Cringe and Command: Nemesis Gets a Spa Day (Wesker's Assistant Chronicles - PART 3)
✨ CRINGE AND COMMAND: NEMESIS GETS A SPA DAY ✨
Wesker’s Assistant Chronicles – Operation Glow-Up
Nemesis deserves nice things. You’re here to make sure he gets them. Unfortunately for Wesker… that includes face masks, fairy lights, and a monogrammed loofah. 💅
Chaos, fluff, skincare, and Wesker questioning every life choice—welcome back to the lab.
💥 Special shoutout to @xtwistedchaosx for inspiring this absolute masterpiece of chaos! Thank you for the amazing request!
📖 Catch up here:
Wesker’s Assistant Chronicles – Masterlist
Enjoy Part 3 below—and remember: resistance is futile. And so is skincare.
Operation Glow-Up (A One-Shot Mini Series)
It started innocently enough. You were cleaning the lab break room when you caught Nemesis staring longingly at the vending machine—specifically, at the lone bag of sour gummy worms trapped behind the glass.
“Do you want snacks, big guy?” you asked softly.
Nemesis blinked his one good eye. “...STARS.”
You took that as a yes.
Later that afternoon, you snuck him a whole bag of gummy worms. His single eye widened slightly, a low rumble of pleased surprise vibrating from his chest as he gently accepted them with both hands. He poked at them curiously, then carefully ate one with all the delicate precision of a giant bio-organic toddler. His claws were far too big for the tiny candies, but he tried valiantly—pinching them between two massive fingers and placing them in his mouth like they might shatter.
That’s when you decided: Nemesis deserved nice things.
“Hold still, Nemy, I need to get under your chin.”
Nemesis sat cross-legged on the lab floor, hulking shoulders slumped slightly forward. His claws rested obediently in his lap. His entire face was slathered in a green clay mask, cucumber slices balanced precariously over his eyes. You’d even managed to clip a tiny pink bow onto one of the stitches on his coat.
You adjusted the towel turban wrapped around his head. “There. Perfect.” You stepped back to admire your work, hands on hips. “Now we wait fifteen minutes and then rinse.”
Nemesis grunted quietly. He hadn’t moved the whole time. Honestly, he’d been remarkably cooperative for an unstoppable bio-weapon. There was something deeply peaceful about it—except for the occasional ominous rumble that shook the beakers on the nearest lab table.
Just as you were admiring your handiwork, you heard the unmistakable sound of expensive shoes clicking against the tile floor, followed by a long, ominous pause at the doorway. That was the moment Wesker walked in. He froze. The lab lights flickered ominously behind him, casting a red glow across his sharp cheekbones.
“What,” Wesker said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, “is happening.”
You didn’t even flinch. “Self-care night.”
Wesker stared at you. Then at Nemesis. Then back at you. Nemesis slowly lifted one cucumber slice and peeked out from under it.
“…STARS,” Nemesis offered helpfully.
Wesker pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Why is there a scented candle in my lab.”
You gestured proudly to the flickering lavender candle beside the foot bath. “Ambiance.”
He sighed. Deeply. “Is that a loofah.”
“Technically, it’s his loofah,” you corrected. “We got it monogrammed. See? N.” You pointed to the embroidered letter stitched onto the handle.
Wesker’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
You ignored him and pulled out a nail buffer. “Don’t worry, Nemy. He’s just jealous.”
Nemesis rumbled in agreement.
By the end of the week, Nemesis had a full skincare routine—each day adding something new: a strawberry-scented moisturizer on Monday, an under-eye cream on Tuesday, a hydrating mist by Wednesday. You even caught a junior scientist sneaking him a sample serum on Thursday, while on Friday, Nemesis proudly donned a fluffy bathrobe you’d somehow tailored for him. His “spa corner” in the lab expanded too: fairy lights draped along the counters, a bean bag chair nestled between equipment, and a poster that read “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Every evening, you found him there—quietly soaking his feet in an inflatable foot bath while watching cooking shows on a small TV you’d balanced on a lab cart. Wesker gave up trying to dismantle it after you pointed out Nemesis hadn’t smashed any equipment since spa day began.
“…At this point, he’s more emotionally stable than the rest of the department,” you told Wesker.
Wesker just walked away without a word. Nemesis munched another gummy worm and waved a claw in a slow, serene goodbye.
Later that night, you found Wesker standing silently at the doorway to the spa corner, his arms crossed and expression unreadable, as if silently questioning every life choice that had led him here. For a brief moment, you wondered if even he was starting to appreciate the absurd peace Nemesis radiated.
“…He snores less now,” Wesker admitted quietly.
You smiled. “See? Told you. Spa days fix everything.”
Wesker muttered something under his breath and walked away again, leaving you to switch off the fairy lights as Nemesis softly snored, his face mask drying in gentle streaks.
Hephaestus should be interviewed about his favorite animals.
Seriously.
He likes cranes and donkeys,
then there are the dogs.
I just wonder if it was a little brother thing.
He could've wanted to be like Ares.
Or better worse.
He didn't even realize this until it was too late.
So, now he has to share his wife AND pets.
(You can read about this interview and more in Greek Skits-ology on Amazon, Audible, Kobo, and Nook!)
Retellings, desperately needed therapy, face-to-face interviews…and Greek mythology to act as the glue.
Greek myths take a turn for the comedic because sometimes, a king needs to be warned before he asks for the golden touch; other times, a sparring session gone horribly wrong causes a father-daughter duo to get family counseling; and if nothing else, a certain family of immortals simply must jabber on to the first mortal who invites them over for an interview.
Greek Skits-ology is a collection of short stories based in and around the world of Greek mythology. Whether following the perilous journey of an Argonaut or an equally frustrated and doubted seer, hop onto your favorite griffin and enjoy the ride.
It was the kind of afternoon Hogwarts never survived quietly.
The thick, deadweight lull of post-lunch drowsiness had settled over Classroom 3C like fog rolling off the lake, heavy and suffocating and doomed. Charms class was crawling along at the pace of an injured Flobberworm. Professor Flitwick, bless him, was doing his very best to explain the intricacies of non-verbal Confundus Charms, but not a single student in the room had retained consciousness in spirit, even if their bodies sat upright in pure academic defiance.
And at the back of the room, sprawled like sin and plotting like a Shakespearean villain, was Regulus Black.
He had been exiled to the far right corner. Banished. Condemned. Cast out like Eve from Eden—but far more stylish. A punishment, Professor Flitwick had said sternly that morning, for “certain... excessively affectionate behaviours” during the last lesson. Regulus hadn’t even blinked. Evan Rosier, the unfortunate cause and co-defendant in said behaviours, had merely shrugged and said, “Fair.”
Now they sat at opposite ends of the room.
Regulus.
Evan.
Like star-crossed criminals.
And Regulus? Regulus was doing something under the desk.
His quill was moving. His head was bowed, curls falling forward like a silk curtain, and his eyes were locked onto his lap with laser focus.
Evan, ten feet away, slouched in his chair like a man defeated. He looked like the last soldier left on a battlefield, staring longingly across no-man’s land, wounded and lovesick.
Barty Crouch Jr., who sat beside him, leaned in and muttered, “You’re pathetic.”
Evan didn’t respond.
In the middle of the room, Sirius Black was chewing on the edge of his wand with such violence it was a miracle he hadn’t developed splinters in his gums. He was glaring at his little brother as though eye contact alone could smite him.
James Potter snorted behind his hand. “You alright there, Pads?”
“No,” Sirius hissed. “Look at him. He’s plotting something.”
“He’s always plotting something,” Lily Evans muttered, twirling her wand between her fingers. “He plotted that disaster of a Yule Ball entrance last year, didn’t he? Remember the fog machine?”
Frank Longbottom rubbed his temple. “We all remember the fog machine. I still have trauma. And asthma.”
Fabian Prewett leaned back in his chair, elbowing Gideon. “Oi. Ten Galleons says he’s writing something absolutely filthy to Rosier.”
Gideon squinted. “Nah, he’s doing something under the desk. Look at the movement. That’s not writing. That’s—”
Regulus spoke.
Calm. Flat. Icy and perfect. Without lifting his gaze, without even twitching a single elegant bone in his body, he called out across the silent room:
“Evan, darling.”
Silence.
Then—
“Yeah?” Evan replied automatically.
Professor Flitwick blinked, confused. “Mr. Rosier, please focus—”
Still without looking up, Regulus asked, loud enough to shatter the sacred veil of classroom peace:
“Do you ever get a sharp stabbing pain in your body? Like someone’s got a voodoo doll of you and they’re just—”
—and here Regulus made a delicate motion with his quill hand under the desk. A short, swift jab. Still not looking at Evan. His tone remained maddeningly casual.
“—stabbing it?”
Silence.
Complete, catastrophic silence.
The room froze.
Every head turned.
Sirius dropped his wand.
Barty Crouch Jr. let out a sound like a dog being punched.
Dorcas Meadows whispered, “Oh my God.”
Pandora Rosier gasped. “Regulus Black, you bitch—”
Professor Flitwick stammered, “Mr. Black, that is—!”
Evan, pale and startled, sat bolt upright.
“No,” he said.
Regulus finally, finally, looked up. His eyes gleamed.
“How about now?”
He stabbed his quill down again.
Evan let out a loud, strangled yelp and launched backwards off his chair. The entire class exploded.
Peter Pettigrew screamed. Not in fear. Just in confusion.
Marlene McKinnon slammed her forehead against the desk, wheezing.
Mary Macdonald clapped her hands over her mouth and shrieked into her palms.
Remus Lupin whispered, “What the fuck.”
Alice Fortescue was sobbing into her textbook. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
Frank Longbottom tried to climb out the window.
Gideon Prewett was having a seizure. From laughter. Possibly.
Fabian was on the floor.
Professor Flitwick looked on the verge of resigning.
And Regulus Black?
Regulus sat back. Calm. Serene. Vicious.
He twirled his quill like a dagger and said, with the sweetest smile known to man or beast,
“That’s what I thought.”
Evan, on the floor and gasping like a man recently risen from drowning, groaned, “You’re insane.”
“Thank you,” Regulus said brightly.
Professor Flitwick, trembling, clutched the edge of his desk. “Mr. Black—what in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?!”
Regulus blinked innocently. “I was asking a medical question.”
“That was not a medical question!”
“Maybe not to you, sir.”
“I am—” Flitwick took a breath, adjusted his tiny robes, and screamed, “OUT! BOTH OF YOU—OUT!”
Evan groaned from the floor. “Worth it.”
Regulus rose, took his time collecting his bag, and walked past Sirius with a flick of his hair so theatrical it generated a breeze.
Sirius looked ready to combust.
James had his head between his knees. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m going to throw up.”
“I’m going to hex him,” Sirius hissed.
“You always say that,” Marlene cackled.
Regulus paused at the door, looked back at the classroom he had just left in complete ruins, and said airily—
“Be careful, everyone. I still have needles.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
They heard Evan’s delighted laughter echoing down the corridor.
And inside the room, thirty-four people silently agreed:
They were never sitting between those two again.
Chapter 11 ahhhhhh im really proud of the humor for this one!
After hours of training you were now laying on your back panting heavy and fast, frantically reaching underneath your blouse to loosen strings on your corset. “Welp!” Ghor stands over you “you have negative skills, are negative strength and are surprisingly slow for your small size.”
You gasp in relief as the corset comes undone, you have run, you tried lifting rocks of impentitrable size, even tried running while lifting said rocks. Ghor covers her face, dragging her fingers down to pull on her cheeks with a groan of frustration; then drops to the ground to dramatically sit besides you. “i…have never, met someone, so useless as you are. What hell did you do back in your old village?!!?”
You take another breath in “women were expected to clean and cook,” pant “for my family i would spend the days at the market selling flowers” pant “for a majority of the year”
She peaks at you from between her fingers “Was not your village devoid of greenery?”
“Yeah, so after we sold all” pant “we sold daggers” you feel something furry against your arm and look to your side to see Taro holding up the water canister that you eagerly take.
Her hands drop from her face as she scoffs “How? Was not your village was useless with metal”
You gasp again for air after gulping down the water, “my father would make daggers, then i would secretly sharpen them”
Ghor's eyes widen with surprise “so you are not completely useless…” she murmurs more to herself before sharply standing up “I refuse to give up on you, sure you are basically as useless as ball of clay, but you still have potential! NOTHING will stand in my way to mold you with my hands into whatever i desire” she says aggressively, gesturing a squeezing motion with her hands. Ghor sharply bends down grabs your shoulders and lifts you up “DO YOU UNDERSTA-”
you shriek afraid, feet now hovering off the ground from her hold “YES!”
She drops you dramatically back onto the ground “Then we shall continue until your body gives up on you!”
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By noon you were in the same position as last time. On your back, gulping down the water that Taro had given you. Axes, swords, warhammers, spears you had tried to wield them all to no avail; they were all too heavy for you to even try to swing. There were daggers but Ghor said there was no point since you have to be close in order to kill, dagger is only good for cutting your already dead kills.
“Can’t we just find a sword that's small enough for me!” you breathlessly to Ghor, who was crouched down in misery
“No self respecting weaponist would make tiny-ass sword for human! And I refuse to order from humans…Their skills are inferior compared to ours anyway. ” she says, tinged with disgust “However even so, we quite literally cannot even train you to be able to wield swords because ALL OUR GODAMN WEIGHTS ARE HEAVIER THAN YOU!!!” she squawks in frustration.
The door barges open as Grom bellows excited “I HAVE ARRIVED! Ghor have you-oof” Ghor is to him in a flash, jerking his huge bag out of his hand and rummaging through it frantically,
“Please tell me you have Philli nag in here”
He scoffs “of course not, why would I bring alcohol to y/n after training? Especially y/n, I do not even think she has ever had alch-” he pauses “why is my mate laying on ground?”
You hear his steps, each one louder than the other, “She is not dead!” Ghor yells to him, “just weak as bunny”
Groms face suddenly coming into sight as he looks down at you, his concerned look shifting to a soft fond smile as he knees down besides you, “hey sweetheart, ” he murmurs soft
“H-hi,”
He smiles down at you as he sits down crossed legged, sliding his hands under your back to lift you up onto his lap. His fingers brush through the strands of your hair that fell from your braid as “Taro’s been helping me, bringing me water…” you pant softly as Taro comes over and knudges your foot with another full canister, you chuckle as she climbs onto your lap.
Groms hand reaches down to pet her head as he chuckles “good girl”
Ghor yells from behind you both, “I think if we continue anymore she will disintegrate, that is it for today y/n! See ya tomorrow, we will work on more weapons, maybe you can use a stick to kill…somehow” you tell by her stuffed voice she was already eating.
When Grom stands up with you in your arms you jump out of them, “I can walk..” you mention and follow him to the entrance but stop. At the right of the entrance you stop by something on the wall you didn’t notice. Rocks stuck to the wall that one would easy to hold onto. They trail up to the high ceiling, on the sides are four equally distanced bells, each one bigger than the one below with the biggest bell attached to the ceiling that had a thick piece of rope wrapped around its post, long enough that it touched the ground.
Grom notices that you stopped and trails your eyes to where you were looking to.
“Rock wall?” he muses,
You turn to him excited “looks fun! Reminds me of something my brothers would do, only neater and bigger! They would glue rocks to the back of the church and climb up them” you laugh at the memory, “I always wanted to try”
“Hmm why don’t you? Just try to make it to first endpoint” he points to the lowest bell,
You turn to Ghor who was watching, mouth full of pasta that was specifically meant for you. Not even listening. Grom only wanted what was best for you so if he believes you could do it, you might as well try.
You turn back around, the previous burn in your arms now subsiding, “Alright!” you walk over to the rope where Grom was standing as he held one end on it, a toothy grin on his lips. He ties the rope around your waist and knots it tight. Then he takes a match out of his pocket to light with a lick of his tongue before using it to melt the end of the rope.
You gasp in awe “you can do that?”
He hums in agreement, “mhm hmm, orcs have rough tongue and flammable saliva”
“Huh, i’m going to be thinking that every time we kiss”
Grom chuckles as he presses the melted end to an exposed slide of the rope, fusing them both together. “There we go” he backs to drop and snuff out the flame with his foot as you put your weight on the rope to test it out.
“perfect!” you exclaim when it doesn't come off.
Grom smiles and kisses your forehead “alright, if you’re too tired, stop at your current place and rest. If you cannot go on, climb back down. I will always be ready to catch you if you fall” his expression melts as he looks at your face, filled with no fear just excitement “have fun” he murmurs before walking to stand beside his sister.
You rub your hands together and hop up high to hand on one rock, your feet perching on the rocks below you. You didn’t think that much as you continued, just using intuition to pick which rocks you would trust to lift you up higher and higher, your only true goal was ringing the bell.
You finally do and happily ring the bell, even though you figure that a typical orc must take much less time, as everything orcs do is above the average of humans. But when you look down you see Ghor's face, it's fully open in surprise, her eyes are side, jaw open, mid bite from the half eaten pasta still in there.
Her expression is shared by Grom who snaps out of his daze with a loud bellow of a laugh and a few crisp claps “Thats my Kushi! You see how fast she was? Oh by gods! Can you reach next endpoint sweetie?!” he yells up to you
Your brows furrow by the new nickname as you look up to the next bell. You were tired already but the high from the adrenaline made you want to go further. With a soft grunt you reach for another rock to lift yourself up.
This goes on, with each bell you happily ring, thinking that it was the last one but the adrenaline drives you to continue forward like a drug. It didn’t matter that by now that your muscles were on fire, your mouth dryer than sand and your lungs devoid of air. You were so eager to ring the next bell, wondering what kind of ringing it would omit. Finally, you reach the third bell and happily ring it, halting at your current position to take a break for your lungs. Ghor and Grom still cheer up at you from far below. You don’t dare to look for fear youd trigger some Dormant fear of heights.
Ghor's voice is loud, her tone commanding, “Keep going y/n! Push through pain! You got this!”
While Grom's words are just as loud but with a loving, softer tone, “You are capable of doing this y/n! I believe in you! It is just one more section!”
You look up to examine the rocks ahead of you, they were smaller than earlier rocks but that didn’t matter since they were made for orcs, so your small fingers could still hold onto them. What mattered is that they were much farther apart, and an orcs' armspan is larger than yours.
The stone that seemed the best to grab onto was too far away for you to grab, so instead you jump, your feet leaving the rocks they were standing on as both hands grab the hook of the rock. Underneath you Grom and Ghors words become louder as your feet scramble to try to find somewhere to perch on. When they do you lift yourself up happily, now crossing the division point. As you continue this pattern, you find yourself having to take more breaks to breathe, as if the air there wasn’t quite right. You jump and reach with your left hand for the next rock but cry in surprise as your hand slips off of it. Your grip tightens around the rock your right hand was holding on as your feet slip off and your body hangs.
A bead of sweat slides down your forehead as you try not to panic, Don’t look down, Don’t look down, Don’t look down. You think to yourself while stabilizing your breathing. As your feet go back on the rocks they were on, you look down at your hand to see what caused you to slip. Dust, these rocks are dusty, that's why I can’t breathe as well. Who the hell isn’t dusting these rocks that well? You wipe the dust off on your pants before trying again, making sure to tighten your grip using your palm. For a while this ends up working, looking up you only have a few more leaps to go. You could practically taste victory, it tasted just like salty gross sweat, maybe that is just sweat…
But then you feel it, with your hands busy you’re unable to do nothing to brace for the sudden sneeze that escapes your lips. The force causes you to be pushed away from the wall before you start to fall.
“Y/N!” Grom cries underneath you as you fall. You panic and grip the rope you were attached to, but you’re too weak to hold yourself up so the rope only viciously scrapes against your palms, causing you to let go with a sob of pain.
Grom rushes before easily catching you in his arms, princess style, looking down with an amazed expression while you were still in a faze “By all our gods!! Sweetness you climbed so high!” he exclaims
Ghor is suddenly beside him “My Gods! look at her! Look at her hands! They are dusty! No orc has been up there in decades!! Ugh I am going to beat those cleaners asses, if there was no dust up there you would have made it!”
Grom's eyes furrow in concern as he shifts your weight to one arm and gently holds the underside of your hand with the other, careful not to touch your palms, “you noticed dust but not blisters?”
She glances again mid rant “Oh yeah, y/n good job today, I should have tested you on core muscles sooner! You are dismissed! We have excellent starting place! Come back at noon tomorrow so i can steal your lunch again, I MUST START MAKING PLANS”
Grom sighs and rolls his eyes with a smile before picking up his now empty bag he came with and leaving the training forge.
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“Hey! Give her some space!” Grom commands while trying to keep all the animals at bay. The birds perch on his shoulders trying to get a look, the Sukdae’s try to nudge their heads between both your hips. But the rabbits and Woopertinger are the ones with the best spot, sitting on the counter beside the sink to watch as Grom gently rinses the soap off your blistered palms. “Ugh, what is that human word for being excessively curious? ear-y?”
You giggle into your shoulder and speak directly to the Woopertinger, “Nosey”
He scoffs before lifting you by your hips to place you on the counter, standing between your legs as he reaches for a dropper bottle on a nearby shelf. “but you listen with your ears…english is so weird. Anyways, stop being nosey!” He specifically says the last part to a Sukdae that had its head perched on your knee. Only to be met by black blank voidless eyes. He sighs in defeat before dripping drops of what looked like oil onto your blistered hands, “This is healing gel, it will rapidly heal wounds, you should be blisterless by tomorrow morning”
As he rubs the oil gently into your skin, he speaks again in an awe struck tone, his grin wide and toothy “I could not believe you did that! Wow! Every day you amaze me, my sweet! You must have accumulated core muscles from lifting up crates of roses and potatoes all those years! Gods, I am so proud of you!” Grom beams, setting down the vial to take a wrap of bandages Taro offers and wrapping them around your hands “I have managed to find bow small enough for you! I have just got to engrave it with protection runes and it will be perfect for you.”
Once done, he looks up to meet your eyes, once done wrapping your hands he sets them down on your lap to rest his on the counter edge besides your outer thighs, leaning towards you with an adoring smile.
Now that your hands are bandaged you reach for the new bowl of pasta Grom made and happily eat. There's a soft pain that emerges with every touch of contact but you manage to not show it in your face.
You enjoyed this moment of quietness, though it was hard to ignore what was in the air. The loud buzzing of excitement that came from your sudden potential. You had something that no other orc in Durgan had, something you could exploit during the first hunt. You could climb in the trees, catch kills that no other orcs could. Who knows what you'd be once you'd learn to wield a bow.
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