#in this house we hate shadow weaver

[haemosexuality]

im rewatching she-ra and naturally im gonna want to write about it a lot. starting by breaking down the catradora conflict origin story scene from s01e02 the sword part 2

people have said this before but the most important thing to keep in mind here is how different their understanding of whats going on is. theyre both approaching this with completely different views and so they misunderstand what the other means.

Adora: There's no time. We have to put a stop this.

Catra: What? Why?

Adora: Because this is a civilian town. Look around! These aren't insurgents. They're innocent people.

Catra: Yeah, sure. Innocent people who kidnapped a Horde officer. Now come on, let's get you back to the Fright Zone. Shadow Weaver is freaking out. [laughing] It'd be funny if she weren't such a terrible person.

so immediately theres two things i wanna say about this part, about how catra reacts to stuff. first off, something we learn about catra throughout the whole show and especially in the portal-alternative-reality, is that shes big on Pretending Nothing Is Wrong. whenever shes feeling upset or angry about something, she will start joking around and acting like shes just totally super chill guys, dw ("Ugh, whatever. It's not like I even care. I just wanna get out of this dump at some point before I dieee of boredom). Shes acting like that in this scene. Adora was missing for hours, shadow weaver was breathing down her neck and threatening her, she was already worried adora might have left at this point. she cant let adora know how worried she was tho, so shes all jokes and fast paced conversation. To Adora, tho, it just looks like catra doesnt care, like she doesnt understand the gravity of the situation.

and the other thing is that honestly? I dont think catra does care. about the town, i mean. i think catra was ready for war in a way adora never was. theyre both seeing combat for the first time here, and adora hates it. training for war is completely different than being in the battlefield, and adora couldnt handle it. face to face with it she couldnt tolerate seeing people suffering and dying, houses being burned down, a whole village destroyed. when the horde brainwashed adora into thinking they were only doing the necessary to save etheria, she completely and fully believed it, and when faced with the reality of the horde she immediately realized how wrong that was. Catra, tho, could not care less. she never believed in what the horde said, she knew full well what the horde did, so this isnt a surprise for her. and i do think shes naturally a bit sadistic, or at least growing up among the violence of the horde made her so. either way, shes seeing battle here for the first time and shes completely fine with it. doesnt even spare it all a second glance. why would she care about these people she never met if the most important thing in the world is right here in front of her? (i think even if adora hadnt left that night and went into the battlefield as a force captain, she wouldve ended up deserting. she cant stand seeing people suffer and she cant stand not saving them. shes too good, too selfless for that. catra isnt.) (also she is so ready to kill at all times. she loves violence. i once saw someone say how shadow weaver thought adora was the "cutthroat, ruthless warrior" when that was actually catra and they were totally right)

adora is also trying something futile here, she doesnt need to explain to catra that the horde is bad and hurts innocent ppl because catra has known that all her life

Adora: Catra, no. I can't go back. Not until the Horde leaves this town alone. You have to help me.

Catra: What are you saying?

Adora: I’m saying, this is wrong. They've been lying to us, manipulating us. Hordak, Shadow Weaver, all of them.

Catra: Duh! Did ya just figure that out? Manipulation is Shadow Weaver's whole thing. She's been messing with our heads since we were kids.

(the captions in the pics are slightly wrong, nvm that.) everything i said before. adora just realized all of this, while catra has always known, probably because the abuse adora suffered was more manipulation-and-brainwashing, while shadow weaver always made clear to catra that she didnt give a shit about her, so she suffered physical abuse with little attempt to convince her this was fine.

the "what are you saying?" is one of the things that show how different their perspective is. adora is talking about going against the horde and helping the town, while catra immediately gets more personal. what do you mean? are you saying that you might leave the horde? leave me?

Adora: How could you possibly be okay with that?

adora means, how could you be ok with the horde lying about its actions, and killing innocent people? how could you be ok with the horde raising us to do the same? and catra hears, how could you be ok with shadow weaver and hordak abusing us?

Catra: Because, it doesn't matter what they do. The two of us look out for each other. And soon we'll be calling the shots. Now come on, can we go home already?

catra replies: because, i love you. because you have my back and i have yours. because nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other, remember? and soon enough, we'll be powerful enough that they cant hurt us anymore. Adora hears, because i dont care about these people dying, the only thing thats important is you and i. and anyways, soon its gonna be Us killing them, isnt that good? lets go back home to the evil murder place.

Adora: I'm not going home, Catra. I can't. Not after everything I've seen. Come with me. You don't have to go back there. We can fix this.

adora says: im starting to realize now how wrong i was about everything. we're not the good guys, and i cant stand for that. i cant stand around and watch people get hurt. i cant stand around and watch you get hurt. lets leave, together, and have a better life, please. lets do the right thing.

Catra: Are you kidding? You've known these people for, what, a couple of hours? And now you're just gonna throw everything away for them?

catra hears, shes willing to leave me. after everything i did for her, all that i took, all of these years of us being together, she would still leave me. she would break our promise. she would leave me behind.

and then she straight up electrocutes adora. ok

she says it was a reflex, but i dont know if i believe her. i dont think she likes hurting adora (not physically. not by this point, anyways), but i do think that shes the type to lash out when upset and immediately regret it, then feel guily about it. which just makes her more upset. :(

Catra: Oh, man. That was a lot stronger than I thought. Are you okay?

Adora: Why are you doing this?

Catra: Because you left me! And if I don't bring you back, Shadow Weaver’s gonna have my head. So, enough with your weird little identity crisis and let's go home already. Or do I need to zap you again?

thats the last time they talk. adora gets teleported away by glimmer, and when they see each other again, its clear that they both made their choice.

the moment adora showed catra she was willing to leave her, there was no coming back for them. because catra would never get over that. she'd spend all her life in that hellscape, putting up with abuse and bullying and probably so much more we dont get to see, because of the promise adora made her. and, in her eyes, adora was ready to leave her on the first opportunity that came up. that hurt. that broke her. and that released something really ugly inside of her.

cue in 2,5 years of homoerotic rivalry and trauma. ok post over if you read this i hope you liked it <3 bye

#autism won today this took me 1 hour to write #she ra #catra #character analysis #ig?? #edit while reading old spop posts by other ppl i realized my mind might have plagiarized this from a post i read several years ago. my bad #it wasnt a conscious decision

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

tumblr was being buggy today and this ask got deleted but i do have screencap of it, so i'm gonna answer it here.

hi! first off, thank you and i appreciate you being so civil about this.

i understand what you mean. i wasn't raised in a religious cult so i may not know the nuances of that experience but my problem does not lie solely with catra's toxic behaviour in s1-4. what i dislike is her redemption arc.

if you've read some of my previous posts, you might know that i was never against catra having a redemption arc. i don't think she's irredeemable. i do sympathize with her and i think it would be a powerful message if she really was able to become a kind and compassionate person, after all the hurt that she went through.

i just have a problem with how rushed and frankly unrealistic her redemption was. i wanted to see a drawn out redemption arc where catra makes amends for everything she has done, and earn the trust and forgiveness of the other characters. but instead of doing that, the creators decided that it was easier to have the other characters forgive her unprompted and to have catra act basically the same as she always did.

also, while catra was raised in a cult-like environment, what i find interesting is that the horde has almost no effect on her. catra was definitely very traumatized by shadow weaver's abuse, but there was nothing even close to religious trauma.

she knew from the beginning that the horde was evil, she wasn't taken in by the lies like adora was. i feel like the religious trauma reference falls apart there because catra was working for the horde in her own interest, not because she was forced or manipulated into doing so.

i have mentioned shadow weaver in my blog as well, i just don't go into detail about her abuse because i think the show was pretty straightforward and countless other people have done deep dives on it. shadow weaver was meant to be an unlikeable character anyway, we weren't supposed to sympathize with her or relate to her.

you said that catra was trying so hard to redeem herself. i would like to hear a clarification on that because as far as i can see, she wasn't trying at all. she went back to lashing out at adora, calling her names and guilt tripping her as soon as she was rescued from horde prime. not even a thank you. she doesn't address angella's death at all and glimmer seems to have completely forgotten about it. she still makes unsavory jokes about the princesses after she spend four seasons colonizing and destroying their kingdoms. her apology to entrapta and scorpia was half-assed, to say the least.

catra wasn't trying hard. the other characters just magically forgave her for all her war crimes because that's what the writers wanted. and she definitely did not deserve to get into a relationship with the person who she had been relentlessly abusing, both physically and emotionally, and trying to murder.

i get that a lot of people relate to catra and i'm not saying that anyone who relates to her is automatically toxic. even i relate to certain parts of her. but that doesn't mean she's a good character.

you said it takes time to unlearn toxic behaviours and i completely agree. (also i wouldn't consider 21 “a kid”. she's young, sure, but she's still an adult.) but if the writers cared about that, they would have redeemed catra earlier. they had five seasons to work with, most shows don't get that liberty. avatar the last airbender gave zuko an incredible redemption arc in just three seasons, the owl house wrote a believable redemption for hunter and amity in just one season each, infinity train wrote a good redemption arc for grace in only ten episodes! you can't use the “there was no time” excuse.

you have to keep in mind that a lot of people who hate catra and her arc are also people who relate to her. a lot of my mutuals relate to catra and her struggles, and that's exactly why they hoped for a better redemption arc. they wanted to see her work on her mistakes, face the consequences of her actions and change realistically. they didn't want to see her just get forgiven out of the blue. imagine if that's how we treated war criminals in real life.

if i was like catra and i heavily related to her, i wouldn't want to see her never face the consequences of her actions and be coddled. i wouldn't want that for myself either. if i made some serious mistakes (especially to the extent that catra had), i would be prepared to face the consequences of my actions and i wouldn't expect anyone to forgive me.

anyway, sorry about the long post but i hope this gives you an idea of why i have a problem with catra and spop as a whole.

#spop critical #spop salt #spop #spop criticism #spop discourse #she ra #anti catra #anti catradora #anti spop #anti c//a #antic//a #anticatra #anticatradora #tw abuse #tw religious trauma #tw religious guilt #tw cult

[ellievickstar]

Climbing Out (Chapter 5)

A/N: Totally unrelated, but I just found this new song called Pierre by Ryn Weaver, AND MAMA MIA HOW HAVE I NOT HEARD THIS BEFORE? Anyways, hi loves <3 hope you like today’s chapter. Also if you aren’t up for kinda slow burn enemies to lovers then this series is not for you

Ship: Azriel x Reader, archeron!reader

Warnings: Abuse AKA Violence, if you can’t stomachs someone caving in someone else’s skull with a wall then don’t be here

Official Masterlist

Climbing Out Masterlist

Requested? No. Inspired? Yes! This series is inspired by Just Another Stereotype but the storyline is slightly different.

It was almost like I was there all over again.

Pain. Suffering. Agony.

I was numb with pain. All I wanted was to live a peaceful, normal life. That was all. But no. Sobbing through my teeth, I curled up into a ball as my head was brutally bashed into the wall repeatedly. 

“Wake up.”

Using what remaining strength I had, I inched back, cowering as I tried to dodge the next hit. It was all in vain. I braced myself. But it did not stop the stinging pain. I howled. Nor did that agony subside when I felt my father’s nails, sharp and unkept, slit and slice through my soft skin, now red and bruised from the beatings. Something trickled down my cheek — blood. My world went black, and I was falling, falling, falling… 

“Wake up!”

I jolted from my nightmare. I shuddered, recalling the memories that I had just gone through again. Blinking back tears, I slowly looked up, and was met with amethyst violet eyes. Looking around me, I realised I was at the House of Wind. 

“But- we were just at-,” “Azriel carried you home,” He said, simply. My vision blurred as I tried to glance around the room. There, in the corner, the shadow singer was watching. His eyes darkened as soon as my gaze fell on him. I turned away. 

Sitting up, I surveyed the room. It wasn’t my room. Nor was it the healers’ wing. I looked around, a little confused. Wait. That map… those weapons… No. It couldn’t be. This- this was Azriel’s room! And I was on his bed!

I flushed.

“You were having quite the dream, y/n. You almost woke this entire household up,” Rhysand drawled as he lazedon the edge of the bed. I glanced up in irritation — but a closer look let me know that he, too, had nightmares. That they haunted him. That he understood. “Do you need to talk about it?” An offer. A promise — to keep my secret if I decided to open up to him. I glanced at the shadow singer, then at the High Lord. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, understanding cues. He got up and left.

I sighed as I lay back down on the bed — Azriel’s bed. 

“It’s him. Again.” My bastard father. “I know I’m far away, that I’m stronger, but it still haunts me,” Tears began to leak out of my eyes at the thought. I tried to swipe at the tears cascading down my cheeks, where the small, nearly unnoticeable scar sat. The only remnant left of him on my face besides the ones on my body. Rhys just hummed, encouraging me to continue. I tried - futilely - to compose myself before choking out, “I used to think that it didn’t hurt, that I could live with being ignored, constantly pushed around by my sisters, beaten by my father, but-” My voice cracked. “I was so, so weak, but I couldn’t, can’t be.”

I wailed as I turned to my side, away from the High Lord. “I feel like I’m breaking inside, but I know I can’t! What should I do? I can’t put more pressure on Feyre than I already have, and I can’t depend on my mate because he’s too busy hating me, and I can’t depend on myself because I feel like there isn’t anything to depend on!” I was tired. So, so tired. Even as I broke down and presented my problems to the High Lord, I could still feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. 

The High Lord stilled as he processed what I was saying. Then he pulled me into an embrace, a brotherly, comforting embrace. 

“Hey Rhys I just need to ask-,” Feyre started as she walked in but paused as she looked at us. Her eyes widened at the sight. “You back-stabbing bitch,” She breathed as she looked at me as I hurriedly pulled away from Rhysand. I struggled to find the words to explain what was going on, to prove my innocence, to tell her that Rhysand was just comforting me. 

But Feyre had already rushed out of the door. Rhysand chased after her, panicked. I understood, however, how he and Feyre felt. They were mates. She was his, and he was hers. She was just struggling to trust people, even me. Of course, that didn’t mean her words didn’t sting, but I just did not let it get to me. For a while, at least. Hopefully until after everything got sorted out. 

I knew her words were only out of anger and that she truly did not mean it. She proved it so when she came back minutes later to apologise. I wished I had done more as I could still see the doubt in her eyes, the guilt. Something told me that Rhysand had told her, despite the fact he knew I had opened up to him for a reason he had told Feyre if it meant salvaging their relationship, in this, I could not blame him. I had caused enough problems in the inner circle, burdening them with every turn. 

And maybe, just maybe. They would all be better off without me. 

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter I tried to make the flashback as accurate as I could but my brain just did not want to function. Before any of you ask what hat means you can refer to the author’s note on the climbing out masterlist because I do not feel like repeating myself. Now, on the topic of “Oh you’re writing about violence and heart break it can’t be that bad” like bro- no. Also props to @moonfawnx for dealing with her haters so well I would be raging if I were her. (Hi Luna big fan of your work :D) Bye my loves! <3

tag list: @moonfawnx @bankerfrog @younxii @hideing @flightlesslittlebirdie  @menagerofmischief @famousbasementpainter @owllover123 @bookworm-nerd6  @gigisssz @bethany-bee0128  @cityofidek  @aetherl0l @valeridarkness @starrstrucked @judig92 @starlit-terror

#acotar #acosf #acotar fandom #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #azriel #rhysand #azriel x reader #acofas #acomaf #mor acotar #feyre acotar #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel acosf #emotional abuse #physical abuse #verbal abuse #mental abuse

[mostlikelynothuman]

How To Share A Body | Side A

A playlist about learning to live

Recommended listening: Songs in order, Side A first

Listening time: 1h 31m

Side B here

Listen on: Youtube | Spotify

The Calm - Outline in Color

I swear to god I’m going to rip this fucking house down This is worse than the comedown

Mouth Breather - Secrets

You speak when you should listen Close your eyes when you need vision

Wrath of a Gentle Man - The Wise Man’s Fear

Obstinance manifested Blind-eyed closed-minded disaffection

Perspectives - Hands Like Houses

All my life I've tried letting you inside, to see the world through my eyes And all I see is time I've wasted

The Architect (Part 2) - Secrets

If I live my life like you want me to Would you be proud of me

Covert - Oceans Ate Alaska

You know I have this unrelenting fear That I’m wasting every minute, every hour that I’m living here

Coming Undone - Imminence

With our backs against the wall There’s nowhere to run, there’s nowhere to go

Crash And Burn - Dayseeker

I don’t want to die having wasted all my time On hating those I hurt

Debt - The New Age

We can’t right what we’ve wronged With our eyes closed, and our hearts broke

Onyx - The Afterimage

I’m unable to utter a single word with confidence I’m losing passion, lacking feeling, fading colors

Symptoms - Meliorist

The things I’ve seen, will they haunt me in my sleep The things I’ve done, will I always bear their mark

Catalyst - Whether, I

They say for each step forward you take three steps back What’s the point of progress with two feet in the past

Wasn’t Enough - XXI

I can’t change what I’ve done And I can’t help who I’ve become

Healing - Under the Flood

I’m not awake, I’m dreaming This’ll all go away it’s not happening

The River and the Rock - The Wise Man’s Fear

I say I’m lost and you say you’re all gone Was this the cost of finding what’s beyond

What I Wish I Could Forget - Too Close To Touch

They say I haven’t been myself But I’ve lost so much that I love, so that can’t help

Chasing Shadows - Imminence

Say the words and you will set me free Before the sky is falling down on me

A Clown and His Pipe - Hands Like Houses

What would it prove, to wrench them from my heels To shed them from my heart, desperate for some kind of change

This Life - The New Age

It's not what you thought, you thought you would Sail through this life but it's never that easy

Wasted Youth (Part 1) - Secrets

Hold out your hands, take it all in This is now your mistake, so carry the burden

Web Weaver - Our Hollow Our Home

The mind can be a terrible thing Just don’t let it sink in

After The Rain - Novelists

It’s coming in waves, just breathe And keep your eyes closed

Charlie Machine - Outline In Color

No more burden, pride, or pain Only you can halt this suffering

How We Survive - Secrets

This world gets dark but you are not alone It’s never too late for a fresh start, a new home

Weight - Hands Like Houses

Now I’m stronger for whatever comes Let the blood rush as I rise to my feet

#danny phantom #fanart #nothuman tries to art #*trips and spills metal all over my followers* #anyway if any of you read tags uh turn the volume down

[readingrobin]

This month started off at a real drag and didn't really kick up until probably the near end of it. Looks like I read about maybe 800 pages more than last month, yet still covered the same amount of books. I'm gonna chalk that up to the good amount of DNFs I had for this month. It's a downer when that happens, but hey it's going to happen. I will say that I'm glad I ended this month on a high note with a book I really enjoyed that I've been meaning to get around to for a while.

Total Books Read: 6

Total Pages Read: 2,965

Total DNFs: 4

Books Read:

Bloodmarked by Tracy Deonn (4.75/5) - The only downside of the book is a somewhat rushed climax, which was an issue I had with Legendborn as well but, other than that....Oh my god, Bloodmarked took everything Legendborn did and took it to another level. Dynamics get more complex, institutions that were sketchy become full on villainous, and, in the end, Bree takes on such a risky, yet understandable move that I'm eagerly waiting to see the fallout of. Deonn expands upon the themes of generational trauma and grief, concentrating on, now that Bree can recognize these things in her own history, how does that affect her personally? How does she, as an individual, relate to all these expectations and duties brought onto her by her ancestors? Bree's reflection on these ties continue to make her such an engaging, powerful character I love to watch develop. We see new sides of the Rootcrafter community, and I gotta say, I love the new character Valec. I may be a bit biased since I love charismatic infernal dealmakers, but I hope we see more from him as well. As much as I loathe love triangles, the connection between Bree, Nick, and Sel never really bothered me. I've found that, if the two love interests have an already established relationship, the love triangle becomes a little more digestable, as their whole dynamic doesn't thrive off any jealousy or competition for someone's love. This book only fueled my need for a Bree/Sel relationship, but I would hate for Nick to go by the wayside. 

Scurry by Mac Smith (4/5) - If you were a Warrior cats fan as a kid, this graphic novel is definitely for you. In a post-apocalyptic world, house mice try to survive through scraps found in abandoned houses, but resources are dwindling. They must venture from their home, with the threat of cats, wolves, and other dangers that lay beyond in the forest. The art is absolutely phenomenal, very cinematic with great lighting. Give it a try if you're a fan of animal survival fiction like Watership Down or Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH.

Shadow Weaver by MarcyKate Connolly (2/5) -Just a very middle of the road middle grade sort of book. While I appreciated the dark tone, there was nothing really that hooked me in. Emmeline seemed totally oblivious to her shadow's darker nature right up until the story decided that it was time to get suspicious. Apparently putting a man in a coma near the very beginning didn't set off any alarm bells. I understand that their relationship may have affected her shortsightedness, but almost every piece of dialogue her shadow has is a big red flag. Even kid me probably would have given Emmeline a big side eye at how she kept dismissing the shadow's clear malevolence. Though I have to say, without spoilers, once we learn of the shadow's motivations, I can't blame her for being the way she is. I'm probably not going to read the sequel because I simply don't have enough interest, but I hope she gets her slay girl slay moment. But, given that this is series targeted towards children, probably not.

The Book That No One Wanted to Read by Richard Ayoade (3/5) - About as funny as you're going to get with a comedic talent like Richard Ayoade. it's a sweet junior fiction about a book that doesn't want to be read and has some great observational humor from a book's perspective. Tor Freeman's illustrations are a great addition here, adding to the humor and giving the book more character.

The Fox Girl and the White Gazelle by Victoria Williamson (4/5) - Always had a soft spot for stories featuring two characters from different worlds who come together and find that they have more in common than they realized. Caylin and Reema are two characters that know the trauma of loss, to varying degrees sure, but they know what it means to lose someone dear to you. They bond through caring for an injured fox, sympathizing with a creature that is deemed unwanted by society and has access to a kind of freedom they long for. Though getting off to a rocky start, the two develop a close friendship, bringing out the best in each other and staying resilient in troubled times. An inspirational story for sure, great for helping children empathize with refugee stories and introducing them to the harder aspects of life certain children go through. 

The Scapegracers by H.A. Clarke (5/5) (Review)

DNFs:

Wolfsangel by M.D. Lachlan - I was almost halfway in without really connecting to the characters, plot, or writing style. It takes a while for things to happen and even then, the action seems to drag a bit. Once I noticed that I was skimming more than actually taking in information, I decided to stop. There are some really good bits of dialogue here and there, but it wasn’t enough for me to keep reading.

A Blade So Black by L.L. McKinney - I think I knew I was in trouble when there were two time skips, one three months and another a year, within the first 50 pages. We pass right by Alice’s training to fight against Nightmares, as well as her learning more about Wonderland, which really didn’t set the story off at a good pace. It also didn’t help that the book opens with the protagonist immediately in danger, which is somewhat of a bookish pet peeve for me. Without the proper build-up, it makes the moment seem so much emptier and it’s difficult to feel for the character that’s still an absolute stranger to us. I also wasn’t a fan of the author skipping through what could have been great character development between Alice and Hatta and worldbuilding in favor of getting to the action faster. As a result, I felt forced into a world that felt like it was making itself up as it went along. I wanted to be learning about Wonderland and all its history and eccentricities alongside her, not in retrospect. I also didn’t believe the attachment between Alice and Hatta because we don’t see it develop naturally. Hatta goes from stranger, to mentor she has a crush on, to no way I don’t have a crush on him but mayyyyybbeee and that’s all we really see of their dynamic in the beginning. The fact that I have to wait 1/3 of a book to get to actual plot is kind of a breaking point here. I wish I liked it more, because it does sound like a cool concept, but I think it’s all lost on me.

The Ember’s Lantern by Colleen Houck - Given that I had read Houck's Tiger’s Curse series way back when in high school and loved it, I figured I would feel the same way about a story that attempts to exude spookiness and Halloween vibes. What I didn’t expect was for it to, well, fall supremely smack on its face. I don’t know if my tastes have changed over the years, but I didn’t recall her style feeling so bland and empty. There’s nothing that gives any personality or atmosphere to the writing. It’s mostly simple statements, descriptions, and maybe some internal feelings, but it feels rare. I never really felt entrenched in the world that was being built, and, despite some interesting lore behind the lanterns, it never felt properly realized. Also, Ember was too frustrating as a lead character. She kept making poor decision after poor decision that, without a plot security net, would have definitely gotten her killed immediately. I think her stubbornness was meant to come off as endearing, but it was more of a hindrance. 

Thirst No. 1 by Christopher Pike - Bought this book years ago during my teenage vampire craze and yeah, so many of them I got during that phase have NOT held up. I didn’t feel anything for Alisa, a protagonist that has a self-proclaimed “expertise in everything” and as much charisma and personality as a pale block of wood. She’s a five thousand year old vampire that was a little too ready to jump into a jacuzzi naked with an 18 year old boy in order to manipulate him for information, who naturally becomes her love interest. Ultimately, I think she might have worked better in an adult series, with her unlikability possibly working in her favor, but in this direction, she just seemed entirely superficial.

Average Rating: (3.79/5)

#robin's book log #reading wrap up #bloodmarked #scurry #shadow weaver #the fox girl and the white gazelle #the scapegracers #wolfsangel #a blade so black #the ember's lantern #thirst #monthly wrap up

[bigmanfrog]

billy hargrove’s sacrifice wasn’t a redemption.

max mayfield is still allowed to grieve.

if anything his death reminds me almost of shadow weaver from she-ra (though it’s obviously not deliberate or to that extent)

billy is a violent, abusive and racist person. yes, he had it hard and yes they were probably learned behaviours, but that gives a reason for those behaviours, not an excuse.

he is manipulative and dangerous and max is terrified of him, he’s physically violent on multiple occasions, targets lucas because he’s black and tries to kill lucas and steve. he is not a good person. that doesn’t just get brushed away because billy had an abusive childhood.

and while billys death does save elevens (and probably the rest of the kids) life, it means that he is immortalised as a shitty, abusive person. he dies as the person he was before he got taken over by the mind flayer, at the end of season two, and has no opportunity to grow and work past that (which wasn’t something he showed any signs of even wanting to do anyways)

however! max’s grief is justified and honestly understandable. she watched him die. this person who, even though they hated each other, has been a constant in her life for years. for the first time since they met, he wasn’t tormenting her (after the end of s2), and they weren’t getting along exactly but she’s not scared of him for once. then she has to watch this incredibly traumatic scene that’s not only someone getting brutally murdered by a monster, but having it be someone she knows and lives with? that’s gonna affect anyone long term, never mind a 14 year old. (i also feel like we all brush over the fact that vecna in billy form tells us that max was suicidal)

not only does she watch him die but she has to deal with the fallout, has to deal with their parents arguing, her moving house, her mum drinking, all on top of being unable to talk to most people about what actually happened. she pushes people away, because she’s max and she’s a kid and she’s traumatised, and refuses to even talk to the people who were there because she feels guilty, like she could’ve prevented his death even though rationally she knows she couldn’t. she also knows that his death meant he couldn’t redeem himself, we hear it in her letter in dear billy - she’s not only mourning him, but the person he could’ve been, because now hes gone and so he doesn’t even have the chance to become a good brother and a good person in general. he might not have done anyways, but if he was alive at least there was that chance.

and let’s not forget that he was a kid. it’s easy to forget because dacre montgomery is very much not a teenager but billy was the same age as nancy and jonathan, only 4 years older than the kids and a year younger than steve. he was a piece of shit but he was 18, he still had time to grow, and he might’ve done, but he died before that so unfortunately he didn’t get the chance, and remains a racist abuser forever.

#stranger things #st2 #st3 #st4 #billy hargrove #max mayfield #mind flayer #billy hargrove was not redeemed #you can disagree #it’s just my opinion #but i feel v strongly about this #hargrove-mayfield family #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #death #billy is dead #max is traumatised #s4 is literally about working through trauma #max mayfield needs help

[burnitalldowndarling]

A conversation with the spiders that live in my house

Attention unwanted houseguests:

I want you to understand that I do not hate you. This isn’t any kind of personal animosity. I’ve actually tried to learn about you. Y’all are some cool li’l critters. But here’s the thing: you fucking terrify me. It’s not your fault. Well, except that one giant orb weaver whose web I accidentally walked through when I was 12, only to realize the orb weaver was sitting on my chest, wiggling its... whatever those were, and staring at me with its many, many, fucked up little eyes -- fuck that bastard. Goddamn web across the door! People gotta walk! Anyway.

You’re scary. So because of that, I’m not gonna be one of those nice humans who puts a cup over you and slides a sheet of paper under it, and then carries you outside. I’m too scared of you for that. What I do is find the largest, heaviest book within reach, and throw that at you, followed by every other book within reach if I miss on the first try. It’s a quick death! No time for pain or fear. Just, “Hey, why is there a shadow -- “ Sweet peace of death. So I’m not cruel about it or anything. But I will fucking kill you in the killingest way possible.

I don’t want to kill you. I don’t like hurting living things. I feel like doing that kind of harm diminishes me, in addition to flattening you. So all you have to do, is don’t let me see you. When it’s dark? Come on out. (Uh, tho you should watch out for Cat #2. He thinks you’re tasty. Again, not malicious, not your fault.) Spider it up. Have a good ol’ time. BUT. When the lights come on? Do not come spidering out into the middle of my light-colored open floor which makes it extremely easy to see you! Do not especially do so and then start spidering in circles as if trying to catch my attention! Because then I gotta scrape spider off another book. That’s what happened to Carl over there. I don’t know if Carl’s name is actually Carl, I apologize, I don’t speak spider, I just wanted to put a human face on this tragedy. Poor Carl. I did make it quick.

So let’s keep this simple: Lights off? Spiders play all night! Lights on? STAY YOUR ASS OUTTA SIGHT.

Okay. Glad we had this talk.

#goddamn it carl

[lil-red-apple]

It's not too soon right ?

#in this house we hate shadow weaver #catradora #catra #adora #she ra season five #catdora #spop #she ra #shera #shera spoilers #she ra spoilers #spop season 5 spoilers #she ra season 5 #meme redraw #fanart #shadow weaver #she ra s5 #she ra and the princesses of power #she ra season 5 spoilers #adora shera #adora she ra #spop adora #catra she ra #she ra catra #spop catra #adora x catra #catra x adora #my art

[catrasarm]

She-Ra characters' Hogwarts Houses (btw using the traits from this website on "Table 1")

I know that Noelle Stevenson has tweeted what Catra and Adora's houses are, but I disagree. Imma include my reasoning for them, don't worry.

Adora: Gryffindor. I am a huge fan of Harry Potter and I hate the whole "good guy = gryffindor, bad guy = slytherin" thing, but Adora is a perfect Gryffindor. I can kinda see Adora as a Slytherin, as Noelle said, but Adora is more brave than she is cunning.

Catra: Slytherin. Once again, not because "good guy = gryffindor, bad guy = slytherin", Catra is just a perfect Slytherin. Catra is definitely ambitious, despite what Shadow Weaver might say. Catra is also cunning and resourceful. I mean, just watch the episodes where Catra is in the Crimson Waste, and that should be enough evidence. I tried to see Catra as a Hufflepuff, as Noelle said, but it seems like the worst fit. Catra is certainly hard working. As for loyalty, Catra is loyal, but her loyalty is wavering. Throughout the show, we learn that her true loyalty was not with the Horde, and it seems that her loyalty was to Adora. However, I would argue that if she was loyal enough for it to override her cunning and ambition for her to be in Hufflepuff, she would have had to be loyal enough to leave the Horde with Adora. And she has no other real loyalty to any other character. I wouldn't say that Catra is patient and she is certainly not a fair person.

Glimmer: Gryffindor

Bow: Ravenclaw

Scorpia: Hufflepuff

Entrapta: Ravenclaw

Mermista: Ravenclaw

Perfuma: Hufflepuff

Frosta: Slytherin

Seahawk: Gryffindor

Shadow Weaver: Slytherin

Hordak: Hufflepuff

Wrong Hordak: Hufflepuff

Queen Angella: Ravenclaw

King Micah: Hufflepuff

Castaspella: Ravenclaw

Swiftwind: Gryffindor

#shera #she ra #spop #shera and the princesses of power #shera sorted #adora #catra #glimmer #bow #mermista #perfuma #scorpia #entrapta #hordak #shadow weaver #shera seahawk #seahawk #shera bow #swift wind #frosta #queen angella #king micah #castaspella #wrong hordak #sorting characters into harry potter houses #gryfindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #syltherin

[echotzzz]

Elriel connection in powers & abilities + N&C

The only people that have used Truth- Teller

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

Azriel lends his truth teller to Elain in which she use it to make the killing blow towards the Hybern King.

Anything, I begged the Cauldron. Anything—

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Feyre literally begged and bargain with the Cauldron to save Nessian and in returns the Cauldron send Elain and not only that, together with the shadow and truth teller.

Is it coincedence that the one time Feyre pray for the Cauldron, Elain was the one who came. Is it coincidence that, in order to kill the Hybern King, Elain was equipt with truth teller and the shadows for it to happen?? Is it coincidence that this scene were remain mysterious and never mention again?? like everyone suddenly forgot it actually happen. Like the Cauldron set things up for it to happen according to the fate🤔

Nuala & Cerridwen

“Why do you think they’re now whispering in Azriel’s ear that I’m in here?” “I thought they answered to Rhys.” “They answer to both, but they were trained by Azriel first.”

N&C were trained by Azriel and they report to him. They have loyalty towards Azriel and not to mention that they are half wraith, shadow manipulator and can travel through wall and stone.

Who knows Azriel also had train others as it was mentioned that he have spies and sourcer from different courts.

Elain stood between Nuala and Cerridwen at the long worktable. All three of them covered in flour. Some sort of doughy mess on the surface before them.

Nuala swallowed hard. “The lady said she was hungry, so we went to make her something. But—she said she wanted to learn how, so …” Hands wreathed in shadows lifted in a helpless gesture, flour drifting off them like veils of snow. “We’re making bread.”

Breathed in the smell of the bread Nuala and Cerridwen had baked that morning with Elain.

We know Elain was in depression after she was turned. N&C were the ones that made Elain slowy started to do and learn something new which is baking

Baking is the one thing that were in common between Elain, Nuala and Cerridwen. They have the same interest and form a frienship from it. This remind me of something

Feyre, Mor & Amren= Wine

Nesta, Emerie & Gwyn= smut books

Elain, Nuala & Cerridwen= baking

Elain’s voice was colder than usual. I glanced at Nuala and Cerridwen, the latter giving me a shake of her head as if to say, Not a good day for her.

They understand Elain moods. They stop Feyre from asking Elain more questions.

“Nuala and Cerridwen were up hours earlier.”Especially for what they’d done for my sister. The companionship, the purpose, the small sense of normalcy in that kitchen. She’d bought them those cozy, fuzzy blankets from the weaver, one raspberry pink and the other lilac.

Elain gift the twin blankets with the colour that associated with her the most, pink and lilac. N&C are her companion during the hard times and in a way help Elain went through it. Other than the Ic, N&C are her new found family just like how Emerie and Gwyn for Nesta

Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.

Elain called N&C FRIENDS periodttt👏 And they were also the people that were suspected gives Elain stealth lessons. N&C already are spies trained by Azriel. It is fitting that they practise together with Elain. From what i could see

Feyre, Mor & Amren= Political minded

Nesta, Emerie & Gwyn= warriors

Elain, Nuala & Cerridwen= Spies

Can you see the vision?? Sjm wants her girls to have girlfriends with same interest and specialty for their growth arc. Elain definitely become stronger mentally and physically after spending time with N&C.

Stealthy

Stealthy: movement that is quiet and careful in order not to be seen or heard

I wondered if Rhys’s spymaster often got his information through stone-cold manners as much as stealth and shadows.

Azriel is much connected to stealth as it is the important element for him to master as a spy.

Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.

Nesta who rarely come to the house, upon seeing Elain came quietly automaticaly assume that this was something she learned from either Azriel or N&C. This indicates that Elain does spend time with Azriel quite often that even other people would assume Elain being stealthy is the product of those time togather.

Secret keeping

Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”

Again people relating Elain behaviour with Azriel. The fact that Feyre said this to Azriel made it more obvious to readers that sjm want them to know that if Elain has a new thing going on with her, Azriel is the cause or someone that can relate to.

Shadows

Now i’m not gonna explain this the long way because there were already amazing post discuss about it. But i just want to highlight that the shadows in some scenes have the same reaction towards Elriel.

Azriel stepped out of a shadow. “What is that,” he hissed.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck

First of all, why does the shadow help Elain if they ‘afraid or hate’ her?? Second of all, how the hell does Elain could actually stepped out of the shadows?? What ability that she possessed that allow her to do so?AND SO FAR, AZRIEL AND ELAIN WERE THE ONLY PEOPLE THAT STEPPED OUT OF A SHADOW!! why sjm never explain abt it? Simple she’ll do it in Elriel’s book.

Azriel said coolly, “I don’t need to resort to threats.” The shadows coiled around him, snakes ready to strike.

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

Some people said that the shadows do so as the reaction for Azriel because he is angry towards Nesta. Why does he angry with Nesta?? Because Nesta hurts Elain’s feeling. Why does Azriel bothered if Elain’s feeling got hurt?? Because he care for her. Because he could feel Elain’s sorrow and wish for it to be gone. Because he could feel it through the mating bond and it effect him so much, his shadow ready to strike to any threats that come to his mate.

or maybe, the shadows indeed protect Elain as they were with Azriel. who knows🤷🏼‍♀️

Some other scene that scream Elain x Shadows

“Don’t,” Elain said flatly, starting once more into a walk, veils of steam drifting past her shoulders from the roasted rosemary potatoes in her hands, as if they were Azriel’s shadows. “She won’t listen.”

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room.

Concept of power

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.

“shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can’t.”

Her face was wan, her lips bloodless. But they moved—barely—as she said, “I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

Azriel could hear things other people cannot

Elain could see things other people cannot

Together they could be the eyes and the ears for the night court

Hear and see things people can’t + stealthy+ secretive = SPY COUPLE🤩

Azriel understood Elain as he have experienced such power that is rare and people sometimes see them as ‘freaks’ by being different. Azriel’s father threw him into the illyrian camp and the Ic think Elain’s gone mad.

Notice that the shadowsinging and seer abilities are refer as ‘gift’. Those powers were not born with but were given to them when they are in need and because of that made them stronger.

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #spy couple #elain and azriel

[hootcifer]

talking about toh | season two, episode seven: eda's requiem

this might be my favorite non-lumity episode so far.

previous | first | next as always, spoilers under the cut

the beginning

i love how eda has basically become a mom to luz, king, and even hooty. it's really sweet.

the point on the list for king needing to be checked for fleas is "check itchy boy". i thought that was funny.

just like amity, eda keeps a photo of her and luz at grom. i love that.

king is so eager to see his dad! it's honestly kinda sad. he does have a family, even before he knew he had a dad. but i also see why he'd want to meet his dad.

the plot

honestly, i thought luz and king were looking for king's dad. but nope, they were just practicing for the race.

return of the scroll thingies! we haven't seen those in a while. i think it's fun that eda's has wings. kinda like luz's phone case!

i knew i loved raine right off the bat (ha!). they're so cute right from the get-go.

aww, hooty's trying to help. he's a tad misguided, but they are trying. that counts for something, right?

it's so funny to me how eda appears to go to the bar regularly. girl needs to get her apple blood addiction sorted out.

there are a lot more wild witches than we thought. interesting.

i love the batts! their masks are awesome, and their intentions fit my attitude toward the coven system. they could disguise themselves better, though. regardless, can i join? i can sing! or i can try, at least.

eda and raine are so cute together. i have to say, i kinda ship them!

hey, the fanfiction girl returns! she's cool!

more young adult eda! she was so pretty!

raine's rhapsody is so pretty. i could fall asleep to it. i want to hear a full version.

i like the trope of the plan being narrated as it's being successfully carried out. usually when you hear the plan, it goes wrong. but it worked out this time.

"rainestorm" is an adorable nickname. i love nicknames that are a pun on the person's actual names. for example, my name is dakota and i sometimes go by koko, so my girlfriend calls me kokonut.

eda adopts kids wherever she goes. kinda like how luz gets adopted wherever she goes. like mother like daughter, eh?

hey, gus and his dad appeared! that's neat!

we got to formally meet two more coven heads! i don't really like darius, but eberwolf is cool.

i thought it was a neat detail that the ratworm from the most forgettable episode "once upon a swap" made a return. that was cool.

the way eda and raine act around each other reminds me of luz and amity. awww, are they their generation's lumity? because that's cute.

it was very clever of raine and eda to use eda's curse against their enemy. very creative.

eda and raine almost sacrificed themselves for their cause. i didn't think they actually would-- eda is a main character after all-- but it was very noble.

poor raine must have thought eda had gotten together with someone else and had kids. good thing that wasn't the truth, eh?

i love how, instead of quoting eda, raine just paraphrased what she'd said. i've never understood how some characters can remember things word-for-word.

it sucks that luz and king didn't win. oh well.

eda was so sweet to get king to stream his message to his dad. not only was it effective, but a sign that she's ready to let him go, if she has to. i hope she doesn't, though.

it was pretty cool seeing all the people watching the message, like in "young blood old souls". nice parallel.

willow has a little bed for her palisman!!! so cute!

amity made a brief appearance too!

KING'S DAD! he looks so cool!

i almost teared up when king changed his name to "king clawthorne". that's so adorable.

the ending

eber is a brat. i love them.

it looks like darius hates alador. maybe they were rivals? [vine voice] oh my god they were rivals.

i hate kikimora more and more every time i see her. she's like the shadow weaver of the owl house!

wow, the emperor's coven is lazy. they don't want to loook for a new bard coven leader? that's dumb.

poor raine! they're basically trapped until the day of unity. hopefully they can help when that happens...

predictions

hopefully we can meet king's dad! he looked really cool.

other than that, i have no idea what to expect. see y'all next week!

#talking about toh #the owl house #toh #eda clawthorne #luz noceda #raine whispers #gus porter #perry porter #willow park #amity blight #toh eda #toh luz #toh king #toh raine #toh gus #toh perry #toh willow #toh amity #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers

[nanstgeorge]

elain being a smart, kind, and useful bitch: the series

setting up the plan to meet graysen:

Then Elain said quietly, “We could move them to Graysen’s estate.”

“If—if you and … they”—a glance at Rhys, my friends—“ come with me, your Fae scents might distract the dogs.”

“You’re Fae, too,” Nesta reminded her. “Glamour me,” Elain said—to Rhys. “Make me look human. Just long enough to convince him to open his gates to those seeking sanctuary. Perhaps even let you set those wards around the estate.”

“Are you sure?” I demanded at the same time Nesta said, “I can go—let me talk to him.” Elain only rose to her feet. “He doesn’t know you,” she said to me. Then she faced Nesta with a frank, bemused look. “And he hates you.”

literally being gagged and still helping out

My sisters were shrieking over their gags. But Elain’s cry—a warning. A warning to—To my right, now exposed, Tamlin ran for me. To grab me at last. I hurled a knife at him—as hard as I could. He had to dive to miss it.

convincing nesta to help out the night court while coming up with a plan on the spot (at the same time)

“Nesta,” Elain said again, twisting her hands. “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men, couldn’t save me from … from them.”

“We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.”

clearing out the house for the night court

“Today,” I pushed. “We don’t have any time to lose. Order them to leave now.” “I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

It took hours for Elain to work her charm on the staff to swiftly pack their bags and leave, each with a purse of money to hasten the process.

“You’d think they’d been told plague had befallen the house.” I pulled the door open wide enough to let them in, then quickly shut it against the bitter cold. “My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.”

tells feyre that nesta went to see her because she knows that nesta wouldn’t

Elain sighed. “Maybe you could talk to her.” I contemplated telling Elain that Nesta and I hadn’t had a civil conversation in years, but then Elain added, “She went to see you, you know.”

“Elain said—said you went to visit me, though. That you tried.”

words of wisdom baby

“I’m sorry.” Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion. “Everyone keeps saying that.” Her thumb brushed the ring on her finger. “But it doesn’t fix anything, does it?”

“This could end very badly, Elain.” She brushed her thumb over the iron-and-diamond engagement ring. “It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” “Wisely said,” Mor offered, smiling softly at Elain.

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“We have everything we need,” I admitted to Elain. “Buying presents feels excessive.” “It’s their tradition, though,” Elain countered, her face still flushed with the cold. “One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that’s the better way to think of it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for its very existence, for the peace this city now has.”

observational

Elain now watched Lucien warily. Blinking every now and then. She revealed no hint of whatever she might be seeing—sensing. None.

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash....Dismissing him entirely. Cassian’s face went almost feral. Elain’s voice wobbled as she noted the same thing and quickly said to him, “It … it is very hard, you understand, to … accept it.”

when it comes to nesta

She stormed off, Elain darting after her, cooing her sympathy.

Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.

Until Nesta said too softly, “This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid fools.” Elain grabbed for Nesta’s hand to silence her.

Elain sat a little higher as she said to Cassian, “And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.”

when it comes to feyre and their childhood

“I know it’s not easy for you,” Elain observed as we drifted through a weaver’s shop, admiring the fine tapestries, rugs, and blankets she’d crafted into images of various Night Court scenes....I turned from a wall covering depicting that very image. “What’s not easy?”...Elain’s brown eyes roved over the Night Court insignia. “Buying things without a dire need to do so.”

“Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

“Did you know,” I said over the sound of my sawing, “that one summer, when I was seventeen, Elain bought me some paint? We’d had just enough to spend on extra things, and she bought me and Nesta presents. She didn’t have enough for a full set, but bought me red and blue and yellow. I used them to the last drop, stretching them as much as I could, and painted little decorations in our cottage.”

I had not painted in years at that point, had not dared spend the money on myself … But Elain had.

helping out the team physically

Azriel’s roar echoed off the rocks as the hound slammed into him, dragging those shredding talons down his spine, his wings—The girl screamed, but Elain moved. As Azriel battled to keep them airborne, keep his grip on them, my sister sent a fierce kick into the beast’s face. Its eye. Another. Another. It bellowed, and Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home. With a yelp of pain, it released its claws—and plunged into the ravine.

Elain, to my surprise, had a horse, a satchel of food, and supplies ready when I hurried down the stairs.

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

“I don’t know how to look,” Elain mumbled. “You can try.” I should have asked Amren to train her, too. But Elain studied me, the map, then nodded.

#sorry antis but my sister has never been useless! always a team player #elain archeron #pro elain #pro elain archeron

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Spider's Bride

Pairing: spider!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: yandere, obsession, stalking, forced marriage, mentions of suicidal thoughts and breeding (but everything is not as dark as it seems).

Words: 3836.

Summary: Whoever your stepmother sold you to, he wasn't as honorable as she claimed.

P.S. Hey guys! Initially it was supposed to be more horror-ish, but then I wrote a lot of sad Bucky, and, ugh, the story became what it is now. Hope you're going to enjoy!

____________

"From now on you have to go alone. We're not allowed to come any further." Your stepmother said and stopped, your stepsisters looking at her with visible discomfort on their faces.

"But we have to ensure her betrothed is waiting for her and pass him her trousseau. This is the tradit-"

"He's not from these lands and cares little for our traditions." She quickly cut one of her daughters off and motioned them to give a few bags they were carrying back to you. "The only thing you have to do is follow the path and you will be alright, girl. Stop being so scared, I'm not sending you to meet your death. Suit yourself, dear Lord! You are going to be married to an honorable man, be grateful I've arranged it for you!"

Funny. If he was truly as honorable as she said, she'd let one of her girls marry him instead. Judging by the place he asked you to come meet him, he was some filthy necromancer or a dark mage in hiding. Regardless of that, he had definitely paid good money for you if your stepmother was willing to let go of the one who was doing most of the housework.

Whatever. Since the death of your father, you hadn't been expecting your miserable life to get any better. She'd force you to marry some revolting man sooner or later, nevertheless.

"Goodbye, sisters." You whispered to them, throwing your rough work-weary hands around their skinny shoulders and kissing their cheeks. "May the Lord be with you."

"May the Lord be with you." They repeated quietly, and you saw their eyes were glistening with tears in the darkness of the cave. They were clinging to you like little kids to their mother, and you smiled. Despite being born to this vulture, your sisters were kind-hearted. They were the only ones to bring you joy in the darkest of days.

"Goodbye, mother."

She turned away from you silently and headed back without acknowledging your words. One of her daughters hissed at her with disdain before she looked back and sent the girl a grim look, pointing to the entrance where the light was piercing through the darkness.

"Move. I don't have all day."

Watching the guilty expression appearing on their faces, you patted both of the girls on the back and silently ushered them to go. They weren't the ones to blame for what had happened to you, and they couldn't do much. No one could.

As all three disappeared from your view, you bit down on your lower lip and gathered your pathetic belongings. You didn't have anything valuable since even the dresses your mother wore were burnt once that woman entered the house of your father. Sometimes you were thinking whether anything would be different if he stayed alive, but you weren't sure of that. Maybe it was better without him, the man who had seen his new wife destroying the one and only portrait of your mother, but doing nothing at all to stop her. Maybe it was better you left the house where you were constantly reminded of how miserable and rotten you were, a girl she hated with all her heart.

Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand to stop yourself from crying, you moved forward, going deeper into the dungeon or whatever this cold unfriendly place was, the medallion your betrothed given you hanging on your chest. Was it his face you saw inside? It would be surprising if he was as handsome as on the picture. Tired, a bit broken, maybe, and somewhat gloomy, but handsome. Or did your stepmother steal this medallion from someone else, some true soldier she claimed your betrothed to be? Was your fiancee ugly, then? Old? Unhealthy? There was only one way to find out.

The more you walked, the heavier the bags with trousseau became in your hands. At one point you thought to just leave them there, but then you sighed and continued carrying them further. Instead of paying a dowry, your stepmother sold you to your betrothed. He could get mad if you didn't bring him even your trousseau.

It was getting colder, and you stopped for a minute to wrap you woolen shawl around your shoulders, dropping the bags to the ground. Your little journey took you much longer than you expected, and you hoped your fiancee hadn't already been waiting for you. He would be enraged, for sure. Hopefully, you still had a little time.

Bending over to pick up your bags, you suddenly froze on the spot. You heard some odd noises coming from somewhere ahead of you and then raised your head. The burning torches lighting the cave were... shaking?

You jumped to your feet. The noise was becoming louder. You couldn't quite describe it - it felt like indistinct whispers, but very rough, inhuman. The ground trembled beneath your feet as you felt fear rising deep within your chest, leaving you cold. What was that? What was that sound? What creature was whispering... no, tapping... pounding the ground with something...

You left the bags where they were and turned back. It was not the whisper. It was the sound of an enournously huge insect creeping closer to you.

Bats out of hell moved slower than you when you ran towards the exit, barely containing your screams. Was that a giant centipede? A beetle? Something worse than that? You had no desire to figure it out.

You knew this was a bad idea from the start. Your stepmother had never cared for your wellbeing, so it wasn't surprising she truly sent you to your death. Was your fiancee a necromancer who preferred dead women over the living ones? Maybe so.

You fell down to the ground with a loud scream and sobbed, forcing yourself to get up and look at your blooded knee. Pain shot through it once you tried to move, and you bit your tongue. It was even harder to walk now, but you weren't staying there to let whatever creature come and devour your flesh. Gathering yourself, you clenched your teeth and kept running, albeit slower, to the exit of the cave. If you died trying, so be it.

"Please, don't run from me!" Someone said in a desperate voice from behind, yet the only sound you had heard was the one of dozens of steps against the ground. Many metal legs scratched the stone beneath them, making you shudder and cry.

Whatever that creature were, it would be the death of you.

And so you ran and ran until you couldn't feel your legs, but the monster was too close to let you escape. When you fell down the second time on the same knee, undeniably breaking it, you screamed from pain and tried to crawl away still, watching in utter horror how the shadow emerged from the darkness behind you, it's features inhuman, monstrous, revolting. Watching the claws on its eight long legs enveloped in metal glowing in the dark, you yelled at the top of your voice, raising your eyes to the black spider's segmented body.

As you kept looking up, you saw that a horrifying creature wasn't just a gigantic spider. Half of him belonged to a man. Although below the waistline he had that abominable black body, his torso, chest, arms and head were human.

You screamed until your lungs were burning when you saw the face of a man you first had discovered on a little painting inside the medallion. It was your betrothed. Your stepmother had sold you to the arachnid.

Before he advanced further, the light went out, and you were drowning in the dark, finally loosing your consciousness.

____________

There was a distant sound of someone's singing somewhere outside of the house. You could mistake it for Aleana's voice, but hers was lower than this one, melodic, almost magical. This charming singing could put sirens to shame.

You slowly opened your eyes, looking at the high ceiling through the silver threads of the canopy above you. It was odd. Even before your father married for the second time you had never had a canopy bed, especially such a gorgeous one with a cloth looking like it was made by the Queen's best weavers. It almost looked like a silky silver web.

Spiders. Arachnid.

You jumped on the bed, throwing away a warm blanket covering your body, and stared at the large room you woke up in. It seemed as big as half of your house at the very least, the walls coloured in shades of lilac and amethyst, two silver chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. You saw dark-wood furniture lavishly decorated with auspicious motifs, a huge oval mirror... it looked like a room of a princess.

"Are you feeling better?"

You screamed when you heard someone's low voice and clamped your hands over your mouth, quickly moving to the farthest corner of the bed, your back pressed into the cold wall. There was a stranger sitting on the chair near your bed, but for some reason you hadn't seen him before as if he just emerged from the darkness.

You were staring at the face of a man you saw in the cave. Now, however, he looked fully human, his monstrous lower half replaced by long musculed legs. He was dressed in black lether while his left arm glowed in the dark, wrapped in metal, but he couldn't trick you with his charms. You knew his true form.

He was a war veteran, stepmother said, a hero, a soldier. She failed to mention he belonged to arachnid troops, the ones who fought alonside soldiers of your kingdom against Hydra tribes.

Grabbing a pillow and hiding behind it as if it were a shield, you cried, shivering and cursing your stepmother silently. How could she do it to you? How could she give you to an arachnid, this revolting, inhuman creature crawling in the dark? How could she send you here, knowing you were to be wed to this beast and bear his monstrous children? Better death than this. Better ending your life yourself than becoming a whore to this creature, forsaken by the gods.

You didn't know how much time had passed before your tears dried out. The man didn't try to get closer to you. He didn't speak, keeping his head low while you shuddered in the corner.

A bride to the spider. Even thinking of that made you feel like throwing up.

"Are you feeling better?" The man suddenly repeated his question, and you shriveled upon hearing his voice.

You didn't want to talk. Since the time your stepmother had first entered your house, your life was pathetic and worthless. She stripped you of your dowry and all belongings of your mother; she took away your dresses and even ribbons you used to decorate your hair with. You were not the daughter of lady of the house anymore. You were her errands girl, her little servant, the one she had been taking her anger out on. Even when your father was still alive, you knew you wouldn't be allowed to marry a decent man.

You dreamt of running away and living all by yourself in the forest before it was invaded by agressive driads and deadly lamias. After that you quietly accepted that your fate was to suffee in the arms of your offenders. You realized gods didn't want you to be happy, but you couldn't even imagine you would end up being sent to a dungeon right into the arms of this monster who was to breed you. You felt revolt rising deep within you. Even dying was better than this.

"I have healed your knee." The man said, and you blinked, suddenly conscious of your lack of pain. It was true, you had broken it on the run, but now you felt nothing as if you didn't hurt yourself in the first place.

He probably expected some gratitude.

"Thank you." You said in raspy voice, holding the pillow closer to you and hiding your face, your eyes red from tears. You thought it was funny he didn't chain you, but did he need that? With those eight legs of his he could catch anyone without breaking a sweat.

You bit down on your lip and saw he was watching you intently, so you lowered your gaze, looking at your airy silk dress. It softly glowed in the dark like the cloth of the canopy, and you suddenly thought that this revolting creature had undressed you and seen your naked form. Tears started gathering in the corners of your eyes again.

"Please, do not be afraid." The man said tenderly, and you answered him with a sob. His tired expression became worried. "I am sorry for scaring you earlier. I have thought it would be better to show you my true form from the early beginning."

You sniffed and tried covering your shaking feet with the blanket. Why did it have to happen to you? What had you done? Why had he chosen you over other women? You were far from the prettiest ones among your village.

"Why me?" You asked in a little voice, afraid of what you might hear.

The man - the monster in human flesh - smiled at you, his gaze wistful, and you shivered.

"I saw you on the day of the summer solstice. You were dancing barefoot around the fire with your sisters." The man said, and his gloomy face lit up. "You had a flower crown on your head."

Oh, he was there on the day of the festival, then. It was one of the few days when you could break free from the hold your stepmother had over you. Your sisters and you always went to the clearing in the woods and danced till the sunset after giving your prayers to the gods protecting your lands. This year your sister Adana had made you a flower crown to cheer you up.

"You were the most charming woman I have ever seen." His quiet voice made you snap out of your thoughts, and you greeted your teeth. "I've been watching you since then when you were out in the village or doing the house chores in the backyard. I saw... I saw when you didn't let your stepmother kill the spider and put him in the grass instead."

He gulped, and you bit the fabric of the pillow, shutting your eyes for a few seconds. This beast had been secretly watching you for months, and you had no clue about it. Did your stepmother know? Did she let him do it? How much did he pay her to let him follow you around?

"Are we even compatible?" You sniffed again, afraid to look at him. "Humans and..."

"We are compatible if you refer to being able to bear my children."

Your fingers buried into your hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. You bit back a cry knowing it wouldn't make you feel better. Carry little monsters in your womb and give birth to more of those revolting creatures... Were you supposed to lay eggs like spiders did? Would your children grow inside those cocoons? Before you could stop yourself, you were crying loudly and pressing your face into the pillow. When you sensed the man standing up and moving closer, you screamed in horror, pressing yourself further into the walls. He stepped back, an awful, hurt look in his eyes. Before you'd feel guilty, ashamed at yourself, but not now. Not in front of a creature that deserved nothing but death.

He sat back on the chair, watching the shiny wooden floor beneath his feet and allowing you time to calm down again. Why was he quiet? Did he try to persuade you he was civil? That he wouldn't jump at you like spiders did with its prey? The mere comparison made you shudder, and you wiped the tears with the pillow again.

The silence felt heavy, but you had nothing to say while the man was probably afraid to talk to you, knowing you didn't want to hear his voice. Did he know how revolting he was? Did he know you'd never step into the cave if you knew who was waiting for you there? Did he know you wished for nothing but break its disgusting long legs with metal claws on the ends?

You forced yourself to think of something else once you looked at his unbearably sad expression. He must have known a beast like him didn't deserve love. Not a love of a human being, at least. Why did he choose you? Why hadn't he seeked his betrothed among his own kind?

"Why looking for a human?" You asked him, lowering your gaze to your knees. "Why not the one from your own tribe?"

"We don't have many females left." He answered immediately as if he were waiting for you to speak up. "The war with nagas had affected us more than you think."

"But, surely, there are other species willing t-to... mate with you?" No, you didn't truly believe anyone in the whole world would be willing to, except the actual giant spiders of the South.

"There a few like driades of coniferous woods and dark elves living in the caves of Northern Mountains, but their number is decreasing, and they are not as willing to marry our men as before. They are trying to save their own kind."

"Oh, I see. There are too many of us, humans, so we aren't that valuable." You smiled bitterly at his words, and the man's blue eyes widened.

"My apologies, I didn't mean it. I would never say anything like that, apple of my eye."

You cringed at his words: he was still trying to trick you into believing he was some gentleman.

"Please, I know it is hard for you to believe me now, but I swear by my mother's name I'll give you more than any human man can." The creature whispered, his gaze soft and loving. "Whatever you wish for I shall bring to you."

"I don't want any man to give me anything." You sobbed, shaking your head. "I've only ever wanted my mother to come back, nothing else."

There was something that looked like understanding and pity appearing on his face. He could apprehend the loss of the one you loved the most, it seemed.

"Forgive me, but this is the only thing I cannot do for you. We practice necromancy, that's true, yet... you don't want you dear mother to be brought back that way, believe me."

"Than there's nothing you could give me."

You knew you were unreasonable - nothing could bring her back - but you didn't want him to think you were accepting his kind offer. He was a monster, and you didn't deserve to be wed to him.

But then what choice did you have? Surely, you would never leave this place - even if he was kind enough to attempt returning you to your stepmother, that rotten woman would never give him his money back, and he wouldn't let you go otherwise. Despite all your struggle, he would marry you, and you would have to comply.

How soon would you lose your sanity? Would it happen after seeing his true form for the second time? Maybe when he would bed you?

You felt an urge to throw up and clamped your hand against your mouth again.

"Do you have a potion?" You mumbled, forcing yourself to speak.

"A potion?" He repeated and frowned. "What potion do you need, my love?"

"I don't know how you call it... the potion that makes you fall in love with someone. They say it twists your heart and makes you forget whatever you felt before towards the one who gives it to you." Rubbing your tired wet eyes you asked, fixing your gaze on the blanket. You were repulsed by the idea of him even touching you, but if it was unavoidable, maybe being charmed and happy was better than losing your mind completely.

The man sighed, wiping his face with his hand in a black leather glove.

"A potion like this truly exists, and I can make it for you, but it won't help." He said quietly. "The charms don't last long. Of course, they would give us enough time to conceive a child, but is it truly want you want me to do to you?"

Don't say anything, don't say anything, don'tsayanything.

"Then what do you want from me?" More and more tears dropped to the blanket. "Do you expect me to fall in love with you at the first sight? Do you want me to pretend I like being here?"

"No. I don't."

There was a deep desperation to his voice you hadn't heard before, and it made you fall silent despite all the words almost leaping out of your mouth. So, this creature must know how disgusting he was in your eyes. Surely, you weren't the first human female captured by his tribe - they all knew how scary and ugly they looked to the ones of your kind. Why bringing you here, then? Why forcing you marry him? Of utter desperation because there was no one else for him to mate with? Because he liked you?

It wasn't getting any better.

"I know you are still tired. Please rest. No one will enter your chamber unless you ask for anything yourself."

He got up from his seat and slowly went to the other side of the room where those huge wide doors were - they were so big that he could enter in his true form. You hiccuped at the thought. For now he looked perfectly human - you could even call him handsome if you hadn't seen him back then in the cave. If only he was a true man, you'd be the luckiest girl in the world.

You pressed the blanket to your wet face to take away whatever was left on your cheeks and coughed a little. Staying here was frightening, but you were all by yourself, at least. If you got a bit more rest, maybe you'd think of something. Maybe you'd figure it out.

You could still hear the distant sound of singing somewhere outside, and suddenly you found yourself speaking to him again, making him look back at you.

"Who is that?" You asked, staring at his strong beefy figure. "Is it another prisoner?"

A prisoner, that was how you called yourself. You saw creature's gaze falling to your feet as he inhaled deeply and murmured, "No. They are my sisters singing to us." Before you could cry out in horror, asking what magic they casted on you, he continued. "They are sending us their blessings."

When he had disappeared behind the doors, you pulled the blanket over your head, feeling guilty, hurt, and disgusted at both him and yourself.

_______________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @navegandoaciegas

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #yandere

[mcatra]

AU where Catra works at burger king

Catra works minimum wage at burger king, Adora comes in every day as the world’s worst customer.

AO3 

‘I am being HARASSED.’ Catra groans, sprawling on her side of the register. ‘I’m begging you, just kill me.’ 

It was another slow afternoon at Burger King, or as she likes to call it the absolute shithole she only got minimum wage for. Catra could be out there living her life as a youthful teenager, instead she was serving chicken nuggets to her worst enemy- Adora. It didn’t help that said blonde was currently sitting in the corner, laughing obnoxiously with her friends she had replaced her with. 

‘Aw I’m sure Adora isn’t here to harass you, she probably just likes our food! I do cook these to perfection you know.’ Scorpia says conversationally from her spot in the kitchen as she flame broils another patty.

Catra scoffs, her eyes trained on her most hated customer. 

‘There has to be some sort of law against coming to one’s workplace every day! No one likes Burger King that much! NOBODY!’ 

Suddenly she sees Adora sit up from her chair, that makes a horrific screeching noise on their unmopped floor. 

‘Oh god she’s coming.’ Catra whispers, trying to duck into the kitchen. ‘Scorpia! Hide me!’ 

Her friend shoves her back to the counter, as Adora approaches. ‘You’re the only one on this shift who is allowed to use the register-’

‘Do not make me serve her I swear to god-’

‘Hi Catra.’ Adora smiles, and Catra’s eyes narrow. 

‘Whatchu want, princess?’ She sneers, avoiding her piercing blue eyes that reminded her of still lakes. Or swirling oceans. Or the fluffy white cloud bath bombs from Lush. Wait, no.

‘Mmm, can I get a strawberry sundae?’ Adora chirps, looking above her at the menu. 

‘Can’t.’ Catra drawls, looking at her black painted nails. ‘The machine’s broken.’

Adora’s face falls in disappointment, and Catra cheers inwardly at her small victory until Scorpia’s voice cuts through their conversation.

‘That’s not true, the soft serve machine is fine.’ Her traitor friend says, pulling down on the lever and swirling a perfect sundae into the cup. She adds the syrup before handing it to Adora.

‘That’ll be $1.50.’

‘Thanks Scorpia.’ Adora smiles, rummaging through her purse to collect her coins.

Catra rolls her eyes. 

‘What a cheap ass. Little rich girl can only afford a dollar-fifty ice cream? No wonder we’re running out of business.’ 

Adora frowns at this. ‘Did you want a tip or something?’ 

‘What? FUCK no. I don’t take charity.’ Catra scoffs, snatching the coins from her old childhood-friend-to-enemies palm. She swiftly jabs in the total and throws the coins into the drawer. They’re forced into silence as the receipt slowly prints, and she tries to ignore the way Adora is staring at her. 

Suddenly Adora leans in close, and she can hear her murmur close to her ear.

‘I’ll see you at student council.’

Catra flushes at the proximity, every hair standing on end. Before she can stutter out an insult, Adora rips the receipt from the machine and is sauntering back to Bow and Glimmer. 

The brown haired girl deflates, her nails scratching on the old countertop. All that mental damage, for $1.50? Life was not fair. 

Adora always had the perfect grades, the perfect family and friends, the most cushy and royal upbringing. After their falling out involving a scholarship to a private school, they hadn’t spoken until the merger. 

It filled Catra with sick pleasure that the private school had lost their prestige to embezzled money, and now had to be government funded. However in consequence of this, they had decided to merge the public and private school so they could sell off the land to build skyrises or something. 

This meant Catra lost her position of School Captain to Adora after a fierce election, and had been demoted to Vice Captain. Not to mention no matter how hard Catra tried, she could never beat her in the school rankings. She couldn’t work to support herself and study 6 hours a day, like rich privileged Adora. 

So now here she was, forced to interact with the one person she could’ve gone her whole life without seeing on a daily basis. 

Ever since Adora had discovered Catra had been working at Burger King during a late night drive-thru run, her ex best friend had made it her life’s mission to make her life hell. 

Of course she had done her best to make the experience awful to drive her away. Catra knew Adora hated pickles, so she would threaten Kyle to slice up an entire pickle’s worth in the blonde’s Whopper before giving it to her with a sweet smile. She is filled with glee watching Adora picking them out one by one in disgust. 

This doesn’t stop Adora from coming though. Not even when they had made it into some sort of competition to see how many pickles could physically be crammed into a bun. Or even when she had put every single condiment including the salt and pepper into an unholy liquid concoction and served it in a cola cup. Not even when she gave Adora food poisoning when they got too carried away trying to stack as many patties as they could to recreate Sky Burger. 

No matter what she did, the girl never went away. Even though she had so easily disappeared from her life when she had needed her the most. But she didn’t need Adora, she had gotten this job herself, she had gotten a roof over her head with her own power. She had worked so hard to become independent from Shadow Weaver, and no matter what, Adora will not jeopardize it. 

--

‘I’m doing, what exactly?’ 

Catra stares dumbly at her manager, a sinking feeling dawning on her.  

‘Adora ordered a birthday party at Burger King.’ Lonnie drawls, ignoring the look of complete horror on Catra’s face.

‘No, you can’t do this to me! Roster me for any other day. I cannot psychologically take this.’ She begs. 

‘Sorry dude, the deposit has already been paid for. We’re short staffed, and it seems like Kyle has gotten fryer oil burns from your last burger experiment with Adora.’ Lonnie whaps Catra with the birthday catering pamphlet. 

‘Stupid Kyle.’ Catra hisses, clenching it in her fist. Curse this damn place that can only afford to hire teenagers. 

‘Anyway, just set up the tables and decorations after school on Thursday. Should be a good day for business, with Adora and her posse being rich kids and all.’

‘Can I at least get time and a half?’ 

‘Are you gonna be paying Kyle’s medical bill?’

Catra pouts. ‘Not my fault you guys don’t provide gloves. This place is an OSHA violation haven.’ 

WE do the PLANNING, YOU have the FUN! The bold font emblazoned over the small child’s smiling face mocks her from the pamphlet. Catra clenches it in her fist. 

‘Also why the fuck did she book a kid’s birthday party package when she is like 17, and not 6 years old?!’ 

Lonnie rolls her eyes. ‘Do you still want a job or not? Just read the rest of the form, counting on you to organize it.’ 

Catra squints at the crumpled paper in her hand. 

GOLD PARTY PACKAGE

-Themed birthday cards!

-Party bags!

-Birthday gift for the celebrant!

-Jumbo birthday cake!

-Pinata!

-Special birthday songs!

-Dedicated hostess!

Catra can feel her soul physically leave her body. This was gonna be a long week.

-

It was terrible.

Adora had handed these obnoxious Burger King birthday invitations to all her friends, so now she had all these RSVP’s to the worst birthday of all of human history. In between working shifts until midnight, dealing with Adora at student council and not eating, Catra was on edge. 

‘No, you can not write ‘Die Adora Die’ on her cake.’ Scorpia chides, slapping Catra’s hands away to pipe the icing. 

‘It’s what she deserves.’ Catra seethes. If she couldn’t eat it, she could at least ruin it, right? 

‘They’ll be here soon, so try to take that dying grimace off your face.’ Scorpia replies, and Catra rolls her eyes before adding the finishing touches to the cake. 

Suddenly the door opens, interrupting her decorating. The once quiet establishment was now full of loud chatter as their classmates piled in one by one. All of Adora’s old private school friends were here, all unironically celebrating their school captain’s children’s birthday party at the worst fast food restaurant in their state. 

She plasters her fakest customer service smile she can muster. Dignity at the door. 

‘Hi, you must be here for the Birthday Girl’s party.’ Catra says, approaching the group. Just treat it like you don’t know them.

‘Aw you don’t have to be so formal with us, Vice Captain.’ Glimmer teases, and Catra almost snaps from her facade. Almost.

‘Let me show you to your table.’ Catra grits out. 

She had chosen the ugliest poop brown balloons she could find, and had deliberately made the HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner lopsided on the wall.

‘Thanks Catra!’ Adora grins, bouncing past her to admire the decorations. 

Catra imagines Adora’s face on the pinata and smashing it into a million pieces. She forces herself to take a deep breath. It was just the one shift, and she really needed this job. Plus after the party was over, she could probably nab some leftovers for her trouble. 

All of the girls (plus Bow and Seahawk) sit around the table, and Catra marches over with the laminated menus. 

‘Ooh, we all get hats!’ Perfuma says, placing her Burger King cardboard crown on top of her head.

Frosta squints at the menu. ‘I’ve never eaten fast food before. Looks disgusting.’

‘I think it’s fine! Adora wanted to eat here.’ Glimmer says in a sugarly sweet tone that just came off as passive aggressive. ‘Even though I had suggested my penthouse by the ocean and we go here nearly every day.’

‘I much rather would be at the ocean beach house thank you very much.’ Mermista retorts, swatting Sea Hawk off her shoulder.

Yeah me too, Catra thinks bitterly. She stomps off with their orders, cursing them inwardly the entire way to the kitchen.

Adora’s friends start playing with the so-called ‘entertainment’ they had haphazardly set up. 

It was ridiculous, seeing grown teenagers lining up to try to smack the shit out of a glittery pinata. They squabble over who gets to hit it first, Catra feeling very much like a glorified babysitter to her most hated enemies. 

After a while, she sees Scorpia emerge from the kitchen. ‘Happy Birthday to you,’ Scorpia sings with Adora’s birthday cake in her arms. ‘Happy Birthday to you~’ 

The others join in on the song, Catra only mouthing the words in silent rebellion. The cake is emblazoned with a crude doodle of Adora’s face with HAPPY BIRTHDAY written on her enormous forehead. 

‘Oh my gosh, I love it!’ Adora’s sky blue eyes light up, and she’s practically sparkling. Catra huffs, she wasn’t supposed to like it. Didn’t she see the drawing was supposed to make fun of her five-head? 

Adora catches Catra’s eye, beaming. ‘Did you draw this for me?’ 

‘She did!’ Scorpia tattles, and her enemy’s smile increased tenfold. Catra can feel her cheeks grow warm. Dammit. 

‘Whatever.’ Catra bites out, unable to meet her gaze.  

Luckily no one else seemed to be paying attention to the weird atmosphere between them, as they were split between eyeing the cake and pinata wrestling. 

‘Get over here Sea Hawk, we can do the pinata later!’ Mermista chastises, watching Bow spin her blindfolded boyfriend. 

‘Let me just get one good hit in, and I’ll join you!’ He crows, swinging the bat in random directions as Bow ducks the blows, laughing. 

Just for anything to do, Catra takes it upon herself as hostess to snatch up the knife and start cutting. She cuts into the cake to start portioning out the slices, but as the knife touches the bottom Glimmer lets out a shriek. 

‘What?’ Catra deadpans.

‘If you cut to the bottom of the cake, you have to kiss the person closest to you!’ Glimmer says, a demonic look in her eye. Adora elbows her, embarrassed. 

‘Excuse me?’ Catra’s never heard of this tradition. Though to be fair, she had not been to many parties in her lifetime. 

‘Oh, that’s right!’ Perfuma claps her hands together. ‘Adora’s closest right? Go ahead Catra!’

To her horror, Glimmer starts pushing Catra towards the blonde. She digs her heels into the linoleum, only to find that she was sliding from the newly mopped floors. 

‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ The girls start chanting, like they were her friends and that she wasn’t their damn server.

‘What the hell- fuck no, let go of me!’ Catra finally snaps, wrenching herself from Glimmer’s grip. 

The momentum sends her stumbling into Sea Hawk, who was still attempting to hit the pinata. 

‘Ack!’ He squawks. 

The bat goes flying straight out his hand and into their double doors. There’s a huge crash, and everybody winces at the noise. 

The glass pane shatters, and so does Catra’s sanity. She was so fired. 

Sea Hawk lifts the blindfold. 

‘Did I get it?’ 

---

It was nearly closing time, and Catra was still sweeping up bits of glass from the floor. This had been one of the worst days of her life, and she had been beaten and homeless before. To make it worse, Adora was still grovelling when she should’ve gone hours ago like the rest of them. 

‘I am so sorry Catra, I’ll pay for everything, I’ll take full responsibility so you don’t get fired-’ 

‘Stop it.’ She was too tired to even argue with Adora like she usually did, wishing Adora would just go away already so she could grovel over the phone to her regional manager without an audience. Catra always pretended to hate her job, but she couldn’t afford to lose it. She could barely make rent with her Burger King wage. 

‘Please, let me help clean. It was my fault anyway.’

There was hardly any money left over to feed herself most days, that’s why she was skinny as a rake as opposed to the toned, buff, well fed Adora. She had only been functioning on a few nuggets that Scorpia snuck her yesterday. Did Catra still have those food coupons? How long until the bank charged overdraft fees? 

‘Catra are you listening-’ 

‘I said stop it!’ Catra snaps. 

Adora has the audacity to look stunned. 

‘Why do you insist on harassing me at work everyday? Is it fun? Forcing me to play servant to you rich girls, to sing and dance for you? You already beat me in everything at school, you’re already School Captain, you have all the money and a loving family you need, so can you stop rubbing your privilege in my face just for one second so I can THINK?’ 

‘I...I just…I’m sorry.’ Adora starts and aborts a few sentences. Catra can’t even stand to look at her face. 

‘This party at your work. It was the only way to get you to celebrate my birthday with me.’ 

‘.....’

‘Um, I-’

‘Whatever.’ Catra retorts, trying and failing to pick up the last shards with her too long fingernails. She hisses when the glass nicks her finger, cutting into skin. Drops of blood fall to the floor.

‘Are you okay?!’ Adora gasps, rushing to her side. Catra slaps her hand away, she needed to go find the cleaning supplies. Blood was a biohazard, there was some protocol for it but she was having trouble remembering. 

She goes to stand up, but the fatigue rushes to her head and her legs give in underneath her. Instead of smacking her head against the floor, she feels herself land on something soft instead. 

Adora hooks her around the waist, gently placing her into the booth. She grabs a napkin from the dispenser and wraps it around Catra’s hand. She can feel Adora’s warm hand squeezing her own. 

‘I’m just applying pressure to the cut.’ Adora says quietly. 

Catra just closes her eyes. It’s well past midnight and she should be locking up the store, but she can’t bring herself to move. 

#she-ra #she ra #spop #catradora #catra #adora #burger king au

[5lazarus]

Weavers

this was meant to be severitus, or at least Snape-mentors-Harry, so let’s call this the precursor to it

Summary: Bored before the start of sixth year, Harry goes through Petunia's old family photo albums. He demands some answers, and Dumbledore sends Snape. Read on AO3 here

The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately  he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape.

Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant  young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately  he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape. Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant  young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”

#snapedom #severus snape #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape & harry potter #genfic #road trips #really #canon compliant #sorta #severitus #sorta I swear #mentorship #or precursor or potential to mentorship #mourning #lily evans potter #pictures of lily #petunia dursley #snape at the dursleys #taking old tropes and twisting them #hope yall enjoy! #snapefic

[thejolexgroupchat]

the one where they met in med school - part sixteen

hospital mergers and new friends

Hi everyone! Hope you are having a wonderful holiday season. We are so excited for you to read this next part. Let us know what you think in the comments. Happy reading!!

@iamtrebleclefstories​ @doc-pickles​ and Nat!

———

(July 2008) 

"Today's the day," Jo announced as she walked into Meredith's hospital room, a bowl of soup in hand. She placed the steaming bowl on the bedside tray in front of Meredith. "I saw a whole bunch of people in orange scrubs swarm into the lobby when we walked in. I didn't feel like socializing with them so early, so I changed quickly and I decided to come see you."

"I know. I saw them all walk past my room. I can't believe I'm stuck in this bed while the Mercy-Westers try to steal our jobs," Meredith groaned. "I just had to go and donate part of my liver to my father so that my sister wouldn't lose another parent."

"And Lexie loves you all the more for it," Jo grinned. "Look, if it's any consolation, I made everyone promise we'd come in to update you on how things are going."

“Thank you,” Meredith clutched Jo’s hands gratefully. “Wait, isn’t today your first day as a resident? Why aren’t you in the lounge?”

“Because Webber is assigning each of us a resident from Mercy West that will shadow us today to get familiar with and I really do not want to be shadowed by the enemy today,” Jo huffed in annoyance. “I’m already frustrated because Izzie interrupted Alex and I this morning because she wanted to borrow one of my long sleeves. So, I never got laid.”

Meredith laughed, “I hope that Derek and I are still as crazy about each other as you two are after four and a half years together.”

“You know, before Alex, I never knew it could be that good,” Jo thought back to the early days of their relationship. “I swear I had more sex that first week of our relationship than I’d had in my entire life, up until that point. I’ve had great sex before and it’s not like I didn’t love sex before, but I swear, Meredith, Alex awoke something in me that I didn’t know existed. It was just… different with him. And it still is. Every single time I feel like I might burst at the seams.”

“Wow, Wilson. Alex is that good in bed?” Meredith chuckled as she teased her friend a bit. 

“Even better,” Jo hummed, joining in on Meredith’s joke. “You really have no idea. He is… talented.”

"Okay, I'm going to stop you right there because I definitely do not want to hear what Alex is like in bed," Meredith shuddered. "You need to go to the resident's lounge and find your Mercy-Wester. Don't want to be late."

"Ugh, fine," Jo frowned and stood up from where she had perched herself on Meredith's bed. "I'll be back later with updates." 

***

“Hey,” Jo met up with Alex in the hallway and smiled. “I thought you were in the lounge.”

“No, I dropped off my stuff while Webber was giving them the tour and his speech so that I didn’t have to associate with them,” Alex said as he smoothed down his scrub top. “I left my pager in my cubby though, so I had to come back.”

“Well, you know you’re getting assigned a resident from Mercy West right?” Jo reminded him. 

“Dammit,” Alex frowned. “I forgot about that.”

As they approached the lounge, they heard some commotion coming from inside.

“I said take it out.”

“Great. I got the crazy one next to me.”

“Oh, you want to fight? Cause I will.” 

Alex and Jo walked into the lounge and watched Izzie stand up in front of a woman in orange scrubs. The pair raised their eyebrows and called out to her, “Izzie! Iz.”

“I will fight you. You’re pretty tiny,” Izzie’s tall frame loomed over the pixie-haired woman’s. “I could take you down in just a couple of seconds.”

Alex reached out to grab Izzie’s arms, pulling her back from the other resident, “Come on. Come on.”

“Stop!” Izzie protested.

“Come on,” Alex continued to pull her back away from the group and pushed her out the door, Jo grabbing his pager and following them out the door.

“They took George’s cubby,” Izzie finally explained as she, Cristina, Lexie, Alex, and Jo stood over the balcony, watching as the orange scrubs moved around the hospital. 

Jo put a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Okay, I say we go hang out in Mer’s room.”

“Sounds good to me,” Cristina turned and led the way back to their friend’s hospital room.

“They’re locusts,” Meredith said as they finally arrived and updated her about this morning’s occurrences. “Comfortable locusts, feeding on our surgeries.”

“It’s rude,” Izzie popped a grape into her mouth. “There should at least be a couple days where they act like guests before they put their feet up on the coffee table.”

“And what’s with orange scrubs?” Lexie peeked through the window into the hallway. “What, ours aren’t good enough for ‘em?”

“We ran out. They’re on back order,” Jo informed. “Randall from the supply company says they’ll be here in a week.”

“Why bother ordering new ones when we can just give these to our replacements?” Cristina deadpanned. 

“We’re not gonna be replaced by anybody,” Alex shook his head. 

“They’re here. It’s over,” Cristina sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. 

“Hey. We are not some stupid hosts. They can’t invade us,” Meredith shook her head. “They can’t attach themselves to our faces and then while we’re eating spaghetti, explode out of our chests and skitter across the floor. This is our ship. This is our ship.”

Lexie wrinkled her brow, “Excuse me. Are you—are you quoting a Sigourney Weaver movie?”

“Shut up,” Meredith shrugged.

Izzie chuckled, “That’s what happens when you live here. You watch a lot of TV.”

“We own this hospital,” Meredith looked around the room at her friends. “We were born in this hospital. And we will hold this hospital with our last gasping breath. Go out there and go get surgeries before they take them. Go! And I want a full report by the end of the day.”

“Fine.” The doctors sighed and shuffled out of room, leaving only Cristina behind to sulk with Meredith. 

***

“Okay, where do you want us?” Jo asked as she, Alex, and Lexie walked into the ER. 

“Uh, at this point, anywhere is good,” Hunt looked around the crowded emergency room. 

“At Mercy West we do zones. When it’s super busy, we just give everyone a zone, a space. The nurses put a person in that space, you know it’s your patient. Helps you get to them quicker,” the male in orange scrubs suggested, putting his stethoscope around his neck as the two women behind him nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah, well, this is the ER not a school yard. We’re not playing four square,” Alex rolled his eyes.

“I like it,” Hunt announced. “It’s a good idea. Let’s try it. What’s your name?”

“Jackson Avery.”

Owen shook Jackson’s hand, “Dr. Avery, I’m Dr. Hunt. It’s all yours. Zone away.”

Lexie, Jo, and Alex all exchanged a look. Jo let out a groan, “Ugh. That’s the one. That’s the resident that’s supposed to shadow me.”

“That guy?” Alex pointed and made a face. “I can already tell he’s a jerk.”

“Takes one to know one, I guess,” Lexie mumbled, causing Jo to snicker. “I know we’re supposed to hate them, but is it wrong of me to say that he’s kind of hot? Like really hot?”

“Um, yes,” Jo looked at her friend strangely. “Besides, aren’t you with Sloan?”

“Hey! I can look,” Lexie waved her hands slightly. “I just won’t touch.”

“Let’s go,” Alex motioned for the girls to follow him. 

***

“You were right. I hate him,” Jo slammed her tray down on the table as they reconvened for lunch in the cafeteria. “But not because he’s a jerk. Because he’s really freaking nice!”

“This blows,” Alex placed his tray next to hers and sat down. 

“Getting your ass kicked?” Cristina asked. 

“Shut up,” Alex responded, his mouth full of food. He looked over to Jo. “I heard yours got a standing ovation in the ER.”

“Yours is the one who saved the whole ER from the maniac with the hammer?” Lexie looked up from the little book she was reading. 

“Okay, he didn’t save anyone,” Jo shook her head in annoyance. “He did some stupid ninja leap and then tripped a guy. I used actual medicine to stop a person from dying.”

“At least he’s pretty to look at,” Cristina shrugged. “I’m too depressed to practice medicine today.”

“Well, mine has a notebook, a notebook that she takes notes in. Notes of a very personal nature, and I stole it,” Lexie held up the tiny pink book for them to see.

“You what?” Cristina’s eyes widened. 

“Give it,” Alex stuck his hand out.

“No. No, I—I’m not sinking down to their level,” Lexie put the book in her lab coat pocket. “They are vindictive and they are aggressive and—and they are not team players. And if we are not careful, that spirit is going to infect our hospital. We have to fight it.”

Cristina nodded, “Which is why you stole the notebook?”

“And read it?” Alex added. 

“And now you’re hiding it from us?” Jo looked at her friend, amused.

“Well, she’s not a very nice person.”

“Hey,” Izzie walked up to the table, two coffees in hand. 

“Ooh! Can I have that?” Alex reached out to grab the coffee. 

“No. This isn’t for you,” Izzie slapped his hand away. 

“Who’s it for then?” Jo asked. 

“Charles.”

“Your Mercy-Wester?” Cristina exclaimed. 

“They’re handing us out asses on a plate, and you’re serving him coffee?” Alex made a face. 

“Charles is actually kind of awesome,” Izzie shrugged. “If you all could get past your sad, little egos, you would realize you can’t write off all the Mercy West residents just because you feel threatened.”

“We don’t feel threatened,” Jo called out as Izzie turned and walked away. She looked back at the table. “Okay, maybe a little threatened.”

***

At the end of the day, Jo was exhausted. She’d spent the entirety of her first official day as a resident getting her ass handed to her by pretty-boy Avery. All she wanted was to change out of her scrubs and get back to the house and maybe finally get laid. 

She had pulled her scrub top off when she heard some noise behind her. Glancing back, she saw Avery and a few of the other Mercy-Westers walk in to leave for the night. Ignoring them, Jo continued to change out of her scrubs and into her street clothes.

“Hey, Wilson.”

Jo turned at the sound of her name, her shirt only halfway on and huffed, “What?”

Avery gave her a quick once over and cracked a charming smile, “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot today. I think it’s safe to say that I overstepped and should’ve backed off a bit. What do you say we start over?”

“Ya think?” Jo finished smoothing down her shirt and crossed her arms. “Okay. I guess we can start over.”

“Great,” he extended his hand out to her. “Hi, Dr. Wilson, my name is Jackson.”

Despite herself, Jo cracked a small smile and shook his hand in return, “Hi, Jackson. Call me Jo.”

#jolex fanfic #jolex #jo wilson #alex karev #meredith grey #lexie grey #izzie stevens #cristina yang #jackson avery #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy fanfic #seattle grace mercy west #the one where they met in med school #jolex au #grey's anatomy au #jo x alex #jo karev #george o'malley #hospital merger #merjo #grey's fanfic #april kepner #reed adamson #charles percy #owen hunt