#what’s up gloop

[artcalledtattoo]

Hey now, from made it Hey now from made it, Through the afterbirth One goal Keep medical insurance up A Birthday have too Hey now You now have stay us status It’s because I’m a lit an above this Stuff ($[~[|+) Only status change Rarely Not wanted by a family You are here for the taxed Nation Join Military After all endured Remember Woman has always been plagued by forefathers Nah no Spanish flu But frontier lands of beings began After that invasion In beginning of country with slaves Governed an oversteer statement! Forever A Senator But no Ex F President Breathe openly free You made to be birthed Happy birthday! More difficult if not with ample dollars!!!!!!!!! B. Bbb bbnn Should of been tossed in a bin But live your in now O m g Breathe free My Chickasaw baby ! No, American Apache or Navajo (Not defined in DNA, had mine) That baby wasn’t Isn’t mine Epic-epoch Allowed an overturn (Could have been swallowed) No one likes just Regurgitate (Song now rancid putted easy squeeze defecation) Non-Golden Allow my removal of bandage It may sting when Pulled Needing air for new healed skin beings And those not wanted Violence in politics ! Shouldn’t be was stated! ? Watch the overseer-being’s as Leadership ! My cry, in defying chant! Fight fight fight Allow US a Birthday they say! Scrapyard the piñata! Invader of Trump RVW in my Country Not even to thee amounts Of any bites and touring A talk for later Book Of! Later Don’t forget insurance for driving Insurance to ensure You get back what’s yours Up to Appraisals, by some one non familiar Go hey after CoVid

[zukkaoru]

i need someone to crush my skull with a hydraulic press

[nny11writes]

I got a long ass analysis or whatever on how Shadow Weaver is nuanced and underappreciated that I lost the thread on multiple times. Don't even know it this'll fit in a tumblr post but below the cut if it does.

Shadow Weaver’s story is about many things, but I think the one most often misunderstood is her addiction. A lot of fandom recognizes that she has an addiction, but not what that actually means, not what that entails. Weaver is one of the show’s antagonists, no bones about that, but she is also a complex, nuanced, morally grey character and people tend to forget that to the disservice of her as a character.

I’m tired of that, so let’s get into this.

First off, Light Spinner was not an abuser or horrible person, I’m sorry y’all I think she was probably in her early to mid-20’s, a social idiot, and felt like Micah’s older sister. I think she was too young and inexperienced for the position she held at Mystacor, but that she could’ve grown into it beautifully if not for the war.

Light Spinner was self centered, she’s selfish. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, although Shadow Weaver certainly takes that into the next level being an ego maniac later on. She was self centered and obsessed with the idea that is she was powerful and strong, she could stop this war. She single handedly could do it with the right help and, as such, she felt responsible for ending the war too. That made her obsession grow wildly and Light Spinner then made a mistake in good faith.

I think when she touched that unbridled magical power without the safeties she needed, that Weaver got her first taste of what would become her drug.

But first, let’s touch on a few things.

Tell me, when you read that paragraph about Spinner’s obsession… did that ring any bells? Remind you of anyone? Because I’ll tell you who Light Spinner reminded me of. A combination of Glimmer, Catra, and Adora. Gosh, I do love me a good book end and parallel, and Light Spinner is one that we often overlook.

Now we’re heading into a bit of headcanon territory here, so stick with me for a moment.

HC1: Every creature and person on Etheria has a baseline level of magic, and without that magic they will die.

HC2: The failed spell of obtainment drained Light Spinner of all her magic, and in a desperate attempt to survive she was able to turn it on other powerful magic users. Low level demonic pact, she sacrificed them to have enough magic left in her to survive.

Light Spinner is riding a manic euphoria from her first hit of a strong drug, which just happens to be some of the purest most mind meltingly power drug to ever exist, and is absolutely on a power trip at this point. She SURVIVED dying! She has the power, so much power! She was only ever held back here, people here didn’t understand, and neither did she but she does now! She understands now that THIS FEELING, oh this feeling!! She is like a god, she can do anything ANYTHING- but not if she stays here. Oh no, no, no, not by staying here. She’s killed people to survive, terrible but necessary, but no one will accept her now because they barely tolerated her before. So she’ll go somewhere where her power- her VISIONS are appreciated, are more than tolerated- she will be a fucking QUEEN and if they won’t join her they will suffer the consequences. God damn she is HIGH AS FUCK!

And she’s, like, halfish right? She did survive death, she does have an ungodly amount of power but it’s very temporary and also killing her. She was held back but for good reason, there were people who loved her, cared about her, valued her, understood her who she is abandoning now. She’s not a god, again, temporary cosmic powers with a very itty bitty living space. She did kill to survive, and the debate on the ethics of that will go round and round. Light Spinner had a power fantasy and she thinks it’s become reality, so she’s a bit off the deep end.

Shadow Weaver goes to the Horde. I like to envision that wherever she went, the natural flora around her died, it’s magic sucked up into the endless black hole inside her. She gets there, shows what she has done, promises things she cannot fully keep, and asks Hordak to give her the Black Garnet. Something that he has to know by now he cannot control or trust the princess family with, so it’s basically an annoying stone to him, sure ya weirdo you can have it. Fuck up and I’ll kill you though.

Shadow Weaver, probably: Ah hell yeah!

She gets a runestone and as the magic she absorbed starts to really fade- so does the euphoric high. She is feeling more and more depressed, hazy, numb, bad… guilty. Ashamed. But Shadow Weaver is powerful and she doesn’t want to feel bad, she doesn’t want to look at what she’s done to survive, she doesn’t want to confront what she’s done wrong. (Remind you of anyone, yet again?) So she doesn’t. She convinces herself that’s weak Light Spinner thinking and talk. She’s Shadow Weaver, she’s been reborn, she’s a totally different person now!! (She’s pulling an Anakin Skywalker/Vader right now) So those guilt and shame feelings are because of who she was, not what she’s done! What she did made her stronger, more powerful, made her second in command of the Horde! 

And I think in that moment of, “Fuck you universe, I played your game and won and I won’t be denied again!” she manages to chip part of the garnet off. And that little chip radiates magical power. She makes her mask and uses it up, the hit of her drug feels good in comparison to how bad she felt, and once again she’s racing against the clock to magical death. But the chip of the runestone resonates with itself, she can re-charge it. She can now get an undiluted source of magic, take a good hard hit of her drug, whenever she wants. 

As the years go on she learns how to control that recharging to some degree, but mostly she’s stuck either drained of her power or brimming with it. (Remind you or anyone again again?) So she yo-yo’s with it. And the more she uses, the more she NEEDS to feel that sense of power and euphoria again. And the more she uses, the less good she feels but it’s still better to have than not. By the time we see her in the show I think Weaver is genuinely unable to reach that euphoria anymore. The Black Garnet is a lifeline now, charging up feels good but only to a baseline okay. She’s a functional addict now, but she’s miserable most of the time.

And to cap it all off, what did her ultimate cosmic power get her?

A position in the Horde where she’s the paper pusher for Hordak and also teaches young children. 

Hang on that sounds familiar… aw, shit, this is Mystacor 2.0 now! The only difference is she has two aces in the hole in the form of two abused and manipulated children instead of one shitty “little brother” (some friend he was!) and actually holds the respect (the fear) of those around her.

I think Weaver, to some extent, has accepted and loathes the mediocrity her life has become. She was once a god, but nothing can get her there again.

Let’s briefly talk about her relationship to Catra and Adora. First of all, yes, 100% she was their abuser. Like, that’s just straight up text, in the show, no duh. The controversial thing (bewilderingly) is that I think Shadow Weaver came to genuinely care for them. Like, in the most fucked up way possible, I think she cared for them. She projected onto them (both herself, Norwyn, Micah, Hordak, anyone who’s been important in her life she projected alternatingly on them) and she used them to stay emotionally balanced because the drugs just aren’t cutting it anymore fam. Likewise, I think to some extent she genuinely thought she was doing right by them.

Look, you need to accept that most people don’t think they’re wrong. They don’t think they’re monsters. They believe they are doing the right thing for themselves and usually everyone else too. Child abusers especially don’t see themselves as monsters, they are more likely to see themselves as victims fighting back than as a monster. It’s fucked up, it’s not okay, but that’s the way it goes. And I know that especially right now that might be cutting a little close to home, but it’s important to remember when it comes to Shadow Weaver and her story.

Weaver really thinks she’s helping these two little freaks she cares about out by making them “harder” (because Light Spinner was made weaker for being emotional), “stronger” (because Light Spinner was hurt and held back by not being stronger), and “powerful” (because doing drugs made her a fucking god-queen and got her everything she thinks is good in her life). So she has to be a little harsh (torturing children) at times, they’ll thank me later! Besides look at them, they love me (you’re basically their mom), they’re loyal to me (because they are desperate for parental approval), they respect me (they are terrified of you)! I’m raising them up so well :) (Madam, they are heavily traumatized!)

Weaver ALSO is still using them to regulate her own emotions. So when she has a good day, she can reward them within reason. If she had a bad day, all she has to do is be firm (torture children), and like magic she feels better! She can’t punch Hordak but she can electrocute and terrorize small children, and that’s almost the same thing.

So what if she’s drawing more and more power and burning through it faster and faster? So what that she’s started drinking to help ease the edges magic doesn’t? Life is pain and sucks, why can’t she do a few things to make it nicer? Does Shadow Weaver, too, not deserve a little treat in the face of the unending horrors?

And, god someone will want to kill me for this I’m sure, to some extent she isn’t wrong.

Shadow Weaver is a (fictional) person too. Everyone deserves to have some nice things. No one deserves to be in pain all the time, no one deserves to be scared all the time- and Weaver is in pain and scared all the time. Without her drug, she is weak and powerless and will die. That’s a horrifying and awful way to live your life. She doesn’t deserve that because no one does.

However, I think classifying picking up a second addiction and abusing children is, not, a little treat in the face of the unending horrors.

Weaver and me will just have to disagree on that point.

ANYHOW

Let’s jump forward a bit in time. Weaver gets in more dire straits, her life is more miserable, she’s at risk of dying from magic, magic withdrawal, and Hordak. Life’s a bitch and then you die. (Please picture modern AU Shadow Weaver as owning at least one throw pillow with “Life’s a Beach” on it, probably on her designer couch under the live, laugh, love wall art)

And all the sudden what she thought was solid ground just fucking vanishes under her feet.

Adora leaves???? Hordak is paying attention to her again and expecting shit????? CATRA IS IN CHARGE, WHAT!?!?!?!?!?

So Shadow Weaver is now powerless and locked up in her cell. Barely soaking up enough ambient magic to make her death particularly and excruciatingly slow. If she got sent to Beast Island it would either be quick or Micah could be her battery if he’s alive (and we’ll talk about Micah later, don’t worry). Once on Hordak’s shit list you are on it forever, so no getting her life back.

But she does have an option. It requires using up the last of Catra’s good will and loyalty (so she thinks) but it means she can get more drugs- I mean, uh, turn over a new leaf? Yeah, sure, we’ll go with that. Adora was always easier to manipulate without magic anyways, and now that she’s a literal princess she can do some magic charging too. Hell to the yeah- Shadow Weaver can never really lose baby!

First though I need to emphasize that when Shadow Weaver talks to Catra in the cell, she doesn’t full out lie. Maybe a half truth or lie of omission, but she uses the truth to get what she wants. And what she wants isn’t: to fuck Catra over (although that will be the consequence, too bad about that), to be explicitly cruel and traumatize Catra (although that will be the consequence, whaaaatever about that, poor little freak I care about), or really have anything to do with Catra.

That’s part of what makes her actions so painful. For Catra this felt targeted, it WAS a betrayal. Shadow Weaver is gone knowing what will happen to her instead of just letting Catra help. Catra genuinely thought she could flip their dynamic to some degree (she could help Weaver and then be the one in charge and then once mom sees how good I am at her job she’ll be all, “Oh I was so wrong about you! Let me apologize and grovel at your feet! You’re so amazing and cool and I will help you the way I said I’d help Adora because I love you and care so, so, so much about you!”) and that Shadow Weaver didn’t have a choice. But even when Weaver shouldn’t have had another choice she STILL CHOSE ANYTHING ELSE OVER CATRA.

From Shadow Weaver’s perspective it was very much more: I have nothing to give and don’t wanna die, survive at any cost. Catra is gonna probably be punished and/or die, which sucks, but not more than me dying. So Imma head out.

Catra was collateral damage, not the target.

Anyhow-

Weaver escapes and is booking it to her newest candy (drug) machine, she is already feeling a little better because, weirdly enough, it turns out isolating yourself away from free flora magics to maintain a baseline amount of your own magic is not a good thing. Weirdly enough taking hard drugs does not mean that you can stop taking your multi-vitamin and eating a balanced diet. She makes it to Brightmoon and quickly realizes her plan won’t work.

Adora is… mad at her? For some reason? Is she really holding onto those little hurts? Please! She was raised better than that, it’s war, she’ll get over it.

Someday.

But until that day Weaver needs another plan.

Good news, She-Ra magic did heal her. It gave Weaver her own source of magic again. Huzzah for not dying and being on a constant timer for death! Okay news, Brightmoon has so much more ambient magic it’s kinda wild and the forced withdrawal is not longer a cold turkey quit like the Horde was. Bad news, Weaver still doesn’t have a new source for her drug and she wants one- needs one!

And then Glimmer arrives.

Yeah, Shadow Weaver can work with that.

Teleporting to the Fright Zone and using Glimmer as a literal battery pack is the first real high Shadow Weaver has had in a long time. She had been drug free for quite a while, so having access to runestone magic again feels so much better than it did by the end of her time with the Horde. She is strong! She is powerful! She is on another euphoric ride! When Catra shows up, Weaver has no problem attacking her and torturing her for two reasons: 

Catra’s loyalty and love are gone because Weaver used it up to escape prison (so she thinks)

GOD THIS MAGIC FEELS SO GOOD, HOT DAMN!

Man this is going so well! Everyone is going to realize they were wrong about her. Once Weaver decides to change sides, she means it, all or nothing! She totally isn’t still struggling with the same insecurities she’s always had because she’s never addressed them or worked on them and fuck you for suggesting otherwise. She just likes being right, has nothing to do with having others see her as worthy and cool! They’ll get back and Glimmer will tell her mom, “And Shadow Weaver was instrumental in this victory, in fact, Shadow Weaver was key to it! She is a good guy now!” And Queen Angella will be like, “Wow, that is so great, thank you for saving and protecting my daughter! Would you like access to the moonstone? Perhaps a position of great power?” Maybe she’ll get another statue of herself, that would be neat!

(Shadow Weaver is high as balls folks, the thinking is not gonna be realistic here lol)

And then Queen Angella is dead.

Well…

Fuck.

Weaver’s high runs out long before things are settled and Glimmer crowned queen, but she already knows her game plan now. People still think she’s a bad guy, which is CRAZY TALK! So she’s going to prove them wrong, get in good with the queen (like a second mother perhaps?), get access to her drug, be powerful, and live the good life again. So there will be more work and manipulation to get there, it’s fine, Shadow Weaver is no stranger to hard work and a shitty life. She will make it happen.

And it kinda does. She gets in good with Glimmer. Teaching magic means accessing some magic, even if it’s not the good shit that gets you high. She’s proving how smart and talented she is, and also that she’s a good guy now and should be trusted with more delicious She-Ra healing magic.

Slight problem though.

Glimmer isn’t stupid.

If there’s one major critique I have for how fandom characterizes Glimmer in season 4, it’s that she’s treated like she’s either super naive or stupid.

Glimmer and Adora are, in some ways, having the same feelings about Shadow Weaver but just at different times. Adora sentiment of, “I won’t be tricked by you, trust me that I understand who and what you are. I need my friends to trust me.” is echoed by Glimmer in season 4. I think part of Glimmer’s frustration with Adora stems from the way that when Adora stood in this position, Glimmer did eventually trust her and let Adora do what needed to be done, but now that she’s here Adora won’t do the same? (It’s part of the larger, Adora thinks she’s better than me, Adora thinks she’s smarter than me, Adora is trying to undermine me, Adora doesn’t trust me- which is all actually Adora trying to show her love and respect while protecting someone in her very unhealthy traumatized way)

Glimmer’s fight with Adora and isolation in general in season 4 actually allows Shadow Weaver further in than she would’ve before (So everything is coming up Shadow Weaver!). But she takes it too far, Glimmer cottons on to what’s happening. And unlike Adora and Catra, Glimmer has had more support and love in her life. Weaver is not the be all end all, Weaver is not her mother, Weaver is a poker chip that Glimmer is trying to use. Glimmer also has more self awareness and coping skills. 

So Weaver doesn’t fully get her hooks in. She still does damage, she still uses Glimmer, it’s still skeevy as fucking hell. But it’s not the same and Weaver is locked out in the cold.

So what’s a powerful sorceress to do? She’s been off her drug of choice again for so long that I think she’s thinking of it as more of an abstract concept and following old bad habits because what else is she supposed to do? Reflect on herself, get therapy, and become a better person? That requires her admitting to doing wrong and dealing with all the guilt and shame- hard pass!

(Quick aside, Shadow Weaver is prideful. Very prideful. And do you know what that also entails? A lot of shame. So, so much shame.)

Then Glimmer vanishes and Micah returns.

Let’s finally talk about Micah and Shadow Weaver. Or, more accurately, let’s talk about Micah and Light Spinner to start.

I don’t actually agree with the take that she abused Micah. I think she did mistreat him, she was an adult and treated him like an adult colleague when he was a child she should have been protecting. Light Spinner had no right to expect a literal child who was under her care and purview to take care of her in any way shape or form, but she did. She went to him to vent and blow off steam which made him feel important and mature and grown up. Her childishness matched his actual childishness. It wasn’t a healthy relationship, but that doesn’t mean it was abuse. I genuinely get the sense that Light Spinner thought of Micah as her equal, that he was perhaps her only friend at that point. There’s nothing wrong with a friendship between an adult and a child, but there are boundaries that the adult is responsible for maintaining and Light Spinner did not. They cared for each other, platonically loved each other, considered themselves good friends to one another- and they were also too co-dependent and unhealthily attached in largest part because Light Spinner did not behave appropriately with him.

And I don’t think those feelings just vanished after the spell failed from Micah bailing on a shit situation.

This is headcanon territory again, so hold on tight please.

I think King Micah was captured by the Horde and spent time in a cell. In fact, I like to imagine it was the cell Weaver was thrown into because Hordak is a petty bitch like that. Shadow Weaver would go and visit him, maybe even personally delivered food to have the excuse to visit him. Show off a little, see how good I’m doing now! And look, Micah, if you just give me something, tell me some information, pledge a little loyalty, I can help you! Hordak wants you dead, but I care about you. So help me to help you!

(Sound familiar? I think this is a large part of why Weaver didn’t give Catra anything she could use, she’d been on the other side too and already knew what was actually at the end of that offer.)

Micah, meanwhile, hasn’t given up on her. He knows his good friend and mentor is still in there, and he believes firmly that he can bring Light Spinner back. He can convince her to stop this! She never even liked the Horde anyways, and now that she knows how evil they are, how could she possibly be okay with it? She could just leave and join him in Brightmoon instead! (Sound familiar????)

And Shadow Weaver is aghast that Micah doesn’t understand how mistreated she was, how hurt she was back on that side. In fact, he doesn’t seem to even think he BETRAYED HER by bailing on the evil spell! What the FUCK Micah, I thought you cared about me? I thought you were my friend!? But you don’t understand and you never will! (SOUND FA- *I am dragged offstage by a comically oversized hook)

The difference between Catra and Weaver in this situation is that Catra never stopped believing she could save Weaver. But Weaver used her hurt and hate to go to Hordak and tell him, “There’s nothing he will reveal.” She possibly even escorted Micah to the pod to send him to Beast Island.

Shadow Weaver saw this as tit for tat. Micah had betrayed her first, she was just returning the favor. See how he liked being left to die!

For Micah this is what broke the good will.

So, season 5. Glimmer is gone, She-Ra is gone, but Micah is back. Shadow Weaver thinks because she was advising the queen that she has a position to bargain from. To be fair, she has a better position than most people but it’s nothing special or powerful or even official. She is shunned, she is isolated, she is mistrusted, and she is hated. It validates everything Weaver believes about how the world works. She tries to ingrain with Micah a bit, I bet anything that she asked him for just a little drug because then she could fight more out on the field of battle. 

Micah is also not stupid. He blocks her every chance, they argue and bicker and Weaver realizes pretty quick that it isn’t gonna work.

So she focuses on her last chance for magical drug abuse- Castaspella.

We don’t know much about her and Light Spinner’s relationship in Mystacor. It comes across as very dismissive. That Light Spinner did not see Castaspella as an equal worthy of her time and, therefore, she didn’t get any of it. Casta seems like she was a little jealous of Micah’s treatment and special access, but never to an extreme amount. But Casta knows what Weaver did to Micah, she knows what Weaver did in the Horde, and she does not trust the woman at all.

Castaspella is also not stupid, it’s a family trait I think.

She is willing to partner up with Weaver and explore their options because this is literally the apocalypse and end of the world. So the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and Casta (unlike her brother) is willing to make a deal with the devil to make it happen.

Weaver returns and boom, Glimmer is back, She-Ra is back, Catra is back. Three potential aces in the hole and two potential power sources! Except Adora is spotty on the She-Ra stuff and Glimmer ain’t sharing. Fine, she has a plan anyways.

And this is an important moment for Weaver, I think she gets excited and then lets it go. She’s no longer locked into addiction. She’s still an addict, but she’s now been clean long enough that craving a hit doesn’t mean going half insane in the pursuit of it. But she’s still thinking and acting in a way that will lead her towards that drug, more habit than anything else. I don’t think she’s even aware at this point that raw magical highs are no longer the be all end all. It’s the power and respect she felt that gave her, it’s the euphoria and confidence it gave her that matters.

Now the failsafe, 100% if Weaver knew she could take it and get to the heart and survive she would’ve taken it as a “selfless good guy” act. But Weaver values survival almost above everything else, and she knows the odds are very, very against her. Whereas Adora has a good chance to survive, if she can focus and be She-Ra. If she does, then great, Weaver proves she’s a good guy (again, the ungrateful ingrates!) and proves she can be trusted with raw magic so maybe can they pwetty pwease let her get high on just an itty bitty bit of magic? As a little treat, perhaps? And if Adora fails and dies, well the heart fires and if they survive, Weaver proves she was a good guy who can be trusted around magic, and gets sympathy points for losing her pseudo-daughter. Maybe enough that Glimmer will trust her more again and moonstone power is hers to feed on like a fat happy house cat. Maybe she’ll even get Micah to see reason. And if Adora fails and dies and the heart fires and they die, well, she certainly won’t be around to notice, will she?

Shadow Weaver still cares for Adora, in her supremely fucked up way, but by now she is seeing Adora as the one who turned her back on Weaver. Everyone always “betrays” Weaver first (stop pointing at Catra, stop it, Weaver didn’t betray her and if she did then Catra betrayed Weaver by taking over and throwing her in jail so there for infinity) after all. Otherwise Weaver might have to think about all the bad things she’s done in her life, justified and not- and we all know Shadow Weaver has never done anything wrong ever and if she did, well now she’s a good guy so you HAVE to forgive and forget.

Then Catra has to be dramatic and run away (which Shadow Weaver wanted so Adora could focus only to realize that whoops, Catra was what helped Adora focus enough to transform) so now there’s no She-Ra so Adora is totes dead. Can Shadow Weaver get an f in the chat for Adora, everyone?

Also, Shadow Weaver can either celebrate surviving by being drunk off her ass or she can die happily sedated. If no one wants to give her hard drugs she’ll just have to settle for a good red!

And then Catra comes back and Weaver, drunk, is like, “Yer show BAHD for her! Dun tryin stopper. She’s gotta do it man.” Because, again, drunk, cynical, and falling into old habits. Catra, however, has been doing some of that self reflection and growing thing and doesn’t fall with her. Sobering up because, wait what the fuck, but my abuse script- I can’t abuse without my abuse script, she listens and thinks and remembers: Catra is the key to She-Ra.

Also the little ego stroke of “I know you’ve got more power than you’re letting on” (IE: you are so smart and cunning and strong!) which I don’t think Catra meant but I think a drunk Shadow Weaver who’s always had insecurity over not being enough and translated that into a lifetime of needing to get gassed up with drugs and false praise probably takes it that way, definitely helps with that.

Called out on the tracking (devices? Magic?) Weaver decides, fuck it. I am a good guy after all, let’s go get the failsafe to the heart and then I can leech some drugs off that as a side benny.

Pretty sure the teleportation drains Weaver heavily and sobers her up, the nausea is probably killer tho. That’s fine, the on screen action where she basically fades into the background is a great time to control that desire to vomit. Then it’s off to be a hero or something.

Except Catra goes hero mode and Weaver thinks, “I can work with this. Nice nice nice.” So she helps Adora limp to the heart, but of course Adora is distracted by Catra AGAIN. Messy ass lesbian love! Weaver tries to make Adora focus the way that used to work, but whoops everyone else has been learning to connect with their emotions and desires so it doesn’t work. Weaver gets a contact high that police have developed mass hysteria into believing fentanyl gives, and Adora books it. 

And this is one of the most pivotal moments in Shadow Weaver’s story and it happens entirely off screen.

Weaver has been left alone with the ultimate pure, raw, unadulterated magic for thousands of years. It’s so strong, so powerful, that she gets a fucking charge just from being NEAR it. She looks back at it, and she considers her choices.

Weaver can try taking that power for herself. If it works it’ll be better than the failed spell of obtainment. A better high, more power, more respect, she’ll finally single handedly be able to end this war. If it fails she at minimum kills herself but maybe everyone.

And unlike before where the idea that dying as collateral is 100% okay to her, Weaver decides that it isn’t worth it this time. The chance of getting the high, getting the power is not worth it. She will never have this chance again in her life. Shadow Weaver has made a lot of “good choices” for “bad reasons” up to this point. And whatever her reasons were, I think this is the moment where Shadow Weaver makes her first good choice for a good reason. It’s the most Light Spinner-esque choice she’s made in a long time.

Shadow Weaver takes the contact high she has and leaves with a plan to fight for a free Etheria.

It’s full circle, she’s finally back to her original goal, her original purpose. She can’t save the planet on her own. She’s not a god. She’s not a princess. But she’s a powerful sorcerer with full power banks, and she can use that.

When she gets to the creature Shadow Weaver has one singular mission. Get Adora to the heart to free magic and save the planet. That’s it. That’s the mission. No ulterior secondary plans. Perhaps a faint hope that she’ll survive this, but I doubt it. She’s too cynical and jaded to believe that, her actions don’t align with her desire to survive.

As much as people hate to admit it, Shadow Weaver genuinely does have a big damn hero moment here. She comes in, she saves Catra and Adora because she knows what they mean to each other, she knows Adora needs Catra for She-Ra, and that Adora needs She-Ra to survive the heart. Shadow Weaver is doing her one good thing, she is sacrificing herself knowingly to save her two pseudo-daughters and the planet. She is being, genuinely, one of the good guys in this moment.

I think that Weaver is riding the high a little, riding that euphoria one last time the way she originally meant to. She creates that nice little book end I love so much. Shadow Weaver is selfish, self center, power hungry, and craves authority. She is that way because of her own fears, insecurities, and traumas. 

Dying does not redeem Shadow Weaver. Redemption is not a gift, it is a life long act of compassion.

Dying does not forgive Shadow Weaver for what she’s done. Forgiveness is also a lifelong action of compassion which can only be given by willing individuals. Weaver does not survive long enough to be given forgiveness and then keep earning it afterwards.

But Shadow Weaver’s story is a very human story. It’s a tragedy in many ways. She is an antagonist in this show, and it does show! She was a good person with good intentions who made the wrong choice. 

The biggest difference between her and Glimmer is that as soon as Glimmer realized it was a mistake, she went to try and fix it, she apologized for it, she put in the work to put things to right. The biggest difference between her and Catra is that Catra was willing (eventually!) to actually look her behavior in the eyes and refuse to be that way anymore, she was willing to work on her insecurities to be a better person, she was willing to work for forgiveness and redemption. The biggest difference between her and Adora is that Weaver bought into her savior complex, she truly believed she was that powerful and strong and that that was the only way to do what she saw as the right thing.

So Shadow Weaver is here, riding the wave, doing the right thing and for those of you who have swooped in to save the day (big or small) you probably know the feel good feeling that comes as part of that. She has magic and adrenaline and endorphins pumping around her system- and Shadow Weaver is an all or nothing person. She dedicated to being good, finally, so she is going to be good damn it all!

I think when she tells the girls that it’s too late for her, but it’s the beginning for them she means it. It’s admitting she’s planning to die, it’s admitting she was wrong.

I think when she tells Catra she’s proud of her, that she also means it. Catra has become who Light Spinner wanted to be. Strong, powerful, loved, respected. 

I think when she tells them, “You’re welcome.” She means it. I think she also knows it’s the last thing she can really say, the last words of the condemned that will be remembered.

I think she wants to be a good guy and be redeemed and be forgiven.

And I think that despite all of this, she isn’t.

Shadow Weaver made bad choices and was held at gun point by addiction, and as a consequence she became a bad person because she was unwilling to work on the ugly, nasty parts of herself. She was a bad person not because she was an addict, not because she was naive, but because each time the opportunity to change for the better came- each time she actually had the ability to change her heading… she didn’t. Not until the very, very end. And one brave, heroic act does not make someone a brave hero. 

It makes her a bad person who did a good thing.

I feel like the Crew-Ra talked a lot about that idea. That good people can do bad things, and bad people good things, and that the real divide in the grey area between good and bad people are the choices we make. And I feel like in some ways the fandom has selective amnesia about that. We like to remember it for Catra. We like to remember it for Hordak. It’s easier to do for them, they did (at minimum) start turning themselves around more fully. It’s easier to remember for them because they had that time on screen for us to go with it.

Shadow Weaver didn’t, and honestly that is for the best. She is a great antagonist and I think her complex and nuanced ending is perfect for her BECAUSE it doesn’t just hand wave anything with her. We saw her evil, we saw her neutral, we saw her final attempt at good. More than enough for the message that bad people can do good things.

It’s part of why Catra and Adora wouldn’t dance on Weaver’s grave. They had complex relationships with her, more bad than good, but there was good and they did love and care about her in some fashion. That’s why Catra doesn’t say “good riddance!” when Weaver dies. She begs Shadow Weaver to not do this because she’ll die. It’s why both of them cry as they watch.

I know the joke, and I love the joke, that Shadow Weaver died doing what she loved. Traumatizing children.

Because, yeah, she did traumatize them one last time with her death! It’s part of what makes this heroic sacrifice a bit ironic to me. Even trying her hardest, even doing her one good thing, Shadow Weaver still hurts people. But it’s also trauma because Catra and Adora cared about her.

I’m not saying everything was hunky dorey between Weaver and the people/children she manipulated, mistreated, and abused and we should remember her as a hero. Not even close.

But I am saying that all these years later…

I’m tired of watching such a brilliantly written, designed, animated, and acted character be flattened out into a caricature. Shadow Weaver is not a cardboard cutout villain, there is a lot of genuine depth and nuance to her character. She has a character arc, and I believe she does grow as a character too!

I personally think Shadow Weaver is the best written character on the show. She’s probably legit one of my favorite characters (not just villains, characters) of all time! I’m never going to write a soft Shadow Weaver story where her heart grows three sizes blah blah blah. But I want to see takes about her and works about her that aren’t boiled down to: abused Catra, or abused Adora, or child abuser general ™.

She did and she was. She was also a lot more and if you wanna give her that full depth that she was so lovingly crafted and presented with, you have to start acknowledging that Shadow Weaver had good traits too, at one point was a good person, and died doing a genuinely brave and heroic deed. Same as you have to recognize that someone genuinely loving her deeply (romantic or otherwise) would not be enough to help her insecurities and fears. Same as we have to remember what redemption and forgiveness are.

I’m not asking you to love Weaver because she was a misunderstood little meow meow. Mischaracterized, yes, misunderstood? Oh god no.

I’m asking you to love Shadow Weaver because she’s a fucking cool and amazingly done character, and she deserves a bit of in depth love beyond love to hate.

[gloopdimension]

Pongorma often thinks he knows what is the precisely right thing to do regarding his offspring but he.. *is* still a first time full-on parent.

[saltedsolenoid]

NO MORE GLOOPS

[wildflowercryptid]

really debating if i wanna use a new team in kitakami bc i just caught a shiny bellsprout and kinda wanna use her...

[darewolfcreates]

An AU my friend made of us and our friend group as emperors of a fantasy world. I got designed with galaxy hair and wings :]. I really really liked their design and made a good chunk of drawings of them <3

Torso up designs were done by Rampage Doom

[pregnantsecondo]

My favorite song isn't monstrance clock it's actually one bad gloop

[shatterthefragments]

rn the main hangup I have is I’m squelchy and I don’t want to clean it up and it’s awful and I hate it so much but I need to if I want to make my food :(

[kuroashims]

ֆօʍɛ ֆɨʍʟɨֆɦ քɦʀǟֆɛֆ ʏօʊ ʍɨɢɦȶ ʄɨռɖ ʊֆɛʄʊʟ ɨռ ʟɨʄɛ

hello : sul sul! / what's up : bloo bagoo? / how are you : cuh teekaloo? / i'm hungry : oh feebee lay / something in my way : choo waga choo choo! / you've got some nerve : firby nurbs / yes : yeibs / no : neib / oh my god : jamoo / woah this is fun : bum bum! / anyone home : nash na poof? / are you serious right now : ugh...groble! / you! yes you! go away : depwa spanewash depla blah! / excuse-me! get out of the way : blursh! meshaloob blursh! / i don't like you : boobasnot / no bullying : yabihorn! / i'm so bored : uhh shamoo ralla poo / happy birthday : humple borpnah! / this food is delicious : dis wompf es fredesche / thank you : vadish / nothing is impossible if you believe : benzi chibna looble bazebni gweb / cat : minicule / dog : woofum / baby is upset : aw crankus nooboo! / i'm pregnant : baba / i think you're hot : za woka genava / selfie : ongie! / i need a taxi : nicloske ga gloop / see you soon : geelfrob / i love you : por see gab lurv / live laugh love : leeb leefuh lurve / i'm on fire : wabadeebadoo! / goodbye : dag dag

[s1llydr3amscape]

LET ME OUT

Looks like someone failed the captcha test to many times!

Anyways I always wanted to doodle this specific pose from Toyless' animation why because I can :]

Extras under the cut :

This was the specific screenshot I based the pose off I love hands grabbing head!!! :

The original video ^ (I'll be real with yall I was shocked the original song was poppy playtime because my only experience with it was that all my baby cousins loved that franchise. And they would show me vids off it at family gatherings because I was the babysitter. One of em even debated me abt fnaf like chill out bro you weren't even born when it came out!!!!!)

Glitchtrap rambling time woohoo let's go!!!!

-I redrew em again because I think I'm almost 100% happy with its design!!!! Like I don't wanna change their face so much because the way his face is shaped is my fave!!! Like they have the same style of muzzle as sonic characters!!!!!! I just made it rounder cuz its their early days before this au lore

-I just wanna achieve the unnaturalness with their design. Like they don't belong here. They want to get out. LET HIM OUT. type vibe basically like that's why it has like those kind off teeth instead off the rabbit ones. They get those later in the au.

-I fucking love Glitchtrap so much you don't understand they're so peak!!!!!! I jokingly hate him because I despise what it did to Vanny.

-I was a fan since day 1 bro is just so unique like woah a non animatronic for a change?!?!? STRAIGHT UP A FURSUIT!??!?! Color me impressed!!! I love zooming on it its model and seeing everyy little detail!!! Like omg bro is crying and drooling on the suit!!!!! There's also a patch of uneven stitching pattern on the top of their head compared to their mostly symmetrical design!!!

-I was so fixated on em like my level of obsession for him was bad bad!!!! Like yeah it was still there when Vanny came around during the curse of Dreadbear DLC but you don't understand it surpassed all my Foxy art!!! The first fnaf character I fixated on!?!?? Like what and yall can ask my IRLS bro had lots n lots of art!!!!! I have so much trad art of glitchy it's embarassing!!! Atleast I improved tbh!!

-I just really really loved the fan animations were bro got to time travel to the older fnaf animations and fuck em up!!!! Causing them all to glitch out like hello PEAK!?!?!?! No im not biased to rabbit characters with whiskers shhhhh... SHHH...

-Because I know all those animations already and it's like omg omg OMG Glitchtrap kinda expanded my music taste imma be fr... Fnaf autism is so bad I omfg I only listened to fnaf songs and the only time I listened to other franchises songs is because someone animated fnaf over it... like yeah I was an animation meme kid but even then I only remember the lyrics and titles to songs if I saw fnaf on them (cringe!!!!) So yeah thank u Glitchtrap <33333

-I think Malhare is the cooler name but the Glitchtrap name is cool too because when the names end in trap like this it makes me think they're like warrior cats adjacent. So in this one they just fluctuate between either Malhare or Glitchtrap

-Also another reason he's my super fave is because my brain predicted it's gloop form!!!!

-Like no joke literally the same character I dreamt about during the early days before Princess Quest.

-Except mine was a shadow like the shadow animatronics. More wispy than gloopy. I think the reason I dreamt it was because Shadow Toy Chica and fan made shadow animatronics were getting popular!! But legit same character and colors!!!!!!!

-Just a big dark mass with purple eyes surrounding it like literally the same character my brain came up with and I'm just wow <3333 minus the fact my design had really big giant swirly white eyebrows

-However my Shadow Glitchtrap was kinda more wack to say the least. Like heheheh cuz Glitchtraps a fursuit there's no denying that I changed the dream design a bit. In my old Glitchtrap designs they'd have a zipper and so what would happen was they'd unzip and flip their insides into outsides to reveal the Shadow Glitchtrap thing which was hiding inside them.

-Like those plushies that you can unzip to reveal a different plushie design basically!!!!

-TBH I prefer Glooptrap because yeah!!!!! Amalgamation of hate let's go!!!!!! I think with how gloopy he is its just fun to draw I love the fact that the weird Glitchtrap blockers look like that it fits too much with my own preestablished AU lore.

-I feel like Glitchtrap turns into Glooptrap from like the seams of their suit. Like you see that each part the suit got stitched just turn black as black liquid pours out like ohhh that shit haunted!!!! Bursting outta the seams like oh this guy has no one inside they're all just black sludge!!!!

-In this AU specifically (The one with my millions of Vanny designs) is actually a spoof fnaf AU where everyone lives!!! Like I have 3 AUs technically one of them being the fnaf cast in my oc world where they become my ocs basically called Rabbit City. My other one which is my more serious canon adjacent fnaf AU where no silly stuff or shipping happens, and it's just more overall following my own formed understanding of the canonicity and the series of events with me trying to keep the animatronics more game accurate (I dont think ive posted any of that here due to me feeling like my style limits the nit and grit I wanna go with it). And this one I mainly post on here where everything is just silly and bends to my command and everyone lives because I love everyone <333333 Literally playing with my toys type AU where I do what I want which is why a million vanny designs are in this AU specifically. I usually tag it as this 🦭🩷🐇🐰🐇🐰🐇🐰🐯 because the original name of this au is self indulgent and I'm embarrassed but it's too iconic to change it.

-Glitchtrap in this AU is just much more goofy and silly infecting people like a zombie virus and possessing them for his own gain. Weird eldritch horror that came out of a fnaf fangame. Anything goes in this AU so if I wanna make Glitchtrap a mind controlling zombie warlock wizard so be it!!!! Sorry I love zombies soo much you will have to take this trope out of my cold dead hands!!!!! I love rot!!!

-That's why it's wrinkly because they too me are like a rotten banana (Even though his associated smell to me is lemongrass). Imagine squeezing a banana still with it's skin on. That's how I imagine bro turns into glooptrap if they didn't open the zipper in time. Also because I love the design trope of rotting and withering sue me. I love when the flesh sags across the body. Wrinkles are great bro theyre so real!!!!! Also because back then people kept drawing him as skinny as a twig??? Even though they have fat??? So I made them fatter mostly because like I love the gloop part of it hiding inside <3333

-They're more green pink and purple because imma be real my fave color combo ever <33333

-I wanna do an xray piece with them soon to show their insides but I'm still uncertain if I have the art prowess to concoct it exactly like how I envision it yet. Like I need to squash and scretch them more. They need to look more decrepit and horrible!!!!! something like the unknown from dbd!!!!

-They can't actually emote properly stuck in a permanent smile

-Glithctrap and Vanny’s dynamic is like Lord Hater and Commander Peepers in this one. There's more character adjacent to the dynamic between them concocted in my head but I wanna draw a comic abt it :]

-Like yeah one second they're besties and the next they're at each other's throats ready to strangle eachother. Vanny reluctantly trying to help him at first like how she was first called.

-Oh also in this specific AU Glitchtrap isn't connected to William in the slightest more just it's own thing!!!!

-He's like an AI that wants to be human. It believes it is human. They've mimicked people too much that they don't know what they are anymore. Or what it wants anymore. What do they want.

[billskeis]

i quickly thought of this after watching a porno and needed to get it out.

ᡣ𐭩 loser virgin bill and his experienced gf

“a-and you’re sure you’re okay with this..?” he stutters as you’re already opening your mouth, drooling at the pretty cock in front of your face, mushroom tip leaking with pre. you stop and just look at bill, whose thighs tremble in nervousness but anticipation as you talked about giving bill a blowjob.

“of course i am! wouldn’t have gone this far if i wasn’t, hm?” you lean your head to rest on one of bill’s thighs looking up at him as he sits upright on the edge of his bed, propped on his elbows as you sit on your knees placed right between his legs. “o-okay..” smiling brightly at the boy in front of you.

sticking out your tongue, wet with drool from how you’re salivating. you’ve been waiting for this moment forever, the right time to finally pounce. from simply hanging out and watching movies in his bedroom, you pulled up with the ‘can i suck you off?’ question, leaving bill in complete and utter shock. and to your surprise, he said yes.

bill has no experience. whatsoever. its so cute. he gets all shy and flustered whenever you make an advance on him. holding his hips, kissing his neck, whispering dirty things into his ears. he’s never known what it’s like to cum. never masturbated in his life. never seen porn before. he’s never fucking seen a tit or pussy, period.

this excites you to the max. you can’t help but physically get wet at the thought of taking your boyfriend’s virginity and corrupting him. and here you are, about to make it happen. you lick up the length of bill’s cock, he whimpers, it’s high pitch and nasally. fucking delicious, you thought.

“ahhnn, y-y/n..” “shhhh baby just let me do all’tha work mmkay?” he nods feverishly, gripping the sheets as you work your tongue along the shaft of his penis. feeling it throb against the flat of your tongue, you moan, propping both your hands on each of his thighs as you hold them wider and begin to bring your whole mouth to the tip of his cock.

engulfing it, you swirl your tongue around the head, ensuring that you lick up alllll the precum that gloops out. “oohh.. f-fuck..” you kitten lick at his cock and look at him, smirking as his dick stays in your mouth, “feelsh’good?” as you talk with his dick in your mouth, bill can’t help but shudder at the erotic scene in front of him. is this what porn is like?

“ja.. my tummy feels nice..” bless his heart. “does it now?” and before he could speak, you go down, bobbing your head up and down his thick length as you motion your tongue to continuously run against the flesh of his cock, feeling every vein that decors his member, cupping his balls in your hands as you fondle them.

“eek! schatzi! no! please!” bill’s legs attempt to clamp close as he tries to bring your head up from his cock, overstimulated from the sudden pleasure of a blowjob. he’s sooo sensitive.. but it’s his fault! how can someone so cute never have gotten a blowjob?? you feel honoured to be his first, and you wanna make sure it’s the best and last he’s ever had.

you swat away at his feeble attempts to escape from you. sucking even harder, you’re hollowing out your cheeks and stick your tongue out deeper to make sure you don’t gag, deep-throating him. his tip hits the back of your throat leading you to moan at the sensation. bill can only moan, mouth formed into an O shape as the rest of his body falls against the bed, there’s no winning with you and he’s given up on trying to stop you.

the sounds are nasty, lewd, wet, and squelchy as you blow off your boyfriend, occasionally stopping to pay extra attention to the head of bill’s cock, his favourite spot. you can tell it’s his favourite because he get’s especially whiny when you do.

“y/n..! y/n baby please stop ‘m gonna pee.. please!!” but you don’t. you don’t understand the concept of stopping because you’ve already gone this far. but bill doesn’t understand that he’s not actually gonna ‘pee.’ how silly of him x3! such a naive boy..

as much as he wants you to stop. he feels shooo good. he’s just too shy to actually admit it, feeling like a complete loser for moaning and whimpering like a bitch in heat cause it’s his first blowjob. he hates how much more experienced you are than him. he wants to make you feel good too! but that’s a discussion for a later time.

as you suckle on the tip, bill finally sees white. breathing extremely heavy, his moans are caught in his throat and they come out as cries. his thighs shake and tremble as he paints your throat walls a creamy white. you milk him, ensuring to suck out every drop of cum from him. it’s delicious, you love the taste. it’s even tastier coming from bill, an addicting ambrosia that you can’t wait to get more of.

latching off bill’s cock with a ‘pop!’ you lick at the cum that formed on the flesh of your lips, relishing in the taste. smirking at your boyfriend, you giggle at how he can’t look at you, eyes darting to everywhere in the room but you. that is, until you cup his face to look at you and place a kiss to his lips.

you dart your tongue to enter his mouth, assaulting his own. tasting himself, he cringes at the taste of his own cum. you like this? he moans into the kiss, not knowing where to place them, holding himself up on the bed instead as you now sit in his lap. as you part lips with him, bill snuggles his head into your chest, now hugging you. “you okay? how was it?” “felt s’good.. i want more..”

petting his hair, you can’t help but laugh at how cute he is. you get up from his lap to grab the tv remote from the floor, movie finished from your previous session. reaching for it from over the bed, bill gasps as he stares at you in front of him, ass up with your skirt all ridden up to reveal the wet patch on your panties. you’re soaked from just sucking him off. “y-y/n.. you’re.. um, i-i—”

“hmm? oh! ‘s all your fault billy.. now come fix it..”

[hailsatanacab]

a father's son

Happy holiday truce, @dashing-through-ecto!! I was your gifter this year, I hope you enjoy the fic! Based on your prompt: "Do you need any help, Dad?"

Word count 2.2k - ao3 link

Things have not been going well for Danny Fenton.

Not only did he fail in intercepting Lancer’s call home, so now Mom and Dad know about his latest grades—he didn’t even get enough answers for an F this time, not when he fell asleep within the first five minutes—but they also caught Jazz taking the trash out for him.

“That’s one of your chores, young man! Heaven knows you don’t have many of them, which is why you need to be responsible and actually do the ones that we give you! It’s just not good enough, Daniel James Fenton, do you hear me?”

The full name.

It’s not often he gets it, but it sucks each and every time he does.

What sucks even more is that now, with what little free time he has, he’s cleaning the lab. It’s just not fair!

Broken glass skitters along the floor as he sweeps it up into the dustpan, ectoplasm still clinging to the bottom of the beaker. 

He can’t even goof off—can’t even use his powers to finish quicker—because his dad is sitting at the workbench tinkering with whatever his newest interest is.

Great. Looks like he’s stuck cleaning the boring, human way.

The lab is quiet, but it isn’t silent. 

Ectoplasm drips, maddeningly, from the gloop stuck on the ceiling. That’s a form of torture, isn’t it? Danny’s pretty sure he’s heard that before, that the constant sound of water droplets will drive someone insane. He can relate, because this is certainly testing him.

Dad’s talking to himself, too, little murmurs about what he’s doing, where he should be soldering, how it should be working and why it isn’t. 

Vaguely, Danny wonders what he’s working on. Sure, it’s probably some ghost thing, but that’s not all they do! His parents made some pretty great advances before the portal switched on and monopolised all of their thoughts.

Yeah, that might be wishful thinking, but stranger things have happened! You never know.

Every 30 seconds, the motor on the ecto-filter whirrs into life, syphoning off the excess, pure ectoplasm from the portal and filtering it into something less volatile. In theory.

Underneath everything, the portal hums.

A droning beat that pulses in the same rhythm as his heart. Sometimes, he catches himself staring at it, leaning closer as it calls to him.

It scares him.

“Shit!” his dad shouts, dropping the soldering iron with a loud clang. 

It’s enough to knock Danny out of whatever daydream he’d lost himself in and he whirls around to see his dad sucking on one of his fingers.

They lock eyes, both widening as they realise what’s happened.

“Ah, I mean, suffering spooks! That really hurt…” He shoves his fingers back into his mouth and his shoulders droop as he considers Danny. “Don’t tell your mother.”

Danny laughs.

“Are you alright?”

“It’d take more than that to put Jack Fenton down! All good, Danno, don’t you worry,” he smiles back before shaking his hand out and turning back to whatever he was working on. “Or, I would be, if this hunk of junk was cooperating with me!”

“What’s up?” Danny asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Normally, he likes to stay out of the lab, as much as he can. 

Obviously, what Phantom does doesn’t count. Phantom can’t help but come into the lab, set ghosts loose into the Zone, trash whatever weapons his parents have got going on, sneak out into the Zone when he can for some much needed R&R. The ectoplasm just hits different there.

“I’m trying to repurpose this toaster, but the ecto won’t run smoothly through the wiring. I think it keeps getting cooked by the element.”

“Oh? Do you need some help?”

Danny doesn’t like spending time in the lab, because if he’s in the lab then he’s either Phantom and he’s trying hard not to be seen or heard, or he’s Danny and he’s being punished.

But his curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah, come here, have a look! Perhaps another Fenton brain can knock some sense into it!”

So, he does.

Hell, anything beats cleaning the lab.

“You’re trying to run it through here?”

Dad nods and shifts in his seat to give Danny a better view.

“But you can’t, because the ecto is tripping the heating element… which is way higher than a toaster has any right to be, wow. No wonder it’s destabilising the ectoplasm, that would destabilise anything.”

Danny pokes around the casing, wiggling the wires back and forth to get a better look at the absolute mess his dad has made of it all. Sometimes it amazes him that his parents' inventions work at all.

“That’s what I’m thinking! But it has to be that high so we can completely break down the ecto!”

“You want it to break down?”

“Yep!” Dad says, clapping him on the back hard enough that he wheezes. He grins down at him when Danny turns around reproachfully. “Think of it, boyo, if we could figure out how to flash fry that ectoplasm high enough so that it evaporates—which it should do, it’s goopy gross liquid, after all!—then you wouldn’t be stuck down here cleaning for so long! We could take it to the streets after a ghost fight and clean up the whole town!”

Well, it’s not a Nobel Prize level invention… Danny’s pretty sure at this point that his parents would be laughed out by the Nobel committee. But, a quicker cleaning of the lab does sound nice.

It would mean he’d be stuck down here a lot less.

Besides… It's interesting.

“What if we…” Danny trails off and pulls the metal frame towards him, grabbing the tweezers as he goes. Vaguely, he’s aware of his dad leaning over his shoulder, the weight of him watching is a comforting presence that he’s not felt in a long while. 

The real trouble is that you need ectoplasm to affect ectoplasm, and that’s not going to work if the object of the game is to evaporate it. 

So what if they don’t introduce the reactive ecto until the end?

He makes quick work of stripping down what his dad’s already done and starts again, this time focussing on keeping the heat contained separately away from the ectoplasm. Just as he’s piecing together a trigger to concurrently shoot a blast of ecto towards the heated tip, Dad exclaims as he realises where he’s going with it.

“Oh! Danny, you’re a genius! Look at that!” Dad laughs and squints closer at what Danny’s doing. “Just wait until your mother sees this, she’s going to be so happy!”

Danny can’t help but grin as he ductapes everything to a piece of toaster casing to give it the first test try. Dad’s enthusiasm is catching as he whoops when the first puddle of ectoplasm burns off in acrid smoke.

They spend another couple of hours perfecting it, welding a case together and branding it with the Fenton F.

It’s not pretty—but then again, when are his parents’ inventions?—a long stick with a cattle-prod-like taser at the end. Instead of electricity, it launches ectoplasm from one rod and superheats the other. When activated, all you need to do is touch the tip to a puddle and poof! It’s gone.

Danny shivers as he watches another pool go up.

But, no! He’s thinking about it wrong. It’s not a cattle-prod, it’s more like one of those sticks you see people using on the highway to jab at the litter on the floor. It’s for cleaning. It’s going to make his lab cleaning chores way easier! It’s—

“Danny, just look at it!”

Danny looks at it, and then back to his father’s face when he can’t bear to see the smoking ecto anymore. It’s painfully happy and Danny does his best to be happy, too.

“Here!” Dad shoves the contraption into Danny’s arms. “You use that and finish what you’re doing and then when you’re done—I can’t believe I’m saying this, galloping ghouls, I’m so happy, I’m working with my boy—we can get to work transferring it over to the Jack o’ Nine Tails! Imagine it, Danny, with one whip and that pesky poltergeist Phantom will be gone!”

Danny freezes.

It feels as if Dad’s just dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

“Poof! Up in smoke!”

The fumes are getting to him. That must be it. His head is swimming and his stomach is churning. There’s a ringing in his ears and it melds with the sharp, stinging whirr of ectoplasm sizzling. It pulses in time with the portal behind him.

He stumbles, almost goes down—almost throws up—but it doesn’t matter. Dad doesn’t see him, already turned away back to the work bench.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

You know what, it’s okay! It’ll be okay, Danny can sneak back down here later tonight and he can undo it all, it doesn’t matter!

Take a deep breath, now, finish cleaning the lab, ignore Dad—it doesn’t matter—and get this over with. Being here makes his skin crawl, he needs to finish—

“I’m so proud of you, Danny.”

For the second time, Danny stops.

Dad doesn’t say anything else, just sits with his back to him, opening and closing his hand over a screwdriver with the Jack o’ Nine Tails splayed out in front of him.

It takes longer than Danny wants to find his voice, but he manages to croak out, “What?”

“I’m proud of you, Danno. I know this year hasn’t been easy for you, don’t think we haven’t noticed. Your mom and I have been talking about how you're doing at school. We're not blind. We know kids can be cruel, and that Dash Baxter… But we're so proud of you for not rising to it. We love you so much, Danny.”

A lump grows in Danny’s throat and his eyes prickle.

His fingers bleach white where they grip the Fenton Evaporator too tight.

“Look at what you can do when you try, Danny! This is the boy that I know, this is the Danny that I love. I’m so proud of what we’ve done here today. It’ll make the world a better place, just you wait! Now, come on, boyo, pass me that soldering iron and let’s really get stuck in!”

And… And Danny does.

With shaky limbs and tears threatening to spill, Danny reaches over and passes Dad the soldering iron, watching as he gets to work, and when his dad asks him to get his hands dirty—“Here, run this wire up the rope, there’s a good boy!”—he does.

Danny does it all and he does it well.

He sucks in a deep breath, swipes a hand over his eyes, and he helps his dad.

He laughs when Dad tells his stupid jokes:

“Quick! What’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“I don’t know, Dad, what’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“A ghost that we’ve beaten into oblivion!”

And he hopes that his mom is going to be just as proud as Dad says she will be when she sees what they’ve done.

It’s easy, really.

If he doesn’t think about it, if he tucks his mind away and just lets his hands get on with it, then he’s just helping his dad and he can do that. He can do it.

He can do it.

So, no, he doesn’t sabotage what they’ve built. He doesn’t add in a failsafe. He doesn’t loosen a few screws, or overload the element, or untwist a few wires.

Danny does his best and at the end of the day his dad holds up the new and improved Jack o’ Nine Tails and absolutely beams at him. A work of art, he calls it.

Danny doesn’t sabotage it then and he won’t sabotage it later, because it’s a work of art. This is what he and his dad built. Together.

Danny can’t help but grin back, happiness curling in his belly even as it gives a sickening lurch.

He doesn’t eat dinner that night, he can’t.

He stays downstairs long enough to present the new weapon to Mom—very pointedly ignoring Jazz’s look—and then he heads upstairs. There’s an English essay he needs to get started on, after all.

He doesn’t miss the look Mom and Dad share, the fond tenderness, the love, the hope, all directed at him.

He’s happy.

They’re happy.

They’re proud of him.

And despite it all, he had fun today! 

When he lays down on his bed, he smiles and he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as he thinks about his dad. At one point, he had been holding up a circular piece of metal he’d cannibalised from the lamp shade to his eyes, moving it back and forth as he pulled his funny faces, and some of that full belly laugh creeps back in as he remembers doing the same back.

He laughs so hard until he cries, and he cries, and he cries. 

Today, he and his dad built a weapon. 

Tomorrow, it'll be used on him, but that's okay. 

It's okay because today, today his dad was proud.

[gloopdimension]

YESSS I want u to envision dedusmuln fluffing their feathers up and becoming unsinkable

And for gorma yesss I see the helmet for mine as like. Shedding change, they can but it leaves them v vulnerable (also thinking that the helmet change was also bc grew in size after leaving the vault thanks 2 more oxygen/nutrients for growth. The base ideas are rn: Pongorma -> basically evolution stuffed in one entity, some processes that would take generations are all shoved into one, so "quick" adaptability that translates in growth (so he couldnt shrink, only grow more, thin down if locked again) once removed the armour her fur got thicker and also a lil electrically charged (metal particles added 2, ill elaborate eventually) connected 2 gibby in a way Dedusmuln-> Race made for survivability! He's got a thick thick fat layer that protects from external climate, plus the feathers, eats semi liquid food tho that filtrates perfectly down to the last particle, leaving very few things to Eject. Very good defensive capabilities also Wayne-> social race, quite sensible thanks to bony antennas, which form actually solid at the stage wayne and Decres are at, before they are mostly carthilax as larvae, and more "united". Old Wayne is basically beehive queen, they can communicate w the larvae better than w wayne/decres tho. It's like the Leaving Nest Stage etc Somsnosa-> v adept for the world's "magic" mostly bc she can control the flux v well, she has like a great great control over her body n powers, especially when they get around them in hylics 2. Durable, she's got little little little fuzz all over her body that can sense stuff too, like less sensitive cat whiskers. I think her "specie" is more rare, hence why she's alone, (compared to gorma being actually something more unique ). Her flow control allows her to gather and expend power more efficiently see bug squashing, which then teaches wayne and the others too. in short, she can learn stuff very, very quickly Also I kinda headcanon mine 2 be kind of all hermaphrodites, they choose how to present themselves but like, there's potential 4 anything.

sorry for the huge dump this one was a WALL TEXT HHFGF

NO THIS IS FUUUCCKING AWESOME GGRGRGAAAAAAAAAAA oouuuuu im suuuch a huge fan of all of these i am such such such a hge fan

[jolalibrary]

7. honey cream

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nice forearm in your story.

Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.

Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.

I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.

You’re hilarious.

I try to be.

You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?

That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.

Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.

Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?

I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.

They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.

I bet they look great on your ass.

Everything looks great on my ass.

Including my hand.

Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.

I can’t wait to see you.

Drive safely, Butterscotch.

“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”

Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.

When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.

He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.

It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.

“Don’t—I want to be here.”

“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”

Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.

Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.

“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”

“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”

Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"

You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”

He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.

The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.

You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —

“Race you to the end of the wall?”

Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.

Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.

In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.

Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.

“We did good, didn't we?”

You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”

Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”

Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.

But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.

“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”

“You don’t have to…”

Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.

“You cooking for me?”

“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”

He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.

Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.

Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.

A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.

“Can I do anything?”

Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”

And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.

“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.

“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”

His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.

When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”

You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”

He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.

But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.

Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.

“So, how often do you have Luca?”

Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.

“Does that… bother you?”

“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”

Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”

Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”

“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”

Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”

Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.

“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”

Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.

You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.

His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.

“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”

His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."

And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”

Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.

“My friends… they want to meet you.”

His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.

Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—

“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—

Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—

Until he says your name.

Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.

“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.

Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.

Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.

Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.

“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”

Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”

Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”

“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”

“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”

“When?”

He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.

I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?

It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.

Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.

Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.

A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.

The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?

Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.

It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.

A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.

As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.

Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.

Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:

Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.

With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.

Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.

Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.

As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.

The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.

It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.

You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.

Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“You look nice.”

Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”

“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”

Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”

“Smooth talker.”

The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.

As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.

No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.

Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.

As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.

By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.

“So, where will your friends be?”

Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”

Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.

“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”

“His other non-official, less present trainer.”

“You slacker.”

Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”

Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Because you missed me?”

His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.

“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”

Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”

Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”

“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.

Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”

The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.

It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.

“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”

“Does Harold like them?”

Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”

“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”

Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.

I think they like me.

Are you texting me from the bathroom?

Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.

Baby, are you peeing and texting me?

No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.

So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.

Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?

Don’t answer I can see it.

Shut up.

If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.

Basta!

You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.

Come back and keep me company.

Grin a bit more and I might.

Rainy.

Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)

[ectologia]

have you ever tried a makeup smear fic? one where the yandere makes her wear like lipgloss and eyeliner then smears it over her face like she’s lowkey a whore lmao

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒫𝒜𝐼𝒩𝒯𝐼𝒩𝒢 ؛ 𝓀𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓀𝒾 𝒷𝒶𝓀𝓊𝑔𝑜𝓊

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ humiliation ﾉ mocking ﾉ forced cunnilingus ﾉ name calling ﾉ bullying ﾉ crazy bakugou ﾉ mean bakugou ﾉ profanity

“Awh, look at you..” Katsuki coos, popping the cap of your eyeliner and holding it between his teeth. Your eyelids are pulled back to the hilt by his thumb, leaving you a teary mess as he oafishly free hands a string of ink across your lash-line. He pulls away with a triumphant grin, admiring his handy work as you blink away the black seeping into your pupils. The dainty pen is snapped in his fist, discarded onto the floor much like the rest of your make-up, shades of pink and brown left crushed into your carpet with their cases in fragments.

“Who’s a pretty girl?” He sneers, ruffling your hair with a big palm before taking hold of your bound ankles.

The metal clinks as he tugs the chains over his neck, allowing your trembling feet to rest on his shoulders, gracing you no escape.

“Wish I could say the same about this filthy little muff though..” Katsuki tuts, pressing your pussy-lips down to inspect your distorted hole. He slides a finger through the sticky webbing, flicking off at your clit. “Tsk.”

You don’t get a chance to reply before he’s dipping down, snorting like a pig. Engulfing with teeth and a fat tongue as he sticks it to your wet slit. Immediately, he’s shaking his head side to side, nuzzling his creased nose into your swollen bud as he sucks on your cunny hole with an unjust violence.

You cry out an incoherent plea, writhing in the stained sheets smudged with concealer and lipstick, the same colours he’d just finished caking your face in previously.

His head bobs up and down, routinely hacking a glob of foamy saliva onto your folds only to slurp it back up again.

“There we go...” He scrubs his chin of any fluid, sniffing his fingers as-well in a subtle fashion. “Nice ‘n’ sloppy.”

He stays preoccupied with slapping his heavy cock-head against your twitchy clit, even as you snivel into your shoulder, wincing and jerking beneath the heavy weight of his tip spanking your puffy pussy up and down. Pearly teeth bare at the wet splatters that jump from where you connect, spitting back up at him.

“You gonna’ behave?” He questions, leaving his stiff erection to flop onto your stomach as he raises two hands towards your face. Your skin is rolled and tugged on by a set of invasive digits, smudging black clouds of ink from your eyelids to your ears. “You gonna’ be a good little prostitute for me?”

You can’t feel your toes where they’ve gone numb from their ascended position, kicking up into the air as he sheathes his length into the pocket of your choke-hole.

Even as you scream raw from your throat, he can’t help but froth at the pair of pink glossy lips crying out for him. All shiny and glistening in the light, specks of glitter jumbled about inside the glass-like coating that paints them corner to corner. It turns him on, the thick globules of transparent gloop looking all to familiar to something else.

He’s compelled to spread the stickiness around, creating an exaggerated ark over what would usually be your smile, leaving a stripe of gloss in it’s wake.

“Awh..” He chuckles through his nose. “Such a lil’ cutie, you like getting your pussy fucked? Yeah you do, look at that smile.”

“Ngh.. ‘suki..” You keen, jostling the chains keeping your leather-cuffed wrists pinned to the headboard.

“Oh, ‘suki! ‘suki!” He mimics you as you sob, turning his mouth down and squinting his eyes in the same pitiful way you do, only without the crystalline tears dragging pounds of blush and bronzer down your cheekbones. “Please make love to my pussy harder!.. Yeah? ‘s that what you’re tryna’ say you little bitch?”

Even as you shake your head, he ignores you. To busy flicking at the artificial eyelashes he’d shoddily stuck to your lash-line, dramatic and bold like butterflies, nothing you’d ever dare to wear yourself, were it your decision.

“Please Katuki! It hurts, you’re hurting me!”

Your attempt to reason with him falls on deaf ears.

“Oh, I’m hurting you am I?” He only responds by pressing your knees back further. “Good.”