#I support women's rights but mostly I support this woman's wrongs

[ozarkthedog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃

summary: while doing a deal with Marc, Joel comes to collect your debt.

pairing: (mob enforcer!Joel Miller x afab!reader) x dealer!Marc Spector.

warnings: 18+ mdni. dub con -> read responsibly. alt universe. soft!dark. no physical descriptors of reader. power imbalance. threats. debt to the mob. weed. no m/m. oral sex (f&m). rough sex. dirty talk. spit roasting. shotgunning. aftercare. w.c. 4.2k

author's note: honestly, this started out as pure filth/pwp, then it turned into so much more. there is potential for multiple parts, mostly revolving around Joel x reader. don't hold me to it, but like i said, this took on a life of its own, and now i'm madly in love with mob enforcer!Joel.

huge thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta-ing and being such a wonderful, supportive friend.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

The carpet in your tiny living room was slowly developing a hole from your pacing back and forth. You love this apartment. Sure, the faucets drip, and the dingy wallpaper started peeling the day you moved in, but it was all yours. 

Since you moved to the big city after leaving home, you took any job you could find. You knew starting out on your own would be tough, but you could grin and bear it. Anything was better than small-town life. You wanted adventure, to see what the world had to offer.

What you didn’t plan on was getting involved with the wrong kind of people. 

When you fell months behind on rent, a co-worker mentioned she knew someone who could help. 

It was too good to be true, you thought, as you slowly walked into a smokey nightclub around midnight. Uptempo Spanish music played in the background as patrons drank at the bar, loudly singing and chattering. You tread deeper into the club, entering a VIP section where multiple gorgeous women sat on the laps of intimidating, finely dressed men in expensive suits. 

Various sets of eyes spot you the moment you cross the threshold, but only one set feels like they’re burning into your soul.

An unnerving man with piercing brown eyes holds your wary gaze. He’s draped in a long, brown leather coat, and streaks of gray pepper his temples. He stands to the side, leaning against the wall, and watches with intrigue as you shift nervously on your feet. 

His arms are crossed. A mustache tops his lips, which are etched in a permanent scowl as if he’s a dog that’s been kicked too many times. Still, he’s among the most handsome men you’ve seen since coming to the city.

He pushed off the wall with his broad shoulders, finally breaking his stare, and leaned down to whisper in the ear of a younger man seated at the head of the table, presumably his boss. 

“You need a little help, Sugar?” the younger man asked. 

His dark hair is a mess of curls, and his cheekbones look like they could cut glass. “I could use some help around the club. There’s always a gentleman in need of some company.” His fingers traced along a woman's nylon thigh as he looked you up and down. His coy lips tugged into a smirk as the group quietly laughed. 

The brown-eyed man's face grimaced at the younger man's tone. You want to curl in on yourself. The smoke in the air makes it hard to breathe. “Uh, no,” you start, tonguing your dry lips. “I just need to borrow some money.” 

The younger man purses his lips and nods. “That can be arranged. Joel here will take care of you.” He motioned to the older man on his right and looked you over with a curious gaze before waving you away.

Joel, the mob boss's right-hand man, meets you in the dingy alley behind the club. Water drips off the corner of the rooftop from the storm that blew through earlier in the day. A gust of cool fall air blows through, and you hug yourself to keep warm.

You learn that Joel was a no-nonsense man, straight to the point. Clear and precise.

He thrusts a heavy bag into your hands, and the leather handle creaks under the weight. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” he asks, lighting a cigarette. Orange hues lit his features sinisterly as if he were a demon or creature from hell's depths.

You stood your ground, but the tremble in your voice gave you away. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing.” 

Joel’s eyes go soft. It’s the first time he looks human since you first saw him. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, shaking his head. He blows a long gust of smoke from his nose. “He expects to be paid, with interest, by the end of the month.”

You teethe your bottom lip with a nod as nauseous worry swarms your belly.  

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he states, thumbing at his lips. “Just so we know you haven’t run off with our money.”

Your eyes widen, and your knees slightly buckle. “No! I don’t plan on taking off. You don’t have to worry about that.” You trip over your words, frantically making sure he knows you won’t rip them off.   

He chuckles at the sight. It’s a deep, dark rumble from years of smoking and drinking, and it makes your cunt throb. “We don’t think you will, but it’s part of the job. Besides, having to keep track of such a pretty face ain’t so bad.” he muses, a light smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

An anxious, breathy laugh puffs from your chest. You hesitantly wring the leather handle as your eyes fall to the wet pavement.

A horn blares in the distance. Angry drivers yell into the night, breaking the perilous spell between you and the enforcer. 

“If you ever need help with anythin', let me know, okay?” he offers before turning on his heel and returning to the club.

“How will I contact you? With a bat signal or something?” You asked quizzically.

He chuckled again, and it set your heart on fire. “Just call the club and ask for me, sweetheart.”

You were truly and utterly fucked. 

It was the end of the month. Joel would arrive at 5pm to collect, and you had $50 measly dollars left in your bank account.

You’d squared up with your landlord and then some, paying for a few months in advance to show how grateful you were that he didn’t kick you out on the streets. What you didn’t plan on was getting fired from your job. You desperately tried to find another one, but you knew it was pointless as the end of the month slowly crept.

A knock on the door jars you from your thoughts. You scramble to open it, thankful your dealer was around today. You badly needed a smoke to curb your anxiety and impending doom.

Marc stands on your doorstep, beaming with his classic lopsided smile. “How’s it going?” He asks, making the short trip over to your couch, unbuttoning his long, black, and gray tweed coat before plopping down with a sigh. 

“Uh, fine,” you reply quickly. “You know. Same old.” 

“Same shit, different day, as I like to say.”  He scratches his trimmed beard with a coy grin. He looks really good today. Dark gray hair gelled and tousled. 

Nerves tug at your belly. You can taste the bitter doubt in the back of your throat.

Marc was a decent dealer. He let you start a tab when funds were low and gave you extra lighters and papers when needed. You knew to avoid crossing him, so what you had to do was extra tricky.

You sit on the floor across from him as he chucks a bag filled with joints onto the coffee table. Your body itches to feel the smoke burn your lungs.   

“Wanna hang for a bit? Smoke with me?” you offer, already reaching for the joint with a timid smile.

Marc quirks a brow. He digs his phone out of his tweed jacket and checks the time. “Uh, yeah, sure. I can hang for a bit.”

You try to light the joint, but the lighter won’t spark.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Marc asks, taking the lighter from your shaky hands. 

You silently nod and press the joint between your lips. Just as he lights the spliff, a knock sounds on your door.

You curse under your breath and hand the unlit joint to Marc. “Sorry. I’ll give whoever that is the boot.” He nods and sparks the joint, taking a long drag as you cross the distance to the door.

You yank open the door without thinking. “I don’t want anything you’re selli-”

“Hey there, Sweetheart,” a familiar, deep voice drawls.

You stand like a deer in headlights before the intimidating mob enforcer. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here so early. That’s the last time you open your door without checking the peephole.

“What’re you doing here, Joel?” you inquire, leaning in close so Marc doesn’t hear. "I have until tonight to give you the money."

The older man's leather jacket is pulled tight around his rugged shoulders as he leans in your doorway. His salt and pepper curls look damp as if you were his first stop after he got out of the shower.

“The boss has plans later and wants to ensure you're paid up.”

You wanted to scream. 

“This isn’t fair.” Your fists clench at your sides.

“That’s life, Sweetheart’.” Joel shrugs. “So, where’s the money?"

It takes every ounce of courage you have to stand your ground. 

“No. The boss said I had until 5pm, so I won’t give you anything until then. Now kindly, leave.”

You slam the door, but not quickly enough. A worn boot slides between the frame and the door, halting your escape.

“God dammit,” Joel fumes, shoving the door open, sending you flying back into your living room.

You catch yourself before you fall and watch as the enforcer makes his way into your sacred space. Now you know what it feels like to be on his wrong side. He kicks the door shut with his foot, ready to pounce, but freezes when he sees Marc.

“Miller.” Marc acknowledges from his laid-back position on the couch, joint pinched between his fingers.

Joel’s jaw twitches. “Spector.”

“So, what’s going on here?” Marc asks, gesturing with a curious wave. He then blows a lungful of smoke into the room and flicks bits of burning embers into an ashtray.

“None of your business,” Joel grits before focusing his attention back on you.

You do your best not to cower in front of the large man as he stalks closer. “You don’t want to make the boss angry.” He says, in an eerily calm voice, one that makes your hair stand on end. “Where’s the money?”

“I don’t have it.” You admit, barely louder than a whisper.

His jaw clenches hard. He shakes his head in disbelief, hands perched on his hips. His eyes grow scarily dark. "That’s not what I want to hear.”

“I don’t know what to say. I have a few dollars left in my account,” Your voice wavers.

Joel drags a heavy palm over his face and sighs. “What were you thinking? How were you going to pay him?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to your dealer.

“I, uh, I had a plan.” Your fingers wring at the seam of your shirt, and nausea swarms your belly.

Marc stands and finally joins the conversation. “Yeah, I’d like to know how you intended to pay me.”

You shift on your feet, eyes darting between the two more prominent and influential men. 

“I was going to offer to blow you.” The words tumble out so quickly that you wonder if they even heard you.

You wish the floor would open up and suck you in. It was bad enough that you had to resort to blowing your dealer, but now Joel was here to witness everything and most likely drag you to a certain death.

“For fucks sake,” the older man groans. 

Marc’s brow shoots into his hairline. He whistles as his eyes drag down your body. “You sure got yourself into a real jam here, huh?” He licks his bottom lip and steps closer. “I think something could be arranged, at least on my end. What about you?” He claps a hand on Joel's back, barely moving the powerhouse of a man. He was an enforcer, after all. This job wasn’t just for anyone. 

Joel shakes his head in dismay. His leather jacket creaks as he moves, lightning fast, quickly pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Sweetheart.” He informs, “Since I’ve taken a likin’ to you, I’d hate to see you get hurt. I’ll pay off your debt.”

The heavy weight you’d dragged around for the last week falls from your shoulders. You didn’t realize you’d stop breathing until the sweet air rushed into your lungs.  

 “But,” he continues, rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip, “you’re going to pay me back in kind.”

The heaviness returns, except now you’re afraid the extreme weight will crush you.

Joel notices your racing thoughts. “Shh. No need to think,” he murmurs, letting his hand fall to your hip and making himself comfortable. “Just be grateful you’ve got to deal with only me and Spector.” 

His eyes are solemn and tender, lost in his thoughts; his gaze travels across your face. You raise a cautious hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under the smooth leather. That magnetic pull you felt the first time you met him pulsed through your veins again, and you think he felt it, too. 

Then, his features twisted with remorse. "This wasn't what I had in mind, but you've left me no choice, Sweetheart."

In a flash, Joel drags you across the worn floorboards and carelessly tosses you over the back of your couch. The air knocks from your lungs. Your ribs flash bright with pain. He moves too fast for you to protest and tugs your leggings off, throwing them across the small room. 

“Best get to work, Spector, if you plan on getting your end of the deal,” Joel threatens the dealer as he crouches down, giving himself a front-row view of your exposed cunt. 

“Let’s get a look at the goods.” His large, warm hands roughly spread your cheeks apart. “Fuck me. That’s a sweet looking pussy.” He drags a thumb up the slice of you, making your spine bow as your hands press into the cushions. “Already wet, too. My kinda girl.”

Unconsciously, you strike an elbow back, but an imposing figure grabs your flailing limb, halting your retaliation.

You forgot about the other man in the room. 

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ever wonder how you’d look with my cock in your mouth,” Marc admits while fisting his length out. 

He’s half-hard and already intimidating. You stare up at him incredulously while he grasps his veiny girth and traces your tightly closed mouth with the weeping, dusky pink tip. He smears his pre-cum on your skin, marking you before he begins his corruption.

Joel smacks your ass hard, making you yelp and shoving you onto the dealer’s awaiting cock. You instantly gag as Marc's hips pitch forward once he feels your warm, wet mouth. He curses under his breath, cages your head between his hands, and begins sawing his cock back and forth over your tongue. 

His brute thrusts make you gag and spring tears to your eyes. “Come on now. Why the waterworks? This was your plan, after all,” Marc teases, patting your damp cheek.  

Without warning, Joel’s tongue dives into your heat. A blazing heat erupts in your belly as he licks from end to end, wild and ferocious, not stopping until he tastes every inch of you. 

You instinctively moan from the blissful arousal that begins to pulse from his treatment. He laves at your taint and tickles your untouched rosebud for a beat forcing your mind to somersault before traveling south to circle his tongue around your clit. 

“Could eat this cunt all damn day,” he slurs against your throbbing core like he's drunk off you. “God damn, s’fuckin’ delicious.”

Joel sucks the tiny button into his mouth, earning a whole body shiver as you writhe against the couch. He rubs his nose against your soaked folds, making sure to take deep breaths while he eats you alive. 

Marc leans to his left while he works his cock ruthlessly down your throat, making you sputter as the bulbous head prods your tonsils.

You hear a click. The sound of paper igniting and then a long, deep breath.

Marc leers down at you while holding the smoke in his lungs. He curls a hand around the back of your head and presses until the auburn wiry strands littering his girthy base tickle your nose. Then, he exhales, blowing a long, winding breath like a dragon down into your face. 

Your vision blurs from the vapor. The trapped oxygen burns your lungs, and your body quivers from your helpless position while you gag sickly around his cock. Joel winds his arms under your belly, keeping you steady as you thrash anxiously. 

When Marc finally lets you free, you sputter and suck down as much air as you can. A glossy strand of drool connects your lips to his throbbing cock. You sniff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as his fat length bounces in your view. “You look fuckin’ wasted, Kitten.” He quips with a languid laugh and takes another hit. 

Joel stands behind you, knees cracking as he towers over your vulnerable body. You warily look over your shoulder when he grinds his against the soft skin of your ass.

You’re caught in his wretched stare like a deer in headlights. “Best hope this pussy fucks as good as it tastes,” he threatens, tapping his bulbous, weeping crown on your sticky folds.

Joel gives no warning before he steadily pushes his obscene length into your heat. Your jaw drops with a raspy wail, allowing Marc to fill your mouth again and mute your frantic moans. You feel every vein and girthy inch of Joel’s cock splitting you open, as well as Marc's, as he glides his thickness over your tongue.

It seems to go on forever until they bottom out harmoniously. Joel presses his hips against your ass, and his plush lips pull into a sneer as your core stretches to accommodate him. “Oh, Sweetheart. This cunt is practically chokin’ me.” He provokes with a ragged groan, rubbing his thumb along the glistening, excessively stretched skin that embraces his cock.

A high-pitched whine slithers from your throat before it’s quickly cut off by Marc snapping his pelvis. Joel licks his creamy thumb with a dark chuckle before caging your hips in his steely grasp. He sets a steady rhythm, entirely withdrawing before shoving his cock back in, giving you no reprieve as Marc continuously thrusts his dripping length between your spit-coated lips. 

Your body burns. Your mind is warped. Joel's cock keeps brushing against that spongy spot behind your clit. It's all too much. You feel yourself losing strength, giving in. Either from lack of oxygen to your brain or your greedy cunt that's feeding off their wretched pleasure. 

"You gonna come, Sweetheart? Can feel her milkin' me real good. Shit-" Joel hisses as your velvet walls squeeze him tight.

Both your holes lock around their cocks as you come. Your eyes roll back, your spine bending like a bow as the harsh wave of desire ripples through you. 

Both men curse at the sight and feel of you. 

It shouldn’t feel this good being used and tossed around like a toy, but a thick, syrupy heat steadily gathers in your belly. With your head in the drug-induced clouds, every illicit touch sends you higher into a euphoric atmosphere.

“Wanna hit?” Marc offers, holding the joint between his fingers to the enforcer.

Joel finally tears his eyes away from where he’s spearing you open. He nods, stilling his hips, and extends a hand before pressing the joint between his lips. He takes a long drag before splaying his broad body over yours. 

You notice him in your peripheral as he watches you choke down Marc’s cock. “What a fuckin’ sight,” he drawls, joint bouncing between his lips. “Swallowin’ his cock like your life depends on it.” He roughly drives his hips forward, his leaky crown cruelly kissing your cervix, making you gag from the agonizing bliss. “Kinda ironic that it does.” 

You feel their cocks pulse in unison when you start writhing at Joel’s threat. You knew they wouldn’t hurt you, but the thought was too much to bear in your current state. They quickly make work of your flailing limbs; Joel grabs the back of your neck with a heavy paw, and Marc traps both your hands in his own, caging them against his stout stomach.

They set a brutal pace. You no longer feel in control of your body as they use you to get off. The room echoes with the sounds of gluttony, like feral animals staking their rightful claim on lowly prey. 

Marc comes with a growl, caging your head between his hands as you push against his abdomen, and fucks his salty release into your mouth. He collapses onto the couch with a ragged sigh, his engorged cock a shiny mess as he catches his breath. 

“Gotta get used to this, sweetheart,” Joel gloats in your ear, working an arm around your collarbone to pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to meet every one of his brutal shoves. “Your pretty pussy is gonna be ruined by the time your debt is paid in full.” 

Marc cups your jaw in one of his hands and takes a puff of his joint. He slides a thumb between your sticky, come coated lips and blows the smoke into your mouth. You gladly inhale, letting the drug work its magic. Joel grabs your hips and picks up his speed, greedy for his pleasure. 

He comes with a gruff, dark groan, snapping his hips hard against your ass until he's buried to the hilt and pumping his sticky load into your fluttering core. 

You collapsed onto the cushions once Joel let go of your hips, your body too weak and drugged to care to move despite your vulnerable state.

“We’re square, Kitten.” Marc grazes your cheek with his knuckles, and a sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “But anytime you want a hit and can’t pay, I’ll be more than happy to help you out,” Marc quips before silently nodding at Joel and leaves with a bounce in his step.

"Come're, Sweetheart." Large hands slide under your belly and help you stand on your feet. His eyes soften as he looks over your puffy eyes and swollen, slick coated lips. He cups your cheek and sighs through his nose. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

A rush of water hits your ears as Joel turns the shower faucet. You stand behind him like a child waiting for their next instruction before he turns back to you with a slight smile.

"Up and over. That's it," Joel says, ensuring you don't bump your elbows as he removes your shirt, folds it, and places it on your vanity. He helps you step into the shower before he sits on the toilet lid and watches you through the clear plastic curtain. 

Silence falls over the tiny bathroom as he lets you take solace under the stream.

You melt in the warmth. It eases your aches and dulls your overwrought senses. You stay there until your skin prunes and icy cold water pours from the tap.

He helps you step out of the tub, ensuring you're on solid ground before grabbing a towel hanging on the wall and wrapping you in the soft cotton. 

"You'll stay with me until your debt is paid," he said, resting his hands on your shoulders; the weight keeps you grounded as your world turns upside down.

"You won't have to worry about anythin'," he continues, carefully drying your body with a tenderness you didn't expect. "I'll pay your rent, so you still have this place when our transaction is complete." 

You know you should be upset. A screaming, raging mess but seeing such a dangerous man on his knees drying water droplets from your body makes you lightheaded with alarming power.

He stands when you don't outwardly react. His lips are pressed into a worried, hard line, his hands are perched on his hips, and a sharp brow wrinkles his forehead. "Okay?"

The vexation that laces his tone snaps you out of the dumbstruck fog. You knew there was only one right answer.

“Yes,” you rasp, defeated. 

He smirks, softly chuckling under his breath at your submission.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he says, cupping your jaw like he's drinking from a stream; God knows what brutality those hands have dealt out. "I trust you'll still be here when I get back." 

You nod quickly under his grave stare. 

He plants a searing kiss on your lips, making you gasp. It's dominating and possessive, like he's christening the start of your new life together by licking into your mouth and claiming you. 

He breaks the kiss with a grunt and nudges your nose with his own. "Thatta girl." 

He holds your gaze as he slowly walks backward out of the room. "Pack enough for the next week. I'll swing by later to get the rest," he instructs before turning and walking out your door.

You're left standing in your tiny bathroom, panting like a newborn fawn. Your legs wobble as you move to sit on the toilet lid and clutch the towel tighter to your chest; heart smashing against your ribs.

Joel was right. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

*if you'd like to read more about Joel and reader's new life together, please invade my inbox about them! it helps motivate me!*

->reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated!<-

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[lukesvangelista]

𝐈’𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑, 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 qʰ⁴³, ʲʰ⁸⁶, ˡʰ⁴³

in which y/n hughes holds her ground during a post-game press conference.

warnings; misogyny, sexism

You were used to pressure. You had grown up in a hockey family, the youngest sibling to Quinn, Jack, and Luke Hughes - all hockey prodigies in their own right. But you were special in a different way. Not only had you followed in your brothers’ footsteps, but you had also carved your own path. As the youngest player on the New Jersey Devils and the only female to play in regular season games in the NHL, you had shattered expectations and defied norms. Every day was a new challenge, a new test of strength and resiliency.

You sat down in the media room, your hair still wet from your post-game shower. Luke sat next to you, his steady presence evident. His usual relaxed demeanor was tight with anticipation. He knew the media could be unforgiving, and today, they were sure to focus more on his little sister’s family connections and gender more than her skill on the ice.

He wasn’t wrong.

But today’s press conference was different. It had started off routine enough, with Luke by your side, both of you handling the usual questions about their season, the team’s progress, and your guys’ sibling bond. As always, Luke was your biggest supporter, offering sarcastic quips to ease the tension and standing by you when the questions got more intense. He was the perfect teammate, both on and off the ice. The two of you were used to this routine, and the atmosphere in the room was mostly positive. But as the press conference wore on, you began to notice an unsettling shift, practically out of nowhere.

Toward the back of the room, a reporter stood up—a man you hadn’t noticed before. His appearance was unremarkable, but something about the way he carried himself set off alarm bells in your mind. He didn’t smile or make small talk with the other reporters. He just stood there, waiting for his turn with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Finally, he was called on.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice flat, almost bored, “there’s been a lot of talk about you being the first woman in the NHL, breaking barriers, all that. But if we’re being honest, do you really think you belong here? I mean, look at you. You’re a distraction. You’re on the ice surrounded by guys, traveling with them, sharing locker rooms—how long do you think it’ll take before your ‘real’ purpose becomes obvious? We all know that women like you don’t last in leagues like this unless they use what they have, if you know what I mean. Are you just waiting for the moment when being the ‘team girl’ turns into something more… useful?”

The air in the room froze, thick with shock and disgust.

Your mind blanked for a second, as if the words hadn’t fully registered. But when they did, it felt like a physical blow—like you had been hit with something sharp and ugly, aimed straight at the core of your being. Your entire body tensed, your pulse pounding in your ears. Every eye in the room was on you, waiting to see what you would do.

Next to you, Luke’s face turned pale for a split second before the fury set in. His mouth tightened, and his hands clenched into fists on the table, trembling with rage. “What the hell did you just say?” His voice was low, barely restrained, vibrating with an anger you had rarely seen from him. With him being the tamer of your brothers, you couldn’t imagine how Jack was reacting back in the locker room. Or how Quinn would when he would get the opportunity to see the clip after his game.

The room, which had been filled with the steady clicking of cameras and murmured side conversations just moments ago, was now deathly silent. No one could believe what they had just heard. A few reporters shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging horrified glances. Even the other women in the room seemed too stunned to speak.

The reporter remained stone-faced, as if he had merely asked you a normal question, something innocent. His eyes stayed locked on you, waiting for a reaction.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in her chest. Your hand gripped Luke’s under the table. You knew you couldn’t let him get away with this. You couldn’t let him—or anyone else—see you break. You had worked too hard, fought through too much, to let this kind of filth destroy you.

You leaned forward, locking eyes with the reporter, your voice deadly calm despite the storm brewing inside of you. “I’m going to give you one chance to take that back.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow, almost as if he were amused. “Take what back? It’s a fair question. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You’re the only woman on a men’s team, in a men’s league. We all know what’s going to happen eventually. You’re not here because you belong. You’re here because you’re a novelty.”

Luke’s chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood, towering over the table, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “What the hell did you just say?!” he spat, his voice shaking with fury. “You think you can come in here and talk to her like that? She’s ten times the player you’ll ever understand, and she’s earned her place here. You don’t deserve to even breathe the same air.”

The room was crackling with tension, reporters frozen in disbelief as Luke glared at the man who had dared to demean his sister.

You placed a hand on Luke’s arm, urging him to sit back down. You weren’t done yet. You turned back to the reporter, your expression hard and cold. “You want to know why I’m here?” you asked, your voice gaining strength with every word. “I’m here because I earned it. Because I’ve trained every day of my life for this. Because I’ve put in the work, fought through injuries, setbacks, and people like you who think I don’t belong. And guess what? I’m still standing. I’m not going anywhere. You can throw whatever garbage you want at me, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m here because I’m one of the best.”

Your words echoed in the room, and a murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Several reporters nodded, their faces still tight with outrage. A female reporter in the front row stood up, her voice cutting through the tension. “That was one of the most disgusting questions I’ve ever heard. It’s people like you who give journalism a bad name. Y/N is here because she’s a damn good hockey player, and the fact that you think it’s appropriate to ask a question like that is appalling.”

Another voice chimed in, then another, until the room was filled with reporters condemning the question and defending you. The atmosphere had shifted, turning against the man who had dared to degrade you. He shrank back in his seat, looking around as if realizing, too late, that he had crossed a line no one would forgive.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you sat back in your chair, though your body was still tense. You glanced at Luke, who was still visibly seething but calmer now that the room had rallied behind you. He gave you a small nod, a silent show of support.

The press conference was quickly adjourned, the tension too thick to continue. As you and Luke made your way out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—anger, exhaustion, but also pride. You had stood up for yourself. You had fought back. And even though the battle wasn’t over, you knew one thing for sure.

No one—especially not a misogynistic reporter with a chip on his shoulder—would ever take away your place in this league. You had earned it, and you would keep proving it, every single day.

Despite your knowledge of that fact, you were still incredible shaken up. Luke wrapped a protective arm around you as the two of you walked back to the locker room. Right as you were about to enter the locker room, you turned towards him, “I’m going to find a quiet place so it for a bit. I’ll call you when I’m ready to go home.”

Luke furrowed his brow in concern, but removed his arm from around her, “Will you be okay?”

You nodded softly, “Yeah. Just hold off Jack for a bit, okay?”

Luke was about to reply, but you didn’t give him the chance to. You rushed down the hallway and managed to find an empty nook in the middle of it, thanking the gods above that you had found something. As soon as you had slid down the wall, the weight of the situation came crashing down on you. Your heart raced, but you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head — how you fumbled your answer, the prying looks, and the pressure to always say the right thing.

You pressed your back further into the wall, your hands trembling as you brought them to your face, trying to steady your breathing. The vulnerability of being under a spotlight felt overwhelming, and you wondered if anyone else saw how rattled you were.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching. A familiar voice - Jack - called out to you, soft and concerned. You looked up to find him rushing towards you, an exhausted and concerned Luke trailing behind him. The latter shot you a look in hopes you would understand how hard he tried to stop your guys’ older brother, “Y/N! Are you okay?”

You looked up, your eyes glistening, and forced a smile, “Yeah… I’m fine.”

But Jack knew better, stepping closer and wrapping you in a hug. For a moment, you let yourself sink into the embrace, the warmth and safety of your brother’s presence helping to soothe the storm inside of you.

“I just… it’s a lot sometimes,” you whispered, your voice shaking, “I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

“You’re doing great,” Jack reassured you, pulling back to look at you in the eyes.

Luke came over and sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around you, “You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Y/N/N.”

You nod, but the doubt still lingered, and you know it’ll take more than just a few words to push it away. Still, in this moment, you’re grateful for the support - and for the reminder that you don’t have to face everything alone.

You leaned into Luke’s side, your voice still small, “I just wanna go home.”

Both of your brothers nodded, not even bothering to go and change back into their suits. You didn’t bother with it, either. The three of you might get scolded for it later, but at this moment, it didn’t matter to any of you. Luke stayed with you as Jack re-entered the locker room to grab all of your guys’ stuff so you could leave.

The walk to the car was quiet. The drive out of the parking lot was silent. Fans lined the entrance, but they had enough common sense to not approach your car after what had just happened. You sat in the back with Luke, your face resting against the window so you wouldn’t have to face either of your brothers. At least, not right now. You knew Quinn would come calling later, and you’d all sit down and talk with each other.

When the three of you arrived back at your guys’ apartment, Luke ushered you to the couch. He tossed you the remote, urging you to pick out a movie while he grabbed a multitude of pillows and blankets. Jack stayed behind in the kitchen, dropping all of your stuff on the floor by the door and ordering takeout from your favorite restaurant. He didn’t even ask what you wanted. It was a brother thing - all of them knew your favorite.

You scrolled through Netflix for awhile, eventually deciding on the Minions movie. It wasn’t your favorite of all time, but it was mindless enough to the point where you’d be able to keep your mind off of what had happened. Luke sat down next to you, chuckling softly to himself when he saw your choice. He knew it was one of your guilty pleasures.

Your eyes focused on the TV as Jack finally made his way over. He opened his mouth to object when he saw the movie across the TV screen, but Luke turned around and shot him a look, warning him not to say anything. Jack obeyed and sat down on the other side of you, successfully squishing you between your brothers - a Hughes sandwich, as they liked to say.

While the three of you waited for the food to arrive, Luke objectively decided that it would be best to FaceTime Quinn. He knew that the Canucks game was over, so he knew that Quinn would be free. All your brothers loved you more than you would ever know, but Luke had a soft spot for you. It was always Jack and Quinn, and you and Luke.

Luke knew how much you missed Quinn. He had seen the way you struggled when your oldest brother went off to UMICH, let alone Vancouver.

“Hey, how’s it going, kid?” Quinn’s voice came through, his face popping up on the phone screen with a warm smile.

You look over to Luke’s phone, unaware that he had called Quinn. When you realized, you offered a small but sad smile, sighing but feeling a little lighter now that the four of you were together, “Better now, I think.”

“Good,” Quinn nods, and there’s a protective tone in his voice, though he doesn’t press you about what happened. Instead, he changes the subject. “So, what are we watching?”

“Minions,” Jack and Luke answer in unison. This time, both of Luke and Jack shot Quinn a look like, you better not say anything.

Quinn raised an eyebrow but laughed. “Of course. Anything for Y/N/N.”

You all settle in as the movie continued. You curled up between Luke and Jack once again, and Quinn was propped up on FaceTime in front of you. The room was filled with laughter as the absurdity of the Minions did its job, and for the first time since the incident, you feel a little lighter.

The food arrived, and you dig in, the familiar taste of your favorite takeout adding another layer of comfort to the late night. Every now and then, Jack cracked a dumb joke, trying to get you to laugh, and by the end of the movie, you felt a lot more like yourself.

As the credits rolled, Quinn, still on FaceTime, shot you a soft smile. “Feeling better?”

But there’s no response from you. Instead, your head was leaning against Luke’s shoulder, and your eyes were fluttered shut. Jack moved gently to drape a blanket over the two you.

On the other end of the line, Quinn let out a quiet laugh, “There’s no way you’re moving tonight, Lukey.”

Jack joined in with the laughter, but Luke just smiled down at you. If this helped you feel better, he would stay with you as long as you needed him to. In fact, as he always liked to say, he would drop everything for you.

He looked back over to Jack, who was now holding his phone with Quinn on the other end, “Yeah, but we did good.” he said, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

It was true - they did good.

[reverseexorcist]

❥ 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ❥

Man, I support women's rights and all, but women's wrongs is where it's at. Like, I get she's meant to be awful and all, but what if I was her favourite?

➲ Lute + !F!Reader

➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 1,424 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, spoilers for episode 8, mentions and brief depictions of gore, mostly fluff though, my god I wanna write so much more of Lute but my ideas only get so far

➨ Okay, so first off, this woman is probably stoic as fuck - At least in the beginning of the relationship. Stiff and gruff because to her she's a warrior first and herself second. That's what she's had to be for the longest time ever, and it's gonna take a while for you to coax her out of her battle-hardened shell

➨ The kind've touch starved person that would rather die painfully than ever let someone touch her kind've vibe. Even when you're the exception, it's probably just better to ask before initiating anything just so you don't get socked in the face

➨ (She'll apologise, but probably wouldn't be able to stop because that's just her instinct)

➨ When she warms up to it though, oh boy

➨ "What is this?"

➨ "A hug?"

➨ "Disgusting… Do it again."

➨ (Gladly. Her wings are so soft and fluffy and perfect for hugging)

➨ Her wings will flutter softly, puffing up and getting extra fluffy at your touch as she practically melts into you. She'll deny it every single time, but you know the truth, especially when you hear her walk through the door after a long day at work only to be met with the audible 'poof' from the exorcist as her wings fluff up

➨ Speaking of, Lute takes pride in her wings. Very careful with them outside of battle and all, meticulously cleans and preens them at the beginning and end of every day and is a chronic stomach sleeper because of this. Probably has some expensive feather shampoo or cleaner or whatever that makes them smell like cedar. Whenever she ends up moulting, the floor of your apartment will be covered in black and white feathers

➨ (Don't tell her, but you've kept some of them)

➨ AND THE MUSCLES!

➨ Oh buddy boy does this woman have muscles

➨ Like, yeah, she's the lieutenant of the exorcist army of course she's gonna be buff, but it doesn't mean it's any less hot

➨ (If you're lucky she might let you feel 'em)

➨ Lute is secretly so proud whenever you gawk over her. Will flare her wings and pose for you, but only you and only ever in private. There's no way in heaven or hell that Lute wants Adam on her case about her peacocking around her girlfriend

➨ (You think she's the type to ask you to sit on her back while she's doing push-ups? I do)

➨ She tries her damned hardest to keep you away from Adam. The dude is cool, but she's already worn thin keeping up with his energy and antics. Lute's aware of his antics, especially around women and she'd rather not make you go through that. You are hers, after all. She may be Adam's right hand man (woman), but you're her life partner first and foremost

➨ Can't talk about Lute without mentioning that the WOMAN HAS AN UNDERCUT? Sorry, but women with undercuts are my weakness

➨ Just imagining hugging her, wrapping your arms snuggly around her shoulders as she swaddles you in her broad wings, only to reach up and fluff the fuzz of her undercut

➨ I mean, her hair is probably just as soft as her wings. At least with her hair she'd probably let you comb it or something. Wing touching is something very intimate in heaven, so that probably won't happen for a while

➨ When it does happen however ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

➨ Nah, just kidding. Wings are sensitive, but, y'know, you probably already know this because everyone in heaven has wings. It'll probably just be you preening each other as you both devolve into flustered puddles

➨ Love language is probably something alone the lines of acts of service (giving and receiving) or words of affirmation (receiving).

➨ Likes hugs and kisses are cool and all and she'll probably never say no (unless it's in public), but getting told by you that you find her laugh adorable or that her wings look awesome or something like that (or even something even sappier), my god her brain with blue screen of death before you snap her out of it

➨ It honestly makes her so happy. I mean, no one else really compliments her like that. Sure, she and Adam hype each other up, and her subordinates respect her. But Adam's humour is far from clean and she gets the feeling the other exorcists are kind've scared of her

➨ After a few years and just settling into the relationship, it gets to a point where Lute realises she probably wants to spend the rest of her life (unlife? Afterlife? Does it count if she never died?) with you

➨ If you're just a regular citizen of heaven (i.e. someone Lute can't tell about the exterminations), she's probably more likely to baby you about literally everything. Like, she's extremely protective, but not necessarily jealous, but you're just so fluffy and soft and she just has the innate urge to protect you

➨ There's a part of her that just so damn tempted to tell you for the sole fact that it's another opportunity to flaunt how great she is. The bigger, more logical part of her knows that you're more likely to be absolutely horrified and would most likely want to break up in that very moment

➨ Which is the exact opposite of what she wants

➨ On the other hand, if you're a fellow exorcist like herself, chances are there will be some favouritism in the ranks

➨ Kind've loves you for it, because at least this way she knows you can take care of yourself without her having to mother you. And, while some part of her certainly does like the idea of having a partner that sort've contrasts her in an opposites attract kind've way, she also really likes the idea of a girlfriend that she can spar with

➨ (Insert cliché moment during a fight where one person lands on top of the other and they both blush)

➨ Exorcist or not, though, she still has her helmet just hanging around the apartment. If you're an exorcist too, sometimes the two of you will just sort've sit around and polish them whilst talking, making sure they shine for the next time you descend to hell.

➨ If you're not, well, Lute struggles to come up with an excuse for the first time you see it, eventually labelling it as an odd gift from Adam. It doesn't come up in conversation again till she comes home late from the office (curse the seraphims and Adam alike for giving her so much paperwork) only to find you curled up in your shared bed, clutching her helmet to your chest

➨ (It couldn't of been comfortable, but Lute's cold heart melted ever so slightly at the sight)

(Spoilers for the finale)

➨ My god, if you weren't an exorcist at the end of season 1 and you saw Lute come back in the state she did - Immediate heart attack

➨ At first you were confused, because, well, she told you she'd be gone for the entire day and wouldn't be back until midnight. And yet, when the commotion outside started only to be followed by horrified gasps, you couldn't help but get anxious

➨ Winding through the panicked streets, you finally managed to make it to the front, only to see Lute staggering toward the high seraphim. Her gaze glossed over you, eyes narrowed into slits that burned with raging fire

➨ Not only was she covered in crimson, but her clothes were also stained with the brilliant gold of her own blood. If that didn't freak you out, you couldn't help but let a strangled scream tear from your throat at the sight of her missing arm

➨ That seemed to snap her out of it. She glanced past the extremely tall form of Sera and gave you a mixed look, one filled with regret and despair, rage and fatigue, and the slightest hint of warmth as your very presence calmed her. Too much shit had happened in the past hour or so for her

➨ However, her bedraggled form covered in her own blood and the blood of sinners alike was bound to spark more questions from your anxious mind, and Lute had the idea that if you reacted like this about her returning early from an extermination, you probably weren't going to be so receptive to what her job actually was…

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

[that-basic-simp]

Princess

Mizu x Fem!Reader CW: N/A WC: 1.2k+

I walked down a line of suitors that my father had picked out for me. They were mostly older men, something I did not cater to well, but this was the world I lived in. Where women are to be married off to an older man. It wasn't right, but I had to live with it. I had no say in the matter, especially since my father was a highly respected lord and I was the princess of our clan. However, there was this one person who kept popping up in the back of my head. It was someone I had just recently seen when I was coming home.

They were right by the carriage and when I picked my head up, our eyes met. He was wearing these tinted glasses and a large hat was on his head. There was something odd that made him stick out to me. Something that these men didn't have to offer. After rejecting every man here, my father audibly sighed. I understood why he was frustrated, but I was frustrated, too. Once the men left, he turned towards me.

"Do you not want to get married? To have a happy life?"

"I have a happy life here, unmarried," I said.

"What is it?" he asked. "There has to be something that is bothering you."

"There is no spark with these men."

"You're not even giving them a chance."

"Says you. You line them up and say pick whichever one you want. Like they're having a contest to test if they're handsome or not."

"What is bothering you?"

"There was this man when I was on my way here," I said.

"And?"

"There was something odd about him. Something I couldn't put my finger on, but it made it all the more attractive. I wanted to get to know what that odd feeling was whenever I looked at him. I want to know why he is mysterious."

"Hmm. What did he look like?"

"He had orange tinted glasses, a large hat on his head, and a cloak. Oh and there was something around his neck."

"And he's here?"

"Yes."

There was silence before my father nodded, "Alright. I'll see if the locals know where he went. I'll bring him here."

"Really?!"

"Yes."

I smiled and hugged my father, "Thank you!"

"I hope that you can give him a chance."

"I will, father."

"Why did you follow me out here?" Mizu asked.

"I was worried about you," I said.

"You're following someone who is out for revenge. Not someone who wants love right now."

"What we had, was it real to you?"

Mizu looked over at me, some confusion going on in her eyes. They flicked back and forth from me and the wall.

"I-I--" she couldn't even answer that question.

"I didn't judge when you told me you were a woman. That you were not what I thought you were. And yet, I stayed with you. I still loved you."

"You're loving the wrong person, Y/N. You're loving me for the person who I was presenting to you. After your father gave me his permission to marry you, I knew you deserved better."

"Deserved better how?"

"For starters, an actual man. Not a woman pretending to be one. And someone who will actually love you."

"So what we had wasn't real?" I asked, a hurtful expression appearing.

"That's not what I meant," Mizu turned and grabbed my hand. She let out a sigh, shaking her head. "Someone who will love to put you first. Someone who will take care of you no matter what."

"You took care of me."

"But I had to leave for my mission. To kill those white men."

"I know you told me this. And I support you going through with it."

"Do you?" she asked, a questioning look in her eyes.

"I do," I said confidently.

"Then you will let me go. And move on to find someone who is deserving of you. Who you are deserving of."

"I can't," I said, my voice breaking slightly.

"Why?"

"Because I love you, Mizu."

She let out a sigh before pulling me in for a hug. Her arms wrapped tightly around me and I hugged her back, embracing the warmth she had.

"Even though I didn't really say it often, I do love you, Y/N."

"And I know you don't want me to move on."

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Just how protective you were over me even when someone looked at me the wrong way. Like you were going to gouge their eyes out."

"Well," she pulled away to find my eyes. "You are mine, after all."

I smiled, some blush crawling onto my cheeks.

"You're right. I don't want you to move on to find someone. But you do deserve better. A-And once I finish everything, I will do better."

"Thank you, Mizu."

The door opened and Ringo walked in. Mizu glared at him for not warning us first.

"You got a girl," he said. "A pretty girl. Wait, how does that work?"

"Ringo, this is Y/N. She has been secretly following me, but I am grateful," she softly smiled at me. "She's also a princess," she looked over at Ringo before turning back to face me."My princess."

I smiled, some more blush crawling onto my cheeks. I knew something that would make Mizu blush heavily. It was mostly PDA, but since it was Ringo, I knew we were going to be fine. But even then, Mizu doesn't like it when I show her off. She would sometimes show me off whenever we were starting our relationship, before my father told her she could marry me. Leaning towards her, I pressed a kiss to her cheek. She stood there frozen, a deep red color flushing across her cheeks. I giggled and did it once more, that red growing deeper. It looked like she wanted to reach for her Kasa and cover her face. I loved it when I could get her flustered.

"A-A minute alone, Ringo, please."

Ringo nodded and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall until they stopped. Mizu turned and faced me once more, grabbing onto my hands.

"My princess," she whispered.

It was a cute nickname she had given me when we started our relationship. To say it was rocky at the beginning is an understatement. She was down right not willing to do anything with me whenever my father brought her to the palace. She immediately wanted to leave and fought a few guards. Almost about to leave, I stopped and just talked with her. We walked around the courtyard and talked for a bit. She told me about her pursuit of revenge while I talked about how boring it was to live this kind of life. She was jealous of me to say the least. But she worked on that. Now, people are jealous of her whenever her and I are together.

"You should head on home," she said. "This next part will be dangerous and I can't afford to lose you."

"I can't afford to lose you either."

"I'm stubborn. You know it," she chuckled. "My body won't let me die until I have finished everything. And when I finish what needs to be done, I will come back to you and we will get married. We will have a life together. Just you and I."

I smiled, some tears forming in my eyes as that was all I wanted from her. Was to just be with her and live the rest of our days out together. To grow old with her and experience the changes of the world as we grew older and older. She placed her hands on my cheeks, swiping the tears away with her thumbs. She pressed a kiss to my forehead before lightly pecking my lips.

"I love you, my princess."

"I love you, too, my water lily."

[stem-sister-scuffle]

STEM SISTER SCUFFLE: ROUND 1 MASHUP 5

Dr. Olivia Octavius (Spider-Man Into The Spiderverse) vs Ms. Frizzle (The Magic School Bus)

Dr. Olivia Octavius is a Quantum Physicist and Roboticist!

Ms. Frizzle is a Science Teacher!

Why you should vote for each contestant:

Dr. Olivia Octavius:

""If you stay in this dimension too long, your body’s going to disintegrate. Do you know how painful that would be, Peter Parker? You can’t imagine. And I, for one, can’t wait to watch." I love deranged evil women she is the character of all time to me"

"Dr. Olivia Octavius, also known as Doctor Octopus, is the secondary antagonist of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. She's also known as 'Liz' by her friends, one of them being Peter Parker's aunt May. She is an evil scientist, CEO of the science research & development company known as Alchemax. She's the scientific advisor for The Kingpin's inventions to open up portals to other dimensions. She's an evil woman in STEM girlboss."

"feral :)"

"Oh I heard you like mad scientist girlies???"

"I know she’s evil but I love her shes so cool. Have you seen her. I support womens wrongs <3"

"MILF. Evil. What more does she need? wowza"

"shes not the best shes the worst and she owns it. milf i mean. who said that"

"I mean. just look at her. she has the robo arms, the awesome hair. also if I recall, she's also been in science educational videos for kids"

"Proves herself as a competent fighter able to take on multiple spider-men at once, plus rocks the mad scientist look"

"Successfully works as a kids' science show presenter while also being a supervillain and working on sketchy projects. Is an absolute dork about her work and about cool phenomena in a way that's really endearing right up until she threatens to lock someone up to slowly die so she can study the phenomenon that's killing them. Probably put bugs in the microwave as a kid to see what happens.

Yes she did get hit by a truck in the fight and disappear but I fully believe she lived and ended up in some other universe.

1. She's a supervillain, she's definitely been hit by a truck before. 2. Out of everyone fighting in there she's had the most experience with this sorr of thing. While missteps are possible she would be going into it with some idea of what the risks are and how to deal with them. 3. Isekai truck trope 4. If she did end up in another universe she would totally find a way to keep herself stable there. She's got science knowledge and robotic limbs built for crime. 5. I like her and I think it would be really funny.

Why did I make this part mostly ""no she isn't dead"". It'd still be funny even if she was dead tbh.

I cosplayed her once and that is irrelevant to the poll but idk. She's fun."

"it's so rare to have female mad scientists in media like her, she's a role model to girls who want to commit crimes against the spacetime continuum everywhere. she's very important"

"She's really cute, too bad about all the murder and stuff :/ Women's wrongs, amirite?👍"

"She has a "For Science!" attitude that makes most male mad scientist look sane and safety minded. I would gladly be her intern/minion. <3"

"is only here to do science for Nefarious Purposes. science without any regard for moral cost. idk i love that this character type gets to be a milf for once. we love to see an evilgirl winning"

"mad scientist lady. cool as hell hair. evil girlboss."

"She's evil. She's evil and I love her"

"Evil milf with giant robot arms that loves chaos."

"Mastered multiple disciplines, managed to break barriers between dimensions, which even in superhero realms is a bit impressive. STEM girlies should be allowed to go a little evil/feral/unhinged. as a treat."

"She is evil! She is sexy! She employs usage of soft robotics into her prosthetic tentacles, is the head scientist at Alchemax, and quite literally built a machine that creates a portal to alternate dimensions! Get you a girl that can both make educational science videos and also rip open a portal to alternate dimensions under dubious moral conditions."

"she's sooooooo cool"

"She is a girlboss she tried to make a portal and while she’s a villain she isn’t the Evillest out there… babygirl head scientist Her glasses are shaped like octagons :3"

Ms. Frizzle:

"*gestures at entire magic school bus series*"

"Embodies the true spirit of scientific discovery: barely-contained chaos."

"She is very knowledgeable about a wide variety of sciences, and uses that knowledge to further the educations of many people. Teachers deserve the world; they do so much for so little in return. (shout out to Mrs. Goates)"

"She loves science and loves teaching kids about science. I love her. Idk I saw she only had one submission and that made me sad so now im here submitting her"

"She is an icon and has cool earrings"

"SHE'S SO COOL!!! She's so smart and so fun and genuinely just an icon. ALSO she has a little lizard on her shoulder. I saw an ask abt the submissions for Ms. Frizzle and the sender was the only person who submitted her.. I couldn't let this go. ALSO one of my professors irl called herself the irl Frizzle and she's a doctor of biology so make of that what you will"

[booksandchainmail]

@the-yuri-librarian

Will someone please tell me if any of these series have lesbians

(in regards to this post)

Of the two web serials featured in that meme:

Pale Lights, by erraticerrata one of its 2-4 protagonists is a lesbian. There hasn't been much in the way of romance for her yet, but the series is pretty early on, and also romance-light. One of the other female protagonists is possibly bisexual, and the male protagonist is ace. Pale Lights is about new recruits to an elite god-hunting organization in a gunpowder-and-sail era world that is also entirely within a massive cavern full of strangeness. Ongoing

Twig, by wildbow umm. ok. so how do I put this. It has ambiguously bisexual girls in an situationship? It got a lot of submissions to a yuribait poll tournament. Also in the main cast is a trans girl. I cannot in good consciousness recommend this on the basis of lesbianism, but I do like it. Twig is about a group of child lab experiments/field agents of a biopunk empire. Complete

Other web serials that may be of interest to you!

A Practical Guide to Evil, by erraticerrata Protagonist is a bisexual woman, and almost all of her romantic interests are other women. PGTE has my favorite slowburn romance of all time. Also in the main cast are (at least) two more bi women, and an aroace man (there are more queer characters depending on how you define main cast). In a medieval fantasy world where narrative tropes have metaphysical weight, a new group of villains begin fighting smarter to overcome their narrative disadvantage. Forty years later, a teenage girl from a conquered country, seeing how heroes have failed, chooses to become the Squire of the empire's Black Knight. Tagline: Do Wrong Right Complete

Katalepsis, by HY Lesbian protagonist, largely lesbian supporting cast, including a couple trans women. Lots of romance, including an expanding polycule. A young woman tries to rescue her twin sister, who was erased from reality as a child by an eldritch entity. Tagline: A web serial of cosmic horror, urban fantasy, and making friends with strange people Ongoing, almost finished (with the first "book"/major overarching plotline)

Necroepilogos, by HY I think literally the entire cast of this one is queer women (including at least one trans woman) having homoerotic moments with each other all the time. A bioengineered supersoldier wakes millennia after her death to find the world a wasteland, populated by women resurrected from across history who must now kill each other to live. Tagline: Lost girls in the ashen afterword Ongoing

PGTE/Pale Lights and Katalepsis/Necroepilogos would be my primary recommendations. Some other webserials:

Some of wildbow's other serials have more lesbians than Twig, but it comes with caveats: Worm (and its sequel Ward) are, uh, controversial for how they handle lesbians. Pale is much better, but I'm also only 1/3 of the way through so I can't vouch for it entirely. Pact has a single important lesbian character.

I lost interest and didn't finish Heretical Edge, but it does have a poly lesbian protagonist.

Time to Orbit: Unknown is not particularly lesbian in specific, but it is largely queer and genderqueer.

Another option of thing I read is quests and original/fan fiction on the forum site Sufficient Velocity. The downside here is that they mostly have really irregular update schedules (unlike the above serials, which update 1-2 times a week on a fixed day) and are prone to being abandoned. I'd recommend looking at how often/recently thy update before starting. With that caveat, some titles with lesbian (or bisexual) females leads and queer romance: Petals of Titanium, The Last Daughter, Lieutenant Fusilier in the Farthest Reaches, Castles of Steel, On the Road to Elspar, Mercy (and Other Costly Mistakes), Pound the Table, and A Little Vice

[mod-doodles]

The Bear should be discussed ad nauseam in lectures about unconscious bias and affects of western beauty standards.

A portion of The Bear audience for sure has some conservative, regressive and outright racist views which are reflected in the applause of Season 1 Richie who while having some redeeming qualities is mostly a complete asshole plucked right out of early 2000s bro movie (like Jarhead idk why that’s where I can see him). He’s complex like humans are and it’s understood.

On the other hand we have this progressive young woman; she’s smart, creative, talented, adorable (beauty is subjective but some people are objectively wrong) and she’s literally the driving force of the show. The restaurant was a shit hole and every one is drowning in there own shit (grief).

She helped foster talent in a young man that had not been tapped into, soften a woman who had be harden by life and the industry and SEES Carmy which always needs to be acknowledged because none of them saw him they instead belittled him for being different. He literally straightens his posture as a result of him being seen.

So what really pisses me off is that Sydney is never given the same grace that Richie has; which to be frank in used to that’s the world. But to say she’s so annoying and you can’t stand her is wild. I’ll give you that she’s pushy but no I can’t because if she wasn’t ‘green and impatient’ we’d still be sat at the beef with its nasty floors, incorrect meat delivery and no parachute.

What I’m trying to understand is why the more liberal identifying portion of the audience aren’t rooting for Sydney and/or Sydney and Carmy.

To the men and women who can’t self insert because the characters don’t look like them or aren’t attracted to who YOU think they should be ummmm welcome to being a BIPOC/minority. We survived and you’ll survive; I self inserted with Bridget Jones, Keira Knightly in every period piece ever and all those other shows that the entire cast was white (had no complaints).

Unconscious bias is an invisible (not really) evil villain.

Somebody said Shonda Rhimes is Loving v Virginia strongest supporter and I haven’t stopped thinking about that since because doing interracial dating in media is not for the faint of heart.

[validdisaster]

I Probably Won't Watch MisMag, But I Think I'm Glad It Exists?

I don't know if this is a valid feeling or some kind of misplaced trauma reaction, but when I hear American leftists/liberals joking about jkr or performing reparative or critical versions of Harry Potter, I sometimes feel a deep... I dunno, unease? I could be wrong, but I'm not sure a lot of international people really understand the kind of grip she has on the UK.

This is a country where transgender people were banned from the panels and review boards for the 2024 Cass Report that would define how trans children were treated in schools, the healthcare they have access to, and the support they have, then gave recommendations that will pave the way for making it more challenging for trans people as a whole to move through society with general dignity, respect, and essential medical care. Meanwhile, the new (leftwing) prime minister, who has refused to make any declarative claim about his beliefs on transgender people, made special time for a meeting with jkr in a bid for votes just a few weeks before the election to assure her he would do basically whatever she said to 'support women and girls' (whatever that means to a woman who has designated herself the arbiter of who is 'too masculine' for girlhood). Now, I'll be honest, that was before her descent into minor Holocaust denial and the Olympics bollocks, but long after she started paling around with people in far-right white supremacist circles. Her voice was considered more important than any medical professional who happens to be trans.

Personally, (and this is just my anecdotal experience) I've had family members, colleagues and even an ex-partner parrot lines almost word-for-word from her essay as an excuse to get away with some pretty nasty behaviour, despite never having read it and not knowing where that was where it came from - that's how much she has permeated British society. I have a difficult, strained, or nonexistent relationship with people who meant a whole lot to me and I don't know if that would still be true if J K Rowling hadn't decided to go off one day. People hurt me who might not have. She's able to use the fact that she's the writer of the Harry Potter books as a kind of cover to gain this legitimacy that lets people hand-wave away or not look closer at some of the most unambiguously bad stuff you can do and say. Again, I do have to say, I'm from a not-very-liberal area and the work I do is mostly manufacturing or call centre (so full of not-very-liberal people). Idk if other parts of the UK are different, but I sure as shit can't afford to live in them.

This might be a personal despair that I need to work through, but I'm just not sure any reparative stories set in echoes of Hogwarts can possibly do any good. She's still here, she's still hurting us, she still has more of a voice in British politics and discourse than the rest of us working together can possibly muster and her past seems like more of a shield to the bad things she's currently doing than something that can be reimagined correctively.

To be fully clear, I'm not criticising the mismag crew here, and I'm not criticising international folks (trans or cis) for not knowing the detailed minutia of what's going on in my very unimportant neck of the woods. I'm just trying to work through my feelings about a person who's done a lot of demonstrable harm to me and mine, and the kind of casualness that I feel like her impact gets treated with sometimes.

I get the sense that a lot of (particularly cis or non-british) leftwing circles treat her like such an obviously-bad punchline gremlin that they forget she's still a bogeyman to some of us, I'm still scared of what she'll do next. And it's weird to see people having fun in the funhouse-mirror version of her passion project. Maybe it's jealousy. I loved Harry Potter and Hogwarts for a long time. Maybe I just miss feeling safe there.

I hope there will be a day I feel safe enough to laugh about her. Maybe it's not such a bad thing that other people are there already?

[pruneunfair]

My feelings on cry or better yet beg and the utter wasted potential for a psychological tragedy of the imbalance of relationships between noblemen and their mistresses

First off, if I was told I could only kill off one male lead, it'd be him

Lot of people rn especially on tik-tok probably would flame me for this with the "at least he loves Layla! He's so protective of her!"

"it's a dark romance! It won't be sunshine and rainbows you snowflake!"

"He just doesnt know how to express his emotions because he's so sheltered!"

No, just no, I don't care how "hot" he is, I don't care if he's your protective little bad boy. I don't care about his supposed character development, That's a straight up abuser who started off killing birds knowing it would damage to Layla to straight up assaulting her. (I don't know if that will stay in the webtoon, but it was in the novel) no character development can make me like a fucking rapist

Like how in the hell is Claudine considered worse than Mathhias, sure she isn't so peachy herself but goddammit to think of the fiance who if anything would be supported had she been the main protagonist, yes she's pretty demeaning, a bit shallow, and only views Matthias as the perfect Duke, but at least she's not going around mentally torturing a boy who can't do anything against her. I haven't gotten to her ending yet but from what I hear, it isn't a good one. She such a wasted opportunity since she is such a perfect example of a woman prepped and groomed to just be a Dukes wife would come out feeling that her worth only comes her husband.

Justice for Claudine, I just know there's a fanfic out there where you get with Riette, grow as your own person, and live a pleasant life.

You wanna know what really hurts me about this manhwa though? The fact that's it's so unintentionally accurate to how horrible it truly is to be a mistress in an era where women, especially women with no royal titles or status, were often treated by rich and powerful men. They would mostly have no right to say no to a man who decides he wants her, Layla romanticizing her abuse is not just heartbreaking but also unfortunately realistic as it's a coping mechanism for those who had endured nothing but abuse their whole life so they tend to shove their feelings in a box and pretend everything is okay (obviously this isn't the same for all victims of abuse, it's one of the many coping mechanisms people could develop)

In a lot of historical manhwa, there's usually the obligatory mistress character designed to be a dumb trashy bimbo to uplift the lead. Most of the time, the mistress in question is either a daughter of minor nobility that was chosen by a Emperor, crown prince, or Duke, or the mistress lived her life as a poor farm girl and in some situations lived a life where no one cared about her and was likely abused, the latter is often rare for these mistress characters since authors of those stories only want you sympathizing with the leads but in rare cases, the mistress did have a hard life but it ends up being undermined to further damage the mistress as torture/revenge porn or in Laylas case: used as an explanation to give a disturbing reason to why she ends up falling in love with Matthias which wouldn't be wrong if the story was written in a way that was a tragic one, not a romantic one.

you would think this kind of glamorouzation of abuse would only exist in the authors mindset and the degeneracy that is a junior high girls mind, but no, the ides that Layla is somehow the one in the wrong for her own abuse and reluctance of Matthias and there is even an Instagram post claiming she has BPD for being too "difficult" they sound like those 1950s doctors that find any reason to lobotomize a patient.

Laylas character does open the truths of what it's truly like to be practically owned by a nobleman, she's not like Rashta or Aisha from divorcing my tyrant husband where she's portrayed as a silly and cute strumpet with ulterior motives, she is genuinely upset but she can't do anything about it so all she can do is convince herself that Matthias loves her so she can keep her sanity, but where it goes wrong is that instead of portraying this as an unhealthy yet sole coping mechanism for an abusive relationship, the story just chalks it down to "silly Layla! You'll see that he's just misunderstood and you really do love him deep down!" Its frankly atrocious that the one time a story has a realistic pair of the typical women in this trope, the first wife who is classy and refined and the mistress who is young and free spirited ends ultimately destroyed yet again with a case black and white writting. One woman must be good and the other woman must be bad.

Frankly these characters are well written for the most part and until I realized I supposed to see Matthias as the love interest and not Kyle, I was fine with who Matthias was since he was presented more so as a villain, the art is also one of the prettiest cottagecore artstyles I've ever seen to the point where the 3D models look really good since it blends in perfectly, it's just sad that cry or better yet beg is a sick twisted tale equivalent to the average Colleen Hoover book.

[justthewayuare]

About mothers

Only Friends is a show about young chaotic (mostly)gays so it’s definitely not a show I expected a discussion about abortions and reproductive rights from. It’s clearly not their theme and I get it.

But still there is a very careful and insightful approach to it and I do appreciate now the writing team depicted on that. I talk about Sand and Ray and the difference we see with their mothers.

Sand mom isn’t a perfect parent - and it’s fine, cause parents are still people and people aren’t perfect. She is a bit unhinged and irresponsible, for sure. She has a questionable job in society’s eyes (can you see how my own eyes are rolling on that), she has debts her son is paying and she thinks it’s a good idea to use that for birthday surprise.

But she is loving, caring and supportive. She clearly gave Sand all the most important things a child needs from their parents. We can see how they love each other, how they trust each other and this is beautiful relationship. She is a good mom.

And I can’t get over a fact how supportive she was towards Ray - a boy she only met - did Ray ever get that kind of attention from his own mother?

And Sand was an unexpected pregnancy. She chose to keep him and he became the love of her life, and this is beautiful and touching. And while it lays with the common agenda that unwanted pregnancy always leads to wanted child, this show proves it wrong right away.

Cause, yes, it can be that way. It is that way for Sand’s mother. But it can be way different from that.

Ray’s mom also kept an unwanted child. But it didn’t lead to her being happy with him. It led to postpartum depression she never won over. Her son meant for her crushing of all her dreams and ambitions. And of course it’s not his fault. It’s not her fault either. That just happens sometimes - women not always mean or want to be mothers.

I don’t speak Thai and English is not my native language but I find it so interesting what praising Sand and Ray use in that scene.

Sand says: she didn’t expect me. Ray says: she was knocked up. Much ruder language with underlying meaning “I became her misery”.

So yes, sometimes - and pretty often I think - decision to keep an unwanted child can lead to great and happy relationship.

But sometimes it can ruin woman’s life.

And it will also harm the life of her child. And while it is possible to learn to live with that, it will never disappear.

It’s not my (or anyones) place to judge or say what would be right or wrong in those situations. But I do appreciate the show for giving us two such different real life experiences. Not depicting on one or another, just telling that life is different for everyone. Situations are different. And same choices can lead to very different outcomes.

I guess you never know, right?

[awilddaydreamer]

Fuck, I'm actually crying. Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy are all together (because Tommy came to Wilbur's place) telling Tallulah and Chayanne about the SBI MCC4 :(((

(long audio transcription under the cut)

Wilbur: Ok, let's tell the story!

Phil: Alright, they're just over here, they'll hop on the bed, and then when we're- when we're done we just leave and they place their beds down.

[Phil and Tommy chuckle in endearment]

Wilbur: Aww

Phil: It's cute right?

Wilbur: That is cute as hell Tommy, overlapping: Hi Tallulah!

Wilbur: M'kay. So, a long time ago, in the distant land of the year 2020

Phil: I'm gonna turn you up

Wilbur: [loud] THERE WAS A MINECRAFT TEAM

Phil: NEVERMIND! Ouh. [laughs]

Wilbur: It was built for the Minecraft Championship, which is th- the biggest.. thing that has ever happened. Speci- Phil: It's like the Olympics Wilbur: Mm. Specifically number four, all the others pale in comparison. Phil: Yep Wilbur: None were as good as number four. Phil: Yep

Wilbur: And um... basically there were these four people chosen, and they were: the great- the great elder. The wisest of the miners. [Phil wheeze-laughs] The longest survivor of all time, Philza Minecraft. Phil, whispering: That's me! Wilbur: There was... the PVP legend. A master of his domain. a destroyer of men, women, and their now orphaned children. Phil: PFFT Wilbur: He was very very good at it. His name, was Technoblade. [Phil chuckles]

Wilbur: There was also the scrappy young upstart, the- the y'know the prodigy s- the prodigal son who was going to take on the crown and soon take on after his- his predecessors. Tommyinnit. And there was Wilbur. [pause]... and together, they-

[Wilbur and Phil laugh]

Wilbur: Together they formed MCC4 Purple Pandas. Phil: Yeee Wilbur: Now, they were the dead-set favorites to win, and there was gonna be a crazy upset.

[Wilbur chuckles and Phil laughs]

Wilbur: Everyone- everyone thought Purple Pandas was gonna win, and would you believe it... [pause as they both chuckle under their breath] after a long-fought battle... they won. They won, despite Wilbur d- building something wrong in Sky Battle and falling to his death in the void. Um, and- Phil: So- some would say that was an advanced tactic called Ghosting so he could find out information about the other teams and help us. Wilbur: Mhm. We'll never know. We'll never know

[Phil laughs]

Wilbur: What happened in Rocket Spleef?

Phil: Rocket Spleef, it was Tommy saying- Wilbur: Oh, uh, To- Tommy committed woman murder. Phil: Yep.

Tommy: But Tallulah trust me it- it went hard

[Wilbur and Phil chuckle]

Phil: Tallulah, it was poggers and not permanent, so don't worry. [laughs]

Wilbur: He was feeling good afterwards you could say Phil: He was feeling good

Tommy: Tell them about the dynamic duo- Phil, overlapping: Tallulah has words Tommy: -that was me and Techno.

Wilbur: Oh in- in- in Battle Box Tommy: [unintelligable] -To Get To The Other Side

Wilbur: [reading Tallulah's sign] Tallulah doesn't support that Mr Tommy.

Tommy: Honestly Tallulah it was a dark time for- [Wilbur laughs] Tommy: And I don't- I don't say that kind of thing anymore. You're all safe in my- in my presence. [Wilbur and Phil laugh]

Wilbur: And, yes, there was the dynamic duo in Battle Box and Tommy and Techno, who scored crazy good points- and Techno won Ace Race! Techno kinda was the reason we won that MCC we did fuck all, it was mostly Techno [laughs]. Phil: Pretty much. We got- [stammering] we got carried pretty hard. [chuckles]

Wilbur: But then we won. We won, and it's one I look back very fondly on, there was- there was at- there was at one point a time when I- I- I couldn't bring myself to watch MCC4 because I just got so annoyed at Tommy over and over during the vod. [Phil laughs] Wilbur: But since- since watching it again recently it's actually pretty based, and it's a pretty good vod.

Phil: It's really funny, there was o- there was one moment, Chayanne, where Tommy was like "Yeah I've got this block," and I was like "place it," and he was like "I don't have the block, Phil," and then I just proceeded to berate him and argue with him for like about three minutes until the next round started Tommy: It was a real learning curve in our father-son relationship. Wilbur: Mhm. [Phil wheeze-laughs]

Wilbur: Anyway, get some rest you two. And- and Tallulah when you wake up there will be a brand new home for you, a completely safe new house!

[Tallulah begins playing her flute as Phil begins talking] Phil: It's gonna look- it's gonna look so good. Aww thank you for the song Tallulah. Tommy: Awhahawww! Whaat?! Wilbur: She's just like- just like her old man. Tommy: You're incredible, Tallulah!

[Wilbur and Phil laugh]

[frevandrest]

Hiii, I read your post about Olympe de Gouges and It opened me a world since everything I was told in school was basically what you say is wrong. Why was she actually executed? Do you know anything I could read to know more about the metter and her figure in general?

Okay, so de Gouges is not my expertise - if anyone knows good sources on her, please let us know.

But I do know she was executed for her political writings about the how the revolution should continue, organization of government, etc. and not for her feminist writings (yes, feminist writings are political, but I will separate them for clarity). She was targeted for things that were deemed royalist sympathizing - disagreeing with the execution of Louis XVI, supporting constitutional monarchy and I believe some things that were deemed pro-Marie Antoinette. We can say bullshit (or if true, does someone deserves to die for that?) - but it opens up wider questions about frev trials in general and political in-fighting (not just Montagnard vs Girondin). But the point is, Girondin men also died for the same reasons as de Gouges.

So, it was not about her "Declaration of the Woman and the Citizeness" or any other specifically proto-feminist writing. She was tried as a Girondin sympathizer (ironically, though morbidly, in an equal way with men)* - this was a push against Girondins, and it mostly targeted men. *She did warn about the inequality of that - a woman can be tried and executed as a man even though she doesn't have his political rights (as in, if a woman doesn't have political rights, then she shouldn't be held responsible and executed for political things).

So it wasn't about feminism (let alone abolitionism). But! - it's not like the whole thing was devoid of general 18c sexism (or, well, timeless sexism that's not just 18c). The way she was talked about or criticized, often had a sexist dimension, because she was a woman and was attacked as a woman. This speaks about general sexism in the society more than her writing or feminism (or even innocence). Marie Antoinette was often ridiculed in sexist (and homophobic) ways, which does not make her a feminist (and she was also guilty af of counter-revolutionary things). But this is something that should be said about de Gouges or, generally, about women at the time - they were subjected to sexism and sometimes dismissed in sexist ways. Madame Roland understood that really well, and she tried defending herself as a proper woman who never deviated from her domestic roles, despite of the fact that she was super influential politically (more than any other woman of the time, and more than de Gouges - Mme Roland participated in high politics even though women did not formally had equal political rights - but she participated informally, and was very influential, more than many men). Sexism, was, sadly, a convenient excuse to use whenever possible, and definitely not something that only Montagnards employed (see Condorcet - generally one of the most pro-gender equality men at the time - criticizing working class women who supported Robespierre in sexist + classist terms).

(Another example is the closure of the women's clubs, namely "The Society of Revolutionary Republican Women" - it's often said it happened because revolutionaries were sexists and did not want to allow women to participate in politics. This is not the reason: they closed the clubs because they were deemed politically dangerous at the time (and often more radical than Jacobins lol). But the explanation was, among other things, "well, women should stay at home" - which is not a true reason, but it was easy to use as an excuse, because the culture of 18c was sexist in general).

tl;dr: De Gouges was executed for royalist sympathizing (not that she necessarily was - I don't know enough about her opinions) and for associating herself with Girondins. She was not executed for being a feminist or abolitionist. (She was both, but she was not the only one - especially when it comes to abolitionism; her enemies were too. I would also say that Montagnards also fought for women's' rights although not in the same way, but that's another topic). The point is, feminism (let alone abolitionism) is not why she was put on trial and executed.

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part II: blackwater i

originally posted on 22 february 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: you start to settle in with the gang, making some friends and some enemies. As you acclimate to your new life, parts of you miss the freedom of solitude, while a new feeling drives you towards companionship.

a/n: chapter two is here! For those of you that missed the post, I will be updating this series with a new chapter every wednesday. I'm super proud of this one. Thanks to @margowritesthings for being my beta reader, biggest supporter, and my ride or die

SERIES MASTERPOST

"The hell did you buy in there anyway? A book?" You ask, trotting closer to Arthur and Boadicea to peek over his reins. There's a little leather bound book in his hands that he angrily stuffs into his satchel. You’ve both just left the general store in Blackwater after picking up some supplies for the good of the camp. You have no money, but Arthur had brought camp funds to purchase supplies for everyone. While in the store, he’d found a small leather bound book, and you’ve been thinking about it since you both left the store.

"Ain't none of your business lady, now let's get back." He huffs, spurring Boadicea into a canter past the old withering Blackwater church. The sound of hooves on dirt is loud as you push the horse, gripping tightly onto the saddle horn for extra stability.

"Well if it's none of my business, you shouldn't have bought it in front of me. That's on you." You counter, curious if Arthur even knows how to read, let alone enjoys it. You’ve only been with the gang for three and a half days, but in that time you’ve been able to observe the other gang members. Mostly, you’ve stuck to yourself, eating and working alone unless Ms. Grimshaw makes you work with the girls. But in that time, all you’ve seen Arthur do is physical labor, like chopping wood, going out on jobs, or planning with Dutch and Hosea. You had wrongfully assumed he’s the type of man who only entertains himself with liquor, women and fighting. Every day you seem to be proving yourself more and more wrong. 

"I bought it in front of you because I have to take you with me. You're like a goddamn pet, take my eyes off ya for a second and you're starting something. Dutch didn’t want you causin’ trouble so he told me to keep an eye on ya." 

Fury bubbles in your chest at the new information. This is about that big ugly bastard, what's his name. The past few days you've spent at their camp all he's done is sleep, drink and annoy everyone. He hasn't changed his sweat stained blue flannel since you've been there, and his big brown draft horse has never left the hitching post. He had made some rather crass comments about Arthur bringing you back and you punched him right in the face for it. Nearly knocked him on his ass. It got an amused chuckle out of Arthur, but the other gang members weren't too pleased about you strutting into their camp and starting fights. He started it, you just finished it. But of course you, the newcomer, are to blame and now you need a babysitter. 

"Gonna keep an eye on me, that's it? What- you're gonna sleep next to my bedroll too? Make sure I don't go out and start beating up the folk, even the ones that need it?" You growl, irritated with Dutch for giving you a chaperone, and at Arthur for being the chaperone. 

"If that's what it takes to keep that damn temper under control then, sure" Arthur laughs.

"I guess I'd rather go buyin' romance novels with you then sittin' back there with some of those fools." You bite, cantering towards the opening of the camp. 

"I- dammit woman, it ain't a book. It's a journal. Lost my old one some months ago in a fire.  I saw this one and I just picked it up..." He says. 

You're utterly shocked. He journals? A new little layer of this big tough outlaw falls away and you can peek into the man inside. He goes around saving women in distress and writes about his feelings? Well shit. 

"Never took you for a writer, Mr. Morgan, but it suits you well. Maybe one day you'll have to let me peek in there, see what goes on in that head a you-" 

You stop in your tracks at the sound coming from camp. It's a rat-like voice with a greasy, nasty vocabulary. He's yelling, harassing someone for something. It's an unfamiliar voice and you spur the buckskin faster after Arthur to find the source. Arthur doesn’t look entirely alarmed, more annoyed, as if he knows the voice. When he sees the worry on your face, he’s quick to respond.

"That's Micah… you steer clear of him, alright?" He asks, to which you don't answer.

As your horses slow, stepping into the camp, you hop down from the saddle, tossing your reins over the hitching post and jog into the open area filled with tents. 

"The hells goin' on now? You've been back five goddamn minutes and your stirrin' up a ruckus." Arthur calls out from beside you. 

A medium height, blonde man with a nasty smile and pale blue eyes turns around, running his fingers over his thick mustache. His red shirt is stained with what you assume to be the beer that he reeks of. It has filled his stomach, giving him a drinker’s gut and painting his nose with red blotches. Just the sight of him has you backing up a few steps.

"Awe, didntcha' miss me, Morgan?" He asks sarcastically, holding his arms out in mock disbelief. 

Arthur sports a deep scowl as he glares at Micah, stepping towards him. It's then that Micah notices you standing beside Arthur. You're much shorter than him, but you hold your chin up high, shoulders pushed back. Micah’s lips curl up in an eerie smile as he runs his eyes over your body.

"Well who might you be, madam?" Micah sneers. Pure anger and aggression pump through your veins as he slowly rakes his eyes over your figure. Then his eyes move around to the people in camp, lingering on Arthur's. 

"She claimed? You Morgan's whore then? Say, you think he'll share you with me?" Micah laughs maniacally, bending back and resting his hands on his gun belt. His blonde hair is filthy, his teeth even more so, everything about this man repels you. He's a snake, a shifty rat and you can see it from a mile away. 

"I ain't no one's whore." You squint, wishing to just take this bastard out and be done with it. 

"Careful, Micah. She'll tear you a new one." Arthur warns, seemingly hoping that you will. God, he would love to watch you beat the shit out of Micah. He'd pay to.  

Micah seems to be amused by this, laughing loudly and glancing around the camp to see if anyone heard Arthur. He doesn't believe for a fraction of a second that you could best him.

"I ain't afraid of an itty bitty lady," Micah steps forward, glancing down over you before shifting his eyes and addressing Arthur,

"She'd look real pretty on her knees for me, wouldn't she Ar-"

You knee him as hard as you can, right in the groin, causing him to bend at the waist and groan in pain. 

"Y-You bitch!" He yells, right before you slip a pair of metal knuckles that were in your pocket over your fingers and punch him square in the cheekbone. The knuckles cut up his face, blood trickling down his cheek before he falls over, completely knocked out cold. You're a small woman, but with some little adjustments, you're stronger than the men. You slip the knuckles off, sliding them back into your pocket and tapping them for good measure.

"Tried to warn the bastard…" Arthur sighs, grabbing Micah by the feet and dragging him towards the outskirts of camp where he'll probably wake up later. You realize that you'd gained a bit of a crowd, blushing as you look around and see several pleased faces. You remember most of their names. The red haired Irishman, Sean steps over to you, proudly slapping you on the back with a huge grin. 

"Ha! Ya knocked him right on his ass ‘tere! So much for an itty bitty lady, eh?"

A blonde haired woman, a little taller than you comes over with a big smile. She’s under the arm of a young gang member, you think Lennys his name. 

“Well I’ll be damned! Hell yeah, It's good to see another badass woman around here, I was gettin’ tired of puttin’ all the boys in their place.” She laughs, pulling Lenny behind her and moving forward to hand you something. It's a five dollar bill, and you reach out to take it, confused. 

“We had a bet that someone was gonna knock him out soon as he got back. Entertaining us with a show like that? You deserve it. I’d do anything to see that bastard get put down by a lady.”

You smile up at her, nodding to the stranger as you place the bill in your pocket. 

“I'm Jenny by the way. Say, you're new as a shiny penny, figures these boys can't control themselves. Buncha assholes, especially Micah. He gets his fill of torture from all of us though, don't you worry miss." Jenny smiles at you, her blonde hair frames her freckled face beautifully. 

"You wanna come officially meet the girls? We can get you set up, get you a tent and some new clothes. Figure you wanna get away from Mr. Morgan over there for the day, he's a sour bastard." Jenny yells the last part in Arthur’s direction so that he can hear. 

“You’ll hear no argument from me on that account, ma'am.” Arthur quips, dropping Micah into the woods,

You eye Lenny and Jenny, a little unsure. It's hard for you to trust people, especially other outlaws but they seem kind enough. You turn your neck around to see Arthur, the only one you've really interacted with besides the two men you knocked out, and then you look back to Lenny and Jenny. They're both young and bright eyed, hopeful. It's a change you're grateful for, albeit not used to. What could be the harm?

"Alright then, the girls…" You whisper nervously. You've seen a few other women walking through the camp in the past four days, and they've eyed you with curiosity but none made a move to interact with you. You'll never show it but you're a bit nervous. You keep to yourself for the most part. You've had to because you have no one else. But that's changing. 

You follow the two past a few tents, and to a wagon with a few boxes sitting around to be used as chairs. Wolf pelts and blankets are stacked into a makeshift bed on the ground under a hanging canvas. As you take in the little details of the camp, you don't miss the way Jenny and Lenny's hands intertwine, and you smile for it. It's apparent that someone has been through a lot of effort to make the camp homey. Fluffy pelts line the seats and chairs, beautifully decorated animal skulls top some of the tents and each person’s designated area is filled with their personal preferences and belongings. Pictures and books line the little tables and crates around the place and boxes of beer and whiskey as well. It really is a home. 

There's a wagon with canvas material making a little lean to, and under it sit three girls. The first one to notice you has short blonde hair and a contagious smile. There's wonder in her eyes, and optimism. 

"Well hi! We was wonderin' when we'd get to meet you, we could barely hold back from goin' over there but we didn't wanna push ya! Say, you’ve been here just four days and you’ve already knocked down the two biggest bastards here. First Bill and now Micah? I like you already!" The blonde haired girl says before adding, "Oh, I'm Karen by the way. And this is Marybeth and Tilly.” She adds, pointing towards the other girls who smile and wave coyly. The girl furthest from you with dark colored skin and braided hair that collects into a low bun, Tilly, speaks up.

“Don’t be shy, we don’t bite. Well Karen does, but only when Ms. Grimshaw comes around. Doesn’t seem like you’ll be dealing much with her though. You gonna run with the men like Jenny here?” Tilly asks, nodding towards Jenny. You notice the contrast in their attire. Tilly, Marybeth and Karen are wearing dresses, apparently you and Jenny are the only two women who work out of camp. You haven't thought much about what your role will be in the camp though.

“Uh, yeah I guess I will be. I haven’t thought about it much though, just gettin’ here and all…And I’m only stayin’ till I'm back on my feet, so I’ll do whatever needs done till I get enough money to head somewhere else.” You mumble, looking down to your raggedy clothes. The girls grow a little quiet, sensing your dilemma before Jenny speaks up. 

“Well for now, you’re stuck with us! C’mon, we’ll get you some new clothes and have Ms. Grimshaw set you up a tent. I assume you’ll want a tent by Arthur, y’know with him bringing you in and all.”

— —

By nightfall you have three new pairs of jeans, two black and one blue, four new shirts, dark green, white, black and red, and a brand new pair of boots. They’ve accommodated you well, and you try not to think about your growing debt to the gang. 

Your tent is nicer than anything you’ve had for a long while. It's a white canvas ‘A frame’ tent with a nice sized cot, a wardrobe and a nightstand. The girls have given you some blankets and items to decorate around the place and it looks good, it’s rather cozy. Currently you sit cross legged on the cot, writing in your journal. The soft glow of candlelight alongside the campfires outside provide enough light for you to write without straining your eyes. It's a beautiful night, and owls hoot as warm wind blows across the Great Plains, it's a perfect moment. 

It’s the fourth day I've been here, but today was different. I met Jenny, and she introduced me to a few others. She’s a lot like me. Jenny doesn’t follow the rules, she makes her own way. I admire her for that. And Arthur? Well, I haven't  seen much of him. He’s been working on some big job with Dutch, and they’re keeping it real quiet. Oh, and he journals too, he picked one up in town today. Never thought a man such as himself would take to journaling. There’s a heart in there somewhere, deep down as it may be. I guess he’s like me in that way…

You startle at the sound of a knock against the beam of your tent. You jump a little, reaching down to your holster before you realize it’s only Arthur. 

“Shit, sorry. You scared the hell outta me. Ain’t used to livin’ with other people.” You laugh, folding your journal shut and tucking your pen into the book’s spine. Arthur is leaning against the tent beam with two bowls in hand, it looks like he’s washed up, probably in the lake or the river, but he's wearing a clean black stand collar shirt and a new pair of jeans. His wet hair drips a little, and the smell of soap travels to your nose.

“You’ll get used to it. Here, I brought ya some dysentery.” Arthur jokes, holding out a bowl of Pearson’s stew to you. You take it, grateful for it even though it tastes awful. 

“Thanks. Here, come sit, keep me company.” You scooch to the other side of your cot, once again sitting cross legged. 

“Well I ain’t no good company miss, I can promise you that, but sure.” 

Arthur sits down on the cot, and it dips under his weight. He watches you out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then glances at your book while you both eat. 

“So what were you writin’ in that book a’ yours?” Arthur asks, nodding towards your leather journal.  

You crack a smile, prodding at the mushy soup with your spoon. 

“You really wanna know? I'll show you mine, but you gotta show me what's in yours.” You offer with a raised eyebrow. Arthur’s cheeks glow a little red and he scratches at the back of his neck.

“Well I just got it today, and I ain’t put much in it yet.” Arthur says a little awkwardly. You take note of his embarrassment, and make a mental note to peek the next time he has it out.

“So how's it been so far? The camp I mean. Everyone treatin’ you well? I'm sure you’ll give ‘em hell if they don’t.” Arthur asks, looking to you, before bringing the metal bowl up to his lips and drinking down the broth left over in the bowl. You can’t help the smile that brightens up your features while you nod. 

“It’s been good. Jenny’s real nice, I like her a lot. All the girls are kind too. I ain’t talked to much of anyone else, well besides Micah, is he alright by the way?” You ask, hoping you didn’t kill him. You don’t really care if the bastard is dead or not, but killing him on your fourth day in the gang would not help your chances of getting along with Dutch. 

“I think he left for a while, didn’t wanna come back and be the camp idiot for gettin’ beat up by a little lady-” He starts before you interject. 

“I ain’t a little lady.” You bite. Arthur chuckles, putting his hands up in mock surrender. He disagrees, you are a little lady, but he also wants to keep his head. 

“Whatever you say, miss. I'm partial to keepin’ your fists far away from this old mug,'' Arthur's smile falters for a moment, and he looks over to you with sincerity, “but I'm glad to hear you’re settlin’ in alright.”

You nod, unsure of how to respond as you extend your arm to place the empty stew bowl on your nightstand. Arthur takes it out of your hand instead, standing up and stacking your dishes on top of his own. 

“Well I’ll leave you to it, I don’t wanna take up anymore of your time,” He tips his head to you, “Goodnight miss.”

“G’night Arthur.” You watch his back as he leaves your tent and returns your dishes back to Pearson’s table. 

You think of him as you dress down and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a long time since you’ve enjoyed someone’s company. He intrigues you. There's so many layers to Arthur Morgan, and you find yourself wanting to peel them back and discover the man at heart. You toss and turn in your bed, angrily fluffing your pillow and tearing your blankets off of your bare legs just to pull them back on again. Despite the new bed, and the tent, you find yourself  longing for the freedom of the grass, you miss the stars. 

With a sigh, you reach down onto the grass below your bed and grab your boots. You swing your legs over the edge and pull them on, not bothering to dress yourself half decent. The shirt you’re wearing is a man’s, it's huge on you, but Jenny figured it would make a good night shirt. The white shirt swallows your figure as you step out of your tent and into the night. Everyone has gone to bed already as you tiptoe to the outskirts of camp. There's a dark forest at the edge, and maybe it's your exhaustion, but you find it enticing. You walk through the grass, wishing that you could feel it on your feet. It’s only been four days, but dammit, you miss the freedom. Solitude can be a beautiful thing, you’ve found out. And even though you’re glad to have been saved by the gang, parts of you ache to return to the wilderness. 

You slip your cowboy boots off, abandoning them on the ground between you and Arthur’s tent. They slump to the ground, spurs clicking as they hit the floor, and you step into the trees.

You pick wildflowers, humming and singing to yourself as you pluck their stems from the earth and add them to your collection. The breeze is warm and it flutters through your hair. A few times you feel eyes on you, but you dismiss them as animals lurking in the night. Some find the woods as eerie and unknown, but they’ve always been your home. You make a little bouquet of wildflowers, they're all different colors and sizes, and you hold them up to your nose and inhale that deep, specific scent. Lastly, you lay back on the grass, holding the flowers in your hands and look up to the stars. 

“A coach and six white horses,”

You twirl a poppy between your fingers, bringing it up to your nose before you continue singing,

“Blacks and bays, dapples, and grays,”

 You bring your knees up, crossing your legs as your hair splays out in the grass.

“All the pretty little horses…”

You’ve always been on your own, and this will be hard. Acclimating to a new place, with new people, and handing your control over to a new leader, all of it has you nervous, uneasy. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay. A part of you, the part that led you into the forest, begs for your freedom back. And yet a new feeling piques your interest as well, and it scares you. You look up at the constellations, tracing the big dipper with your eyes and grounding yourself with the familiarity. This new pull… it’s dangerous. You’ve distanced yourself from others for a reason, and yet here you are, breaking all of your rules.

—

Arthur’s eyebrows draw together as he leans up on his elbows in his cot. He’s been unable to sleep tonight, too distracted with the Blackwater job, and with you to get some shut eye. He’s stirred up by some quiet click noises, followed by some shallow singing. The song reaches his ears and immediately he recognizes it. It's “All the Pretty Little Horses,” a lullaby his momma used to sing to him when he was a kid. There’s some emotion there that he pushes down, sitting up to peek out of the open tent. 

And there you are. 

Arthur's smile is bittersweet as he watches you, laying in the grass in nothing but a goddamn shirt. Because of course you're the type to pick flowers, barefoot in the dead of night. Of course you’re the type to sing to the stars. He chuckles to himself, and doesn’t even think about it as he grabs his empty journal that he’d bought in the morning. He rests the leather book against his knee, leaning over to grab his pencil off his nightstand. As he does so, his eyes collide with the framed picture of Mary. Arthur sighs, gently grabbing the corner of the frame and tipping it so the picture lays face down. 

“Long time ago now…” Arthur whispers, lingering over the photo for a moment before grabbing his pencil. 

He doesn’t think, he just draws, starting with your legs that are crossed over each other, your torso and the flowers in your hand, and then your face and hair as you look up to the stars. He hums along lowly with your singing as he finishes up his sketch. There’s an incredible amount of detail to the picture, and he tries not to think about why that is as he adds a note to his sketch. 

She’s a lot like the stars in a way, I’ve realized. A force, fiery and burning as a flame, not to be reckoned with. She’s got no ties, she’s on her own. And yet she’s kind, singing and picking flowers in the middle of the damn night. She's something else, that woman. 

[andreal831]

Is Elijah actually a feminist? Because he said so but his actions..

Elijah Mikaelson is what we would call a "second wave feminist" or a "white feminist." While I don't necessarily subscribe to the ideas of "waves" of feminism, I think it simplifies it enough for this discourse.

Elijah is a feminist in the most basic sense of the term, in the way he believes women can be equal to men and encourages it. However, he does not actively work to dismantle the patriarchy. He is one of those cases where he likely was progressive at one point, however, society has long since progressed past him.

Dealing with the basic understanding of feminism which is basically just believing women can be equal to men, sure Elijah is a feminist. Elijah has always admired strong, independent women, even in societies where that would not be the norm.

I know some people argue that he is not because of his treatment of Katherine, but I would disagree with that. While I do not like that he was willing to sacrifice a young woman for his brother, it wasn't based on her being a woman. You can argue that he should have offered her more protection at that time because of the power dynamic between them, but again, most of the power dynamic came from Katerina being human. It would have played out similarly if the doppelgangers had been men.

I would also add that he seems to be the only one who supports Rebekah's dreams throughout the show and doesn't make sexist comments about her love life. (I'm looking at Kol and Klaus)

By the 21st Century, when the show takes place, thinking women should be able to learn to defend themselves and be equal to men is not enough. He says he is a devout feminist and then follows it up with a decidedly sexist comment. While I do understand this is the joke, it is still a thought he had and then said aloud while acknowledging it is sexist. I believe this is the only blatantly sexist comment he's made, but correct me if I'm wrong.

I wouldn't consider any of the men in this show to be true feminists for modern times. I don't think the writers even understand what that means.

This current wave of feminism focuses on intersectionality and the deconstruction of the hierarchy that has served to oppress women, the patriarchy. The quote from Enola Holmes really sums it up for me.

Elijah, and the rest of the vampires in the show, have the time, money, power, and privilege to affect real change in society, however, none of them do. Instead, they rather throw parties and blow their money, letting life around them happen. Because why change a system that is working for you?

I wouldn't expect any character in the show to understand intersectionality as the writers of the show often express classist and racist ideas/stereotypes. We see Elijah with a woman of color on a plantation that we know people are being enslaved on. Again, all of these vampires lived through times of slavery and none of them lifted a finger to try and end a system of oppression.

So it is not surprising that none of the men in the show lift a finger to help women's rights. We hear Rebekah mention it, but it is quickly followed up by a sexist comment. This is a theme throughout the show with the female characters, they are often judgemental and cruel to each other using terms that are definitely not feminist. But I digress.

Elijah seems to subscribe to the idea of feminism that if a woman can do what a man can do, she should be able to climb to the top of the patriarchy. As we now know, this is not enough. Letting women get involved in the patriarchy doesn't solve anything. It is a system that oppresses all people and needs to be dismantled rather than allowing women to join it.

We see Elijah throughout the show respect many different types of women which shows his ability to grow as a feminist. However, again, his lack of a deeper understanding of how race, class, privilege, etc. play roles in feminism continued to hinder him. We mostly see this in Elijah's more classist view of the world. Elijah is known for being condescending to others, although I do feel like it was mostly reserved for men.

I believe Elijah would be accepting of the LGBTQ+ community but that could just be head-canon.

So while Elijah doesn't do too much that is blatantly sexist, I would not classify him as a feminist by today's standards. I think he would be willing to learn if there was a character in the show that could actually educate anyone on feminism. But first, someone needs to educate the writers. (Which is a plug for my fic because, don't worry, Astra will not let that stand)

[kittenintheden]

okay listen I'm so tired lol

I am a fandom old. I've been around the freaking block like eight dozen times. I'm at the point in my life where I enjoy media because it's FUN and ENRICHING for me personally, rather than something I base my identity on. I adore the community that happens in fan spaces (mostly).

here is why I never trust an anon that's clearly just being a dick: I've been in way to many scenarios where people who aren't even invested in the thing just think it's so fucking funny to watch segments of a community fight with each other. it tickles some part of their lizard brain. their mom never taught them not to be an asshole to strangers. idk.

there's a political term that you may or may not be familiar with called astroturfing. it's frequently used in marketing and politics to falsely create the image of vast public support for something that doesn't actually have all that much natural support. for example, people who don't especially have strong feelings about trans issues being encouraged/paid/instructed to respond to any and all trans support a certain way. responding to blogs, sending letters to the editor, posting on message boards, etc. their goal is to create a broad public perception that most people are anti-trans (untrue).

and it works. entire fucking laws and legislation and protests and fearmongering come out of that shit. people make up FAKE PROBLEMS (cis men dressing up like women to go be pervy in public bathrooms???) and spread the word via bad actors and controlling the public discourse. the media conglomerate that gamed Facebook to disproportionately support asshole authoritarian alt-right clowns and got them elected was EXCELLENT at it.

a similar thing can happen in fandom, ESPECIALLY when that fandom is a haven for women, POC, queer folk, and other minorities. you guys might remember GamerGate and SadPuppies? yeah all those fuckers are still active and still purposely being shitty at every given opportunity because they think it's funny to make the "libs" fight amongst themselves.

look up #yourslipisshowing if you're not familiar. it was a movement by Black Twitter (specifically Black WOMAN Twitter) to expose bad actors who would create accounts posing as Black woman activists, learn the surface-level terminology, and just purposely cause discord in leftist spaces under the ever-familiar activist method of "being morally pure is a thing that can exist."

anyway: any time I get an ask or comment without a name attached that is very obviously intended to poke me in a sore spot, I delete that shit and assume it's some fucker trying to start fan drama for kicks. even if I'm wrong, I still don't need to feed into that shit. this is my fun, happy space. I'm an activist and do activist shit and get angry at the world in real life, I don't need it in my little fandom corner of the internet too.

which is not to say that shitty fans and shitty fandom takes don't really exist. they very much do. but I don't give them much air unless there's an actual name attached. and even THEN it can be hit or miss because people can and do create fake accounts if they're especially dedicated to being a shithead.

so: if you're minding your business and some goober comes into your ask box with shit that's clearly intended to push a button, give it like 24 hours to cool down and decide if it's actually worth it to respond. for me, most of the time I determine that it's not.

don't get me wrong. calling out bad behavior in fandom IS IMPORTANT and SHOULD BE DONE. I just also think it's important to try and find the joy and camaraderie in these spaces as much as possible and that people who try to disrupt that for jollies suck real bad and give a disproportionate perception of "what X fans are like."

in summary, my philosophy is be the best person you can be, be as kind as is warranted, focus on the parts of your fandom that make you happiest, and carry a big stick for when the jerks won't take a hint.

also like. shitting on other characters to prop up your fave is such a freaking middle school move. are you in middle school? if so, I'm sorry. if not, I'm still sorry, but for a different reason.

[the-angriest-author]

Writeblr intro

Hallooo..

not sure if I'm doing this right... tbh, idek what to put on here. Anyhow, I've been writing for about two years now (YAY!!). I mostly write poetry although as I write this most of my posts are short stories of the fantasy variety. I like reading swoon-worthy romances so if you write anything that makes me blush and kick my feet like the teenage girl I am, I will follow you and maybe stalk all your posts. If you are the grammar police I must warn you that you will be forced to arrest me after reading my posts (I'M WORKING ON IT, not really tho).

I've been on Tumblr for idk how long but I keep ghosting the app (Life and whatnot) I'm craving community, especially with fellow authors, maybe ones with more writing experience (I am a newbiiieee). Guys... I swear I won't ghost again 🤭.

And here are all my labels for all my lovely people:

She/Her

WOC

Queer (bi or pan idek man this sexuality shit aint for the weak of heart)

Retired Stoner (Moved to a place where I can't smoke)

Raging bitch (Moved to a place where I can't smoke)

Capricorn Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Capricorn Rising (Raging Bitch)

Not actually a raging bitch, just think it's funny (Please like me)

ADHD (Prone to run on sentences and overusing parentheses)

Chronically misunderstood (Capricorn)

Very Annoying (Sagittarius Moon)

Certifiably Woo-Woo (Hence the astrology references)

Not Funny (I think I'm hilarious and spent 5 minutes straight laughing at this little section)

Current WIPS

To The Stranger Who Stumbles ~ A collection of poetry written during a time of my life when I was experiencing some intense change and coming to terms with certain childhood events that were... not so fun.

Genre: Poetry

Word Count: 5953

Stage: Beta Reading (message me if ur interested)

The Mad ~ Mildred the Mad and her crew of dangerous and mythical women are charged with kidnapping and delivering the Seelie Prince to the Unseelie kingdom. But with every plan comes complications, some in the form of brooding king's guards.

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Action

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Found Family

Current Word Count: 4434

Stage: ROUGH DRAFT and planning

P.S. My messages are open! Let's connect!

Published Works

The Hidden (w)Hole of a Heart ~ Literally my whole heart shat out onto paper. But seriously tho it's available on Amazon now and I would appreciate any support. In actuality, it's a story about a young woman (Yours Truly) coming to terms with her deeply feeling nature and Depression. The poems describe the heaviness of emptiness and the overwhelmingness of intense emotions.

Excerpts:

Haunted House

Feelings stick to my walls like ghosts,

How is an exorcism performed on a memory?

How do I let them pass through me?

An Apology to The Crone

Pressing my tiny fleshy palms to my ears,

I refused to hear the wisdom of the crone.

Her voice was scratchy with use,

As she warned me of my journey.

I’d close my eyes with every disaster.

The niggling feeling would whisper a wrong,

And I’d pray to God my feet were swift,

So, they could carry me away.

I’d refuse to harden,

Reasoning that beauty is only found in the soft.

I waited to be taken by my knight.

I never cared that the gleam in her armor was an illusion.

I stand unprepared for the cruel world.

Preserved in my maidenhood.

Having grown tired of disobedience, 

The crone has abandoned me.

Only now do I see the clarity of your wisdom,

I will forever be sorry.

A Terrible High

on occasion

there are quiet moments

where minds begin to fill blanks

when small things grow

rock to boulder

smashing me against the ground

flat

nothing 

2D

I’m nonexistent.

If I were nonexistent

the boulder would simply blow through

and I’d be nothing.

And I’d be okay.