#though you are welcome to use this as a source or ask questions (though i did my best to note all sources)

[bookshelf-dust]

relief

evan buckley x fem!reader

gif by @suledins

PSA IF YOU’RE A MINOR: GET THE FUCK OFF MY PORCH BEFORE I WHOOP YOUR ASS. THIS FIC IS STRICTLY 18+. I RESPECT YOUR BOUNDARIES, YOU RESPECT MINE.

word count: 6,568

warnings: nsfw 18+ only; swearing, inexperienced!reader, mentions of therapy/insecurities regarding inexperience, conversations about sex, heavy petting, fingering

synopsis: buck is a walking golden retriever. when he asks you out for the first time and begins to learn more about his arson-investigating coworker, it’s easy to say he puts that eagerness to use.

a/n: this is the very first smut fic i have EVER written (aside from some old old dirty nsfw headcanons). that being said, please bear with me, because this stuff is hard!! shoutout to all the wonderful writers who do this all the time because phew! 🤧 i am pretty happy with how this turned out, and i’m proud of myself for writing for a new character and trying something totally different from my norm! i had no plan of direction for this fic when i started it, but i hope the end result will resonate with some of you, and if it doesn’t, i still hope it gives you some good feelings and a little escape from this fuck ass world <33

————

Evan Buckley is a hellishly gorgeous man. Oftentimes, you have to remind yourself that he’s real—that he’s not some sort of mirage, a result of your constant sleep deprived state. He’s the kind of breathtaking that you find to be unfair.

You started working for the 118 as their house arson investigator three months ago. Captain Nash soothed every nerve you had going in, showing you to your quaint little office, introducing you to everyone else in the house. You’d definitely needed the comfort of that transition, but hadn’t expected your colleagues to be so welcoming. 

You were transferred as part of a greater Los Angeles initiative to create stronger communication and collaboration between the first responders and specialized investigators, as so much of their jobs go hand-in-hand. Although you’re pretty sure it’s only because the department heads get sick of answering follow-up questions about causes of fires—if people had insurance, if it was an accident or an attack, etc. 

So they split up you and the rest of your original team into varying firehouses so that there would always be an arson investigator on hand. And if there’s any foul play, then the police can be contacted quicker, as the investigator becomes a direct source to target those issues. You’d complain about all these silly loopholes if it weren’t for the fact that you’d gotten a pretty raise for your trouble. 

In truth, working with the 118 is the most useful you’ve felt in a long time. You know you’re good at your job, and you’d tell anyone who asked that you’ve done the work and you know that to be true. This opportunity has allowed you so much more field work than you could’ve imagined, which excites you. And there is the benefit of the eye-candy your coworker provides. 

Which is why, each time Buck approaches you, you have to blink a few times, press your nails into your palm, do something to ground yourself so that you might be able to carry on a conversation with him. Tonight though, he’s managed to sneak up on you, giving you no time to seem more like a sociable human being. 

“Hey, uh, you ever figure out the cause of that house fire from the other night?”

Buck is propped up against the door to your office, the air immediately responding to his presence, making everything feel lighter. 

You look up from your desk, huff out a breath to try and blow the hair away from your eyes. 

“Oh, hey, Buck. The house that the newlywed couple had just bought?”

Knowing him is enough to tell you that this particular fire would be the one to stick in his memory come week's end, the others being much too mundane for conversation.

Buck nods, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face. 

“Yeah, actually,” you say, encouraged to continue. “Turns out the couple started it without even realizing. They didn’t remember everything at first, but after going over there and questioning them some more, they finally pieced it together.”

Buck steps a little further into your office. You watch as he bends at the waist, hands coming to rest on one of the squishy chairs across from you. 

“How do you start a fire in your own house, and not notice?” he asks, that playful lilt to his voice reaching your ears. 

Your cheeks burn, a flush running through your body and turning you hot, head to toe. You tap your pen against your wrist. This isn’t usually the kind of information you’re excited to share with your coworkers—not that they wouldn’t be entertained by it. It’s that they’ll all be too entertained by it. 

“Well,” you cough, “turns out they were having a rather aggressive intimate moment and one thing led to another…” You trail off, hoping you won’t have to say it out loud. It was bad enough being in the room when they described their evening in detail, talking directly to one another like you really weren’t there.

Buck cocks his head at you, like a cat that’s just spotted a bug. “I don’t follow,” he says. His mouth quirks up the slightest bit at the corners. 

You inhale, mustering up enough courage to blurt it out before this becomes any more awkward than it has to be. 

“They were having sex in the kitchen and her ass bumped up against the stove top, turning on the burner. She’d grabbed onto a dish towel, for support or whatever, and when they moved it upstairs, she tossed the towel behind her and…”

“Neither of them noticed the fire because they were too caught up in the heat of the moment,” Buck finishes for you. 

You nod, sucking your teeth just slightly. “Yep. What’s worse is after spending an hour digging around and talking to them, the wife went ‘You know, now that you say all this, I do remember my bum feeling hotter than usual before we made it to the bed.’” You roll your eyes.

Buck drags his hands down his cheeks, straightening. There’s a smile on his face when he says, “Well, I guess they say love makes you do crazy things.”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” you say, laughing a little tensely. You chance a bit of eye contact with him, realizing he’d already been staring at you for who knows how long. “Was there anything else you needed? Or just curious about the local arsonists?”

Buck chuckles, turning his face away from you momentarily. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to go out for drinks tonight.” 

You glance at the clock on the upper right hand corner of your computer monitor. It reads 5:43. “Is it a special occasion or something? I feel like no one’s really done that since Chimney had a kid.”

Buck says your name. A knot forms in your throat. “I didn’t mean with everybody. I meant just the two of us.”

You blink. “Why?” You blurt out, the one syllable making you stutter.

His brows knit together. “Uh, so we can get to know each other better? I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious that I like you.”

You’re pretty sure steam might be coming out of your ears. “Um, well, I don’t like to assume. I mean, you’re a pretty flirty guy, you know?”

He says your name again as he plants his hands on your desk. Your pen falls out of your grasp. You’re mesmerized as you watch him pick it up and place it in the cup over to your left.

“This is Buck 3.0, remember? I don’t just flirt with anyone. Besides, flirting usually comes to me, what with being a sight for sore eyes and whatnot.”

You snort: this cute little laugh that comes straight from the back of your throat that Buck has grown to love. 

Buck decides not to rile you up anymore. “So, drinks or no? I definitely won’t cry myself to sleep tonight if you say no.”

You facepalm. “Yeah, alright. Filling my bloodstream with alcohol might be exactly what I need right now.”

————

Two cosmos in, and you’re feeling a lot better. You’re grateful for having kept a pair of jeans and a relatively-okay-for-going-out top in your locker, allowing you to look somewhat presentable enough to be so near Buck for an entire evening.

So far it’s been pleasant, the both of you making small talk, you showing him pictures of your cat and him listening intently to all the antics said cat gets up to during the night. 

You’re chewing on a bacon covered cheese fry when Buck speaks. “What did you mean earlier, when you said you didn’t like to assume? Like, not assuming a guy would be into you?”

You nod, pausing with your hand in front of your mouth while you swallow. “That’s exactly what I meant. This isn’t something that happens often.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Buck says, taking another swig from his beer. If he’s not careful, he’s going to spill it down his shirtfront. 

Your chest thumps with self-deprecation, the voices from the sides of your head—the ones that create that pressure behind your eyes—telling you this might be a great moment to talk shit about yourself. To air out all your faults to this man you probably don’t even deserve to be sitting across from. God knows he won’t be interested when he really gets to know you. 

You inhale.

You’ve been in therapy long enough to know the power of positive thinking. You know that everyone is on a different, unique timeline—that things happen for everyone at different points in their lives. 

But being inexperienced in all aspects of the romantic world is something you’ve carried shame for practically your entire adult life. Only you promised yourself that you wouldn’t let it consume you anymore. It’s your life, and you have the ability to change the way you think. That doesn’t mean your body doesn’t still react, though, doesn’t still flush with anger at how your life has gone thus far, like your veins don’t thrum as you think of all the vile comments you could say about yourself, the ways you could punish yourself for being the odd one out. 

That’s why being approached by Buck in such a blunt, upfront way was such a shock to your system. That just doesn’t, or rather, it hasn’t ever happened to you. 

And with Buck being who he is, it felt like even more of a fever dream. You almost wanted to spin around and tell them to cut the cameras, the lenses zooming in on your face—mockumentary style. 

“I’m not though,” you say. “Guys don’t usually come up to me and ask me out on a date, or ask me anything really.”

Buck is staring at you intently, and you almost wonder if you went too far by calling this a date. 

“Are you for real?”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t say it like that, but yeah. I guess there’s just something about me that’s not super alluring to most men? That’s why I was so surprised by you.”

He waves his hands around gently. “I didn’t mean it like a bad thing, I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around that.”

You eat a few more cheese fries. “Why?”

He stutters for a few moments. “Because you’re just so…so perfect?” You snort, an air of sarcasm to it.  “Like, for one, you’re super hot. You’ve got this whole shy but totally badass vibe about you, and you’re passionate and great at what you do. I guess I just can’t fathom there not being a line of guys wanting to jump your bones if you’ll let them.”

You laugh. It makes Buck smile. 

“I appreciate that you think those things about me. For a long time, I thought that was pretty impossible. Guess when you go twenty four years without anyone actively pursuing you, you start to wonder.”

The table falls silent, and you finish your drink, thanking the waiter when he takes your empty glass, returning with a full cup of water for you.

“So, let me get this clear,” Buck says. Normally those words would freak you the fuck out, but you’re feeling a lot less tense now, less scared of talking about your situation. It’s not what you want, but it’s how it is. “No guy has ever asked you out. So you’ve never had a boyfriend? Never had a first kiss? Never had…sex? Or anything adjacent to it?”

“That’s right,” you say. “And the orgasms I’ve given myself don’t count towards the adjacent. So yeah, you’re right. It’s embarrassing, trust me, I know.”

Buck is still reeling from you saying the word orgasm out loud to him right now, not to mention the images flashing through his mind because of it. He pulls himself together. 

“It’s not embarrassing. Are you embarrassed by it?”

You clear your throat. “I’m certainly not happy about it. Honestly, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it is that I’m missing that makes me so behind everyone else. And I’ve spent a lot of time being angry at myself. But it’s not like I can force those things to happen for me, you know?”

Buck gives you this look, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. A small grin makes an appearance on your face. 

“Well, I mean, you could,” Buck says. “But I can see why you haven’t. In my experience, just hooking up with someone to get off, or just say you’ve done something, kinda makes you feel like shit.”

You wrap your hands around your cool glass, running your fingers up and down through the condensation. 

“Unfortunately, I’m also a hopeless romantic. So I’ve thought about just hooking up with someone so that I’m not a virgin anymore, but that’s not what I want. I want a proper relationship and someone that cares about me and wants to be with me. Seems that’s a lot to ask for though.”

Buck reaches across the table and sets his hand on your wrist. “Hey, no, it’s not a lot to ask for. And it’s not bad to be a hopeless romantic! Honestly, I think there are more people like that than we know, but they do whatever to fit in. I am sorry that you’ve felt like this is something to be ashamed of. I can’t imagine how that feels. But I also think it means any relationship you’d have would be more successful because you’ve got your shit together already.”

That makes you laugh, just a little, and Buck is immediately thrilled, fully taking your hand in his. You don’t even have it in you to argue with him. For once, you just listen and try to see yourself through his eyes. 

“Well, I do appreciate you saying all of that, Buck. It’s only that I’ve been patient for so long, and I’m starting to think being wanted isn’t in the cards for me.”

Your gaze has dropped to the glossy table in front of you. You can see the reflections from the overhead televisions, from other patrons walking by, waiters carrying trays of drinks. Buck squeezes your hand in a way that makes you lock eyes with him. 

“So…what is it you think this is then?”

You blink. You have absolutely no response in your brain that would be the appropriate answer for this question.

“You asked me out for drinks.”

His grip on your hand moves up to your wrist, and a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his thumb press into your pulse. This is the most contact you’ve ever had with a man. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of his skin on yours, the feeling of his calloused palms, shockingly cool and free of sweat, much to the contrary of your own. Your heart begins to race when it finally catches up. Maybe it’s better that this is coming on so unexpectedly.

“And…” Buck says. 

You cough even though absolutely nothing is tickling your throat. “You said you wanted to get to know me better.”

If it’s possible, Buck’s smile gets bigger. “Because?”

“You said you liked me?”

“Atta girl!” He teases. A shock of heat shoots straight from your throat down to your low belly. You pray he can’t see it on your face. Luckily, he continues talking. “So, now that we’re clear on me having a thing for you, what would you like to do with that information?”

You take a quick sip of water, mouth suddenly dry. “Well, my immediate thought is that I should run away and hide because in my head, a potential relationship, or whatever, sounds great but right now? Right here with you touching my hand and looking at me? It sounds kind of terrifying.”

Buck starts with the reading again, sliding his thumb further up until it’s nestled in the center of your forearm. It makes you shiver and his eyes flash. 

“Sounds like we’ve gotta get you out of that head of yours and into the present.”

————

With therapy, you’ve gotten exponentially better at learning how to breathe, how to focus on what’s happening right now, so that you don’t spiral out of control just thinking about what might be happening in a few hours, days, weeks. Being more present is something you’ve learned. That is, in your daily life. But when you’re not used to interacting with men, these feelings are so strange, uncomfortable and scary. 

Your imagination can only take you so far, and you’re accustomed to those limitations. Not knowing what a kiss feels like, not knowing the feeling of anyone else’s touch but your own, not being able to properly picture what might happen to your mind and body when in physical contact with someone you want.

It’s both exciting—sitting here, in Buck’s Jeep, as he drives you home, imagining that those feelings might finally be attainable—and nerve wracking, because how does any of this really work?

Reading about relationships, hearing about your best friend’s escapades, watching a love scene on tv—it’s all different than really experiencing it. Truthfully, it feels like there’s a part of your brain focused on dissociating so that your heart doesn’t fall out of your ass or so that you don’t go into hiding before anything can happen.

By the time Buck pulls into your driveway, you’re feeling like hiding might be your safest bet.

He stops the car, turns off the engine. “Let me walk you to your door?”

You nod, unbuckling your seatbelt with shaky hands. 

Buck follows you up the short sidewalk and up to your little front porch. You both pause under your outside lights, listening to the sound of crickets screeching from the shrubs. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

“So, uh, you were kinda quiet on the way here…did I freak you out earlier? Because if I didn’t, I didn’t mean—”

“No!” you blurt. “You didn’t freak me out, you made me hopeful, actually, I think I’m just afraid of all that romantic stuff because I’ve never done it before…”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, of course it’s a little nerve wracking, but wouldn’t it make you happy to experience those things? Like say, a hug, for starters?”

“Are you trying to hug me right now?” You deadpan, though excitement is thrumming through your veins, blocking out any hesitance. 

“Well, actually, I was hoping to kiss you, but warm up to it first, you know?” Buck says, a teasing lilt to his voice, a naughty smirk playing on his lips. You wish there was another word for it, but there’s not. 

You freeze. Your face has got to be on fire. You bring your hands to your cheeks, covering yourself from his view. 

Buck chuckles. Loosely, he circles your wrists. “Hey, don’t hide. What’s wrong?”

You’ve glued your hands to your face. “You’re making me sweat, Buckley.”

If at all possible, this makes him smile bigger, laugh harder, insanely pleased with himself. You hear the rustling of his coat as he leans down, leveling his lips with the shell of your ear. “Is that such a bad thing?” he whispers. 

You pull away quickly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Not fair!” you joke. “But, I would like a hug…”

At your consent, he’s on you immediately. If you thought he was big just looking at him, having his body pressed to yours, in the most beautiful bear hug embrace you’ve ever experienced, he seems impossibly huge. It makes it feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s so warm, so solid. His arms are around your back. He’d helped guide yours around his neck, but you’re so dazed that you hadn’t noticed. 

God, he’s so tall. You can feel the soft of his tummy, and you’re afraid that if you stay like this for too long you won’t ever be able to get through another day without craving the contact. His hair is surprisingly smooth where you feel it against your cheek. His form practically swallows you whole. Not to mention how nice he smells. You’ve never been able to understand those lines in your romance novels, talking about spice and man and ginger whatever. But now you do. He smells like vanilla shampoo and woody body wash. 

“This is so nice,” you mumble into the side of his neck, way before you can talk yourself out of it. You can feel Buck’s laugh against your chest. It feels amazing. It’s like an out of body experience. 

He pulls back just enough so that he can look at you, but he doesn’t remove his arms, only shifts so that his hands are gently grasping your waist. You’ve never felt this way before—like all your nerves are being sent into overdrive. You’re alive with the smallest of touches. 

“I genuinely can’t fathom how any man has ever looked at you and not wanted to make you theirs on the spot. I could scoop you up and keep you all to myself right now.”

This time you manage to maintain eye contact with him. You grin, biting the inside of your lip. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m feeling really brave right now so if you were serious about that kissing stuff, this might be the time to act.”

Buck tosses his head back, gleeful laughter filling the small space of your front porch. Even so, his hands move up to the sides of your neck, fingers warm against your skin. “You’re sure?” he asks, his thumb caressing your pulse. He feels a kick of cockiness knowing he’s done that to you. 

“I’m sure,” you say. Nod your head one firm time.

“Maybe your cheek first? As a warm up?”

You nod again. You’ve officially steeled yourself. Buck bends to meet you, tilting your head back just slightly so that he can reach you from a better angle. His hand cups the back of your neck as he presses his lips to your cheek. He’s so sure of himself, so passionate about this small thing, that it feels sensual. It puts you in a trance. His lips remain on your cheek for just a minute, the beginnings of stubble scratching at your skin. You have the urge to giggle like a frenzied teen.

“How was that?”

You bite your lip, hating the way you’re buzzing with adrenaline, filling with excitement at all these new sensations. But more so, you feel so special. So seen. You feel fuller than you ever have before at being treated so gently, being cherished and looked at like you’re this precious being. “I really, really liked it,” you tell him.

“Well, I’m glad.” He winks. “I did too.” He relishes in your little giggle. “How about a real one before we call it a night?”

You’re nodding again. “Yes. I would like that very much. I just want you to know that I might be really bad at it and I’m probably gonna embarrass myself and it’s probably going to be the worst, most awful kiss you’ve ever had and—”

Buck’s lips are on yours, successfully shutting you up. You squeak. 

In truth, it does feel pretty awkward for the first few seconds, buck Buck takes it in stride. Doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, just takes what you’re giving him and guides you in a better direction. He tips your head back again, slotting his lips over yours and pressing himself to you. Your brain goes completely quiet. You can’t think or feel anything that isn’t Buck. This feeling spreads throughout your body, easing the ache in your chest, making you feel light on your toes.

Relief.

You admittedly have no idea what you’re doing but try your best to follow his lead, trying to kiss him back with as much passion as you’re feeling inside, tentatively threading your fingers through his hair, setting a hand on his chest. At one point, his tongue runs over your bottom lip and you shiver. Buck’s hand flies to the small of your back, keeping you grounded. You let it happen, curious as to how it might feel. You don’t have words. He licks into your mouth, and you giggle. It makes him smile and he separates from you long enough to enquire what’s got you laughing. 

“I just realized what people mean when a couple looks like they’re eating each other's faces. It’s really nice, actually. Not as gross as people make it out to be.”

Buck snorts. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, already scrambling to get his mouth back on yours. He doesn’t feel like teasing, letting you pull him down, letting you try and lead this one. You’re so gentle—trying to figure out the right way, the way that works for the both of you, to kiss him. He likes that you treat him so carefully.

When you finally end the kiss, you break the silence created by an intense few minutes of eye contact. “Was I bad? You can tell me, I know I was a little clumsy at the least.”

“Nah, not bad,” Buck says. “You’re a quick learner. I enjoyed it. Ten out of ten, would do it again.”

“Me too. Practice makes perfect, right?”

————

For the past few weeks, things with Buck have been going well. Since that first night out, he’s prioritized getting to know you better, spending time with you that doesn’t revolve around a nasty fire and the plethora of causes it may or may not have had. Time that doesn’t allow for any of your coworkers to pick and tease. 

Buck is starting to feel like one of your best friends. That was cemented the night he watched you play Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, enraptured by how quickly you were solving the puzzles and taking down those grimy basement monsters that, frankly, scared the shit out of him. You only told him that you’d played at least four times at the end of the evening. But hey, all your romance novels have told you that the best relationships are based on solid friendships. 

You’ve had the opportunity to kiss him more, some of it sweet and exploratory, you being courageous enough to ask Buck how he likes to be kissed, if he likes it when you tug his hair, if there’s anything you can change or do differently. He’ll only answer those questions if you do first, telling him what’s working and what you want more of. As useful as all of this communication is, it was tremendously embarrassing to share your intimate thoughts with him at first. 

Some of the kissing has gotten a bit heavier. The first time you sat in his lap ran through your mind constantly for days after, appearing in your dreams, day and night. You couldn’t get over the way he felt beneath you—solid, warm, so real. How he sounded when he kissed you, how his hands felt on your hips and the curve of your ass. How it had felt when he’d encouraged you to grind against him for the first time. You hadn’t meant to moan, but it was like relief had shot through you. Like your imagination was finally getting to take a break because now you were actually doing the things you imagined. You felt so alive, so powerful, feeling him get hard between your legs, hearing the strain in his voice as he encouraged you to keep moving until you finished. 

Tonight is the first night of your long weekend. Neither of you have shifts for the next few days, and you took it upon yourself to ask if he’d like to stay over, maybe get takeout and watch a movie or something. It hadn’t been meant as a request with the hope that it would turn into something more. Frankly, you’ve been feeling more shy since that moment you shared a few weeks ago. 

You hadn’t expected to watch a movie in your bed instead of on the couch, hadn’t expected to pause it halfway through because Buck’s stare was practically burning a hole through the side of your head and you had to figure out what was up. 

“You’re staring, Buck. Is something wrong?”

He’d laughed. It was unlike a laugh you’d heard from him before. It felt sensual. It felt laced with want. 

“Nah, nothing’s wrong. I just can’t get you out of my head.”

Your eyebrows had bunched together. “But…I’m right here. Shouldn’t that help?” That laugh again. 

“That’s not what I mean, sweetheart. I mean that I can’t stop thinking about fucking you with my fingers.”

And that’s how you’d ended up on your back, head pressed to your pillows, with Buck hovering over you. He’s kissing you, dragging his tongue over the sides of your neck and kissing a trail back right back up. His hand is resting on your collarbone, fingers tilting you up to him.

“How’s this feel?” he asks, voice muffled against your shoulder. 

“G-good,” you manage. “Really good.”

He pulls back, sitting back on his knees and setting his hands on your thighs. “Yeah? You’ve been squirming an awful lot.”

The heat radiating off of you, the way you cover your mouth with the back of your hand is enough of a response. Buck doesn’t say anything more, the both of you sitting in silence for a few minutes. He knows you want to say something. But he won’t force it out of you. He’ll wait until you use your words. 

“Buck?” Your voice is a whisper. He hums. You clear your throat, and he bites his lip to hide the pride racing through him at knowing he’s got you all flustered. “What you said before, about touching me? I want you to do it.”

“Yeah?” His smile is so gorgeous, so cocky, and if you weren’t so dazed with lust you might reach out and smack him. 

“Yeah,” you say. You give him your best, pleading eyes. That’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him that way, and Buck knows that he’s gonna give in any time you do from here on out. He leans back down, kissing you again. You take one of his hands and bring it between your legs, encouraging him to cup you. “You’ve been kissin’ me like that for so long…already feel pretty wound up.”

He nudges your nose with his, a smirk playing on his lips. He sets his palm down against you, over your shorts. The heel digs into your clit and he starts rubbing you, slow, but firm enough that you gasp. Your hips buck.

“Honestly,” he says, “I’d thought about teasing you, but I feel like you deserve this, after all that patient waiting you’ve done. Is that what you want?”

His middle finger presses over your hole. You’re so warm. He can feel how damp you’ve gotten, that you’ve started to soak through your panties. 

“Please,” you breathe. “Want you to touch me, so bad, Buck.” You brace your hands on his shoulders, feeling like all this pent up sexual energy is just begging to come out. You feel feral. 

“Okay, baby, okay. Let me get your shorts off, alright?” He taps your hip and you lift up, letting him slide them down your legs.

“Oh, um,” he pauses, a concerned look on his face. “I just wanted to tell you, I-I haven’t shaved or anything. I mean, I trimmed like a week ago, but, if that bothers you, I-” 

“Hey, no big deal,” Buck says. “Doesn’t matter to me. Not ever gonna stop me from making my girl feel good.”

My girl. 

That alone felt like an orgasm.

He pulls your panties down, and you feel heat rising to your face when he marvels at how they stick to you. But the second Buck lays eyes on your perfect little pussy, he’s the one feeling dazed. 

“How no one has ever touched you like this…” He licks a stripe up your inner thigh. “How no one has ever told you how much they fucking want you, never fallen on their knees for you…” He spreads your legs farther, shamelessly trying to memorize every detail of you. “Is beyond me.” 

Buck sets his middle and ring finger on the hood of your clit, starting to rub you in slow, agonizing circles. 

“Because I feel like I could devour you right now.” 

Your feet slide up the bedsheets, legs bending at the knee and allowing Buck to get more comfortable as he settles between them. Buck sets his chin on top of your knee. He’s watching his own hand and how it moves over you. His left hand is pushing up your t-shirt just a little so that he’s massaging the fat of your hip. For a moment he pictures holding onto said hips while he fucks you for the first time, imagines what sounds you might make, and he has to keep himself from letting out a moan.

Buck slides his fingers down to circle your hole, reveling in how soft your skin is, how warm and messy and perfect. He gathers some of your arousal on the tips of his fingers, dragging it up through your lips and over your clit. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow hard, looking up at him. “Feels good. When you do t-that—jesus—the up and down? It’s so nice, but the circles, that’s what will get me to—” 

“That’s what’ll get you to come all over my fingers?” 

You moan. It’s high pitched and whiny, a sound you didn’t know you could make. You force the words out of your throat. “Yes.”

“You wanna take a finger now?” Buck kisses your knee. You’re pretty sure he’s sucked a hickey into the skin above it while you’ve been otherwise distracted. 

“Please, please, Buck, I need to know how it feels—fuck!”

Buck’s fingers are bigger than yours. Much bigger. The sight of him hovering above you, his eyes almost black, burning with desire for you, really does you in. He starts slow: a few soft thrusts of his finger rubbing your walls, exploring the inside of you. 

Then he curls his finger upwards. Your eyes roll back in your head and at the same time your body gives away how fucking turned on you are, how desperate you are for him—and it’s loud. 

You’re so wet that your pussy squelches. Something about that sound flips a switch in Buck, and you’re crying out as he adds a second finger, curling them both, clearly enjoying the filthy sounds you’re making. 

Buck pushes your knee down and away, settling completely beside you, propped up so he can see your face properly while he’s fingering you within an inch of your life. The way he’s looking at you tells you that he’s going to make you come soon. He’s making it a mission. He wants your orgasm as much as you do. He needs it.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. ‘M so glad you let me help out this time. I bet you’ve spent so many nights spread out on this bed, fucking yourself, doing all the work alone.”

Buck’s fingers are making you brainless. You feel blissful, so serene, so calm, so fucking good. He keeps curling his fingers, scissoring them every once in a while. You want to tell him that you can’t usually come just from this, that you need external stimulation. You grab onto his bicep. 

“Yeah, yeah, Buck—I have. You’re takin’ such good care of me.” He slows down his ministrations, letting you take a breather. Letting you gather your thoughts before he pushes you over the edge. You cup his cheek, pull him down for a kiss. He’s practically got hearts in his eyes. 

“Need you to play with my clit, B-Buckley. W-won’t come without it. I wanna come.”

You look down, suddenly entranced by the way Buck’s fingers are moving inside you. He follows your gaze, chuckling to himself. “You like to watch, pretty girl? Guess next time I’ll have to get you a mirror.”

Buck pulls his fingers out of your pussy and you whine. You shiver. You feel so empty. But all is forgotten when he puts the very same fingers that were just inside of you into his mouth. He maintains eye contact with you while he sucks them clean. You moan, despite the fact that he’s not touching you. It’s just so fucking sexy.

His hand returns to your drenched skin, fingers pressing firmly against your clit. 

“Where’s that spot, huh?” he asks. “Show me where it feels the best.” You guide him, a little to your left, that spot on the hood of your clit, not directly on it where the stimulation will be too much, but the spot that has you arching your back, quite possibly more revved up than you ever have been before. 

Buck is quick to begin soothing those precise little circles again, a look of determination on his face. For a moment, neither of you say anything. There’s only the sound of your breathing, the wet, filthy sound of him rubbing at your clit.

That telltale heat spreads its way through your low belly, through the tops of your thighs, through your pelvis, up your spine. It’s right there, you think. 

“Fuck, I’m—” The words are barely out of your mouth by the time your orgasm washes over you, making the room go fuzzy, shrouding you in pure, thoughtless bliss. He fucks you through it, rubbing you until you’re twitching, successfully overstimulated. 

You lay there, covered in a sheen of sweat, attempting to restore your breathing to a normal rhythm when he comes back with a damp cloth. You’d been able to tell him where they were, tell him you could clean yourself up, but he insisted. He wipes you off, gets you clean underwear and a fresh t-shirt. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, taking in your surroundings, taking in your own feelings about what you’ve just done. You feel so nice. So special. Confident in yourself and your body. 

You feel happy. Having this little piece of you cared for so well doesn’t make you whole. You didn’t need the experience to feel complete, or like it made you normal. But you do feel powerful. This was just the icing on top of the cake. Something of a treat. You wish you could think of another way to put it, but you feel like a badass woman. 

Buck’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He bumps your shoulder. 

“I was gonna ask if you enjoyed yourself, but…I mean, I did kind of see that you did.”

You laugh, taking his hand in both of yours. “I did, Buck. I’m glad I got to do that with you. It was perfect for me.”

He shoots you a wink. “Good. And I did wanna preface that I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to do all the other stuff.” He watches the way your eyes crinkle up as you smile. 

“I look forward to doing all that other stuff with you. But for now…wanna have a sleepover?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[noisilyscreechingsong]

It’s canon that Jason Todd had a brother named Danny Todd. All we know is he died being a look out for a local gang. Who’s to say he didn’t die at the age of fourteen and come back? Maybe the Fentons were investigating the levels of ectoplasm in the area and somehow got their hands on an amnesic kid who died and didn’t quite stay dead? Perhaps they wanted to make him their side experiment, or they wanted to see if they can teach it to be good and not evil. Who knows. But as soon at Danny steps foot in Gotham, the entity of Gotham is there to greet him, welcome him home and remind him of who he was. And does he remember.

Danny is just a year or two younger than Dick and he was supposed to be starting a new job in the R&D department of WE. Instead he’s pushed back his start date to do research.

Of course, the first thing he looks up is his family, his original family that he can’t believe he forgot, to find out his mother, his father, and his little baby brother are all dead and buried. He has to take a break to sob uncontrollably on the kitchen floor for a while before gathering himself back up to find out what happened. He is unimpressed with the lack of information on Jason’s death, but he did find lots on his adoption to mister rich guy Brucie Wayne.

So it’s with almost no hesitation that after finding every single article and snippet he can on his brother and still find it lacking, he drives his motorcycle, that he built himself thank you, to Wayne Manor where he rang the buzzer repeatedly with a little too much force.

It takes him a while to finally bully his way through the gates, arguing with the butler and telling little white lies of ‘of course I don’t want to harm Mr. Wayne, I just need to ask him some questions’.

Sure he could have waited and got close to him through his new job or had some other cunning plan, but Danny has always been a straightforward kind of person and that didn’t change after his death. No, he prefers to get what he wants straight from the source.

That’s how he ends up pacing the length of the sitting room the British guy left him in with a deep glare and tense shoulders.

It was a nice place. Clean. Taken care of. Expensive. Jason lived here once upon a time. Too bad it didn’t last.

Mr. Wayne does show, surprisingly, and takes the time to assess him like a threat as he BS’s him with a ditzy expression.

Danny walks right up to him and sticks out his hand to shake because Jazz raised him with manners.

“Mr. Wayne,” he greets with a stiff nod.

Mr. Wayne hesitantly takes the offered hand.

“Uh, nice to meet you, I’m sorry, Alfred didn’t tell me your-“

As soon as the handshake is over Danny socks him with a right hook straight to the face. The force throws him back a few steps but he recovers quickly. Danny shakes out his hand.

“My name is Danny Fenton. Before that though my name was Danny Todd.” He sees Wayne’s eyes widen a bit in recognition. The next part didn’t really need to be said but he did it anyway. “My little brother was Jason and no I don’t have proof so you’ll just have to take my word for it. You are going to tell me exactly how he died and I’m not leaving here until you do.”

His words had fallen back into his Gotham Crime Alley accent with how emotional he was. He forgot how he even used to talk. How does that even happen?

He walks back to sit on the couch, getting comfortable because he has a feeling this guy will drag this out like pulling teeth.

“I’ll ask Alfred to get some refreshments,” Wayne says after several minutes of silence.

“You do that.”

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 20/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@funnybadger868 ha chiesto:wait so if mk can hear macaques past can he hear wukongs for example the circlet and the spell

Yeah he could. It's now just a matter of if he wants to use this power ever again

@cryptic-theseus ha chiesto:you're paying for my therapy btw, the bill is on the way

Blame it on the gay monkies not me. It's bc of them that my life is ruined/hj

@ayrza ha chiesto:Hey!I have an important question, where do you get your sources for the AU👉🏻👈🏻p? I mean, I just recently entered the LMK fandom and I see that there are parts that are not mentioned much in the series and it frustrates me because I feel like I only watch the anime but I'm missing the manga 🫠I love your art and your work, it's amazing 🫰🏻✨

Hi! Well I' finishing to read Journey to the West (im at chapter 80) and if I need extra info or just check I go to the fandom wiki.

@feyqueen91 feyqueen91 ha chiesto:A question for your Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (btw, I just saw your recent post for More Than A Successor Arc & I thought something light hearted was needed to even out the Angst), is Macaque able to summon something like what Red Son did with the Samadhi Sprite, and he teaches MK to do it too?

Wait what exactly? I haven't understood what you meant by sprite.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: Honestly I expect this to be hidden but i also love your work on both comics, keep it up!! I forgot their names but dude- how would the lotus prince and our moon chef feels about wukong and Macaque being MK's parents? HELL. WHAT ABOUT THE TRIO? YELLOW TUSK, PENG AND THE LOIN (CANT REMMEBER HIS NAME EVEN IF HE IS TECHNICALLY DEAD/GONE). Hell even this chaotic snake man may even use MK to his advantage with the fact he is the child of Wukong and Macaque. So many possibilities and guesses, so many twists and turns we will never know bro

Oh he absolutely woud. Also about the others. They would probably act like protective aunt/uncles to that poor traumatised boy.

@thenerdnico ha chiesto:Oh my GODS that last bio dad's chapter broke me, your expressions are always amazing. I'm going to assume that at the end of Wukong's and Macaque's fight, Wukong realised Macaque wasn't moving and ran up to him, and ended up sobbing and screaming when he realised he was dead??? If that is the case, do you think MK listened to it long enough to hear that as well?

Oh for angst reason yes. He did.

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto:AHHHH YOUR SHADOWPEACH BIO AU IS SOO GOOD!!!! I SCREAMED AT THE LAST UPDATE!!! I have a question though. You know in the series i think season 3 epsiode 5 where Wukong goes into a deep mystic monkey meditation, yeah. Well i was wondering if Mk has ever tried that but got disrupted and lost his memories or started acting strange infront of his monkey parents. It would be hilarious i can imagine him shouting, “TUDI, TUDI!”KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, no pressure though! HAVE A GOOD DAY!

Lmaooo ok ok I don't think I'll go witha small amnesia arc in the AU but this doeß sound adorable.

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto:It will probably be quite heavy, but I suggest that after Wukong saw the monkey like that he had a huge attack of guilt and anxiety and ended up injuring his left eye with his claws

Poor baby!! Nono don't worry his eye is fine.

@raylamoongirl ha chiesto:question for macaque: what was the hardest thing to teach Mk?Lmk bio parents Q&A

Mmmm so they tried really hard to teach him shadow teleportation, but he seems to not be able to do it.

@lmkobsessedmoth ha chiesto:For the Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU What if macaque and wukong go on a date and wukong doesn’t know it’s a date because he’s as dense as the rock he hatched out of

He truly would be. May the gods give him a clue or smt otherwise we wont end up nowhere here

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hey!I love your Shadowpeach bio Parent's AU But I Wonder,Does Wukong and Macaque already dance together before?

Danced??? I think so?? When they still were lovers friends I think (i think i m missing something)

Anonimo ha chiesto:I am on my knees, heart giving out, HOW IS BABY MK SO CUTE AND SHADOWPEACH SO ALLERGIC TO JUST KISSING ALREADY LIKE COME ON YOU TWO Anonimo ha chiesto:When I read the other part where swk and mac where talking about wanting MK to view them as parents at first I thought swk was proposing having another kid with Mac and I went “WOAH HEY- HOLD UP FOR A SECOND THERE U NEED TO GET UR SHT TOGETHER FIRST” and thank god it wasn’t that I thought swk was JUMPING AND ACCELERATING THEIR PROGRESS LMAOOOSo I’m actually glad they are taking baby steps, they need them

This slowburn is gonna be so slow-burning you all are gonna die when they actually kiss (will they kiss? Oh that's just for me to know ahah)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Since macaque is called mama by mk does that mean macaque is like a mother figure to mk in your au mama macaque is adorable and he gives off motherly in his character

Anonimo ha chiesto:Whos mom if there is considered a mom by MK or only dads? Is it Wu or Mac? My headcanons is Wukong basically the mom cuz he gives off mom and dad vibes together and Macaque just gives off dad vibes to me

He gives more motherly vibes, yes (Mamacaque and DadWukong forever)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hi in you bio parent au for monkie kid how were monkey king and macaque as teenagers when they had a good relationship were like they a romantic couple or had secret crushes on each other and never told each other or were they just friends love this au it's amazing

Oh I think they were definitely lovers once. And that makes their past and what happened even more tragic honestly.

@ayrza ha chiesto:I don't know who is more adorable: Baby MK or Macaque and Wukong blushingPsd. I love your AU and your art 💖

Both. Both is good

@diamondwolf23 ha chiesto:THOSE TWO BETTER KISSSSSSSSSSS-I’m gonna miss Baby Mk ;-

Me too. Me too.

Anonimo ha chiesto:You could say Wukong is a...... simpian?(like simian but yknow >>)

LMAO YES

@scififeather21 ha chiesto:You can't believe how much I love your Shadowpeach AU comic series that last part made me grin so much. Mostly because my husband and I have done that exact thing when our kids were small babies and the looks and smiles were the same too. OMG it such a nice thing to see after a long day at work yesterday. :)

THAT'S THE- SWEETEST THING?????? LIKE IM SO GLAD I WAS ABLE TO MAKE IT A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE???? TO HEAR IT'S THE SAME THAT HAPPENED TO YOU IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER

@snsp6 ha chiesto:I love ur bio dads au! I wanted to ask what would happen if smth similar to the baby mk incident happened to the immortal monkeys.Like either they were de-aged to their youth or had an amnesia rules type of situation!(I am in love w the world building in this!!! And ur art is delectable!)

I don't thing the world would be ready for non-reformed Wukong#like-#not really reformed but the guy killed so many people bc of impulsiveness#until he learned that murder is not fine

Anonimo ha chiesto: This might be a stupid question, but for your bio parents, AU is MK just always in his monkey form, or is this just how he permanently looks now?

He's on his monkey form when he trains / stays at the weekends at FFM or when he friendly duels/train with Mei and Red Son.On weekdays he's constantly in his human form

@meisawkwardashecc ha chiesto:Is Wukong potentially shorter than Macaque? 👀🥺Avatar

Yes

@miraclecactus ha chiesto:Can you show us what's going on in the Freenoodles house? I'm looking forward to knowing how they manage to calm MK down :( Puedes mostrarnos que es lo que sucede en la casa de Freenoodles? Estoy ansiosa de conocer como ellos manejan el como calmar a MK :(

They used Wukong and Mac advices until he feel asleep.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I like how Wukong asks Macaque how he knows MK won't hate him after this. Like my guy, you literally killed Macaque, and he still hangs around I think he knows a thing or two

True. Although let Wukong be the dumbass he is.

alizardonfire ha chiesto:I love the idea of macaque being wukongs *rock* if that makes sense? It gives so much character to him.

Aaaahh ty! Yeah I feel like he's pretty good at understanding when he s just out of his mind and bring him back to earth.

Anonimo ha chiesto:If this isn't to much spoiler will the next lmk comic be angsty

This will be answered too late but I will always warn you in advance if there s angst coming.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love your art! Lighthearted question since your about to bring the pain- do you think Mac and Wu fight over who gets to be little spoon/big spoon or are both of them 100% happy with Mac as big spoon and Wu as little spoon every night

So as for now, they are good with Wukong being the little spoon. Both bc Wukong is the the one who constantly craves for touch amd bc Macaque feels more comfortable in a position of "control" let's say. He can decide how much closer or not to get to Wukong.

Then in the future they would be more comfortable to switch (and the bicker about who should be the big or small)

@sallyvanna ha chiesto:HAIII FIRST OF ALL I LOVE YOUR BIO PARENT AU it makes my day every time I see a new page postedI was just wondering, why was macaque kinda nervous when he summoned rumble and savage? He was like 'ah shit I didn't want that-' 👀

It was because the kid would be afraid of them! Of course he wouldn't. But I guess Macaque still feels like his powers are a threat to him.

@redwrathroit ha chiesto:Hey, note this is something you can completely ignore but I wanted to know if you had a ref sheet for your monkey Bois, I'd love to take a try and drawing them plus I had made an Oc character of my own but I did it once and then art block hit me like a train and said; nah, never again. So it would really help me out if you have a ref, if not ignore this and have a nice day/night

Unfortunately I don't. I have a lot of panels where you can see them full body in various stances though.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Wukong being the little spoon is too cute, he spends years being the big spoon platonically to everyone that someone finally gave him what was needed, to be protected instead of being the protector

Yesss he iss!!!!!!

@froggyofdeath ha chiesto:Question abt Shadowpeach bio parents! Sooo, who kills the spiders, who screaming abt them, who the one who picks it up and try to scare the screaming one?🫠✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️☕️☕️☕️☕️

Mk is screaming, Wukong picks it up, Macaque kills it.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Can we see exactly when they decided to prepare the courtnapping room? Like when exactly did they know oh we need to prepare that our son has apparently followed in our footsteps

Unfortunately in this AU for now I don't plan tp draw a full spicynoodle arc as well. There will be moments for the ship as well but more like extras and side stories.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Your shadowpeach bio au reminds me of something..... I remember you saying to someone that they should Read a Son of Two Dad's. Have you read the entire thing? and the sequel?

Yes I did! Also the sequel, but i think it s in hiatus.

Anonimo ha chiesto:In you newest update for the shadowpeach parent au, that one scene of Macaque looking at Wukong as MK holds his finger kind of reminds me those flashback scenes in movies of the dead lover/wife that is looking at the main character from under a flowing blanket. I have no clue why but the image popped up in my head when I read that part of the comic lmao

I bet when they are back together they will re-create this exact image eventually

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love that Macaque is initiating contact with Wukong. Hugging him, holding his hands, cuddling with him. It makes my heart melt 🥹🥰 And Wukong is giving him opportunities to do so

He is opening the door for Mac to come closer, so that it's his choice how much he can get closer. The last thing Wukong wants is to rush things or do something that would make him more uncomfortable.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Omg! I love your art especially your shadowpeach parent bio au, it's adorable! Although I'm terrified for the next page. Anyway, my question is, why won't you let the monkey trio breathe from the trauma? 😅🥹

Bc apparently chat asked for it

[illyrianbitch]

Lights, Camera, Love!

Pairing: Reader x Rhysand

Summary: Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Warnings: cocky Rhysand, just two snippy co-stars, ianthe, co-parent feysand, helion and amren as big hollywood peeps

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: this is a lil series ive had tucked away with some inspo....lets see if ayll fw it enough hehehe. dedicated to @milswrites and @daycourtofficial bc their love for this pushed me to pick it up again

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was unprofessional, truly. 

You wanted to roll your eyes, to scoff and walk off set. 

But instead, you simply shifted uncomfortably in your seat, adjusting the hem of your dress as Ianthe, your overly enthusiastic interviewer, fluttered around Rhysand like a lovesick butterfly. Her giggles grated on your nerves as she leaned in a little too close, her hand lingering on his arm just a second too long.

Ianthe was known for her probing questions and flirtatious demeanor— it’s what made her such a popular source for exclusive interviews. Not only did she know the right questions to ask, but she knew exactly how to ask them in order to get what she wanted: juicy gossip, something she could feed on. It wasn’t a coincidence that her last name held such a resemblance to the word parasite. She was one. 

You didn’t want to do the interview to begin with. The upcoming release of your newest season meant various events and panels that left you unsettled and anxious. You loved your job— loved your character even more. But being in the public eye alongside Rhysand was hard. Suffocating, really. 

It felt like hours that you sat there with a practiced smile, waiting as she conversed with Rhysand. The studio lights were warm, and the backdrop behind you— a cover of the show's logo— made you feel a bit more comfortable. But still, the unease persisted, and you counted down the seconds until this interview was over and you could return home. 

"So, Rhysand," Ianthe said, her voice silky smooth. "You've become quite the heartthrob lately. How do you handle all the attention from your adoring fans?"

Your first instinct was to laugh. Your second was to roll your eyes. The third was to vomit in your mouth. You somehow resisted the urge to do all of the above, settling for biting back the rising nausea at the shameless flirting. 

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a charming smile spreading across his face. "It's all part of the job, I suppose. Though, I must say, the fans are incredibly supportive. It's their enthusiasm that keeps us going."

Us. This time it physically burned you to not roll your eyes, even subtly. Your lips curled into a pained smile. Ianthe didn’t seem to notice the forced gesture, her gaze locked onto Rhysand as if you weren’t even in the room. 

You looked down, absently playing with a ring on your index finger. The metal felt cool and familiar, and you smiled faintly at it, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It seemed to fill your lungs with a steadying breath, one that was enough to gather yourself, to steel your resolve and endure sitting beside someone who sucked up all the oxygen in the room without even trying.

It took a few more minutes before Ianthe was turning to you with an expectant smile— perfect white teeth. Veneers, most likely. The smile was strange up close and you resisted the urge to lean in and expect them further, to search for any signs of hidden pointed teeth, sharpened to resemble that of a predator. 

You blinked, tilting your head and welcoming her attention with a large smile of your own. Certainly not as perfect, but a lot less unnerving, you hoped. 

 “Y/n,” She started, readjusting herself in her seat. “You look beautiful. It’s always nice to see you.”

You gave a small nod in acknowledgement. You’d talked to Ianthe a few times, mostly on red carpets and press events. Never longer than a minute, never past fake pleasantries and a kiss on the cheek—- from her end. 

“Thanks Ianthe,” you said, smile still plastered on your cheeks like glue. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”

There was a glint in her eye that told you she didn’t believe a word you said. At least you both had that in common, perhaps you could bond on your shared love of bullshit. 

 “Tell me, what's it like working alongside Rhysand? He seems to have quite the presence on set."

You paused for a moment, considering your response carefully before delivering it with a smile. 

“Rhysand is an experience. Even after years, he still manages to keep me on my toes.”

What your statement really translated to was: Rhysand was a cocky asshole. Everything was about him. All. The. Damn. Time.

"It's truly remarkable how he commands the attention of everyone in the room. It's as if the rest of us simply fade into the background when he's around.” 

Because he’s an attention whore. 

You didn’t say the last thought— as much as your body screamed at you to. 

Rhysand's smile tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation dancing in his eyes before he masked it with practiced ease. "Well, thank you," he replied smoothly,  "I suppose it's just the natural magnetism of a true star."

He delivered his words as a joke, as if you both shared a similar, endearing humor regarding one another. You fought to conceal a satisfied smirk, knowing that your veiled dig had hit its mark. 

Ianthe continued to prattle on, her questions growing increasingly mundane as the minutes ticked by. There was a lull—a brief moment of respite where Ianthe paused to collect her thoughts. 

It was Rhysand who broke the silence, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "I must admit, I've always admired Y/n’s dedication to her craft," he said, his tone almost earnest. "It's not easy to disappear into a role the way she does."

You bristled at the backhanded compliment, knowing all too well that beneath his seemingly benign words lay a razor-sharp edge. It was a surprise to you that Ianthe didn’t pick up on it, her dull eyes and bright smile still worn on her nauseatingly beautiful face. 

"Well, Rhysand," you replied, forcing a tight smile, "I suppose we all have our strengths. I can’t coast on charisma alone.”

His smirk returned in full force, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but isn't that what makes us such a dynamic duo, sweetheart?" he said, "The perfect balance of substance and style."

You fought to conceal a frustrated sigh, to bite back the snarl you wanted to make at the annoying nickname he’d adopted for you recently. He knew it drove you nuts, knew it made you want to call him something less sweet. 

As much as you wished to continue the conversation, to match his veiled insults with ones of your own— that were sure to be far more clever, you knew that this verbal sparring match would only serve to prolong your agony. Instead, you plastered on a diplomatic smile, nodding in agreement as Ianthe launched into yet another round of inane questions.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It felt like an eternity before you were freed from the clutches of the interview. 

Ianthe stood, flashing you a smile that felt more condescending than friendly. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her eyes lingering on Rhysand. You watched as she scanned him one last time, eyes drinking him in like a fresh glass of wine. 

You forced a polite nod. "Thank you, Ianthe. Always a pleasure."

She gave you a look that made you feel small, but you quickly swallowed it and turned away, heading toward the exit. As much as a nice, warm bath was calling to you, you had lunch plans with Lucien and were itching to be in the presence of someone you actually liked. 

"Well, that was entertaining," Rhysand commented, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught up to you. 

You glanced at him, trying to keep your irritation in check as you quickened your pace, offering a few spare smiles to the employees you passed. "If by entertaining, you mean tacky, then sure."

His smirk faded slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He raised a brow.  "Tacky? I was just keeping things lively."

"Lively," you repeated with a laugh. You stopped, the movement so abrupt that Rhysand almost bumped into you. You turned to face him with a flat look. “You’re a shameless flirt."

His eyes narrowed at you— a deep blue that you swore at times was almost violet. His head cocked to the side and you shrank deeper into yourself, feeling somewhat at odds and uncomfortable in his burning gaze. The smirk tugged harder at the corner of his lips.

“Well, isn’t that the whole point?”

You scowled, opening your mouth to respond. But before any words could leave your mouth, a familiar voice filled the air. “Rhys!”

A head turn led you to catch Feyre’s eye as she walked towards you, a bright smile on her face. Her eyes lit up as her gaze landed on you and Rhys, one hand holding onto the smaller one of her son. 

You watched as Nyx, quite possibly one of the prettiest kids you'd ever seen, ran up to Rhysand with a joyous laugh, opening his arms up, wide and expecting. In one swift and natural movement, Rhysand scooped him up effortlessly, his earlier annoyance instantly dissipating from his features. 

“Hey, buddy,” Rhysand said, his voice softening as he kissed Nyx’s temple.

Against your better judgment, a smile tugged at your cheeks at how brightly Rhysand’s face lit up. He pulled Feyre into a quick, sweet embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

If there was one thing you were willing to give Rhysand credit for, it was this.

His breakup with Feyre had been incredibly public. The divorce, the fallout—both of their reputations took a hit when it came out that she had initiated the divorce, later compounded by her being outed on a date with a woman from her past. Yet, despite everything, they both managed it with such grace.

Feyre was incredibly sweet. You never truly understood how Rhysand landed her in the first place, how they had been married for over five years, so deeply in love that they started a family. You thoroughly enjoyed her company, even though it wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked. She was still Rhysand’s family, after all, and you took every chance you could to avoid being around him when it wasn’t necessary. 

But Feyre was a large reason you enjoyed your job. She eased the anxiety that came with joining a cast that was already so close, essentially taking a role that had belonged to her— even though your character was introduced after hers was written off. 

It was clear that despite everything, Rhysand and Feyre had managed to maintain a bond, not just for their sake, but for Nyx’s. The love they still shared, the ease with which they navigated this new chapter of their lives—it was something you respected, even envied a little.

You averted your gaze, fingers running over the cool metal of your ring as you turned to leave, but Feyre called your name, her voice as kind as usual. 

You paused, looking back at her. “Yeah?”

Feyre’s smile was warm. You took her in for a moment, how naturally beautiful she was— how she exuded a certain energy that you could only describe as regal. A smile fit for a queen.  “How was the interview?” 

You shrugged, giving a small smile. “The usual. Ianthe was...”

You pursed your lips as your voice trailed off. There were many ways you could finish off your sentence but you weren’t sure how diplomatic you could be anymore or if Feyre would be bothered by an honest review of your interviewer. 

Feyre leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A bitch?”

You laughed, catching Rhysand’s glance as he looked over for a moment. His attention quickly returned to Nyx and you turned back to meet Feyre’s beautiful blue eyes. “Exactly.”

Feyre shook her head, a sympathetic look on her face. “She was always so condescending with me, too. It’s because she’s desperate to sleep with that loser.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, jokingly but lovingly casting a glance back at Rhysand. She clicked her tongue. “Poor delusions.”

Another laugh left your lips and you nodded, suppressing a grin. “Yeah,” you drawled, “She wasn’t very subtle.”

Feyre raised a brow. “I don’t think subtly is in that limited vocabulary of hers.”

Your eyes drifted to the small interview set, where Ianthe was still standing, talking to someone and sparing regular glances over at Rhysand—a predator about to make her move. It was best for you to leave now, you thought, to avoid watching the inevitable hunt. 

“I should get going,” you said, turning back to Feyre. “I have plans. But, it was so nice seeing you.”

Feyre beamed, putting a hand on your arm. You briefly took in the ink that covered her forearm, the delicate, beautiful tattoos that you always wanted to admire further.  “You too,” she said, “Let’s have lunch soon.”

You nodded, a genuine and pleased motion. Your conversation with Feyre was the first one today that you didn’t have to fake any polite mannerisms. “I’d love to.”

Casting one last glance at Rhysand, you watched as Feyre approached him and put a hand out to Nyx. Rhysand smiled down at her, a soft, familiar look that made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t care to examine.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was 10:00 am when you were called into the production office, a room nestled in a quiet corner of the studio lot. You were tired, having only slept a few hours the night prior, and you could feel life slowly dripping back into you with each sip of coffee. The area was relatively private, shielded from the prying eyes of paparazzi, so you opted for comfort over glamor, dressed in jeans and a simple hoodie—nice, big, and comfortable.

Helion was usually meticulous about these meetings, ensuring both you and Rhysand were well-prepared and informed ahead of time. This sudden summons felt off. You didn’t know what to expect, and that uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind as you pushed open the door to the conference room.

Rhysand was already in the room when you arrived, effortlessly lounging in a chair with the kind of put-together look that only seemed to accentuate your own disheveled state. It made you hate him even more. You didn’t attempt to hide your scowl. He glanced up as you entered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Phew, you'd think it was a Sunday and you were hungover," he remarked casually, a small smile playing on his lips. 

You shot him a pointed glare, resisting the urge to snap back and opting to take the open seat next to him, sitting back to take a sip of your coffee. 

Rhysand leaned over into your space, reaching a hand to tug at the strings of your hoodie with a grin on his lips. You swatted his hand away with a deepening scowl. "Cut it out."

He chuckled lightly, settling back into his chair. "So, what do you think this is about?" 

“No idea,” you sighed, crossing your arms defensively. You gave him a pointed glare. “What did you do?”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And why are we automatically assuming I did something?”

“Well when are you not?” You titled your head. “Doing something, I mean.”

Rhysand caught onto the meaning of your words instantly. He narrowed his eyes at you before something crossed his features. Then, he was leaning in again, a smirk on his face as he scanned your own. “Are you feeling a bit left out? You’re always welcome to join.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a scoff of disgust as you maneuvered yourself to lean farther away from him. “You’re shameless.”

The door clicked open, and your attention snapped over as Helion entered the room. You began to offer him a smile, but the motion died on your lips as you met his gaze. 

You loved Helion— as an executive producer, and the main man regarding your public relations, you’d formed a great relationship with him. It helped that you were best friends with his son, too. But today his typically buoyant air was clouded, his expression wearing the weight of serious deliberation. It was one you could only compare to that of a disappointed father about to deliver bad news. Beside him, Amren followed like a silent storm cloud. 

Amren, on the other hand, was someone you didn’t have a favorable relationship with. She was Rhysand’s personal agent and she excluded the same energy he did— something that tasted a lot like pretentiousness.  Her sharp gaze swept the room, and you instinctively avoided meeting it.

If Amren was here, and Helion was wearing that stern expression, it could only mean trouble. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

You and Rhysand shared a quick, knowing glance, a similar confusion mirrored on both your faces. You straightened yourself as Rhysand offered a disarmingly charming smile. 

"What's going on?" he asked.

Helion exchanged a glance with Amren before sighing heavily. He leaned forward, slapping a piece of paper onto the table and pushing it toward both of you. 

The first thing that caught your eye was the TMZ logo— something that made your stomach drop instinctively. You bit at the inside of your cheek, your eyes repeatedly running over the headline. You looked up through your lashes to meet Helion’s expecting gaze. 

Rhysand's voice was incredulous as he spoke. "Did you... print these out?" 

You casted a quick glance of disbelief at him. Idiot. He paid no mind. 

Helion ignored the comment, taking a seat across from you as he leaned back, crossing his arms. He gave a nod towards the two copies before you. “Go ahead. Read," he instructed calmly, his expression grave. The tone alone made you shiver from its unfamiliarity. 

You picked up your copy, scanning the bolded headline and the accompanying pictures. 

FAILURE ON SET: HOW AN OVERBEARING CO-STAR FUED IS THREATENING THE VIEWER EXPERIENCE

Ianthe Parcite weighs in on the rumored feud between co-stars Y/N and Rhysand after exclusive interview.

As expected, the large printed image was a glamor shot of Rhysand and one of the interview set. You were nowhere to be found. Your grip on the edges of the paper tightened as you began to read the article.

In an exclusive interview with TMZ, Ianthe Parcite, known for her candid critiques, has taken a stark stance on the alleged feud between Hollywood’s famed co-stars, Y/N L/N and Rhysand Darling. Contrary to initial impressions, Ianthe now reveals that behind the scenes, tensions ran high and professionalism faltered. “I sensed an atmosphere of unease and discontent,” Ianthe remarked, reflecting on her recent encounter with the co-stars. “Y/N appeared dismissive and disengaged during our interview, which is concerning for the show’s dynamics.” Ianthe didn’t hold back in her assessment of Rhysand either, noting his apparent lack of receptiveness to her questions. “Rhysand’s demeanor was noticeably distant, almost unreceptive to any meaningful dialogue,” she disclosed. “It’s unfortunate when personal dynamics overshadow the professionalism required on set.” The revelations have sent shockwaves through the fanbase, with many expressing disappointment over the potential impact on their favorite series. As speculation swirls around the future of the show, fans are left wondering if the rift between Y/N and Rhysand will escalate and if it's worth watching a show doomed for failure. 

You scoffed incredulously, pushing the paper further away from you as if its distance would minimize the anger that simmered underneath your skin. You deeply regretted holding back in the interview— regretted not tearing that pompous bitch into two.

"So she doesn't even include a picture of me and yet I'm the main one she rips into?" 

You found the courage to look around the room, your gaze landing on Helion with pleading eyes. His response was a noncommittal shrug, accompanied by a slight raise of his eyebrows. It was clear he didn't have an easy answer, either.

Running your tongue along your teeth, you shifted your gaze to Rhysand. His jaw clenched as he laid the paper on the table. "It's not even a great photo of me," he remarked dryly, "I'm too pale in it."

Your mouth fell open in exasperation. "Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath.

Rhysand shot you a glare that lingered for a few tense seconds. You matched his gaze evenly before he redirected his attention to Helion and Amren. "This is ridiculous," he asserted, "Did they seriously publish this?

A moment passed. Helion sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Yes. Every tabloid is eating it up.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling every muscle in your body tense with the frustration prickling at your skin. “It wasn't our best interview, sure, but it definitely wasn't that bad," you insisted, tapping a finger down on the offending article.

Amren's gaze flickered toward Rhysand, and you followed it. Rhysand shifted uncomfortably, his expression briefly sheepish before he turned to you with a defensive edge. You narrowed your eyes, tuning to face him properly.

“Did you do something?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous.” 

Your mouth fell agape and you let out a deep, angry breath through your nose. “Don’t use that word about me,” you hissed at him.  You pointed emphatically at the paper. "That is ridiculous. And you look like a guilty dog. What did you do?"

"Nothing," he finally muttered, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He shifted in his seat, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

It was Amren's voice that cut through the tension, her tone cool and calculating. "It's what he didn't do, really," she remarked cryptically, her gaze still lingering on Rhysand.

He shot her a pointed glare and you frowned, your brows furrowing to a tight knit. A faint headache throbbed at your temples. Turning to Helion for clarification, you found him leaning forward, lips pursed in thought. 

"It appears Ianthe was a bit... offended that Rhysand turned down her advances," Helion explained carefully, his words laden with implication.

Your eyes widened in surprise, disbelief coloring your features. "Seriously?" you blurted out, your head twisting to face Rhysand once more, moving with such swiftness that an ache pulled at the muscles of your neck. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rhysand's eyes widened in response, his expression a mix of offense and confusion. "Excuse me?" he retorted, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "So you have a problem with me when I sleep with people and when I don't?"

Annoyance flared within you. "You flirted with her the entire interview," you accused, your voice raising slightly in pitch. "The one time you decide to take a vow of celibacy and it's with the one name that can tarnish my reputation?”

Rhysand scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your reputation, of course," he muttered sarcastically. "You're such a hypocrite."

"Your actions reflect on me too, Rhysand," you shot back, "Do you ever think about that?"

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a pinched expression. "Oh, please," he countered, "If you hadn't been sulking and throwing daggers at me the entire interview, I wouldn't have had to flirt with her to salvage it. You should be thanking me."

Your jaw tightened at his words. "Thanking you? Look what happened—"

Before you could finish your retort, Helion slammed his palm down on the table with a sharp crack. You and Rhysand both jumped at the sudden interruption, turning to face him with wide eyes.

"Enough," Helion declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Stop bickering like children."

You and Rhysand exchanged a reluctant glance and with a sigh, you sank back into your seat, folding your arms defensively. 

"It'll blow over in a week, right? No big deal," Rhysand said casually, his tone attempting to downplay the severity of the situation. You raised your eyebrows at the suggestion, but as hopeful as it sounded, part of you knew that this was a bigger deal than you both cared to admit.

Helion regarded him with a critical eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. Feeling an itch at your skin, you unfolded your arms. 

"He’s right," you said hopefully, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, rumors of us not being... the best of friends isn't something new. People know this."

Rhysand offered a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It's just tabloid fodder," he said, his gaze shifting between Amren and Helion with a hint of concern.

Leaning slightly on the table, Amren shook her head slightly, her eyes– a color so light they were almost silver— glowed with intensity as they swept over Rhysand and then fixed on you. The heat of her gaze made you swallow and you found yourself tempted to apologize for things you’d never done— confess for crimes you hadn’t committed. But against your instincts, you held her gaze for another lasting moment. Amren seemed to appreciate the stare and she raised an eyebrow of approval before she spoke. 

“It's more than that now," she stated firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a finely sharpened knife. "This isn't just idle gossip anymore. It's becoming off-putting. A few small rumors are funny at first, but now people don't want to watch. It's affecting our ratings."

"We can't afford to lose viewers over this," Helion added, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency you’d never heard. He was stressed— extremely so. He picked at the gold rings that adorned his hands. "The show needs a strong, united front, not two leads sniping at each other in public."

You exchanged a glance with Rhysand. Your mind raced and you settled your gaze on Helion. 

You trusted him. He always had your best interests in mind, and navigating public fallout wasn’t unfamiliar territory for you. This was fine, this was manageable. 

“Okay,” you said, the words directly intended for him.  “What do you want me to do?”

He threw a glance at Amren. 

“Well,” he started, “We need to manage the narrative. The tension between you two is too obvious. Starting with the press tour, we'll need you both to project a good connection. No more sniping or tension in public—it needs to be all smiles and cooperation."

You nodded slowly, digesting his words. Next to you, Rhysand sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "Are you saying we need to fake being friends?"

The two agents before you shared another glance. You frowned at the exchange, an unsettled feeling brewing in your gut. Helion’s face slowly shifted into one more amused— and you watched as a grin grew on his lips, something suspicious, mischievous even. His eyes gleamed.

“Not just friends," he said, his gaze shifting between you and Rhysand. He looked to Amren one last time, who gave a small nod of approval before he continued, 

"We need you to fake a romance."

You choked on the air in your throat, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You blinked rapidly, gaze darting between Helion and Amren, seeking any sign that this was a joke or a misinterpretation. 

They were messing with you both, surely. This was some joke to make you both apologize, some horrendously unrealistic suggestion that made the idea of you two being simply friends something straight out of paradise.

But their faces were deadly serious— set with a purposeful intent etched into their features. Helion’s grin ate at you. 

Rhysand's laughter broke the tense silence, though it lacked humor as he shook his head in disbelief. His wide eyes met yours, a silent exchange of incredulity passing between you before both of you turned to Helion simultaneously. When no other words were offered to you both, the reality of the suggestion seeped in. 

As if you both registered it at the same time, both you and Rhysand rose swiftly. 

"Absolutely fucking not—" 

"—There is no way in hell I'm—"

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

GUYS IM OBSESSED IM SORRY I CANT. reader is such a hater and i think its so funny, whatever rhys does its just *eye roll* booo he sucks

i loveee them ur honor

if youd like to be added to the LCL! taglist, lmk!! <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124

Rhysand tag list 🫶🏻:

@serrendiipty

[a-hound-will-die-for-you]

Rabbit Stew

Masterlist | img source

Summary: The tavern is the dirtiest place in all of Westeros, and your companion's bad manners scandalize your delicate sensibilities. Word count: 850 Notes: delicate lady f!reader x rude sandor clegane English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes I might make. Constructive feedback is welcomed, I am here to share and learn <3

You slap at the seat with the flat of your hand, scowling as you brush off several days’ worth of breadcrumbs scattered across the seat.

He’s already made himself comfortable, and watches your struggle with an amused half-smile.

There are still crumbs wedged where the seat meets the backrest, but you surrender with a sigh and sit down. As you do, your legs bump against his under the table, so long that his knees nearly reach halfway up your thighs. You shift away, crossing your legs and trying not to move too much.

“We couldn't have found a lovelier place to eat,” you mumble to yourself, your gaze drifting resignedly over the shabby tavern around you.

"What?" he grunts, broad back leaning against the chair.

“Nothing” you sigh and unknowingly rest your elbows on the table. The velvet of your dress sticks to it and you lower your eyes to the surface, full of cup rings and burn marks. There are also crumbs wedged into the grooves of the wood. You pull your elbows back immediately, shaking them off with a look of pure disgust before balling your hands safely in your lap.

A girl, barely more than six, approaches and picks up the grimy coin the Hound has carelessly left on the edge of the table.

“Wine,” he rasps, and the girl nods before disappearing into the back.

You assume there’s probably a choice between wine or beer, but don’t bother asking about food. From the smell wafting through the air, it’s clear the only thing they’re serving is rabbit stew - or whatever small mammal they’ve managed to catch.

The girl from before hurries back, balancing a bottle of wine, two dented metal glasses, and a loaf of bread that looks like it could knock a man out. She sets them down quickly, bows, and vanishes as quickly as she came.

The Hound’s scarred face twists into what might pass for a smile as he pours himself a drink. His mood seems less sour than usual, perhaps from the promise of finally wetting his throat and filling his belly. His dark eyes flicker to you before he tips the bottle toward your cup.

“No,” you say dryly, placing your hand on it to stop him.

“Your choice,” he says with some contempt, though your refusal does nothing to darken his mood.

He lifts the cup to his lips and drains it in nearly one gulp, setting it back on the table as he sighs contentedly. Then his eyes go from the bread to yours, questioning. The moment you shake your head, he grabs it in his massive hands and tears off a piece with his teeth, chewing loudly, mouth open. 

“Gods,” you say, wrinkling your nose in disapproval. He only grins, amused.

The girl appears again, this time followed by a middle-aged woman carrying a steaming pot by its handles. With the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times over, the girl places a bowl and a wooden spoon in front of you, then repeats the gesture for the Hound. You grip the spoon by one end and, with a grimace, scrape away the dried remnants of food with your fingernails. Seven help you, how many mouths have used it before yours?

The Hound barely spares the woman a glance as she leans over to set the pot down. Before it even touches the table, his huge hands seize it, nearly ripping it from her grasp. Then, with no ceremony at all, the ravenous man tilts the pot over his bowl and dumps much of its contents, shaking it so that chunks of meat and carrots plop out and leaving a splattered mess on the table. He doesn’t bother to use the spoon, just lifts his bowl with both hands and drinks directly from it, slurping with loud, wet noises. 

Completely embarrassed by his behavior, you glance left and right checking to see if anyone else is witnessing this display of utter lack of manners. Then you look back at him, and your brow furrows in disgust at how he seems unbothered by the grease and broth dripping down his chin. You should look away, but your eyes fall prey to the column of his strong, unshaven neck, causing you to lose yourself in the way his manly lump moves up and down as he swallows like a starving beast. Your cheeks flush crimson against your will, and you quickly avert your eyes.

“What?” he asks, licking his fingers covered in stew.

“You eat like my hunting dogs," you scold him. "Shall we put your plate on the floor to make you more comfortable?”

Sandor snorts, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth as his dark eyes glint with amusement.

“And you blush like that when you watch your dogs eat, too?” he asks.

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

Thanks for reading! <3

What do you think? A comment would give me life and encourage me to write more :)

[multi-fandom-imagine]

[ blanket ] Laios Touden

Prompt used:

[ blanket ] sender notices receiver is cold, so they bring them a blanket and drape it over their shoulders

A/n: It hasn't been that long but I love him.

You were new to the group, and while you were cautious of them you were rather grateful. It's not everyday that someone would take in a Drow. It didn't matter if you looked up to Eilistraee, people just didn't care. It was the very reason to why you were alone for so long.

You didn't think that you would find a family amongst them. You knew it would take some time for them to fully gain your trust, it's not like you can just erase all the years of negative treatment done to you. Though it was one Laios Touden who at least tried, the man asking a million questions a minute about you and any monsters you've faced.

Though it was a one night that you did your best to separate yourself from the group after a rough encounter with a group of adventurers. While the others did their best to stand up for you it still hurt knowing that you were being looked down on, and you rather not let your anger get the best of you and take it out on the only ones that actually cared about you.

Biting your lip, you felt a cold chill take over your body. Your arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you rested your head against them. Though you tensed feeling something draped over your shoulders, something thick and heavy.

Turning to the source you looked up to find a smiling Laios. "You looked a little cold! I know you might not want to be bothered but I couldn't just let you freeze all by yourself."

Biting your lip, you tugged the blanket close ignoring the warmth creep up your neck. Being to preoccupied with your own embarrassment you didn't even notice the man sitting himself down next to you.

"Just ignore those idiots, they don't know what they're talking about. They don't know how wonderful you are." Laios stuttered out, his own cheeks turning pink as he avoided your gaze.

Smiling to yourself, you let your head rest on his shoulder. "Thank you...Laios."

Tensing for a moment, Laios let his body fully relax as he placed his hand near yours."Ah..you're welcome."

[does-it-introject]

... is an account dedicated to introjects, fictives, factives, faitives, songtives, ... tives!

Here's the basic idea: Each post includes a source and a poll; if your system has someone from the source you go 'YES', if not you go 'NO'. If you're not plural you go 'RESULTS'.

Why? Because I think this is fun. Don't take it serious! Don't think too hard about it! You can even use it to find source mates if you want? All up to you!

"Oh but [NAME] what counts as "from the source"?" "Do fictionkin count?" "Does ... count?" YES. Everything counts, if you want. Don't think! Just press little buttons and clarify or don't clarify in your reblog if you want! I'm not gonna limit your button pressing experience!

Is there a DNI? No! It's a poll account. Who cares about who interacts. Just don't go around being an asshole and we're fine!

Requests are always open! Unless they're closed!

Yes, the profile is the fictive flag, but this account is for all of you tiny beings; I just really love this flag so... yea man!

Small, growing QNA below the cut!!

"Can you add a button for 'unsure' / 'used to' / 'maybe' / 'not interacted with source'?" - I appreciate the questions, but I'd prefer to keep the polls limited to these options! I get the frustration though. Just click whichever option feels right to you, and if neither feels right you can always click 'RESULTS'.

"How many requests can we send it?" - Go crazy! Go wild! Send 100 requests in one ask or 100 requests in 100 single asks! I don't mind either way!

"Are there any requesting rules?" - My only condition is: do NOT expect me to know what "TIAEOWNTDLOL" means as an acronym. Write the full name, I beg of you, my oh so dear requester. I had to delete three asks because I had no idea what the letters meant. Extra Note: I give you a cookie if you write (game / show / band) in your request.

"Are there any forbidden sources?" - No, where's the fun in that? Request whichever! Also, yes, factive sources are absolutely welcome and appreciated here as well! Adult sources are okay as well, but will be tagged accordingly to keep the younger people safe!

"Can I request a source you already made a poll about?" - Yes, if the original poll is atleast a month old! I will let it rerun if people want it!

"Can singlet fictionkin / IRLs / ... vote in the polls?" - Sure, if you want! You guys are just as cool as everyone else so go ahead and press that little button!

"Can you post more polls a day?" - I do not want to spam the tags with polls that not everyone might want to see. 4 is the maximum posts a day. Okay? Yea!

"Why didn't you post trigger warnings for this media?" - I add trigger warnings to media I assume to possibly contain triggering content from the images / name or ones I am actively aware of. If you believe a media I posted should get TWs and be hidden under a cut, please let me know in my asks or dms and tell me which elements specifically so I can add them after posting.

[toasecretsanta]

From @just_snakess for Aquos

“So, what’s been going on at camp?” I asked my children, spearing a sausage on my fork. We were sat at the Apollo table in Camp Half-Blood’s mess hall, enjoying the food after a hard day’s work training. Well, the demigods had been hard at working training. I had been hard at work giving the occasional thumbs up from the sidelines. But I liked to visit Camp Half-Blood often, even when there was nothing in particular that needed some godly input. It was the least I could do, after spending, well, millennia, almost completely ignoring my children. I felt a now-familiar surge of guilt, but pushed it firmly down. Now was not the time. Instead, I continued my questioning.

“News? Gossip? Pranks? Tell me everything.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively, then regretted it.

Will cracked a small smile at my antics, so I figured it was all worth it. “It’s been surprisingly quiet, actually,” he said.

“It absolutely hasn’t,” Kayla objected. “You know Tanya from Hephaestus? Turns out her epic rivalry with the Aphrodite cabin was all for show, and she’s been dating Chloe for months. The Aphrodite kids can’t decide whether to exile Chloe for not telling them, or hail them both as the greatest forbidden romance of all time.” “And then there’s Chiron’s new initiative,” put in Austin.

As one, the table groaned.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gracie said miserably, staring down at her plate like she was staring down the barrel of a gun. Oh, wait, demigods don’t use guns. Perhaps the Hephaestus cabin should get on that.

“It’s awful,” Jerry bemoaned. Kayla clapped him on the shoulder in commiseration.

I looked at Will. As head counsellor, he would surely have some sensible and reassuring comment to make to raise his siblings’ spirits. “No, Dad, it really is that bad,” he said, as if he’d read my mind. “It’s to do with Chiron’s new…”

“...mental health initiative,” the whole cabin finished together, with various levels of despair, disgust, and hopelessness in their voices.

I frowned. This seemed like an important parenting moment. “Now, children,” I began. “I know talking about mental health isn’t always comfortable, but as the god of health, you can trust me when I say it’s very important! Whatever Chiron’s got in store for you, I’m sure it’s entirely justified and very helpful.” Oddly, this did not seem to have the cheering effect I’d hoped for. Gracie picked gloomily at her food. The others exchanged commiserating glances with each other.

“In principle, I’d agree with you,” Will said, evidently their designated spokesperson. “But…not this. Anything but this.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I said optimistically, though privately I was beginning to have my doubts. I’d seen my children more enthusiastic about literal wars.

Will grimaced, but didn’t reply. The table fell into a gloomy silence. It seemed I had made a social faux pas, which was unfortunately a surprisingly common occurrence for me. I cast around desperately for another source of conversation, and spied Meg walking with a tray over to the Demeter table.

“Meg! Over here!” I shouted, waving my arms frantically. One thing I’d learned about Meg is that to get her attention, you had to remove the option of plausible deniability that she hadn’t noticed you. She also enjoyed it when I embarrassed myself in public, which made it more likely she would then do what I wanted.

Meg rolled her eyes, but I saw the corner of her mouth upturn in a tiny smile as she corrected course over to our table. This made me feel embarrassingly gooey inside. 

“Sup,” she said as she approached. Meg is very eloquent. It is just one of her many charms. I shuffled along to make room for her on the bench as my kids gave her a muted welcome.

She frowned. “How come you’re all so sad?” “The initiative,” Kayla said gloomily.

Meg mimed throwing up. The table nodded in mournful solidarity.

“So what actually is this initiative?” I asked, which I recognised was not the wisest move socially, but my curiosity was winning out.

As one, the table shuddered.

“We just have to tell him,” Austin said to the rest of the table. “He’ll never rest until he finds out otherwise.” He turned to me with the determination of a hardened warrior once more facing down his worst nightmare. “Chiron is making us each come up with a mental health mantra,” he said.

Gracie clapped her hands over her ears. Will looked vaguely queasy. Meg vibrated with vengeful anger.

“That doesn’t seem so bad!” I said.

“It’s so cheesy,” Kayla said.

“And also useless,” added Yan. Kayla nodded in agreement.

“Mantras are not useless,” I said sternly. “In fact, I had one myself, and it kept me going through all sorts of things!” Gracie wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

“Don’t be rude,” Will scolded, but it didn’t really sound like his heart was in it.

“Wait, tell us what it is, and then we can copy it!” said Jerry.

The table all turned to look at me expectantly. I realised I had backed myself into a corner.

“Ah,” I said, panicking. “Well, the thing is - I really can’t - I’m afraid I’m needed very urgently at Olympus for something very important - I’m sure you understand - bye!” 

And with that, I poofed out of the mess hall and into my bedroom in the sun palace, where I collapsed on my bed and screamed into the pillow. “Something very important? Really, Apollo?” I said to myself. “That was all you could think of?”

*

Some hours later, I rather sheepishly [teleported] back to Camp Half-Blood and lurked hesitantly in the shadows of the woods, unsure of how to [re-introduce] myself after my rather rapid escape earlier. Before I could think of anything good, however, Meg spotted me.

She marched up to me and punched me in the arm, hard.

“Ow!” I protested.

“Dummy,” she said. “Don’t poof away. Just say you don’t want to answer like a normal person.” 

She spoke gruffly, but I was well practised at Meg-interpretation. My heart melted.

“Oh, Meg,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “I’m very sorry for disappearing on you.” She hugged me back. “ ‘S okay,” she said. “You panicked. I get it.” This made me want to hug her even tighter, but I released her before she started to squirm.

“Why’d you panic?” she asked.

“Truthfully? I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. “I guess I was just a little embarrassed.” “You embarrass yourself all the time, though.” I gasped. “Rude!” But she wasn’t entirely wrong. Why had this particular instance made me freak out so much? “Maybe because I felt put on the spot?” I said out loud. “I mean, my mantra wasn't that bad.” Meg raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t!” I protested. “I’ll tell you right now! It went ‘I am beautiful and everyone loves me’, which is pretty standard mantra stuff, for your information!” Meg burst out laughing. I crossed my arms grumpily. “What?” I demanded.

“That was actually your mantra?”

“Yes,” I said defensively. “It…didn’t work very well, in the end.” “I don’t think that’s a very good mantra,” Meg said bluntly. I opened her mouth to snap at her, but something told me this wasn’t just one of her standard insults. She continued, slowly: “I mean, all gods are attractive, so that wouldn’t really make you feel good about yourself. And mantras aren’t meant to be about other people’s opinions. Apparently.” She crossed her arms and looked away, cheeks red.

“Meg,” I said, surprised and touched. “Have you actually been listening to Chiron’s mental health initiative?” She shrugged defensively. “Thought it might be useful for helping the rest of Nero’s kids,” she muttered.

I couldn’t help it, I hugged her again. “That’s very kind, Meg,” I said earnestly once she had scrabbled away from me, cheeks still glowing bright pink.

“Whatever,” she said, but she was smiling. “Anyway, that’s a shitty mantra. You should get a better one.” “Language!” I scolded. “And I don’t even go to this camp, why should I have to think of a mantra?” “I don’t go here either,” Meg pointed out. “Not properly. You spend at least as much time here as me. So if I have to do it, so do you.” “But-” “Shut up,” she told me. “I’m your master. This is an order.” I folded. Secretly I was quite touched by the fact that she still wanted to give me stupid orders, even though I was a god now. “Fine,” I said. “We will make stupid cheesy mantras together. How do we proceed?” 

She shrugged at me disdainfully. I hadn’t known a shrug could be disdainful before I met Meg. “That’s what everyone’s trying to figure out, dummy.”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “A most troubling dilemma.” I paused, drawing on my centuries of godly knowledge, and came up largely blank. “Meg, it pains me to admit it, but this is not my area of expertise. We may require backup.” “Backup?”

I nodded, warming to the idea. “Yes, indeed. I will go forth and seek knowledge on mantras. Surely one of our friends must know something.” Meg looked dubious. “You’ve only got a day left, though. They’re meant to be due tomorrow.”

“And nobody’s done one?” I said incredulously.

“The whole camp has ADHD,” she pointed out.

I nodded, conceding the point. “Have faith,” I told her. “I’m a god! I travel quickly. When I return, I will be the master of mantras! The mantra master! Perhaps I already am? Are they a subsection of poetry? Who’s to say? But regardless, I will return to you soon, dearest Meg.”

I kissed her on the head, then vanished. My quest had begun.

*

My first port of call was the Waystation. Emmy and Jo were some of the wisest people I knew. I felt sure one of them would have advice to offer. But when I appeared in the Grand Hall, the place was largely deserted, save for two familiar faces deep in concentration at one of the anvils under the rose window.

“Lityerses! Leo!” I cried. “It’s good to see you, my friends!” Leo put down the sledgehammer he was wielding and offered me a wan smile. “Hey, Apollo,” he said.

I frowned. “Is this a bad time?” “Well-” Leo began.

“Yes,” Lityerses interrupted. “Calypso broke up with him,” he informed me.

Leo winced. “Dude, you didn’t need to say it so bluntly,” he said, but even that was half-hearted, lacking his usual brimming-over energy.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you cared for her a lot.” He shrugged, uncomfortable. “It’s tough for her, rejoining society after so long being on her own. I get that she needs some time to figure herself out without having to worry about anyone else.” “It still sucks,” said Lityerses, with more emotional intelligence than I would’ve expected from a guy once known as the Reaper of Men.

Leo patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. Anyways, Apollo, what were you actually here for? Unless it’s because you’re deeply invested in my love life, which would be understandable, if a little creepy, because I am incredibly hot.” He flexed a bicep.

I wasn’t surprised he was changing the subject. Deflecting with humour was a Leo Valdez speciality; even I could tell that much. But I couldn’t fault the guy for not wanting to talk about his breakup 24/7. “I’m actually here on a little quest of my own devising,” I said. “Do either of you know anything about mantras?” Leo let out a genuine laugh. “Okay, that was not what I was expecting. Why are you going on a mantras quest, Apollo?” “Long story,” I said. “Well? Anything?” He shook his head, still smiling. “Sorry, man. Not my thing. Lit, you got anything?” “No,” Lit immediately denied, but there was something shifty about his eyes. 

Leo immediately rounded on him. “Dude, you’re kidding me. You have a mantra?”

“I am an esteemed warrior who has lived for many lifetimes of men,” Lityerses said stiffly. His cheeks were red.

“That’s not a denial!” Leo said gleefully.

“I, for one, would love to hear your mantra, Lityerses,” I put in.

“It’s just Lit,” he said, crossing his arms. “And it’s not really a mantra.” Leo gasped. “He admits it,” he stage-whispered.

“Shut up, Leo,” Lit said. I’d never seen someone flush brighter red in my life. “It’s just something Jo said to me a couple months after I started staying here. That it didn’t matter if people called me Midas’s son or Commodus’s lieutenant or even the Reaper of Men. That I had to decide how I wanted to see myself, and then hold tight to that. Never let it go.” I’d never heard Lit speak so many words in one go before. I was moved by the fact that he'd chosen to share such a personal thing with me.

“Aw, Lit,” Leo said, clearly touched. “I’m telling Jo you said that.” “Don’t you dare,” Lit grumbled. He turned to me. “Hope that was helpful, I guess.”

“Thank you very much,” I said. I wanted to express my gratitude further, but Lit still struck me as a man who wouldn't appreciate the attention. “Those are very wise words indeed. But as nice as this chat has been, I'm afraid I must be on my way. I’m on a tight schedule!”

*

“Brother, I don’t have time for games,” Artemis said to me, arms folded. “We’re finally a step ahead of the fox. I don’t have time to waste.”

“But this is important!” I protested.

Around us, the entire camp of hunters was a flurry of movement as they struck their tents and packed up camp. They were remarkably well-polished. One elbowed me as she walked past carrying a towering pile of weapons, which I graciously chose to believe was accidental.

Artemis looked unimpressed. “You have five minutes. And if the fox gets away again, it’s your fault.”

“What?” I cried. “It’s not my fault you’ve all been on a wild goose chase for years!” “Wild fox chase,” she corrected.

“It’s a figure of speech!” “Is this really how you’re choosing to spend your -” she glanced at her watch - “four remaining minutes?” “Fine,” I said, not at all sulkily.

She looked at me incredulously. “Is that a pout?” “Now who’s wasting time? Anyway, what I wanted to talk to you about was mantras.” “Mantras?” She studied me more closely. “Brother, are you having an identity crisis?” She said it derisively, but there was a hint of genuine worry in her eyes.

“No, no,” I reassured her. “It’s just so I can advise the demigods. Something about Chiron’s new mental health initiative.” I tactically left out my agreement with Meg that I would also have to come up with a mantra.

“Chiron started a mental health initiative?” came an incredulous voice from behind me. I turned to see a young woman with short black hair and a familiar leather jacket. “Guess camp really has changed since my day.” “This does not concern you, Thalia Grace,” Artemis said. “Do not let my brother drag you into this ridiculous conversation.”

“Thalia!” I said, delighted. “I don’t suppose you know anything about mantras?” She snorted. “Nope. Lady Artemis?” Artemis sighed. “Well, I suppose if I must contribute…” She closed her eyes for a moment in thought, then opened them again. “Yes, I do believe I have it.” “Really?” I said suspiciously.

“I go to the trouble of indulging in your foolish games for once, and I am met only with suspicion? You might hurt my feelings, brother.” “Sorry, sorry,” I said hastily. “So what is it?” She gave a small smile, which made me instantly suspicious. “Repeat after me: I, the god Apollo…” I didn’t like where this was going. “I, the god Apollo…” “...pale in comparison to my lovely, talented, and beautiful sister.” She beamed at me. “Do you like it?” 

Thalia gave her a high five.

“Very funny-” I began, but the two of them were already walking away.

“Sorry, brother, must dash!” Artemis called over her shoulder. “We have a fox to catch!”

*

My beloved oracle, Rachel Dare, stared at me contemplatively. “I think I’m getting there,” she informed me, daubing a few more dashes of paint on her easel as she spoke.

“Really?” I said hopefully.

“Mhm.” She put down her brush and scooted over her stool so she could look me in the eyes. “Are you ready to receive my prophetic wisdom?” The suspense was killing me. I nodded eagerly.

“Apollo…” - she looked me dead in the eyes - “...you are Kenough.”

I frowned. “Is that a riddle?” She threw up her hands. “Aren’t you the god of music? Why are you so uncultured? Look, stay here, I’ll get my laptop. I’m about to change your life.

She wasn’t wrong. The Barbie movie was excellent. However, it did not aid my quest.

*

“It turns out that knowledge of mantras is harder to come by than I thought,” I informed my mother as we sat down for our weekly afternoon tea. “Nobody is taking my quest for knowledge seriously. Well, except maybe Lit. I knew I liked him for a reason. But the rest of them are just treating mantras as a joke!”

Leto took a sip of tea, unbothered by my dramatics. “Didn’t you think of them as a joke?” she said, infuriatingly reasonably.

“Well, yes,” I admitted.

She raised an eyebrow.

“...And also I called them stupid and cheesy and useless,” I said. “But they are! No wonder none of the [demigods] have taken this seriously!” “Were Lityerses’ words to you stupid and cheesy and useless?” Leto asked.

“No,” I said. “No, not at all.” “Then clearly some mantras aren’t like that.”

I sighed. “But none of the others will see it that way. Even Lit said that his advice wasn’t really a mantra.” “So clearly people don’t respond well to that word,” Leto reasoned. “Much like you, they associate it with cheesy advice with no real benefit. So stop using it.” My brow creased. “Investigate mantras without investigating mantras?”

“Why not? Just try asking them for a piece of advice, something that someone’s told them, or that they’ve realised themself, that they hold close to their heart.”

“And you think they’ll respond to that?” I said hopefully.

She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “It’s worth a try. And Apollo, before you go, I’ve got a piece of advice of my own.” She made sure I was listening before she continued. “It doesn’t matter if it’s cheesy if it helps.”

*

My mother, as always, was right.

“There is always happiness in unicorns,” Lavinia told me solemnly. “And in tap dance.”

“We can change things,” Frank said as we gazed out over the reconstruction of New Rome.

“Not even curses last forever,” said Hazel, pressing a small blue sapphire into my hands.

“Just ‘cause I’m half Cherokee doesn’t mean I’m a fount of spiritual knowledge, you know,” said Piper. “But I guess I would say that happiness is still possible.” She squeezed Shel’s hand.

Luguselwa watched Nero’s children replant a new set of seedlings. “It’s not too late,” she said.

“I thought we already had this conversation?” said Artemis. “Honestly, brother. My advice is that you don’t need my advice. You know full well what advice you need to hear. You know better than anyone else. Now stop with this pointless denial and listen to yourself.”

*

When I returned to Camp Half-Blood, it was in chaos. Demigods ran panicked between cabins or else were deep in frantic discussion with friends, some scribbling on scraps of paper, some murmuring under their breaths. 

I eventually found Will out by the strawberry fields, alone save for Nico. “It’s a war out there, Dad,” he said to me, face grim. “Chiron’s officially announced there’s an hour left until the deadline, and then we all have to recite our mantras. Everybody’s going crazy.”

“Are you both ready?” I asked.

Will grimaced. Nico gave me a death stare worthy of the son of Hades.

I raised my hands in surrender. “Only a question!”

“I'm starting to panic about it a little,” Will confessed.

Only now? I wanted to say, but I guessed that comment wouldn't be appreciated. Instead I nodded and said “I've left mine rather to the last minute as well.”

“You're doing one?” Nico said incredulously. “Why?”

I reddened, and Will cut in before I could answer. “Meg bullied him into it,” he said. “If you're ever confused about anything Apollo does, 99% of the time you can blame Meg.”

Nico nodded as if this made sense. I wanted to argue, but I was aware I didn't have much ground to stand on.

“But one thing I am confused about,” Will continued, “is that didn't you already have a mantra, Dad? Why do you need a new one?”

Believe me, dear reader, I wanted to make a bad excuse and disappear to Olympus again. Despite my trials, emotional vulnerability was still not my strong point. But instead, I said “I’m afraid I’m reliably informed that it was, in fact, a shit mantra. Not very emotionally healthy. So I’m giving it a second try.” “Any luck?” Will asked.

I took a moment to consider. “I’ve talked to a lot of different people,” I said. “Many of them told me very wise things. But I think - and I will deny saying this - that my sister was right. It’s something you have to come up with yourself, because deep down, you know what you need to hear.” They both took a moment to take that in, or perhaps they were wondering what in the Hades I was going on about.

Eventually Will said, in a very quiet voice, “But what if I don’t deserve to hear that?” Tears pricked at my eyes, and I gathered him up into a hug. “Of course you deserve to hear it, Will. You’re brave and kind and a fabulous healer, but even if you weren’t any of that, you’re still my son. And my son deserves the world.” Will hid his face in my shoulder for a moment. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered.

I pressed a kiss into his golden curls, then looked at Nico. “Look after him for me, will you?” I said.

Nico nodded solemnly. “With my life.”

*

But I still had one final visit to make. I found Meg in the stables, brushing down the unicorn I’d gifted her as my return-to-godhood present. She’d taken to horsecare - well, unicorncare - far more easily than I’d expected given her lack of experience, but she seemed to find the same quiet satisfaction in the manual work that she did in gardening.

“You better have some real good mantra knowledge to offer,” she warned me. “I got nothing.”

I sighed and slumped down by a post. “You’re not going to like it,” I said.

She huffed. Apparently that wasn’t even worth a verbal response.

“It’s just gotta be the thing you most want to hear,” I said. “The thing you most wish someone would say to you, but then you’ve got to say it to yourself.” “That’s stupid,” Meg said. Her shoulders were tense. “I don’t want to.” “Neither do I,” I said honestly. “How about I go first, so you can laugh at me?” “You’ve got one?”

I sighed. “Yes, and it’s the cheesiest, stupidest thing in the world, and I don’t believe it when I say it. But if I say it enough times, maybe I’ll start believing it.” Meg looked heartbreakingly fragile. “You go first, then.” I hesitated. The words felt like they were getting stuck in my throat. Trite, a lie, unoriginal, stupidly similar to a stupid quote from the stupid Barbie movie. But I needed to hear them. Not only that, Meg needed to hear them. We both needed me to be vulnerable right now.

“I’m enough,” I said quietly.

Meg blinked, and then launched herself at me in a hug. “I love you,” she said hoarsely.

“I love you too, Meg,” I said, voice cracking.

She shook her head, nose rubbing against my chest. “No, that’s my mantra,” she said. “I love myself. Or whatever.” She sniffed, but I didn’t even care about the cold snot starting to collect on my jumper.

I held her close to me in that quiet stable, just the two of us and a unicorn, and there was not a thing in this world that could have made me let her go.

sorry this is slightly late!! and the formatting may have messed up, the stars are meant to be in the middle of each line. i think i caught all my mistakes but this is very on the last minute so i might have missed some sorry! but it's done!

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part IX/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst/rivals to lovers

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: PTSD, slight gore (blink and you'll miss it), warfare, language, smoking

A/N: I'm gonna say this once. If you know the gif creator, tell me. Beware of the fact that I nearly didn't post this today bc anons annoyed me THAT much. Anyway, enjoy ig? <3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band Of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Shoot. Get down. Live grenade. They got us zeroed. Move. Shoot. Move. Keep moving.

Keep moving. Shoot.

Smoke. Blood. Gunshots.

A shell. Move. A blast. Shoot.

Move. Gunshots.

Blood. Death. Pain.

Tipper.

Blood. Blood. Blood gushing.

Y/n.

"Jesus Christ."

There was no training for that part, was it?

We all had heard it from veterans— battle fatigue, shellshock; whatever comes after combat, when the silence is too loud and the peace too stifling. No one in their right mind would toss and turn and sweat and shake here.

After four weeks of nonstop fighting, Regiment had pulled Easy to the camp set at Utah beach. Warm food, beds, hot showers and the soft waves of the ocean lulling us into a deep sleep for a couple of nights. Then, England. A well-deserved rest.

No one was actually resting.

We all pretended we were, though. The few who didn't bother on feigning it had found different activities to busy themselves. Some read, some cleaned their M1s, some polished their boots.

No one spoke.

I turned to lie on my back, stare fixed on the canvas above our heads. A welcomed anomaly, compared to what we had grown accustomed to.

The cot was too soft. I shuffled on it, once, twice. A frustrated puff escaped me. I turned again, this time on my right shoulder, facing the tarp serving as doorway. It flapped with the wind, allowing my view to reach a figure standing by the shore.

Maybe picking out who it was would have been harder if she had been wearing, at the very least, a damn jacket.

If we had learned something from France, it was that the nights weren't warm, and the English channel's influence didn't do us any favors regarding the temperature.

I had a foot set out of the tent before I could think better of it. Toye and Guarnere, standing right outside, spared me a nod of acknowledgment.

"What's she doing?"

Toye quirked a brow. Whether it was at my question or at my tone, I didn't know. "Didn't ask her."

"She's gonna catch something."

"She's a big girl, alright." The Irishman countered.

"She's an idiot."

Guarnere pulled a face and motioned at the dark silhouette of Y/n, contrasting with the refracted moonlight. "you go tell her that, buddy. We'll wait for ya right here."

Instead of exchanging another word with the two men, I turned heel and reached Y/n's bunk in a couple of strides. My fingers curled around the fabric of her jacket, and, after throwing it over my shoulder, I crossed the distance to the beach.

At first, I didn't call her name— didn't speak at all. The last thing we all needed was to get spooked and, although I highly doubted I'd have managed to take her by surprise, I didn't want to tamper with my luck.

The late night hours, the exhaustion from the last weeks, and the way the sand seemed to swallow my footsteps weren't the best combination.

She still noticed —of course she noticed— that she was no longer alone. The slightest change of posture gave her away. By the slight widening of her eyes when she turned to check the source of movement, whoever she had expected to come get her clearly wasn't me.

"You made it through Normandy just so you could catch pneumonia?" I questioned, holding out her jacket.

"It’s not that cold." It was a dismissive whisper. 'You worry too much'. But she took the piece of clothing nonetheless, slipping it on with slow, careful motions.

"You'll thank me later." I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pants, watching her with an inquisitive look. Y/n must have noticed, because she made a point not to spare my a single look, her attention elsewhere. "What are you even doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"No shit."

"I thought I'd go for a swim."

"You're full of great ideas, aren't you?" I waited for a comeback; an annoyed response that matched my sarcastic pitch. She didn't take the bait.

Her scoff, barely there, lacked humor and strength. "Well, I'm not getting in the water, if it's any comfort."

"Changed your mind?"

She glanced at me then, skimming over my face before looking past my shoulder. "Guess you could say so."

My gaze exchanged her form for the soft waves. The water stretched out endless in front of us, dark and calmer than it had been when we'd arrived in the morning.

Maybe Y/n was right and I couldn't shut up to save my life, which was why I opened my mouth in the first place. Whatever stupid thought I was about to voice died, transforming into a sucked-in breath I poorly hid by clearing my throat when a busted helmet hit my unlaced boot.

A month had passed since the Normandy landings, yet the tide wasn't done dragging pieces of the dead— gear, guns, torn fabric.

Worse things than torn fabric.

Y/n's back was now to the Atlantic, her arm brushing my own for an instant.

"My ma used to say it's bad luck to turn your back to the ocean, you know?" It was almost an afterthought, my eyes lingering on the half buried helmet.

"I'll take my chances." She muttered uninterested, patting her jacket in search of something she didn't find. "You got a cigarette?"

My hands mimicked her previous actions, with enough luck to find a crumpled pack.

I pulled out two, placing one in her palm. "You got a lighter?"

She snorted, shaking her head as she reached into her pocket. Her fingers set the flame, the amber light illuminating her features for an instant. She held the lighter out to me, her free hand protecting it from the wind, and I leaned in until the end of my cigarette caught the soft glow.

We stood like that for a moment, quiet, Y/n facing the camp and me facing the waves.

The tide rolled in.

"Don't dwell on it, alright?" I said.

She took the cigarette to her lips, still not looking at me. "I'm not."

I didn't even let myself entertain the thought that she was lying. She sounds unbothered, I told myself, she must be.

That surely wasn't a lie of my own, was it? An excuse crafted by my selfish mind, one that would help me sleep better at night after choosing not to dig into it.

But then again, what consolation could I have offered to her, anyway? When, on a good day, we tolerated each other.

Y/n took another drag of the cigarette, then pulled it away to inspect it with a small frown. "What's this?"

I glanced down to pull the pack out of my pocket again. Her fingers clasped my wrist to twist the little box in the camp's lighting direction in order to read the name.

"Chesterfield." Her brows twitched, like that wasn't the answer she expected. "Since when do you smoke Chesterfields?"

"Got a problem with them?" She set me free just as quick as she had gotten a hold of me, allowing me to put the cigarettes back into their assigned spot. "'Cause you can always give it back."

She didn’t say a word, just put the smoke back to her lips and took another drag, slow and pointed. Stubborn.

"You like it?"

Y/n gifted me a tight-lipped smile. "Love it."

Oh, she hated it.

I didn't push it. We shifted slightly, the movement sending our biceps to bump again.

"You did good." She exhaled, watching the smoke dissolve into the air before saying, "Thought you'd get yourself killed before shooting a round."

I blinked. I wasn't sure how to take that from her— something that wasn't sarcastic or backhanded; just an observation, maybe even a compliment of some sort and, for some reason, that made it harder to respond to.

My instinct kicked in. "Yeah, well. You've been decent so far."

She rolled her eyes. A reaction easier to place.

A beat of silence passed, the distant, almost nonexistent murmur inside the tents and the steady rush of the tide filling the space between us.

Too quiet.

"What's in your head?"

Y/n inhaled through her nose, flicking the ashes onto the damp sand. "I'm starting to think I should've stayed home."

It wasn't self-pity, and clearly wasn't looking for a response. Just a thought said aloud.

Just a thought that didn't sit right with me.

"Yeah. I don't think so." It took me a second to meet her gaze. The surprise that simple sentence pulled out of her was almost funny. "What would you be doing at home, anyway?"

"Don't know." Y/n gave me a shrug and a thoughtful pout. "Marrying a good man?"

I gave her an skeptical look.

She squinted her lids. "What's that face, Liebgott?"

"Nothing." I raised my hands in surrender and clicked my tongue. "I just don't think that would've worked for you, since, you know, all the good men are overseas."

"That's not true." Her furrowed brows were a stark contrast to her amused smile. "My brothers are in the States."

Brothers. Plural. Huh. "Why?"

"Two 4Fs, one conscientious objector." The corner of her lips pulled upwards at my blank stare. "You think it's funny, don't you?"

"It is funny." The statement came through a snicker. "You're here to— what? Salvage your family's reputation?"

That earned me a lazy kick of her boot. "Yeah, 'cause me being here is gonna do a lot for their reputation."

The cigarette burned between my fingers, and the question I had been dying to ask her itched at the tip of my tongue.

If there was a time to ask, it was now.

"How the hell did you even get into the Airborne?"

Y/n turned her head slightly, just enough to give me a side glance. She was weighing her possibilities.

"You've been holding onto that one for long?"

Of course. I quirked my brow at her, prompting her to give me something real. A sly grin escaped her before she could look away again.

It was strange. For a moment, the war felt a world away. No mud, no rain, no dead bodies washing up on shore. Just a woman with sharp eyes, standing too close and not moving away. It almost felt like San Francisco again, like she was just another pretty girl at my local bar.

Wishful thinking, worth nothing.

Just when I thought I wouldn't get a reply, she settled for, "Lying, bribing, and being stubborn."

"Sounds about right." I scrunched my nose, losing my gaze to the ocean momentarily. "You sure you'd be equipped to stay at home and marry a good man?"

That got a laugh out of her. Short, but real. The stitches on her face pulled, making her wince slightly, and I caught myself looking a second too long.

I smirked, tilting my head at her and teased, "Thought you couldn't laugh.", because asking if it hurt meant I cared.

Y/n halfheartedly glared at me, her fingertips pressing the soreness away from her scarred cheek. "Thought you weren't funny."

It was meant to be a comeback, but it didn't land like that. She noticed a bit too late, with the grin spreading over my face. Too late to take it back.

"You think I’m funny?"

The thought of doing a u-turn flashed so obviously across her face, but to my surprise, she doubled down. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

Y/n scoffed, her body already angled toward camp as if to shield herself from the teasing. "When you're not an absolute dick."

"Aren't you sweet." I flicked my cigarette, glancing away.

"I am being sweet." She took a long drag, the smoke curling above her when she exhaled it.

"Right."

The tide rolled in, dragged back out. I gently kicked the helmet back into the sea. She looked over her shoulder at the waves; her profile cut against the vastness of the clear night sky from were I stood.

For an instant, the quiet wasn't so bad.

[lvmimis]

cw: fluff. set on rusukaina island during the timeskip.

On an island that boasts 48 seasons in a year, a warm but not oppressively so late spring day is a blessing, and the two of you have learned quickly how to make the most of it. 

Now that nearly twenty-three months of twenty-four have passed, Luffy has made this island more than welcome as home for him, and in a way, for both of you, so a day or so of leisure is no longer a fool’s daydream.

Despite this, you can’t exactly say you’re completely idling, working quickly with your fingers to twist and bend leathery plant leaves into a basket the way the inhabitants of Amazon Lily have taught you. Humming to yourself under your breath, a tune the source of which you can’t actually remember, you’re happy to watch Luffy off in the distance at the edge of the beach, cross-legged in the sand with a crudely crafted fishing pole in his hands.

He’s been quiet, almost serene for a while and perhaps a little too far away from you for your own comfort, and thus the urge to disturb the normally boisterous man overwhelms you.

“Luffy!”

“Mm?”

Your hands slip for a moment as you handle a rougher plant frond a little too carelessly, cursing as you bring your cut finger to your lip and taste iron. Luffy turns quickly as though he smells the scent of your blood and watches you carefully for true suffering but says nothing once he realizes you’re okay; you set down your basket and walk over to sit by him.

Bare feet sink into the sand of the shore as you settle close. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, resting your head on his shoulder.

He pauses for a moment, then his stomach growls as if responding for him, his face a huge frown.

“Worried I ate all the fish in these waters actually.”

His stomach growls again, and you pause, blinking as you look at him. He’s completely serious and you find yourself bursting into laughter.

“Luffy, you can’t possibly have-”

You pause - he could have. Your own stomach growls at the thought, but then you shake your head.

“They’ll bite eventually,” you reassure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “I do have a question to ask you though,” you add. He turns to you, with immediate trust and sudden interest.

“It’ll sound dramatic but bear with me,” you start.

He tilts his head. “Well, is it a math question?”

“Why would I-” you pause, then remind yourself to be nice, before shaking your head. 

“Okay, then tell me.” Firmly planting his fishing rod deep in the sand, he shifts in your direction, both hands folded in his lap.

When he’s so earnest looking it almost feels wrong to ask him a question like this, but that’s never stopped you before.

“Let’s say we only have fifteen minutes left to live, what would you want to do last?”

His response is blunt.

“Who do I have to beat up?” he asks. “Fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to do literally anything.”

You sigh.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” you insist.

“Bullshit.”

“Luffy…”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back to rest on his forearms. You pout, and he grins widely, giving in.

“Fine, we’re going to die and there’s nothing to do.” He closes his eyes and ponders for a moment, then his stomach growls again.

“Big feast,” he says, opening his eyes again brightly, his eyes shining at the thought. He sits back up again, his arms wide.

“Biggest feast ever! With all our friends, so much food that no one can hardly ever go hungry.”

“We have fifteen minutes, Luffy,” you remind him.

He pulls you into his arms. “We also have Sanji.”

You scoff, but he nuzzles you close to pacify you.

“We’ll eat so well and then we can just wait, just like this until the lights go out, I guess.” 

Luffy is holding you so tightly and yet so gently, you can feel your heart race. The scent of his skin fills your nostrils as you move and find your nose flush with his bicep and you find your face warming.

“Is that really it?” you say, pulling away lest you overheat.

“Well I mean, I would never just let the world end for us but if you’re making me play along…”

His legs wrap around your waist a couple times over, like an anaconda.

“It’ll be fine as long as you’re with me. And our bellies are full.”

… and our bellies are full, you think to yourself in your head. Those are the two things that Luffy needs - to be full and to be surrounded by love.

You can at least grant this bottomless pit of a man one of those things reliably.

You peck him on the lips quickly then, before his perpetually greedy self can ask for more, pull a few picked and washed berries out of a cloth pouch attached to your hip. Popping a couple in his mouth, you then affix another to the end of the fishing rod.

“Try these.”

He chews and swallows, delighted at the sweet taste. His interest shifting back to the fishing rod, he assumes his prior position, and you hook your arms around one of his.

After a few moments, something bites, something huge enough that it blocks out the sun once he’s yanked it in your direction and you scream, but he’s laughing loudly as he jumps up and catches it.

“Here’s dinner!”

His eyes practically sparkle, and you can’t help but let your shock abate into calm complacency as he wrestles down that enormous hapless fish, remembering that the world could end any time but you’d be happy as long as you were by his side.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Behind the Walls

Request: Hello! Erik Lehnsherr x FemReader with prompt “ stay with me” please? Requested by anon.

A/N: Initially, I was going with something angstier that would result in the reader's death, but then changed it completely.

WC: 1.4 K.

Fictober Challenge

“Look out!” you screamed as Erik hovered above the ground, his focus elsewhere as you enemies fired a missile in his direction.

The next thing you saw was debris falling all around you. You looked frantically around to see many of your kind lying dead. Then your mind drifted to Erik. He was nowhere in sight, and panic crept in. You scanned the battlefield, your eyes catching the sight of his helmet lying on the ground. Heart racing, you sprinted toward it, only to find him, semi-conscious, trapped under a large chunk of debris, his face covered in blood. Gritting your teeth, you used all your strength to free him, dragging him away from the battlefield, hardly making it to the base. Despite the power coursing through them, he was vulnerable now- wounded and barely alive.

“You shouldn’t have come for me” Erik rasped, his voice strained.

“You’re welcome” you replied dryly, ignoring the tightening in your chest at the sight of him in pain. He was always so invincible, so determined, strong, and seeing him like that felt wrong.

You gently lowered him onto a bed, kneeling beside him and rummaging through the supplies for bandages.

“You would have bled out” your voice softened, almost a whisper. “I- we need you. Without you we don’t stand a chance.”

Erik winced as you lifted his shirt to inspect the wounds. Blood was everywhere, and you couldn’t see the source of the bleeding. You grabbed a clean gauze, but as you were about to clean him up, his hand shot up, gripping your wrist. His eyes flicked to yours, there was something soft in them that he quickly masked “I don’t need help” he muttered.

“Fine, but you need to clean the wound. We don’t know if it’s still bleeding.” You handed him the gauze and went to fetch the antiseptic solution while he cleaned the area. He was still bleeding, though not as heavily. When you returned, he stopped you again. “I don’t need this” he protested, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don’t be stubborn. If I don’t disinfect the wound, it could get infected and lead to sepsis.” you reasoned, gently but firmly. He hesitated before giving in, allowing you to apply the antiseptic. As the solution touched his skin, he hissed in pain. You’d seen him fight, kill and get injured before, but you’ve never seen him in pain like this before. You grimaced “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you. This is going to sting…a lot.”

“I can handle it.” He replied through gritted teeth, his expression stoic. “How long is this going to take?” he asked, clearly not happy or comfortable with having you around.

“You don’t let people take care of you often, do you?” you surmised, glancing up at him as you worked.

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way” he said, his tone sharp.

“Why?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

“I don’t like letting people get close. Are you done with the interrogation?” he asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“I’m not trying to get close” you lied. “I just don’t want you to die. You’re too important.”

He sensed there was more to your words, but he didn’t press. The room was quiet as you continued to work on him. You wanted to say more, to tell him how you felt, but fear held your tongue.

You brought some bandages and started wrapping them around his middle. “Can you sit up, please? I need to get this around” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t object.

“Is this really necessary?” he questioned and you gave him a ‘what do you think?’ look. He sighed before complying.

When you finished, you began to collect the medical supplies. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell if you have internal bleeding. I would suggest that I stay and keep an eye on you, but I know you’d rather I didn’t. So, rest and if you notice any symptoms, let me know” You were reluctant to leave but didn’t want to push him. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“You could stay…if you want. Just until the morning.” His words were hesitant,  and you could see how he was struggling to ask for help, to let you in. You nodded, giving him a faint smile before sitting down on a chair next to him.

After a while, he spoke again. “For someone taking care of others, you forgot to take care of yourself” he gestured to your hand, and when you followed his gaze, you noticed some cuts and bruises. In the heat of everything, you were too distracted- worried about him that you forgot about your own pain.

“It’s just some cuts, nothing serious.” you said with a dismissive shrug.

He scoffed. “It could still get infected. Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little disinfection.” There was a playfulness in his tone.

You rolled your eyes and cleaned your wounds. “Happy now?” you flashed him with a mock glare, forgetting who you were talking to for a moment, treating him like one of your friends.

“Very. Now I can sleep in peace.” He joked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Seeing this side of him was new to you. You wanted to hold your tongue so as not to scare him, but your impulsiveness got the better of you.

“I didn't know you were such a tease.” You shot back with a playful grin. And he seemed to have forgotten himself, his smile fading slightly.

“I didn’t want to set you off… but you have a cute smile” you blurted, surprised by your own words. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. Usually, you were more calculated around him, but tonight, something was different. Maybe it was because the fear of losing him had shaken you.

“You’re awfully chatty, tonight.” he remarked.

“I tend to do that when I’m nervous” you admitted quietly.

He narrowed his eyes, curious.“What could you possibly be nervous about?”

You hesitated. “Being in your presence for this long.” 

He frowned. “You’re…scared of me?” 

“No, not scared.” You sighed. “I don’t know how to explain this to you.” 

“Try” he encouraged softly, his eyes inviting.

You took a deep breath. “It’s hard, knowing how you are around others…I thought you don’t let people in.”

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I am literally fighting this war for our kind. So that they could have a chance to live in a safe place. Everything I do is for our people, for their survival” he admitted, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“I know, it’s one of the reasons I lov-” You stopped yourself, realizing how close you’d come to confessing your feelings. “It’s just sometimes it feels hard to talk to you. You have all these walls around you, and it creates this distance… I’m babbling again, I’m sorry I’m not sure what I was trying to say.”

“Thank you.” he said quietly, a soft smile appearing on his face.

“What for?” you narrowed your eyes slightly, confused.

“For taking care of me… for staying.” His voice was low, and he avoided your gaze, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Of course. It’s nothing, really.”

“It is to me.”

—

“So… seeing as you haven’t developed any symptoms that indicate internal bleeding, I’d say you’re safe. Get some rest and you should be up and about in a couple of days.” You gave him a smile, preparing to leave.

He wanted to say something, but he was hesitant, almost afraid.

“It was nice seeing that side of you, Erik… You should try letting people in more.” You advised. “I guess this is it, then. I’ll see you around…If you need anything, you know where to find me.” You were reluctant to leave, but you knew he wanted space and you didn’t want to push him.

Before you could walk out, he spoke again.“Stay with me” he said, his voice quieter now, almost like he regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. There was no command in his tone- just a raw, hesitant plea. “Please…just for a little while longer.”

You turned back to see him, and there he was, his eyes pleading, his face soft with emotion. “Of course” you nodded, returning to his side with a quiet smile, your heart warming at the rare moment of vulnerability you shared.

Tags: @bucky-blogs

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can we have Azul being very excited to see his parents again with random dorm members questioning if thats the same Azul that's their dorm leader?

Octavinelle A-kun? Octavinelle A-kun. (Context: Octa A/Kon is my Octavinelle mob student OC asdblasdiabis)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Azul had reserved a slot of time early in the afternoon--before the Mostro Lounge's usual hours of operation--for his parents.

As soon as he swung open the doors, his painstaking efforts were made apparent. Every corner of the eatery had been scrubbed, buffed, dusted, mopped, and vacuumed to perfection. Their best china was out, a vase of freshly cut flowers and romantic candlelight marking the table he had saved. The live band he had hired (no expense spared) welcomed the Ashengrotto family with a soft, jazzy melody.

The music came with a chorus of clapping. Several Octavinelle students stood in lines, giving applause to the VIPs.

Azul ushered his parents inside. "Please, come in, come in! Right this way, esteemed sir and madam," he crooned, gesturing for them to follow him.

They settled into their seats and were immediately provided with menus and tall glasses of water, the ice so clear and free of impurities that one could see right through them. Octa A--Kon--their server, hastily pulled his hand back after delivering the items and bowed. How smoothly everything ran, like an orchestra with a skilled conductor.

"So this is what you've been up to at school," Mr. Ashengrotto murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I must say, it's impressive. Not every 17-year old would be capable of overseeing an entire cafe on top of studying and juggling the responsibilities of a dorm leader--well, perhaps your mother would."

"You really do take after me," Mrs. Ashengrotto laughed, "in more ways than I suspected you did."

"Fufufu. Yes, well... I did learn from the best." Azul straightened, lifting his chin proudly. "As it so happens, I also run a little... side business, shall we say. My peers come to me with their owes, and I do what I can to help alleviate those."

"If only your grandmother could have joined us... I'm sure she would be pleased to hear of your charity work. Perhaps we could pay her a visit on your next trip home."

His stepfather raised his brows. "Seems I've married into a multitalented family."

"Please do not talk down your own abilities. You're quite skilled in your own right, dear stepfather!" Azul wrung his hands together. "Why, I can only hope to match your legal prowess one day!"

“Haha, you’re a sweet talker too. Alright, I’ll take your professional advice. No more talk of business though—let’s decide what to eat.”

“Fufufu, as you wish.”

Kon warily kept his distance, a step or two farther from the table than he usually would. Staring, listening--it was strange, he decided. Never had he heard his dorm leader speaking with such sincerity, with kindness that wasn't laced with hidden ill intent.

Is this... Azul-senpai? He seems a little different around his family. Softer... squisher somehow.

"Pick anything you like off the menu. I'm confident that you will enjoy our dishes, made fresh every day with the best sourced, in-season ingredients possible.” Azul pushed up his glasses with one hand. “If you care for a recommendation, the fried chicken is sublime. It took us a while experimenting with spices to achieve its flavor and texture, but I believe those efforts paid off wonderfully."

“Fried chicken, your old favorite! You hardly touch it anymore.”

“M-Mama…! Er, I mean mother,” Azul quickly corrected himself. “That was back then! Now I am making a conscious effort to mind my health. I ask that you respect that."

“Alright, alright. Point taken.” Mrs. Ashengrotto tapped a finger on her menu. “I’ll take the fried chicken platter appetizer, for old time’s sake. We can split it so you can treat yourself too, dear."

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly..."

"One bite can't hurt," his stepfather urged. "Here, let's get a salad as well to balance it out."

"Th-That is not how nutritional intake works at all..." Azul sighed, a hand to his head. There was a pause, then he flagged Kon over. "... You heard them, correct? One fried chicken platter and the garden salad appetizers to start."

"We'll get those out for you right away," he said robotically. A line, rehearsed. "Take however long you need to decide your mains."

The mob student turned to scurry away and pass along the order to the kitchen. A voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“And Kon-san?”

He looked back.

His dorm leader had his legs crossed, looking very authoritative as he sat up straight in his booth. He, the lackey, trembling before the boss.

“Y-Yes, sir?” Kon squeaked.

Azul simply smiled. "Thank you for your service."

The breath he had been unconsciously holding slipped out as a sigh. And he tried to smile back.

"Anytime, dorm leader.”

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 16/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: i absolutely adore your shadowpeach bio-parents au comics they flow really nicely from post to post, and i looove the balance between angst & fluff i feel as if with shadowpeach, its always either angst or fluff- no inbetween, but somehow you've found a really nice mixture of both thanks for singlehandedly keeping me in the LMK fandom haha

Thank you! Fluff and angst keep going around each other like a microwave ahah

Anonimo ha chiesto: So like with mks monkey form does he have to deal with shedding during summer I think it would be funny if macaque and Mk got fluffier during winter. Wukong wouldn't complain about a fluffy macaque though probably like sleeping with the best plushy.

Oh man I think they do indeed haha. Pigsy would scold MK bc he keeps finding fur hair everywhere in the house

Anonimo ha chiesto: You seem like someone who knows a lot about the LMK fandom, so I must ask where does the idea of Princess Iron Fan and Macaque being sworn siblings come from? Like, is it from JTTW, and im just not aware of it, I'm still trying to learn as much as I can, and I need to actually read the book. The fact that people assume I know a lot about the fandom is so hilarious (not in a mocking way, I'm just very surprised) bc like- I watched the whole show in 1 day, speedwatched Overly sarcastic production recap of JTTW and read half of the book in a week. All of this in July. That's everything that I know from the fandom.

I think it's an headcanon. in JTTW Wukong, Macaque and DBK are all part of the brotherhood so.

Anonimo ha chiesto: First off I LOVE your comic but I have the animal autism and wanted to share some Monkey facts: monkeys don't sweat like humans do they mostly sweat on the palms and feet, areas they have no fur. For overheating monkeys mainly seek shade staying under trees , increase respiration (panting), seeking water sources. Also some species might shed for a thinner coat during summer. Sweating is an exclusively human thing and why humans have been so successful humans are persistent hunters. We would often follow herds for miles waiting for them to tire and overheat while sweating keeps us perfectly cool. Humans are also the only animal to blush. Lol Again no hate love the comic I love me some Flustered blushing gay monkeys. I just have the animal autism and wanted to info dump.

Thank you for the animal fact dump! Those were actually super interesting facts!

@draxeanlxia ha chiesto: Hey question that I have no idea if you already answered but how old is MK in your BIO Parents AU? I know people (usually) believe him to at least 18 due to China’s minimum driving age but others believe him to in his early 20s. Also Mac in your AU said was ‘grown ass man’ during the baby arc. So in your AU, how old is MK?

So. in the AU he's 21 y/o. Meaning that when he arrived to Pigsy door they saw him and went "yeah, he looks around 2/3" and from then they counted on. Buut there's also the thing that he looks a little younger than that age. I wont say anything else.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Who your Favorite Lmk character??

mmmmmmm... MK bc he's monkey now. Before season 4 probably Macaque or Wukong. But I have a "thing" for characters discovering they are actually a different species and slowly gaining new/different body features bc of that, so when I saw him flickering at the end of s4 I flew to a different universe. Literally the whole reason this AU exist is because I would die for this trope

Anonimo ha chiesto: What inspired your Human Wukong & Mac designs? Mostly because my brain looks at Macaque and thinks “Cranky middle aged pirate” meanwhile Wukong’s is “That chill gay uncle” (this is based off of purely looks by the way)

Macaque is drama queen so of course he would wear a trenchvoat during fall. plus he's old inside and outside bc of all Wukong bullshit. Wukong is your friendly neighbour who lives in a sketchy house and survives on peach sodas and chips (oh wait that's just canon Wukong.)

ainnur ha chiesto: You know I like how Wukong in your comic just compare something hot with Laozi's furnace. Like with spicy food and time he help MK created the weapon. Mk: You know Wukong you mention Laozi's furnace a lot. Must really tough 49 days for you... Wukong:Yeah worst 49 years *eating peach* Mk: Can tell- wait- years..? Wukong: Yeah a day at heaven is like one year here or so..Do the math, bud *continue to eat the peach* Mk:.... what..? Wukong just casually and accidently recall his trauma because he thought it never effect him like his other trauma. Also the brotherhood have 49 years to help him but they didn't do anything. "Yeah because normally you would rush into my rescue"

Thank you for giving me this traumatic info I didn't know about. Now I will never look at Wukong the same (why did my boy have to suffer so much)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Macaque: I think I'm in love with Wukong . . . Any thoughts. Chiyou: and prayers you're going to need them.

me too bitch, the fuck

@mirror-queen226 ha chiesto: I agree about the last ask you posted (about Wukong surely wearing a dress on a date), and I just couldn't help but say my own headcanon too (with a little bit of knowledge about the ancient times that Wukong was just a child on the jttw and lmk): I dunno if you agree but okay. Honestly, both Wukong and Mac/Mihou (like i usually call him) does not care about clothes, if they feel comfortable with them, be it for woman or man, they'll wear it, especially Wukong though, I feel like he'd act like a famous diva in a on a runway showcasing new high-class clothes from Victoria Secret, Channel, or something, whilst Mac is much more discreet but not too far from that too. And considering Wukong was wearing WOMAN clothes when he was in the brotherhood in the season 4 lmk flashback, it just made me believe in that headcanon even more :) Also, I am really loving your au, it's just so perfect the way you develop every character slow and patiently, keeping their personalities untouched, not changing but instead expanding and showing them a bit more, how they are really trying to improve (Wukong and Mihou in this case) and how satisfying it is to see. I always rush to see the new updates you post about the Biodads au every time i see too, and honestly, one of the 5 best au's ever, you draw so good too, it's adorable! That's all I wanted to say, have a nice day, drink water and take care of your health! 🥰🥰🥰

Yeah true! Like they are shapeshifter, they wouldn't care what species they are, even less the perceived gender norms

Anonimo ha chiesto: Little question, while the monkeys where at Chiyou's forge, shadowpeach where still sleeping together or not?

They were all sleeping in sleeping bags on the floor (but they all were close to each other.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Generally curious what you think would have happened if MK had not been woken up and the stone wasn't broken what do you think would have happen. would he had grown up on FFM?

Aww he probably would have been raised by Wukong. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing.

@wolfsonic ha chiesto: I have question! Does Rumble and Sabage have sentience in your stories? Like, do they have their own personalities like MK clones do? If yes, what do they think of WuKong and MK? Also, will we see more of them? Cause I'd love Mk to meet them when he wasn't stuck as a cub and not remember.

Yeah I think they have a littel bit of personalities. They like both MK and Wukong, but would also do prank on him.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think I won't say I'm in love from Hercules fits macaque very well

The little monkeys are the muse doing backup choir

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we see what a courtnapping room typically looks like?

Courtnapping rooms are made specifically for the courted one, so they are all different. Basically, the room should include everything the courted person would need to live comfortable and also a collection of things they like / to pass the time /love.

It must show that the person courtnapping them is able to provide, care and protect for them. And also knows what makes them happy.

So it can be a huge castle full of jewerly and elegant clothes/ornaments or just a cozy room with some chips and video games.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Is LBD going to be a topic in your au again ?

maybe

@wolfasketch ha chiesto: We need MK interacting with his new found Auntie and Uncle please(we also new to see Red being flustered by MK while his parents are around and PIF being like "Ooohhhh")

We are VERY luky Red Son and MK didn't grew up together or we would have thier parents playing love-matching with them while they are toodlers

Anonimo ha chiesto: could we possibly get a traffic light trio and shadopeach grooming train at some point, i would love to see some bonding time between them all <3 and i would love to see mk grooming redsons hair since there's so much of it

Wait who would be the second person to be groomed? I assume RedSon hair are too hot to touch. (when he's flustered, at least)

Anonimo ha chiesto: So like how does Redsons hair/ fire work. Does it just feel warm to MK and Mei. Will it only burn/ hurt you if he doesn't trust you. Another note it must be nice having two fire demon friends during winter.

I think when he's relaxed, the hair is just- a little bit warm, then with his feelings and emotion it can go up to a bigillion degrees, so it's not harmful as long as he can control it.

[ewingstan]

Philosophy ask game: I love Tattletale with all my heart. Philosophy interpretation welcomed as well as psychosexual if there's anything there

Tattletale was actually the second character I assigned a thought experiment for! But if I was going to give her a second, I might go with G.A. Cohen's "idealized Mafioso."

This is a thought experiment levied against Kristine Korsgaard's identity-based grounding of normativity—Korsgaard claims that even though moral rules and norms do not exist in a "robust" sense—not having any existence outside of our heads—it's rational for us to follow them insofar as we care about the identities we construct for ourselves. We care about being a good mother, or a good friend, or a good patriot, but identifying with those roles requires that we follow various role-related rules (adequately caring for your child, helping your friend out even when it costs you, being willing to die and kill in jingoistic allegiance to an arbitrarily-circumscribed group of people, etc). Korsgaard claims that identifying with these roles is incredibly valuable to us insofar as it gives us a sense of ourselves as agents. Further, failing to follow these roles' norms is incredibly painful, the break in our identities being something wefear and desperately try to avoid. This giving us real reasons to follow the moral rules associated with those roles, despite such rules not having a "robust" existence outside of our own minds.

G.A. Cohen replies to Korsgaard by pointing out that there are many identities that have strong behavioral requirements, but which we don't think justifies agents acting certain ways. For instance, a Mafioso may force himself "to do some hideous thing" by reminding himself of his code, of his loyalty to the family, of the importance of those things to his identity. We wouldn't want to say he's morally justified in doing such things, but Korsgaard's account of normativity would seemingly force us to say he's justified in acting according to the cruel obligations of his identity.

This character is similar to other immoral figures used to test meta-ethical theories, from Gibbard's "ideally coherent Caligula" to Plato's Gyges. Such figures obviously bare little resemblance to Tattletale—but the Mafioso, defined by his self-conception as a criminal with a strong but strange moral code, is a natural fit. Lisa puts an incredible amount of worth in being Tattletale, to the point that come Ward the identity of "Lisa" has been thoroughly discarded. Her conception of herself as Tattletale is strong enough that when sucked into shardspace, unlike almost everyone else there, the representation of her core self manifested wearing her complete supervillain costume—including the handgun! Any questioning of her identity as Tattletale gets met with ferocity (think of her brutal comments to Victoria when she tried to commiserate over her experiences as Sarah Livesy) because Lisa puts an incredible amount of value in that identity. Whether that justifies everything she does as part of fulfilling that identity, well, that's for Cohen and Korsgaard to hash out.*

*Korsgaard's main response to this line is to claim that we primarily identify as rational agents/humans, and that the role-related responsibilities needed to maintain your self-identification as a human includes most of the primary moral rules we're concerned with (in fact being identical to Kant's categorical imperative). However, not everyone sees it as obvious that our identity as a human is primary over all other identities. As such, it may not be the case that the Mafioso has more reason to act to preserve his self-identification as a human rather than his self-identification as a good Mafioso. See Cohen "Reason, Humanity, and the Moral Law" and Korsgaard "Replies," both within Korsgaard's "The Sources of Normativity" (1996).

[tomose]

[Breathtakingly Handsome]

Lennox Ram - 2025 Birthday SSR Featuring the Southern Wizards and Akira

1. ↑ Card name: 【水も滴る...... 】 mizu mo shitataru (lit. water dripping) is a Japanese idiom describing someone strikingly beautiful as if their features and/or skin glisten like water. According to some sources, this was originally specifically used for women and theater actors.

A Brand New Morning With Lennox ~Slumber Party With the Southern Wizards~ Episode 1

RUTILE: Mr. Leno!

MITILE: Happy!

FIGARO: Birthday.

AKIRA: To you!

LENNOX: Thank you.

We kicked off Lennox’s birthday slumber party with a greeting followed by a warm round of applause. Of course, this special occasion wasn’t complete without cups of hot tea and bottles of alcohol close at hand.

MITILE: We have something different in store for tonight’s party.

LENNOX: Really?

AKIRA: We were talking about how nice it would be to hear you share about yourself.

RUTILE: Being the good listener that you are, you always know how to make us feel heard.

MITILE: We wanted to return the gesture—and what better day than your special day to get to know you even better!

FIGARO: There’s nothing more intriguing than what lies beneath a reserved man’s nature, eh?

Lennox, would you consider granting our request?

LENNOX: Gladly. Please feel free to keep the questions coming, and I’ll answer what I can.

RUTILE & MITILE: Score!

RUTILE: Let’s jump right into it! I’ll start!

LENNOX: Go for it, Rutile.

RUTILE: Before our life at the Magic Manor started, you’d spend your days on the high mountains from spring all the way through autumn, right?

LENNOX: To set out the sheep in my care to pasture, yes.

RUTILE: What’s a day in your life up there like? If I’m being honest, I still don’t have a full grasp of what your job entails.

LENNOX: Let’s see… I tend the sheep, have breakfast, train… I’d say there isn’t much difference between my routines then and now despite the differing environments.

If I had to point out one… Oh. Up on Rheita, I would sometimes do push-ups with a lamb on my back.

RUTILE & MITILE & AKIRA: Really?!

FIGARO: How exactly did you find yourself in such a situation?

LENNOX: A lamb would climb up on my back every once in a while, most likely mistaking me for an ewe. They made for good weights, so I would continue my reps until the one on my back had had its fill.

AKIRA: Now that's an unexpected anecdote if I ever heard one…! Correct me if I’m wrong, but lambs aren’t exactly light, are they?

LENNOX: That’s true. Though, if we're talking about my limits… Not that I’ve tried before, but I think I can carry someone as heavy as Mitile and still do push-ups just fine.

MITILE: Huh? Really?!

FIGARO: Now you’re just pulling our legs.

LENNOX: I would never. If Mitile is willing to assist, shall I demonstrate for you?

MITILE: Are you sure, Mr. Leno? I-I mean, I do want to give it a try…

RUTILE: Go for it!

LENNOX: All right. Come here, Mitile.

Mitile seemed a tad bit nervous, but Lennox gestured at him to climb on his back. Without changing his expression, he then started doing push-ups.

LENNOX: One… Two… Like this.

RUTILE & AKIRA: Whoa, that’s impressive!

MITILE: Sitting on Mr. Leno’s back is s-such an unusual experience!

FIGARO: You didn’t cast magic to make him lighter, did you?

LENNOX: There you go again with your jokes, Dr. Figaro. A wizard such as yourself would know if I did.

FIGARO: Can you really blame me? You never cease to exceed my expectations.

A Brand New Morning With Lennox ~Slumber Party With the Southern Wizards~ - Episode 2

LENNOX: Is this what you had in mind when you said you wanted me to share about myself?

Lennox asks as he lets Mitile off his back, to which Rutile nods with a smile.

RUTILE: Absolutely! Thank you for the opportunity to get to know you better.

LENNOX: You’re welcome.

MITILE: I’m next! It’s my turn to ask a question.

You see, I even brought this with me to show you something…

Mitile took out a thick book out of the bag next to him. He flips through the pages and stops to point at an illustration of a particular flower.

MITILE: Do you remember this flower, Mr. Leno?

LENNOX: Of course. That’s the one you asked me to pick a few years back.

AKIRA: How lovely! Oh–Mitile, if my memory serves me right…

MITILE: I’ve told you this story before, yes, when we were visiting the Rheita Mountains[2].

That day, Mr. Leno was getting ready to head back to the mountains for work. I walked up to him and asked if he could pick this flower if he happened to find one.

FIGARO: That flower is incredibly rare, mind you. You have to hand it to Lennox for accomplishing what he did.

RUTILE: Ah, yes. I myself vividly remember how Mr. Leno handed the flower to Mitile when he came back. “For you,” he simply said—like a Prince Charming from a fairy tale!

LENNOX: Haha… Prince Charming doesn’t suit me.

So Mitile, is your question related to this flower?

MITILE: It is. Mr. Leno, I’ve been meaning to ask… How come you kept it short and simple when you gave me the flower? If it were me, I would want the other person to know how much effort I put into finding it.

LENNOX: Well…

Suddenly, Lennox gently placed his large hand on Mitile’s head then tousled his hair with affection.

LENNOX: Seeing your smile was all the reward I wanted.

MITILE: !

RUTILE & AKIRA: That was so smooth!

FIGARO: Huh. It’s not like you to show off with words.

LENNOX: Hm? But I only shared my honest thoughts…

FIGARO: Blind to your own actions, I see. In that case, leave it to Dr. Figaro to ask all the questions that will expose your inner self.

LENNOX: Please go easy on me.

FIGARO: Haha, I don’t know about that.

Enveloped by a warm atmosphere, we continued to interview Lennox until the evening deepened into night.

2. ↑Rheita Mountains Spot Sub Episode - Your Impression of Lennox (3)

A Brand New Morning With Lennox ~Slumber Party With the Southern Wizards~ - Episode 3

The twittering of birds greeted my ears, announcing the start of a new morning.

AKIRA: (Isn’t this… Lennox’s room?)

As I weakly opened my eyes, several familiar figures entered my view. Rutile and Mitile were sleeping soundly, and Figaro was lying with his back turned away from me.

AKIRA: (I remember now… I must have drifted off in the middle of our chat last night.)

Careful not to wake the brothers up, I slowly got up from bed to look for Lennox–

LENNOX: Good morning, Master Sage.

AKIRA: Oh, good mo– Hm?!

There stood Lennox, the scent of soap coming from him and a few water droplets still on his hair. But what left me at a loss for words was how different he appeared without his glasses on.

LENNOX: Master Sage? Is there something on my face…?

Lennox looked at me a bit strangely when I suddenly froze. I shook my head and lowered the volume of my voice, careful not to wake everyone else up.

AKIRA: N-No! You’re good. It’s not every day I get to see you without your glasses on, so I was a little surprised. That’s all.

LENNOX: Ah, I see. I just took it off so I could dry my hair with a towel.

AKIRA: So… I’m guessing you’re fresh out of the bath?

LENNOX: That’s right. After finishing my workout.

Lennox gives his hair a rub with the towel then turns in my direction.

LENNOX: Shall I walk you to your room now that you’re awake?

Hmm, my glasses… Where did I put them again?

AKIRA: Oh, there they are. On your desk. Let me.

Here you go, Le–

LENNOX: …

Could you do me a favor and put it on for me?

AKIRA: (Huh?!)

After leaning down to my level, Lennox closes his eyes and stays still.

AKIRA: (He seems unaware of how unusually unguarded he is right now. Is this what Figaro meant last night when he said Lennox was blind to his own actions…?

Keeping my surprise to myself, I slowly took a step closer to him. But right as I was about to put his pair on, Lennox suddenly opened his eyes.

LENNOX: I’m kidding.

AKIRA: Huh?! O-Oh, you’re kidding?!

Maybe because he was staring at me up close with his crimson eyes, I panicked and his glasses slipped from my grasp. Thankfully, Lennox caught them with his large hand and proceeded to wear them as if nothing happened.

LENNOX: A spate of surprises isn’t the ideal way to start your morning, is it? I’m sorry.

AKIRA: No, don’t be���

Lennox apologized with a serious look on his face; it’s the sincere attitude that I’m much more familiar with.

A sequence of moments—the way he had his eyes closed just now as well as the events of last night’s interview—then replayed in my mind.

AKIRA: If anything, I’m happy to see a new side of you.

I smile at him and he kindly smiles back, a twinkle visible in his eyes from behind his glasses.

AKIRA: (I’m sure he has more sides to him I’ve yet to see… I hope I can get to know him even better.)

Card Vignette - A Shard of Ice For You

AKIRA: Good morning, Lennox.

LENNOX: Good morning, Master Sage.

AKIRA: Hm? Is that a bucket of ice you have there? May I ask what you’re using it for?

LENNOX: This? It’s something I prepared for my bath.

AKIRA: Oh, I thought you were going to use it for a drink…

LENNOX: I can see why you’d think that. I’m planning to fill this with water and pour it over my head.

AKIRA: Huh?! But that’s gotta be freezing cold!

LENNOX: Oh, definitely. That’s why I wouldn’t recommend this to someone who’s never tried it before.

In my case, an ice-cold bath leaves me refreshed after a workout.

AKIRA: (So it’s basically like taking a cold shower…)

That does sound nice for a change. I think I’ll give it a try the next time I exercise.

Still, that’s a generous amount… How much ice would you recommend to a first-timer?

LENNOX: Good question. I suggest starting with a single shard. If you think you can handle more, keep adding in increments until it feels right.

I’m sure you’ll find the amount that works perfectly for you.

AKIRA: I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the advice!

Home Screen Voice Line

Good morning, Master Sage. Isn’t it a little too early to look so fine and refreshed, you ask? Haha. I’m an early riser thanks to my job, that must be why. Well, there’s that… plus today is a bit special. Seeing your face first thing in the morning must have shaken off every last bit of sleepiness in me.

Wake-Up Voice Line (Mission Obtainable)

Master Sage, good mo– Ah, it seems you’re wide awake now. I’m sorry, you must be surprised to wake up in my arms. Seeing you about to fall off, my body reacted quicker than I could cast my magic. I can carry you back to bed if you’re planning to sleep again.

Card Information

SKILL ACTIVATION VOICE LINE:

Am I a fresh sight to see early in the morning?

CARD SKILLS:

Delving Into the Reserved Man’s Inner Self

Seeing Your Happy Faces is All I Need

TRAIT:

Early Morning (早朝) - I start the day by tending my sheep, working out, and washing my sweat off. Then, I greet you with a smile when you wake up. Good morning, Master Sage.

Chibi - Morning Wizard

DESCRIPTION:

Here we have Lennox in his early morning wear. A plucky fellow, he has no issue yawning in front of the strongest wizard in the world, or even during an assembly in a room filled with dignitaries.

INTRODUCTION:

Good morning. Ah, I’m fresh out of the bath and my hair is still wet—I hope it doesn’t bother you. Since it’s hot today, I thought I might as well save myself the trouble of drying my hair. You never took me for a slacker? Haha. Actually, I just make it a point to get my act together when you’re around; I figured you’d like me better if I did.

AWAKENING VOICE LINE:

What a nice new way to start my birthday.

CHIBI SKILLS:

Leader Skill - Joking and Unaware Member Skill - Lennox’s Secret to Showering

4-KOMA:

Read here!

Birthday Dish

CELEBRATORY FLORAL CENTERPIECE (LENNOX):

A limited ingredient for Lennox's birthday. It doesn't have a particular flavor. This floral centerpiece adds flair to this special dinner. The Master Sage put their heart and soul into handpicking the flowers for Lennox.

BIRTHDAY DINNER FOR LENNOX:

This is a special dinner course the Master Sage prepared just for Lennox.  I hope I can get to know you better as we enjoy a good conversation over great food.

VOICE LINE:

What a luxury it is to enjoy a leisurely dinner, just you and me. I want to appreciate this moment of happiness as I savor this meal.

[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.