Hello darlings! Below you'll find all my writings on tumblr, but please don't forget to also stop by my AO3, which has works you won't find here! Minors DNI ♡
Putting this blog to rest for an undetermined amount of time. Fandom tumblr has completely knocked the wind out of me and I am just... exhausted, and no longer interested in participating in any capacity.
has YOUR favorite fictional woman over the age of 30 experienced fandom misogyny from people who are mad at Their Mom From Real Life? call our offices, toll-free, day or night. we're the nation's #1 law firm that specializes in defending adult women who make choices and have character traits. if the prosecution has started calling her a selfish bitch, pick up the phone today!!!
Excuse me, does your firm also represent women under thirty who experience fandom misogyny from people who are mad at That Girl From College/Work/High School?
My favorite thing about Sweeney Todd is that Sweeney gets into the killing-and-baking people business because he’s a deeply broken man destroyed by an unjust and corrupt system that cost him his freedom and family and has been driven mad by revenge.
And Mrs Lovett does it because somthin wrong with her <3
𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a heated argument with her neighbour, Joan hopes to smooth things over with a nice, home made apple pie.
𝔴𝔠: 4k — Chapter 1/2
𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: mature
𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰: trigger warning for homophobia, religious guilt, repressed/closeted character, top!reader
𝔞/𝔫: everybody say thank u @madamspellmans-met-tet for editing this project & her enormous amount of help 🧡
𝔞𝔬3
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ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1
The warm light from inside your house shines through the milky glass of the front door. Joan takes a shuddering breath. She knows you’re home, probably comfortably slouched on the sofa reading a book or enjoying a movie, but, if she’s honest with herself, while lifting her hand to ring the doorbell, she hopes you would be out instead of answering the door with that charming smile she adores so much. The shrill sound of the bell cuts through the evening air, making her jump even though she knew it was coming.
Joan shifts her weight from one foot to another as she waits for you to answer, an aluminum foil covered plate balanced on the flat of her palm. Her heart throbs in her throat, and when the door opens and reveals the innocent boldness she has come to know so well, she swallows hard.
The words she’s snarled at you—ugly remarks about your way of life, proclaiming she couldn't be associated with the perversions of your kind—hit you hard enough to make you excuse yourself and flee from her venom. The two of you just started to warm up to each other, the first true friend she's made in the neighbourhood, and she's jeopardised it—but she can’t just ignore the discomfort that wraps around her throat whenever she thinks about how wrong your nature is.
“Mrs. Ramsey,” you greet her, eyebrows raised in surprise, and cross your arms in front of your chest as you let go of the door handle and scan the street. “Is everything alright?”
"Hello, dear." Joan holds up the plate with a warm smile, hoping to at least clear the tension between the two of you. "I made some apple pie and thought you might want some." Nervousness tickles her throat, and lingers even after she clears her it. "I hope this isn't an imposition."
"No, not at all." You pause, then gesture over your shoulder into your house. "Why don't you come in? If you have the time, of course."