tensing more with every step Weaver takes, Catra raises her hands innocently, trying and failing not to shift her weight to her back foot. Not to give ground or show her fear. (This is making me super uncomfortable so I’m probably just gonna keep memeing at you all. Yes, I am aware that this is my fault. No, I am not sorry.) “Look, Entrapta has really strong opinions, and they’re always backed up with facts. I couldn’t just plant the idea in her head to write something like this.”

“Facts, you say?” muses Weaver. She reaches past Catra in a very deliberate show of invading her space, and Catra can’t help but suck a quick breath in through her teeth. But Weaver doesn’t touch her. All she does is pick up the paper and turn it over in her hands as though she is deep in thought. Then the motion stops, her eyes snapping up sharply. “So you agree with her.”

Weaver @ Catra:

“That’s not what I said,” protests Catra, her exasperation showing through her tenuous attempts at staying calm. “Stats are facts, not who deserves what awards or whatever. It’s not like I even care about that.”

Weaver shakes her head, her chuckle positively dripping with condescension. “Oh, now I know you’re lying.”

She is. She really is. And the fact that Weaver knows how much Catra cares and wants praise and approval and still denies her that makes me want to slap a bitch.

Also I just realized how closely this scene parallels the one in 1x04 and that actually wasn’t intentional but I’ll take it, clearly I’ve got the spirit of their relationship down.

“No, I-”

The newspaper smacks Catra across the cheek and she yelps in shock and pain, hand flying to her mouth.

It shouldn’t be a shock, not after 14 years of this shit. It still is, every time.

Ugh, ow.

“Enough of your lip,” hisses Weaver. “You know better than to contradict me.”

Hate is not a strong enough word for how I feel about this woman. Unfortunately there are too many people just like her. I’ve noticed the audience particularly hates this incarnation of Shadow Weaver and I think it’s because when she’s stripped of her magic the tactics she’s left with are far too familiar. I feel the same way.

Catra’s tongue swipes along her stinging lip, checking for blood. It comes back clean, but the lack of physical damage does nothing to calm the quiet rage boiling up inside of her. Weaver has never treated her with an ounce of respect, and now she has the gall to hit her with a rolled up newspaper like she’s a fucking animal. Subhuman. (I mean this feeling comes straight out of Demons but with Catra being human in this au it’s... not worse, definitely not, but it hits differently.) Catra’s fists clench and her chest puffs out as she straightens up to her full height (even if it’s nothing on Weaver).

“Do not touch me,” growls Catra, her voice low and dangerous in a way few people have ever heard it. “I’m an adult, that’s officially illegal now.”

Oh, you sweet summer child.

“Oh, you want to talk about the law?” counters Weaver, sounding far too calm in comparison. It just makes Catra angrier. And maybe a little scared. Somehow Weaver always makes her feel out of control, which never ceases to remind her who is in control. (Oof.) “I am under no obligation to let you live here, Catra, let alone at a significant discount. I do that out of the kindness of my heart. (LOL the what now?) Would you rather I throw you out in the streets like the stray you are?”

Yay for another insinuation that Catra is an animal. Nice going, Weaver.

Also, that is one of the meanest fucking lines I’ve ever written for Shadow Weaver and that’s saying something.

Those words hit Catra right in the gut, a blow far more painful than any physical one. They trigger a flood of other words that always seem to find her, stick to her no matter how she tries to slough them off, prove them wrong. Stray, nuisance, brat, worthless, unwanted, unloved...

But she was loved once. She was.

Oh boy, get ready for PAIN. So I wasn’t orginally planning to write this flashback but then I got a Very Bad Idea and I love torturing my readers (and myself) so this happened.

Kneeling in front of the open door, Papi opened his arms for a goodbye hug. When Catra stepped into them, she felt his smile against the side of her head. “Te amo, mija.”

“Yo también te amo, Papi,” said Catra, tiny arms tightening around his neck with a proud grin. He hadn’t taught her that one, she’d pieced it together on her own.

Papi chuckled in surprise and approval, ruffling her wild hair. “You’re a genius, little one. You know that?”

“Yep!” she answered, beaming with the completely earnest confidence only a precocious three year-old can muster.

Baby Catra’s behavior may be slightly inspired by my highly intelligent four year-old niece, who is also biracial with a multilingual father.

A couple playful taps of the horn from the driveway interrupted them, making Papi chuckle once again. Pulling away enough to look Catra in the eye, he winked conspiratorially. “Better not keep Mommy waiting. You know how she is.”

Catra shook her head soberly in agreement. Mommy was notoriously impatient, a speed demon on the road. Catra loved driving with her, laughing like a maniac from the backseat whenever she’d swerve and cuss out the idiots in her way. Those cackles never failed to make Mommy shoot Catra a smile in the rearview mirror, her transitory rage melting away in an instant at the sound. Still, it was never good being on the receiving end of that impatience.

(Catra’s mother is not at all inspired by my sister, however. She drives like a fucking granny.)

Papi quickly pecked Catra on the cheek before standing and waving goodbye, giving an appreciative nod to the babysitter as he pulled the door shut behind him.

He didn’t close it loudly or anything, but no sound is louder in Catra’s nightmares. She never saw either of them again.

“Answer me, Catra,” Ms. Weaver demands sternly.

That was what she had. And this is where she ended up.

Yeah, no wonder this version of Catra just assumes anything good in her life will be taken away. In some ways it might be worse than being Adora starting with nothing, because not only does Adora not remember what she lost in infancy (which wasn’t great to begin with), she has been steadily moving up in the world since. Catra’s had the opposite trajectory.

Suddenly noticing the tears rolling down her cheeks, Catra swipes them away with the back of her hand. Her throat hurts too much to swallow, so she doesn’t even bother trying to settle her voice. Her weakness is already on full display, anyway. Shaking her head, she whispers hoarsely, “No, Ms. Weaver.”

“Good,” Weaver says with finality as Catra sniffles, blinking back more tears. “You still live under my roof, and you will abide by my rules or face the consequences, just like anyone else.”

Oh boy, that’s a little too close for comfort. Again with this version of SW feeling especially despicable to the audience because it’s so familiar.

Just like anyone else. Sure.

Yeah you’re right Catra, go off.

As Weaver starts toward her room, Catra half-heartedly tosses a hand with an empty, resigned sigh. “What rules did I break this time?”

Weaver turns back, her expression dangerous, but Catra can’t muster the enthusiasm for fear anymore. Her eyes are still burning, voice tight with emotion as she confesses, “I’ve tried, Ms. Weaver. I-” Her voice cracks and she shakes her head, pinching her brow in shame. “I never wanted you to hate me.”

brb crying in the club

K but honestly the helplessness here is just heartbreaking. And it’s just like in canon. We saw, Catra did try to be a good soldier and make Shadow Weaver like her, but it was a lost cause. I mean I didn’t pull this dialogue directly from 2x06 but it’s a similar flavor for sure.

When Catra dares to look back up she finds that Weaver’s expression has softened slightly, though she still looks annoyed. “I never said I hate you,” she says, the uncharacteristic gentleness catching Catra off guard. “You’re just more trouble than you’re worth most of the time.”

It shouldn’t be a comfort. But it is, anyway. It is. Catra sniffles again, dipping her head to wipe her eyes on her shoulders.

The fact that this is a comforting answer to Catra is so fucked up and tragic but so befitting of their relationship.

“Though I will admit, you do have a way with Adora,” concedes Weaver, her tone very nearly impressed. “Not everyone can handle someone like that and keep them on task. I’ve had plenty come through my classroom.”

Wow, so we’re just being casually ableist now? Nice.

My thoughts exactly, Catra.

...Ableist and pragmatic.

Catra snorts under her breath, shaking her head as her eyes fall to the floor. How did she never put this together before? “That’s why you’re letting me stay.”

This truly is a gut punch moment. She thought maybe Weaver actually had a bit of affection for her or was invested in her future after all (which tracks for Catra because she is mean to the people she likes) and that’s why she let her stay, but no. As usual, it’s all about Adora. That is not going to bode well for the resentment moving forward.

“She does badly with her routine being disrupted, and she’s come to rely on you,” states Weaver, tipping her head in acknowledgement.

“Plus she’d hate you if you kicked me out,” Catra adds pointedly.

Weaver smiles, all teeth. “It is better for everyone this way, wouldn’t you say?”

Better for you, you mean.

“Sure,” mutters Catra. When that response earns her a look, she corrects herself. “Yes, Ms. Weaver.”

Eyes narrowed into slits, Weaver warns her, “Make no mistake, Catra. Adora would manage if you left us. If your behavioral issues begin to outweigh your usefulness, I reserve the right to evict you.” She cocks an expectant eyebrow. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” mumbles Catra.

Poor Catra, I just...

“I care very much about Adora, and I won’t have you dragging her down with you.”

“I remember,” Catra says numbly, picking at her nails and avoiding Weaver’s gaze.

Ooooooooooof. Why do I insist on hurting myself so much with all these canon parallels?

Studying her intently for a moment, Weaver concludes, “Yes, I’m sure you do.” Then she turns and leaves without another word.

Well that was lovely. Anybody else want to reach through the screen and throttle a bitch? ‘Cause I sure do.

This scene doesn’t cause an immediate reaction on Catra’s part but it definitely moves her to a place where she’s very aware of her role and how useless it is to try to change it (at least in this house), and that makes everything a little more volatile. She’s not at a breaking point yet but she’s getting closer, it certainly takes the wind out of her sails a bit. She will recover in the short term because she is Catra and her stubbornness makes her very resilient, but it weighs her down and eventually she is going to snap. Y’all will love that, I’m sure. ;)

[always-tilting-at-windmills]

THIS ❣️❣️❣️❣️

[whats-the-story-tc]

20th of December, 2019

"The One with the Last Straw"

[LONG POST AND TRIGGER WARNINGS]

If heavy, emotional stuff/crying/mentions of mental health issues are in any way triggering for you, please, stop reading now, for your own sake.

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

Another day, another flannel.

This morning, my mum handed me two gifts. "One for your homeroom teacher, one for whoever that substitute of hers is", she said. I was absolutely over the moon. I'd have an excuse to talk to her. It would be fine. It wouldn't just be some stupid makeshift reason.

It took me a while to find her, but trotted up to her quite happy when I finally did. I was scared she wouldn't come. She smiled, a bit positively confused, when she saw me showing up, her look was something I could only describe as okay, hello, there you are, what got you so excited? I was both excited and nervous at the same time, the nervousness on the second power because of the Geography test I was to write in about 10 minutes after that. I handed her the gift, and told her "It's from my class, for all that you've helped us." From the look on her face, it was evident she wasn't at all expecting to get anything. Then along came another girl from my class, with a box of chocolates also meant for V. For a second there, I thought she was actually gonna cry from the way she brought her hand to her mouth. The girl asked her "You don't like it?" I've never heard anyone say "I do" so fast, followed by "but my boyfriend likes it even more." She must really love him, if he's the first thing that came to her mind. She thanked the girl in first person plural, which I found absolutely adorable. God, I wish it had ended there. Then I opened up my mouth.

It wasn't the thing I was meant to say, but my mind was in complete autopilot mode from nerves and I had no control over my socially awkward mouth, so I said "And thank you, personally, for still talking to me, even though I run to you with every little thing." She was surprised. Like, actually had no clue why I was saying that. Now, 12-ish hours later, I have no clue why I said it either. IT'S HER GODDAMN JOB, SPECS. She just gestured towards me with this smile of 'can you believe this' and said something I can only really translate as "These kind of "I am sorry" (as in I'm the one who's sorry) people..." as she genuinely didn't understand why I was saying that. Of course, I automatically said "I'm sorry", as you do, to which the answer was "There we go..."

When I told one of my internet friends about this, she told me V was being rude, but no. She wasn't. It might not have been the best way of communicating this, but there's no denying that she's right. She is, and I'm not only saying that because of my feelings, or because I'm scared to disagree. I've been called out on this before, and it's an issue I'm aware of, and trying to fix. And there's another reason why I know there wasn't any ill intent behind it.

When her conversation with the girl, and a boy from the other class who joined us ended, she turned to me, and her gentle, smiling expression, like the kind I described on Wednesday, didn't change. I like to think I looked at her in a similar way. We held eye contact briefly, and said what needed to be said without words. For me, it meant something like this: 'Chin up, kid.' 'I'm trying.' 'Conversation over? Do you have anything else you want to tell me or can we both leave?' 'Yeah.' So we did. And I nearly broke down crying in Geography a couple times, typing everything up so I wouldn't forget it after I handed my test in.

Until I actually broke down crying, in the break, trying to tell my friend (from here on: Pocketwatch Friend) what happened. I cried all break long, and tried to figure out what was wrong with me, and why this made me cry so much. When I turned back, and saw V with a senior a bit away, well out of earshot, I actually said "Oh come on, don't be here when I'm talking about you!" I didn't know then that the problem wasn't V at all.

We held a Class Christmas today, it being the last day of school. Beforehand, I was outside, looking for someone, and saw her with some seniors reciting poems (the way we do, for a grade). I wanted to speak to her. I wanted to tell her that what I said isn't actually what I was meaning to say. But when she passed me by and we locked eyes, I only gave her a sad smile. I figured it would be best if I said nothing. It could only make my situation worse.

During this Class Christmas, my homeroom teacher came up to Pocketwatch Friend and I, as we were discussing everything that happened today, and she asked us what we were talking about. Even me saying we were discussing deep psychology didn't make her want to leave. I like her, but I really didn't need her there now. So I just said "I was thinking about how I don't get along with people who are like me." And she immediately said "Because they show you a mirror." It smacked me in the gut. Mirror. Of course she was my mirror again. If one of my training kids came up to me thanking me for something very basic that comes natural for me to do, I'd be confused, too, and would've given an awkward answer that may have come out wrong. The problem wasn't her. It was me. I'd been bottling up anxiety, exhaustion, stress and depression for so long, I couldn't hold it in anymore. The bottle burst into pieces. And our little unintentional miscommunication, which is just so typically us, was the last straw.

Cut to the church service about an hour later. I saw her, black coat and skirt and checkered scarf and just overall her being beautiful and I panicked. Both in a gay and in an anxiety way. I hate services because of the sheer amount of fucking people around makes me suffocate, and remembering my woes made it worse. When we got there, she was sitting with the other class—right next to the girl I used to be best friends with in middle school, but it got really toxic. My past and my present. Fuck.

I broke again. And again. And again. And I honestly thanked God I was not in the choir, facing everyone who was there, but hidden away, sitting to the side, so no one could really see me crying my makeup off. I decided it would be better if I distanced myself from V, come January. I was straining what we had by chasing her approval, because I genuinely couldn't believe she already likes me as I am. I genuinely couldn't believe how anyone could like me. More tears. And at the end of the service, me and Pocketwatch Friend bolted out of the church so fast through one of the side doors that we actually got back before anyone else. I didn't want to be there anymore. I just wanted to go home and cry. And I did.

Something I actually said to myself about her at home was "I don't hate you. God, how could I? I just... wish you weren't so much like me."

Though it says a lot, that when we were talking teachers with my older girls (12 year olds) at training, and they asked me who my English teacher was, the first thing I said about "Miss V" was that "she looks a little like me..."

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. / Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

(^ even this epigram has a story with V and I, from last year. If anyone's curious, I might talk about it sometime.)

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

[always-tilting-at-windmills]

The moment Amos was 100% sure he could take moral compass assistance from this newcomer to the Roci.

Kind, Gentle, Pastor ….sure that’s all well and good.

But she is also righteous af with the shut up smack, when pushed too far.

And damn does he ever bond with Anna quickly after that.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”