#Log Book Loans

[momentum1]

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[coffeeshelves]

um. so if i said i didnt like the stone sky that much,

[tap1rs]

wanting to get my hands on acod physical copies and the library down the street has a copy of the first one and none of the other books are in my county :)

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

BURNING DESIRE

FOR YOU━━━━

concept for yandere jason todd x reader

“↳ ꒰tw.dark themes , yandere content, stalking , possesivness , reader is viewed as an object ꒱

read at your own caution

jason todd is the silent yandere.

often times - people would look at him , a hulking muscular figure , standing at 6'4 and think that a man of his stature is loud but in reality he's silent.

silent in the fact that he purposely hacked into your tik tok , a03, and Kindle account and ensured that they kept recommending dark rommance, specifically with motorcycle guys.

silent in the way he bought the two apartments next to your own because he couldn't physically handle anyone living so close to you .

he is silent in the way he knows your routine - down to the minute details , the seamlessly useless details like you always run laundry in the evening and watch that specific series when you're eating.

he's a man who doesn't make himself known, not because he is shy or scared that you spot him or would run away at the sight of him . no, it's because this man thrives off the fact that he has full control over your life without you even knowing.

he is the type of man who's already paid off your student loans. He already has your bulls synced to his bank account because he's grown up, knowing as a man he's supposed to provide.

he always sits two tables away from yours in your usual cafe as you laugh among your other friends as you gossip about the dark rommance book you all read.

he always has to cover his mouth before he huffs out a laugh - he's read every single book you've read , to him they're all little boy games. boys who just imitate how to act like a man - boys who thinks they're all dark and scary when they're not . he knows you aren't ready for the darkness that a man like himself brings, but it's alright - he knows one day you'll be ready for him.

jason always finds himself perched in his penthouse , lounging on a chair , manspread so deliciously as he stares out into the distant skyline of gotham , physically he's here but mentally - mentally he's picturing you perched in his lap in his dress shirt as he kisses you deeply- leaving no room for air.

jason who has a whole book in which he logs everything about you , little doodles of you, things you mention off hand what you want , what you dislike - little knick knacks that would easily be dismissed but when it comes to you - he notices everything.

he's silent in his obsession, he wouldn't take you , not immediately, he's a patient man , a man who's savors the best bite for last.

he's seen how hasty his other brothers are with their obsessions - how their haste leaves them unprepared and their obsessions get little silly ideas of freedom.

not him - certainly not you , no you would not get such silly ideas , he rather have you depend on him , need him , crave him the way he craves you . he wants you begging, crawling your way back to him - to openly want him.

that the idea of not wanting him , the idea of running a way , of falling in love with a normal lovestruck boy sounds so funny and absurdly distant.

he's the type of man to sip on a bottle of scotch as he watches you through large , sleek monitors that display footage from the cameras hidden so carefully around your house.

his eyes practically zero in on the way you eat and drink while you focus on your show - a part of him longs to be there , to share that moment with you but the other half longs to pluck such scrappy utensils from your delicate hands and feed you himself.

in public - the very rare times that he goes out , often it's just him zooming down your block in his sleek , black , bmw s1000 rr . he always catches you shyly, peaking through your blinds to watch him .

he's a man of foreplay- of course, he makes sure to flex his tone , tan arms when he revves down the street - would always nod his head towards you and chuckle as you scramble away - embrassed he caught you.

he thinks it's silly you do that - he's yours , body , mind , soul , flesh , blood , everything as you are to him. if he needs to tattoo his name into your skin to remind you he will.

he also has your name tattooed above his heart and your initials marked into the side of his ring finger - a perment testament to his eternal , unwavering devotion towards you.

thank you for reading

[contract-crawdad]

Apartment 21 Theories and Headcanons

Let’s overthink Lyle’s weird as hell living space.

First off! The titular Lyle! Going to try to keep this section limited to what we can learn about Lyle through his apartment rather than just thoughts about Lyle himself, as he is possibly the single most-discussed character in the whole game. And we can infer a lot!

Jeanne’s dialogue confirms that apartment 21 is actually Lyle’s apartment, seeing as she does consider him her neighbor. It’s not a situation where Lyle moved into someone else’s abandoned apartment after the apocalypse started.

The D&D M&W stuff makes it clear that Lyle’s a fan of tabletop games! Do you suppose he’s part of an ongoing group, or is he looking for people to play with? It can be so hard to find a local playgroup! I like to think he and Edwin had a group going, maybe with a few other astronomers involved.

Considering we get the crossword book from him but also that it’s completely unstarted, I assume that it’s one of those things that’s he’s been meaning to get around to but never quite found the time (been there, buddy).

We can find anxiety meds in Lyle’s bathroom! Which is a minor if interesting detail. Lyle really does get more and more relatable.

Funnily enough, one thing that we don’t see in his apartment that we should be in there is the zoom lens that Edwin’s loan log says Lyle is currently borrowing! But considering his partly mechanical form, it’s possible that the zoom lens is simply part of his body now.

Lyle’s dark room! I’d wager Mr. Henderson wouldn’t exactly approve if it’s existence if he were to ever find out. This strikes me as something that breaks some kind of agreement found in you average renter’s agreement.

Notably you can only ever access the dark room if you kill Lyle to get the key! He doesn’t grant you entry under any circumstance, and it’s not exactly hard to see why considering what his ‘special project’ is.

On that note, Lyle will never attack you! It is impossible to get him to be the one to instigate a fight, you have to attack him out of the blue.

The photos of Sam make it clear that Lyle’s affection for Sam isn’t a new development by any means.

More concerningly, though, is the key you can find between two of the bookshelves. It’s SAM’S apartment key, which the more eagle-eyed and elephant-memoried of you out there will recall is the spare that’s missing from the plant outside Sam’s apartment! It’s dubious as to whether or not Lyle has ever used the key.

As far as I’m aware, the key has no actual purpose other than to serve as an ominous reminder of Lyle’s obsession.

What the fuck is Lokjaw’s deal. Seriously. Lyle. Why do you have a man in your unlocked closet? I can excuse the hamburger man you have locked in your bedroom (we’ll get to him), but this is just ridiculous.

My thought on why Lokjaw hasn’t just left the (completely unlocked) closet is because their mental state has deteriorated to the point where they cannot operate a door. Maybe they don’t even recognize that a door is a thing that leads to another place anymore.

But that’s assuming Lokjaw was ever human to begin with! I’ve seen theories that they were Lyle’s dog (credit to @crankyteapot once more), which would explain the mutant’s posture, strange lower jaw, and why they’re in Lyle’s closet in the first place!

But considering that there’s no dog bowl, no collar, and no reaction from Lyle if you kill Lokjaw? I’d wager that if they are a dog, they’re not Lyle’s dog, but rather just some random already-mutated dog he came across! It went sniffing around the closet and Lyle just shut the door behind it. This making it a problem for future Lyle.

Lokjaw does drop raw pork if you kill it, which is… hmm. Something.

I… don’t think there’s any pleasant explanation as to why it drops raw pork actually.

Something about Lokjaw, whether human or canine, makes me think they had a very nervous disposition. There’s something so defensive about their posture, and their facial expression seems so scared! Unfortunately for us, this translates to the mindset of ‘kill the thing that is scaring me’.

Unfortunately, the reason for Tumorhead’s presence in apartment 21 isn’t any clearer than Lokjaw’s! If anything it’s stranger because he’s in what appears to be Lyle’s bedroom, and he’s even locked in there by those strange fleshy growths.

On thing IS clear: the hamburger found around the room is pretty clearly implied to be meat that’s fallen off of a Tumorhead himself, judging by what happens in battle. Sam is the bravest man alive for taking this meat and cooking it.

@crankyteapot pointed out a few visual similarities between Tumorhead’s clothing and the Onlookers, and I could see there being a connection!

I really love the idea that Tumorhead, having looked outside but while still human, stumbled drunk into Lyle’s apartment and collapsed into his bed (with Lyle being too timid to correct them). The poor guy nursing a splitting headache that manifested very viscerally as his metamorphosis completed in his sleep.

Located in Lyle’s bathroom, we finally have an easy-to-explain mutant presence! The broken-down door makes it pretty clear that this guy forced his way in from F1 through Lyle’s shortcut.

Since this guy is pretty clearly implied to be from F1, I wonder if he has any association with that one gigantic eye in the unnumbered rooms? On one hand there’s some surface level similarities, but on the other hand Eyecluster’s eyes are functionally distinct: they’ve been modified into acid-launchers and it’s unclear if he can still see out of any of them!

My favorite detail is how Eyecluster’s posture seems off balance from the sheer volume of eyes he has, it’s a neat touch that conveys just how ungainly their newly added parts are! And I adore how the Visitor’s effects clearly don’t care about what an organ USED TO do. Your eyeballs spit acid now. Your hair can eat things. Your tongue is easier to get around on than your legs.

This is nothing but pure headcanon, but I like to think that on the morning Eyecluster beheld the Visitor, he woke up wearing contact lenses that he’d left on overnight by mistake. The unpleasant sensation in his eyes ended up heavily influencing the results of his transformation.

It’s what you all came here for, it’s LYLE BATHTUB THEORY TIME!!

So. Lyle’s bathtub. It’s weirdly long, right? And that’s not just sprite perspective weirdness! The comically long bathtub has actual inspection dialogue that reads ‘huh this thing is long as hell, weird huh?’ and it also points out that the whole room looks stretched. Sure enough, the less conspicuous but still very conspicuous counter across from it is also weirdly long!

But why? I’ll tell you why. I think Leigh stretched Lyle’s bathtub. it’s not what’s INSIDE the bathroom, but rather OUTSIDE!

The other side of the south bathroom wall is the hallway where Leigh chases you. You know, the hallway that she supernaturally lengthened so she could have more fun chasing Sam. Not only that, but this chase is required in order to access Lyle’s apartment in the first place, you cannot access Lyle’s bathroom without having done the Leigh chase!

So Leigh’s space-warping chase tunnel seems to have had some lasting effects on the adjoining rooms! Which makes sense. Sure, Leigh has some kinda of vague elongating powers, but you can’t tell me she knows how they work or how to use them in a way that doesn’t have some lingering effects.

Hopefully it’s helpful to Lyle! I mean, he’s larger now. He definitely would not fit comfortably into a normal bathtub, but on the other hand it’s also questionable if he even can bathe, what with all his mechanical parts.

[wundrousarts]

If you’re interested, there is one that exists already that you’re more than welcome to join!! It’s been around since 2019 so feel free to dig through old stuff, I always love to hear new ideas on anything Nevermoor! Here is a non-expiring invite link.

Would anyone be interested in creating a Nevermoor discord channel? The fandom is so small that it would be nice to talk to some people about it :)

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: A Feysand AU

Chapter One

She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?

Hi everyone! Here's chapter one. I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you're interested in being tagged. Any thoughts on the story are much appreciated, too!

Chapter One

Feyre collapsed against the wall as soon as class was over. Sweat dripped from her temples, sliding over the layer of concealer she had plastered on that morning. She wiped her forehead, swearing to herself once again that this would be the last time she allowed Tamlin to drag her to a Crossfit class.

Even though she had made and broken that same mental promise to herself three times a week for the past six months.

As she guzzled from her near empty water bottle, Tamlin slung a sweaty arm over her shoulders, his skin against hers slick. Oily. “Got any of that left?” Tamlin asked, already reaching for the water bottle.

Feyre sighed, handing it off to him. “A few drops.”

He knocked it back without another word. Not an appreciative smile. No thank you, Feyre. Not even a nod of gratitude for the water he had taken from her.

As she followed Tamlin out of the warehouse where the Crossfit classes were held, Feyre made another vow. The first of its kind, but perhaps with more resolve behind it than the one she had made only moments ago.

She was going to break up with him this week.

Feyre trailed Tamlin through the parking lot, eyes on the back of his neck, his blonde hair stuck to it with sweat. Her boyfriend of over a year had fallen into conversation with his best friend, Lucien. Lucien was also a regular at these Crossfit classes, but had met Tamlin through work. Tamlin had hired Lucien as his Director of Operations at his company, Spring Solutions. Five years later, the duo were best friends.

Lucien climbed into the passenger seat of Tamlin’s expensive truck, leaving Feyre to haul herself into the back as usual. Tamlin swung into the driver’s seat and made short of work of getting the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the highway that would carry them back into the city, back to the building where Tamlin and Feyre shared an apartment and Lucien lived a few floors down.

As the two discussed something about work—a topic Feyre didn’t particularly care about—she thought more about the terrifying new task she had set for herself.

Breaking up with Tamlin wouldn’t be simple.

Because it was her life, of course, and things were never simple.

She had shared an apartment with Tam, who was nearly seven years her senior, since the beginning of her second year of law school. Now, a month into her third and final year, their lives were fully intertwined. Feyre paid a few hundred dollars of rent each month, but Tamlin footed most of the bill. The downtown apartment was expensive, something Feyre could never afford on her own thanks to her law student’s budget.

She rarely paid for meals, either. Tamlin subscribed to one of those ultra-healthy meal services. A week’s worth of dinners delivered to their door every Monday morning. Feyre cooked them on study breaks, and the two would usually share a quick meal before Tamlin logged back on to work in his home office and Feyre returned to her books.

Most of the furniture was his, as was the art on the walls. The kitchen utensils, pots, pans. The bed they shared. Everything.

If Feyre moved out, she would have to return to her father’s house or increase the amount of student loans she had already taken out that semester. Neither option sounded appealing. She had lived with her father and her two older sisters her whole life—all throughout her undergraduate studies and until the end of her first year of law school. How she had made it so long trapped in that house, caring for her family in much the same way she cared for Tamlin, Feyre had no idea. So when Tamlin had proposed the idea of moving in together, she jumped at the chance. Didn't think farther than Get me out of my childhood home.

She hadn't considered what would happen if things didn’t work out. If she decided he wasn’t the one for her anymore.

She had gone straight from her father’s house to Tamlin’s apartment, and had fallen into Tamlin’s lifestyle, even if she still wasn’t quite used to it.

At least the bed in the guest room was hers, and the nightstand and the few books she had taken from her father’s house. Her painting supplies.

“Babe?” Tamlin’s voice scattered the plans she was fruitlessly trying to cobble together in her mind.

“What?” She inquired, blinking up at her boyfriend.

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner out tonight.”

Feyre bit her lip. She had already put off studying to come to Crossfit—if she didn’t get home soon, she would have to burn the midnight oil to get all her reading for class done at a decent hour.

“I really have to study,” she said quietly, praying he wouldn’t try to convince her to come to dinner. Because he would never let up and she, inevitably, would give in.

At Tamlin’s sigh, she tentatively tried again. “I’m really sorry! I wish my professors didn’t assign such long readings, but I can’t change it.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You know I would come to dinner if I could. I would much rather do that.” The words weren’t new—she’d used some variation of them numerous times over the past year and a half. They had almost lost all meaning to her, but she’d found this was the best combination to keep Tamlin happy: apologize, provide an excuse that was outside of her control, and assure him that he would always be her first choice.

“Alright. We’ll drop you at home and come back later.”

Feyre choked back her sigh of relief. “Sounds good. Thanks, babe.”

Lucien’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror—one ginger eyebrow cocking slightly. Feyre looked away, gaze fixing on her lap.

Twenty minutes later, she waved at the car as it sped down the street toward Tamlin and Lucien’s favorite sports bar. With any luck, Lucien would get him drinking beers and talking about work, and she would have at least three hours to herself to shower. Study. Maybe even time enough to feign sleep by the time Tamlin returned.

And indeed, she managed to accomplish everything she needed to do just before Tamlin came stumbling into the apartment hours later. Feyre shut her eyes tight from her spot on the right side of the bed, her fledgling plans swirling through her thoughts until she well and truly drifted away.

-----

The next morning, Feyre gazed at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to make sure every inch of her suit was clean and pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. The black jacket clung to her narrow frame, the pencil skirt she wore beneath it as flattering as a skirt that cut her off just below the knee could be. Her golden-brown hair fell in loose waves just past her shoulders, watery blue eyes popping thanks to the brown mascara she had applied.

“You look amazing,” a voice from behind her said.

Feyre turned, smiling at her boyfriend despite all the promises and plans she had made the night before. “Thanks, honey.”

“What’s the occasion?” Tamlin asked, striding forward and placing his hands on her hips.

Feyre stepped back, grinning up at him. “No touching. I have an important networking event with my firm today and I can’t get all wrinkly.”

Tamlin held up his hands, backing away a step. “My apologies, Ms. Archeron.”

Feyre smiled. Tamlin wasn’t always awful.

Just most of the time.

“So when can I expect you home today?”

Feyre sighed, grabbing her backpack and purse and brushing past Tamlin, striding out of the closet and into the master bathroom. “I’ve got a full day of classes, and then this networking event at six. I’m not sure how long it will go, but I’m really hoping to be back by eight.”

“Just as well,” Tamlin said. “I’ve got a late night at work—probably won’t be home until after ten.” Feyre nodded, and Tamlin followed her out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the hall to the kitchen. Feyre grabbed the smoothie she had made earlier that morning and tucked her lunchbox into her backpack.

“Have a good day, honey,” she said, pressing a kiss to Tamlin’s lips. He nipped at her lower lip, green eyes sparking. But Feyre just smiled, retreated, and didn’t breathe deep until she made it to the hallway, door automatically locking behind her.

This week. She was going to do it this week.

Feyre’s day dragged on in one long, miserable slog. She got cold-called by her professors in two of her classes, but she managed to answer most of the questions correctly, her heart thudding violently in her chest all the while.

Cold calls and the Socratic method of teaching were one of her least favorite parts of law school. Most professors gave no warning to their students before they called their names, subjecting them to several questions of the professor’s choosing. If you didn’t know the answer, they might move on. But some waited for you to at least attempt to respond, while the class stared and stared and hands jumped into the air all around, telling you that they knew the answer, that it was obvious. Answering a question correctly felt wonderful—but answering incorrectly usually caused Feyre’s cheeks to burn a bright red.

It didn’t matter how many of the randomly determined “calls” Feyre endured—every time a professor spoke her name, her hands started sweating, her heart rate climbing up and up and up until the professor moved on to another victim.

She spent a few hours at the library after class, tucked in her favorite corner. It was private, but better than sitting in the main quad where most of the law students gathered to study during daytime hours. Feyre hadn’t spent any notable length of time in the quad since the first semester of her 1L year. As her relationship with Tamlin progressed, the few friends she had made faded away as Feyre opted to attend the fancy dinner parties and events Tamlin invited her to. Maintaining a new relationship and keeping up with her studies didn’t leave much time for anything else—not even friends. That wasn’t to mention the time she had spent at home with her sisters and father her entire first year of school, taking care of most of the housekeeping and cooking duties because the rest of her family had “real jobs” and Feyre was still “just a student��� who didn’t work a regular 9-5.

Now, she felt like a ghost in the halls of the school. She would wave to her old friends if they passed in the hallways, but Feyre had long ago accepted that this would be her law school experience: sitting in the back of the classroom, answering questions if forced, and generally keeping to herself.

It was a quiet, small existence she led. Class. Tamlin. Attending whatever events or obligations Tamlin dragged her to. Studying.

After she’d had enough studying for the day, Feyre took the train to downtown Prythian, checking her makeup at least four times before the train arrived at its stop a few blocks from a large hotel and event center in the heart of the city. She started to walk the five minutes to the hotel, staring up at the enormous shiny buildings rising around her.

To think, this would be where she worked full-time in just a few short months.

Thanks to competitive firm recruiting, Feyre had had her post-grad job lined up since the summer. She would be starting as a junior associate at Hybern & Night LLP, one of the largest and most powerful national firms in the country. Jobs at Hybern & Night were hard to come by, but thanks to Feyre’s top 5% ranking at Prythian University Law School, and her ability to say all the right things under pressure, she’d scored a job during early interviewing last summer.

The firm occupied the upper floors of one of the tallest buildings downtown. Tonight it was holding a networking event for its partners, associates, recruits, and other lawyers in the community.

She could have skipped the event, but her career counselor had emphasized how important it was to immerse herself in firm activities as quickly as possible—it would make her transition from student to junior associate much smoother, and allow her to make connections with more senior attorneys and partners who might be willing to provide projects for her to work on when she started.

So, she was here, clicking down the shadowed streets of downtown Prythian, gearing herself up to rub elbows with some of the city's wealthiest attorneys.

Some day soon, she would be one of them.

Feyre tugged her coat closer around herself, the chill in the air signaling autumn’s impending arrival. A block away, the windows of the event center glowed warmly in the shadows of the buildings around her. She increased her pace, and soon found herself ensconced in a world of cocktails and arguments. Feyre made a beeline for the refreshments table. She could certainly count on attorneys to ensure there was an open bar at events like this. She seized a glass of red wine and cast her gaze around the room, but didn’t recognize anyone. She had interviewed with at least five of the attorneys from Hybern & Night in order to get her job, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Feyre thanked the man who served her the wine, swallowing back memories of her own time spent as a bartender at Humane, one of the filthiest hole-in-the-wall bars in all of Prythian. She would have preferred talking to the bartender—less posturing required—but forced herself to skirt around the room, looking around for someone to engage in conversation.

She had almost completed a full lap when an enormous man leaned against the wall just in front of her.

“You look lost,” his deep voice rumbled, light brown hair sliding over his forehead, pale green eyes gazing down at her. His cheeks were flushed—probably from the alcohol—and as his eyes slid over her, Feyre was glad she hadn’t yet removed her coat.

“Not lost. Just—” Feyre broke off, shaking her head. “Feyre Archeron,” she said, offering a hand. “I’ll be starting as a first-year associate at Hybern & Night next August.”

“Jax Smith,” he said, an enormous hand encompassing hers. “I'm in my eighth year at Hybern & Night. Hoping to make partner next year. It’s nice to meet you, Feyre.”

Feyre swallowed, taking her hand back and sliding it into her pocket. “You too.” She cast around for one of her pre-prepared questions: So how do you like working at the firm? Any advice for 3L students preparing to enter the workforce? How do you survive the eighty hour workweeks year after year after year? Is the money worth it?

Luckily, Feyre didn’t have to resort to any of her questions, because Jax spoke for her.

“You look awfully young to be a 3L,” he commented, gaze sliding up and down her body.

Feyre cocked an eyebrow, a chill trailing down her spine. “I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s young.”

Feyre gritted her teeth. This was certainly unprofessional. “Not too young, I hope,” she said, forcing a smile. This man was going to be her coworker. She couldn’t just turn around and flee. “I’ll be twenty-four this December,” she said brightly. “Practically collecting Social Security.”

Jax didn’t smile. Only narrowed his eyes like he was trying to see through her coat.

Feyre swallowed another gulp of wine, and as he inched closer, she realized that the alcove where they stood was mostly obscured by two of the many enormous columns ringing the event center. There weren’t any lights in this section, and no one else seemed to be paying them any attention. The rest of the networking attorneys seemed miles away, even the sounds of their voices muffled by a dull roaring that started in Feyre’s head as Jax’s gaze fixed her in place.

“And are you married, Feyre?” Jax asked, one arm resting on the wall next to her head. His gaze dropped to her left hand, wrapped around the stem of her wineglass, her fourth finger obviously bereft of any ring.

“No,” she said, backing away another step.

But her admission only seemed to encourage Jax. He slid forward, eyes focused somewhere just south of her neck, where her coat had fallen open to reveal the v-neck of her dress shirt. “I would be happy to meet you for a coffee sometime. Maybe even a drink. Tell you more about the firm, away from all these stuffy partners. We could even find somewhere quieter here. To talk.” His eyes slid to the hall that led who-knew-where, just behind Feyre, stretching off into the shadows of the hotel.

Feyre’s eyes widened, a lump forming in her throat. This man was her future coworker, her senior. He might even be partner by the time she started at the firm. To turn him down could be fatal. If he took offense, he could spin it any number of ways: She had no interest in learning more about the firm. Couldn’t care less about team-building and getting to know her coworkers. Clearly came for the wine and nothing else.

He could ruin her reputation. And that was something she couldn’t afford. Not if she ever wanted to be free of Tamlin, of her family.

“What do you say?” Jax asked, bending down, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath hot against her cheek.

“I—” Feyre started.

But another man’s voice, smooth as velvet and gentle as the night, floated into the alcove, startling Jax and sending a wave of relief over Feyre.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

[copperbadge]

Logged in to this message in a group chat after recommending the Shivadh books to another friend yesterday 😂 thought you might enjoy

Awwww what a lovely thing to share, thank you! I hope she liked it. I always enjoy hearing about people loaning out or recommending the books, not even because it might mean sales but just because I like the idea of people reading them. I like it when people enjoy my personal blorbos :D

Also my apologies for the belatedness of this response, holy shit how is it already July 16th....

[ID: An image from a group chat of a message from "Little Dinosaur"; the text reads "Kristie, I saw you marked Fete For A King as currently-reading on Goodreads and I IMMEDIATELY knew that Allison had been here in the group chat doing the Lord's work. (This series is so good!)" There are a few laughing emojis appended to the message.]

[thechekhov]

librarian here. Hoopla is a product that your public library has to pay for. You can only use it if your library has a contract with the vendor that owns Hoopla. The Hoopla library functions the same as Netflix or other streaming services where the company just rotates things in or out as they please and your library has no control over it (resulting in poor quality control, lots of stuff on there that librarians would never want to include in the collection like fascist conspiracy literature). The reason there's no wait-lists and instead a cap on borrows per month is because the contract is pay-per-use. Every time you borrow something on Hoopla, it charges your library $6 (on average). The monthly cap is set by your local library to avoid going over budget, basically. So if your library gives you ten borrows a month, it's like your municipal government is giving you a $60/month allowance but only for renting stuff on Hoopla. This vendor model is really financially unsustainable for libraries, especially bigger ones with lots of users, so that plus the lack of quality control means a lot of libraries that used to have Hoopla have been ending their contracts and directing that money towards other ebook services like Overdrive/Libby where librarians are actually purchasing and curating collections of ebooks that the library owns and can lend out an infinite number of times without paying per borrow (the trade off being you have to wait in line for popular items like with physical library books). Hoopla, however, has been doing his shitty thing where instead of just removing libraries from their list, or saying "your library no longer has a Hoopla subscription," they "forget to update the website" and then throw error messages whenever users try to log in, so that the users will call the library and complain about not being able to use Hoopla anymore, in order to pressure the library into resubscribing. Even though it's just a way better financial decision to buy fives copies of an ebook for $50 and loan them to 500 people and still have only spent $50 than to pay $3000 for 500 people to read the same book but they didn't have to wait in line during the 1-2 year period when a new book is popular enough to have a line. Especially considering that for very popular titles like Gideon the Ninth you're looking at a lot more than 500 people reading it.

Fair enough! That was a lot more than I bargained for but I appreciate your dedication. I suppose it makes sense that the MELSA system doesn't use it. Good to know!

[08melancholie]

Honeysuckle and Whiskey. — Micah Bell/OC

CHAPTER 8 — Loan-Sharking.

words: 4,854 | AO3 LINK — MASTERLIST

(Chapter 1 "Colter and Gang Rivalry"or Masterlist for tags and summary.)

Melody was sure that she'd retold the tales of the outing at least seven times by now; each time, she had to restart her story as a new person chimed in, wanting to know what it was like. "That is the last time I'm talking about it, nag Javier or John about the rest!" She slumped into her chair exhaustedly, scooping up some stew from her bowl and blowing on it to cool it down.

Little Jack came over soon after what she said. "Auntie Mel!" She immediately guessed what he was going to ask and groaned quietly into her food, earning herself a few chuckles around the table.

"Absolutely not. Go ask.. uncle Micah about it or something, I'm done retelling it!" She stood up with a laugh, taking the young boy into her arms and lifting him up to distract him from his knowing question. The boy giggled and held onto her arms.

She left Jack to bother the other men at the table, soon wanting to get started up on her chores again; not before passing by Herr Strauss.

"Wie gehts, Frau Mühl?" He asked, making Melody stop in her tracks and walk over to his table.

"Hmm.. Gut. Do you need something?" She asked, in a hurry to start on up with her chores.

"Yes," He looked up from his paper, most likely counting camp funds. "Schulden. I need you to collect a few debts for me." His accent was much thicker than her own surprisingly.

She nodded silently. "I can do that. Give me names and locations." She took a small notepad out, writing down the word 'debts' at the top in cursive. He listed down a few names along with what was owed and their locations, as far as he knew. "Okay, I guess I'll be out of camp awhile then. Would you tell Dutch that? Danke." She adds, putting the notepad away and walking off to her tent to get a few things.

Melody took her revolvers along with some province to last her the few days out of camp, making sure to bring a book just in case she can't sleep whilst camping out for the night. She soon walked out and to her horse, patting it on the neck as she straddled her saddle and urged him to trot forward. She decided to start with a man named Chick Matthews first, seeing as he was the furthest one out and that it'd be best to go that route.

Anni was a hard-working horse, that is something Melody was absolutely sure of. She's pushed it out with her through many, many hard days and ever tougher terrain. She was also a horse that needed to be taken out often, or she'd go absolutely insane. She took her out every two days, and has been recently trying to make it a daily thing.

The steed was grateful for the long walk to Guthrie Ranch, getting to stretch out her legs after a while of just riding to Valentine and back.

Melody dismounted her horse, leaving it at the side of the ranch house. Looking around, she spotted a man sitting on a log to her left and approached him, hand on her hip inches from her revolver. "You Chick Matthews?" She asked, standing before him with a stoic expression.

"No, no! Not me, ma'am. That's the greenhorn over there." He was quick to defend himself, standing up and pointing to a man in the middle of straddling his horse. "And there he goes."

Melody sighed out, really not expecting to have to chase the man down. Nonetheless, she gave chase quickly after—whistling for her horse. "So long, loanshark!" The man said confidently. "Hee-yah!" He urged his horse to go faster as Melody jumped up onto Anni; knowing damn well she'd speed past him with no problem.

Turns out she was right. The man proved a good challenge, but it wasn't nearly enough; Melody bumped her horse into his which made him stumble off and onto the hard ground under him. She put Anni to a halt and jumped down before the man, rope in hand. Before he could stand up any further, she gave him a good kick in the back of the knee, making him stumble right back to the ground with a groan.

She hogtied the man, turning him on his back as she eyed him up and down a moment. "Debt is due, Mr. Matthews." She said simply, crouching down and blocking the sun from his view with her own head, looking down and waiting for an answer.

"I ain't paying!" He spat angrily, still insisting about fighting her on it.

"That ain't wise." She stood up, kicking him in the ribs with her boot, making him wince and groan again, just much louder. "Money. Now," She turned her foot around, showing him her shiny, sharp spurs and inching them to his ribs. "or I'll use this side next."

He squirmed away from her spur. "Look—look. I got the money." He quickly explained. "..but it's hidden. Untie me and I'll tell you where it is." He tried to compromise, dumber than he looks.

"You think you're in a place where you can bargain with me, boy?" She pressed her heel gently into the mans side, making him wince as the cold, sharp spurs pierced his shirt and slightly into his skin.

He winced away, slurring on his words as he spoke. "Okay, okay! There's a map.. in my pocket."

She pinched the bridge of her nose gently. "A map? The hell, can't you pay like a normal person?" She scoffed, flipping him around roughly and searching his pockets.

"You—you're gonna untie me, right?" He asked, a little panicked.

"We'll see." She pulled the paper out of his pocket, opening it and scanning the image over for a moment. "Jesus, you got me doing a whole ass treasure hunt?" She took her knife out, cutting just his legs free. "Scram." She threatened, pulling him up to his feet and pushing him back in the direction of the ranch. "Let's see."

It took a bit, but she managed to find enough to cover the debt, stashing away the rest to split between the camp and herself.

She was done quite quick with her first debt, barely the afternoon by the time she was done, so she decided to go in the direction of the second one; Lilly Millet.

It was a quick ride down to Emerald Ranch, and she had been trotting with her horse through the small community until she spotted two people—a woman and a man—conversing, a little tensely.

"You Lilly Millet?" Melody halted her horse to a stop in front of the two, sliding off her saddle and standing before them. The woman was quick to stand to her feet, though not responding—which was enough of a response for Melody. "Where's our money?"

The woman took a slow step away. "What?"

"The loan you took from Leopold Strauss." Melody put her hands on her belt, taking a step closer to the woman. "Times up; you have to pay."

She looked at the woman apologetically. "I'm sorry.. I don't have it right now.." She said meekly, carefully stepping away until Melody walked up straight to her, standing tall before the much shorter woman.

"You see, that's a problem we have now, don't we?" She meekly took a step back, looking over at the man slumped in his seat. "Cooper! Give her what you've got!" She commanded.

The man looked away from Lilly and onto Melody. "I ain't giving her nothing." Melody wasn't phased, squaring up to the man; foolishly. He gripped some dirt off of the ground into his fist, slowly standing up. "Except a lesson in damn manners!" He threw the dirt right into her eyes, making them water as the stumbled back slightly.

"Son of a bitch!" She wiped her damp eyes on her sleeve. The man looked much bigger when he stood up to her, but since he felt like playing dirty, so would she.

She was quick with tackling him to the ground, threatening him with a knife to his throat. "Don't make me do it, Cooper." She threatened, pressing the knife further into his neck which made him wince. "Empty 'em." She commanded, looking down at his pockets. To her demise, she was overpowered by the man in a quick moment of vulnerability, tossed under him as he held her down and landed a few good punches to her face, breaking her nose.

She managed to kick him with her knee exactly where it hurt the worst, making him stumble off of her. She stood to her feet and brought out her revolver, spitting blood out right next to him. Being held at gunpoint was much more effective apparently, because he started spilling whatever he had in his pockets; money, jewels and any other valuables.

"Thank you both for complying, mostly." She smiled at them sourly, hoisting herself up on Anni and petting her neck as the couple stood by the door of their home, Cooper clutching his slightly scarred neck with one hand while the other pressed against his crotch. She took off, crossing out the woman's name off the list and spitting more blood aside.

Finally, it was getting dark enough to set up camp somewhere, and call it a day. She choose a slightly secluded part in a forest, hitching Otto to a tree and setting up a small fire next to her bedroll. She watched the stars for a while, and the sight of them through the tree's was soothing enough to let her fall asleep.

The morning after the beating she received was somehow worse; her head was throbbing and her nose hurt like hell—blood tickling down to Melody's lip as it started leaking again. She decided it'd be smart to get back to camp, lick her wounds for a few hours and get the last two debtors she had on her list.

She was quick to pack her things, destroying the burnt campfire with her boot and jumping back onto Anni, who was eager to get back to camp.

It took less time to get back as both her horse and Melody knew the path now, and they had a lot of fun riding back. She saw the camp come into view and sighed happily, finally able to tend to her wounds right. She hitched Anni on a post, passing by a few members who stared at her beat face.

She slapped the money down in front of Strauss. "Das sind Lilly Millet und Chick Matthews." She said, staring down at him who looked up a little shocked. "I'll get Downes and Mr. Wróbel when I.." She pointed to her wounded face. "Take care of this." She left him with a dip of her hat.

She walked herself down to the medicine wagon, cleaning her—most definitely broken—nose when a man leaned onto the wagon, looking down at her. She looked up, nodding slightly. "Micah."

"The hell happened?" He pointed to her face, scanning over her wounds.

"Debt collecting; Lilly Millet had a.. companion try to scare me off." She explained, looking back down at the mirror in her other hand, cleaning her bloody face. "But it's taken care of." She adds quickly.

He hums as he listens to her, nodding his head slightly.

"What're you doing?" She tries to continue with small talk when he doesn't say much.

He leans more comfortably on the wagon, taking his revolver out and playing with it. "Nothing much." He mused quietly, spinning the gun between his fingers.

She nodded slightly, dampening a cloth with a small amount of alcohol and dabbing it over a few, small cuts on her chin. "Wanna.. get the last two with me?" She asked, biting her tongue as soon as the question left her lips. "Actually-"

"..Alright."

She looked up at him to try and catch sarcasm in his face, or to see if he even said anything at all. He just nodded again, lifting his body off the wagon and walking towards the horses. She did it to herself this time.

She walked over to the horses a few minutes later, her face looking much cleaner now. "Ready?" She asked, looking up at him on his horse, smoking a cigarette which he soon flicks to the ground with a low hum.

Micah Bell.. riding to collect a debt.. with a German.. surely, now she's seen it all.

The first few minutes of riding were silent, occasional small talk which wouldn't last them too long. The house was coming up soon, giving Melody time to look over her notes on the next debtor; Thomas Downes.

"House is just up here." She said, leading her horse up a steep-ish hill with Micah close behind. They slid off their horses and left them in front of the house, noticing Mr. Downes working on his crops outside.

Melody leaned on the gate, Micah standing a few feet behind her. "Thomas Downes." The man turned around with a worried expression on his face. "It's payday." She added, beckoning the man to get closer.

He started stammering on his words. "Oh, no-no.. I'm.. I'm.." He muttered, clutching onto the rake in his hands nervously.

"You think we're a charity case, Mr. Downes?" She asked firmly, leaning a bit closer over the fence. Micah put his hands on his gun belt, watching intently and somewhat curiously.

"We've got nothing, ma'am. But when we have something, it'll be yours!" He explained, taking a small step backwards.

She scoffed, opening the fence suddenly and walking up to the man. "You think I have time for this?" She walked up to the weak man quickly, her reflexes reacting quickly as the man attempted to hit her with the rake. She took it away from him with one hand, slapping him to the ground. "Threatening me? Really now?" She raised her voice slightly.

"Please, I have a family, ma'am.. sir.. please." He adressed both people as Micah walked in behind her, still keeping his distance seeing she's handling herself quite well—to his surprise.

She gives him a swift kick in the leg, making him stumble backwards. "So do I; and your pay is what keeps the food on our tables, so pay up!" She said firmly, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him to his feet, pinning him right against the fence behind the man. "You borrowed the money, and you have to pay it back. What's not to understand?" She said.

The man coughed a moment before spitting in her direction, barely missing her face. "Someone ought to teach you some damn manners, you moron. Where's our money?" She threatened, forearm resting on his neck as she backed him further onto the fence, slowing his breathing by a small amount.

"I don't have it." He weakly muttered, making the woman scoff and throw him to the ground. "Sell your shit." She spat at the ground next to him. "I'll say it once more; we're not a charity case. You have a week." With that, she beckoned Micah to follow her, which he silently obliged to—secretly wishing he could have a go at the man himself.

They got their horses just as a woman and a boy ran out of the house, the woman—presumably Mrs. Downes—yelling out for the man, glaring at the two outlaws. "What you looking at?" She hissed, riding off with Micah.

"So, what now? You ain't got the money and Strauss set today as payday." Micah asked curiously, still keeping mostly his tone quiet and short with her.

She sighed lowly, trotting her horse in the direction of Mr. Wróbel's house. "We give him a week. Strauss'll understand, and if he doesn't have it in a week, well.. he'll have it." She said firmly, trusting herself and her threats to be a good enough wake-up call.

He nodded silently, riding next to her in the direction of the house. "You hold yourself good."

"You thought I couldn't hold myself?" She asked, slightly offended.

"Not- ugh.." He scoffed. "Not that well." He backed down on his comment out of frustration.

She scoffed right back, turning her head away from him. "Okay.." She murmured, speeding up her horse a bit ahead.

"Don't let it get to your head, honey." He teased as he saw himself obviously get under her skin with the remark—something he enjoyed doing to most people.

She bit her tongue, not wanting to give him a reaction at all. "It didn't. Your words hold little weight to myself, Micah." She said, side-eyeing him as he sped up next to her again, wanting to see her reaction to his words.

She did her best to ignore his other jabs the rest of the way, trotting silently to Mr. Wróbel's house. They soon arrived, and jumped off their horses. „Stop your antics now, we're here." She scolded him, which made him chuckle at the feeble attempt to control him and his actions.

She knocked on the door before just instantly entering—making the knocking useless. "Mr. Wróbel?" A rather frantic man turned to the two outlaws in his home, immediately backing away fearfully. "You took a loan from my partner. It's payday." She explained firmly, hands on her gunbelt. He starts speaking incoherencies in another language. "What is that; Russian? Polish? Goddamn it." She sighed.

Micah butts in, leaning over Melody's shoulder. "You speak english?" He asks firmly, somewhat aggressively.

The man makes a feeble attempt at forming a coherent sentence in english to the two, making them both a little irritated as this becomes a much bigger problem. "We're here for money." Melody says slowly. "You borrowed it from my partner Strauss, a German. Austrian. Whatever he is.." She whispers the last part mostly to Micah.

"Aha.. German.. Meine Frau-" The man starts speaking in German, making Micah scoff. "Ah, great. He's one of your kind."

"What do you mean by my kind?" She snaps at him, clearly offended which gives him fuel for later—for now, he raises his hands in surrender sarcastically, backing off. Melody's attention turns to the man. "Geld. Du musst deine Schulden bezahlen." Melody explains.

The man starts to rub his hands together nervously. "Ah.. No.. no have nothing, sorry. Very bad Winter."

"I do not have time for your excuses, boy." She pushed him to the ground against a wall swiftly, turning her head to Micah. "Search the house; there's probably enough for the debt." Micah mockingly salutes her, heading into one of the drawers behind him. The man pleads incoherently, switching between German, Polish and broken English. The two outlaws loot the house until they're missing barely a few dollars. "Shit."

Micah looks at the man's body language for a moment, stood up and almost guarding the drawer behind his body. He shoves him away and into a nearby wall, opening the drawer. "Oh, look at this gem." He opens the small, pink box and takes the silver wedding ring out.

"That'll cover it." She says, taking the ring from him and shoving it into her pocket. The man starts pleading louder, on the brink of tears as he looks up at the two outlaws. "My wife.." He mutters, making Melody bite the inside of her cheek guiltily as she reads his expression. "Fuck—I can't." She grabs the box and puts the ring back, tossing the box back to him—to Micah's surprise.

"We need that! How're you gonna pay off the rest?" Micah grunts, scolding her like a child.

She pulls her wallet out, the small pouch full with little coins. She nitpicks enough to cover the rest. "I've got it." She says, beckoning Micah to follow her outside. The night was young, but the sky had already turned a darker shade of blue as it approached.

"You got soft on him." He muttered, spitting on the floor just outside the house.

She shrugged. "It was a few dollars. If I'm paying for it, there ain't nothin' you should be commentin' on." She replied firmly, angering him slightly with the superiority in her voice.

"Watch your tone, girl." He warned, hoisting himself up on Baylock. Would it be wrong to say she regrets calling him to go with her?

She scoffed. "I'm good." Anni got a slight hit in the ribs from her, urging her forward with Micah doing the same to Baylock.

He glared at her slightly. "You have quite the mouth on you, cowpoke." He said insultingly.

She didn't reply, simply trotted her horse forward which had him more pissed; they both had a thing for getting in each other's heads, apparently.

It was supposed to be a smooth, ten-minute ride back to camp with a little bickering from the two; it turned pretty sour when Micah got recognised by an O'Driscoll practically just outside of camp, and they had to bolt in a random direction away from it. It wasn't a horribly dangerous chase—seeing as their aim was shit. Micah and Melody lost them by riding past Rhodes and into a random forest, seeing as it would be quite stupid to go back now, they decided to camp out in the spot they hid in.

Melody prepared her little tent as Micah made a fire, both surprisingly silent—nobody blaming it on the other and just agreeing it was bad luck, misfortune.

"You.. don't have a bedroll?" She put her hands to the fire, warming them slightly as she looked at Micah taking his jacket off and sitting down on it spread out on the floor. He shrugged carelessly. "Are you gonna be stubborn about it if I offer you my tent, at least?" She asked, looking at him from underneath her cozy little tent.

"Yes—I don't need your shit." He said firmly, making Melody scoff. "Suit yourself." She rolled her eyes and laid down on the bedroll inside the tent, savouring the warmth around her comfortably.

She soon heard shifting outside the tent she was in, looking up slightly and finally exhaling her fear when she noticed it was just Micah getting himself warm under the newly lit fire. The second fire tonight. "Micah. Get in here, don't make me ask a third time." She groaned, rubbing her eyes awake. He hesitated for a moment, wanting to tell her to mind her own business and leave him be. He stood up and dragged his jacket with him, laying it as far as possible away from her. She scooted a bit, leaving him some room. It was a tent made for one person, so it didn't surprise Melody when his back pressed to hers, him mumbling something before quieting down.

She awoke first—per tradition—and scooted out of the tent silently to not wake Micah, feeling her stomach grumble slightly. She took the time she had to hunt down a rabbit and cook some meat for herself; putting some away for later and some aside for Micah when he wakes.

It took a few minutes before she heard him shifting in the tent, putting his meat to cook soon after. He crawled out and sat a few feet away from her, rubbing his weary eyes slightly. "Hell's this?" He asked, voice gravelly and low.

"Rabbit. Eat it; we're gonna go back soon." She stood up and stretched her body with a yawn, walking over to the tent to put it down and pack up. Micah obliged after a moment, eating the meat quietly and taking down the fire after. Melody packed the tent away along with her bedroll, picking up Micah's jacket and tossing it over Baylock's saddle as he quickly relieved himself before they left.

Melody straddled her horse, leaning into it's soft mane tiredly—soft and comfortable enough for her to almost fall right back asleep on it. Micah's footsteps, crunching the leaves underneath his boot loudly, awoke her, and she arched her back slightly to stretch and pop it, yawning into her horses mane quietly. "Ready?"

Micah nodded, putting his jacket on while eyeing her. He hoisted himself up on Baylock, and they silently rode back into camp.

Melody went straight to Strauss, handing him the last two debts with a yawn, Micah trailing close behind. "Ah, thank you, Frau Mühl." He looked between the two outlaws. "What took so long? You didn't have to camp; the men live really close to here, oder?" He asked.

"Ran into O'Driscolls; they recognised us and we camped out to not lead them back." Melody explained, hands on her hips as she stood a bit closer to Strauss than Micah. The older man shooed them away, thanking both once more.

"If I ignore your feeble attempts at getting under my skin," They walked over behind Dutch's tent together to leave some extra donations to the camp fund. "you ain't too bad to ride with." She said, a sudden confidence arising from her exhaustion.

Micah eyed her for a moment whilst writing down his donation in the ledger. "Same goes." He said simply, giving her the pencil and walking away, straight into his tent.

Melody watched him walk away, snapping her gaze off of him to write her own donation down, before retreating to her own abode in the opposite direction.

Despite what was said at their departure after getting the debts, Melody and Micah hadn't spoken in exactly a week. It was a mutual awkwardness; one they couldn't seem to ignore so easily.

"Arthur, could you go give Mr. Downes a visit for me? I have to go into town and Strauss will not stop yammerin' about it to me." Melody plead, looking at him with desperation in her eyes.

He sighed before raising his hands in protest, yet saying nothing. "Fine. This is the only time I'm taking it off your hands." He points a wary finger at her before she smiles, ripping the note she wrote down a week ago out of her notepad and hands it to him. "You're the best!"

She walks away from him and towards the horses, patting Anni's neck gently. "You ready, girl?" She chuckles lowly as the horse whinnies in response. She hoists herself up on the saddle, readjusting herself comfortably before pulling on the reins to turn the horse, urging it into a trot out of camp.

As soon as the horse came out of camp, she noticed a familiar face running up to her; a distressed Lenny. "Melody!" He called out, stopping in front of her horse and gasping for air as he leaned down.

"Christ Lenny, are you okay?" She immediately slid off her saddle, resting her hand on his back gently whilst rubbing slow circles on it. Last she saw him was leaving with another member earlier today.

"It's—It's Micah." He said, wiping a few sweat beads off of his forehead. Of course it is.

Melody's ears perked up at the sound of his name. "Micah? Hold on—where is he?"

"In Strawberry —he got arrested and they damn near lynched me." Lenny explained frantically. Melody whistled for her horse as she walked Lenny uphill into camp. Dutch immediately noticed the commotion between the two outlaws from the opening in his tent, standing up off his cot and walking out. Lenny explained how Micah got in a fight and had himself arrested, whilst Lenny barely made it out; almost getting lynched.

Melody waited patiently for Lenny to finish talking, all of her next questions somehow related to Micah. "Lenny, you said Micah got arrested? Why back in Strawberry?" She asked.

"It's where we last were." He explained.

Melody nodded slowly, waiting for Dutch to walk away so that she could talk to him. Dutch ordered for Arthur to take Lenny into town and get him drunk, as far as Micah goes, he'll go get him tomorrow. As soon as Dutch stood up, Melody followed. "Dutch?" She asked, gently holding his forearm to halt him to a stop. He turned, looking down at her. "Let me.. go to Strawberry and see what we're working with. I won't try to rescue him; just.." She bit her lip gently.

Dutch understood her situation, waving his hand dismissively at her. "Of course, I trust you won't do anything stupid." He says, walking into his tent soon after. She expected a blatant 'no' or to at least negotiate on it with him for a while, but he just agreed, so she'll take it.

With that, Melody walked back and got up on her horse, patting it's neck gently again as she felt her fingertips twitch nervously; why exactly is she doing this? Micah and she weren't even on speaking terms—barely at that, yet she felt her blood run cold at the thought of him being hung out in Strawberry. She hit her horse in the ribs gently, urging it in the direction of the town.

[ghostofasecretary]

feeling kinda weird that my most successful list-making vessel is currently tumblr but! y'know! it is what it is!

today we got

- 9am meeting

- 9:15-11:45 call friend 2 cowork

- 12pm phone interview

and as for other tasks and projects. well. Oh Boy. We Sure Do Have Those.

- email re: link

- make bed

- try a new perfume sample from your loan library!

- reply to interview request

- get dressed

- log splurge in accounting

- breakfast

- timecard after meeting

- interview prep i guess? well. i read reviews. i know who i am. it'll go fine

okay. no matter how shitty the job i'm interviewing for is and no matter how much i desperately do not wish to leave my kids. i absolutely fucking need this full time job. i could pay my rent, and parking, and get food and meds, and actually save money. do you know how much i miss having savings? i miss it very desperately. so. HOPEFULLY THE INTERVIEW GOES WELL.

- housing application is soooo many steps and for What. (please get this done today) (scary!)

- exchange emails with potential roommate

whee, in person interview scheduled and potential roommate Emailed.

go eat lunch!!

- finish audiobook (woohoo!)

- knit

- put other interviews (+ requirements!!) on calendar

- please. please vacuum. the carpet is SO GROSS. *please* (FINALLY DID THIS! IT'S BEEN WEEKS IF NOT MONTHS! YES! YES!! ALSO CLEANED A ROOM CORNER, GENERALLY TIDIED, TOOK OUT UPSTAIRS + DOWNSTAIRS TRASH, AND STARTED A NEW AUDIOBOOK)

- make and eat dinner

honestly. *extremely* productive day. interviewed for a job, applied for housing, started finding housemates, chatted with a friend, cleaned my room, read a book... great work!!

leftovers:

- Teaching Demo (outline + prep, film, upload)

- what are the steps to doing taxes, just saying "TAXES" is not actually helpful. i already collected W-2s at some point; where did they go? also need to, like. do business accounting (speaking of, did that gift card arrive yet). open FreeFile website and figure out multiple state stuff also?

- do more handwashing? pick the 3-5 Priority Items given your tiny drying rack and dubious ventilation

- typing poetry is Big Stress and needs to Big Happen. pick a time to make it happen, at least?

- ohhh fuck what else. EMAILS. TURN DOWN X OFFICIALLY + email R, P. email S, O, D with good news and thanks and J, T, A with many thanks. email S and R with thanks and updates. (no need to be apologetic about it!) and reply to H? and email J!! (reply to C, maybe?)

- housing app follow up steps? (vax records, photo ID)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Morgan Jerkins at Mother Jones:

Last year, despite minding other people’s business online, I didn’t know what a “trad wife” was. Now it seems like every time I log in to Instagram or TikTok, there is another video of a beautiful woman cleaning her home or making an extraordinarily long and needlessly difficult meal. These trad wives, short for traditional wives, are women who post online content showing themselves adhering to patriarchal gender roles while keeping house and raising children—and making it look easy.

[...] I wanted nothing to do with her or any self-identifying trad wife in my own small piece of digital real estate, but their immense popularity (and algorithmic dexterity) had allowed them to trespass, and I find myself unable to turn away. Chances are, neither can you. But while it might be easy to write off the trad wives as a silly meme or a guilty pleasure, they should not be taken lightly. Given the misogynistic messaging and white-centric ideals some of these influencers peddle, they are indicative of larger forces at play—henchwomen in an ongoing effort to functionally erase modern women from the public sphere.

To fully understand the rise of the trad wife phenomenon, it helps to look at its origins. In some ways, trad wives resemble the mommy bloggers of the mid-aughts to early 2010s. Back then, momfluencers like Dooce’s Heather Armstrong and Catherine Connors of Her Bad Mother commanded massive audiences through confessional posts about breast pumps and postpartum depression. As writer Kathryn Jezer-Morton pointed out in a 2020 New York Times piece, mommy branding was different back then: These bloggers were messy; they did not hold back in revealing all of the stickiness and ugliness in their matrescence. But then the vibe shifted. In 2016 and 2017, when Seyward Darby was doing research for her 2020 book, Sisters in Hate: American Women on the Front Lines of White Nationalism, she noticed an ominous subculture gaining prominence, one in which women were performing this highly curated image of wife- and motherhood. “It was aggressively anti-feminist, anti-diversity; some of it was proudly pro-white,” Darby says. Trump’s rise helped give these women a larger megaphone.

Of course, many influencers bragging about being stay-at-home moms are not white supremacists, but, as Darby points out, “it is a slippery slope—and sometimes there’s no slope at all—between ‘I’m just a nice woman who wants to be a wife and mom’ and having a very white nationalist agenda. Whether they realize it or not, those are the waters they are swimming in.” Watching trad wife content can pull viewers into territory they didn’t expect. “What’s scary is that there is a subtext in all these videos,” Washington Post tech columnist Taylor Lorenz tells me. For example, a trad wife might advocate for “natural living” or homeschooling, and then veer into anti–birth control rhetoric or religious indoctrination. “When you engage with these videos, because they are so adjacent to fascist, far-right content, you are quickly led down a rabbit hole of ­extremism.”

Not all trad wives have direct links to the far right. But what unites them is a romanticized vision of domesticity, or, as Darby calls it, “June Cleaver 1950s cosplaying.” As self-proclaimed trad wife Estee Williams, who rejects any associations with white supremacy, declared in a 2022 TikTok video, “We believe our purpose is to be homemakers.” It’s not simply about looking pretty. Their aestheticizing of housework is a throwback to the mid-20th century, when women weren’t even allowed to get a credit card or a loan. Publications such as Ladies’ Home Journal were responsible for promoting a certain kind of wife as a way to reestablish social order after World War II, when many women had entered the labor force. As Ann Oakley puts it in her 1974 book, Housewife, “a good wife, a good mother, and an efficient ­homemaker­…Women’s expected role in society is to strive after perfection in all three roles.” Most trad wife content is marked with this desire for perfection.

[...]

So why are many millennial and Gen Z women an eager part of the trad wife audience? Here’s my theory: We’ve given up. The popularity of the trad wife content is demonstrative of a psychological resignation. In the past several years, we’ve experienced a pandemic, the fall of Roe v. Wade, and the end of the Girlboss­­ Era. The rise of the trad wives marks what Samhita Mukhopadhyay, author of the 2024 book The Myth of Making It: A Workplace Reckoning, believes is “a response to the failures of a neoliberal workplace feminism” stretching from the 1960s to the present day—one that focuses on individuality. “What women fought for was an entry into the workplace,”­ Mukhopadhyay explains, but “being a mother in the workplace was almost untenable.” Even after decades of supposed progress, she points out, “we’re still not paid equally, and most women still don’t have resources commensurate with how hard they work and how they contribute to their families.” According to a 2023 report from the liberal research and advocacy organization the Center for American Progress, women were 5 to 8 times more likely than men to work part time or not at all because of caregiving responsibilities. Maya Kosoff, a content strategist and writer who admits to me that she has become obsessed with trad wives herself, says their popularity is “a reaction to perceived systemic failures” that seem like they “can be easily solved by turning to the simpler life of homesteading.”

And look, escapism isn’t anything new. When life gets harder, it’s only natural that one would daydream about a different time. But fantasies are dangerous when the stakes are so high for American women right now. We have only started to feel the effects of the Dobbs decision. “We have not seen how bad it’s going to get as women are pushed out of public life over the coming years,” journalist and MeToo activist Moira Donegan tells me. “Our main educational institutions, our workplaces, our elected officials are going to start to look more male.” Sociologist Tressie McMillan Cottom similarly argues that attacks on reproductive rights represent an erosion of women’s place in a democracy. “Women only get to be full citizens if they have control over when and how they have babies,” she says. “When that changes, your citizenship becomes vulnerable, so you attach yourself to a citizen: men. I think this reclaiming of being the traditional wife is here so long as there’s a threat.”

Mother Jones does a solid report on the explosion of tradwife culture in the wake of the Dobbs decision, in which abortion bans serve as a tool to drive women out of the workforce.

Tradwife influencers romanticize the 1950s aesthetic, and most of them tend to have far-right political views (especially on gender roles).

Read the full story at Mother Jones.

[arwainian]

Reading This Week 2025 #7

couple days late writing this i was having a lazy weekend and then yesterday was an all day marathon of the lotr extended edition movies for a friend's birthday. funnily enough on sunday i went "oh i should write the reading wrap up" and then kept not getting around to it!

Finished:

The Long Road by Taylor Titmouse very fascinated by the dwarf gender/sex worldbuilding in this! rock/jewel binary, almost entirely presentation based and a human trans woman is the only non-dwarf character who seems to understand or respect the dwarf gender-system at all

Chainsaw Man, Vol. 11-12 by Tatsuki Fujimoto, translated by Amanda Haley ooh excited by this new secondary protagonist showing up in the arc that starts in volume 12. also cool to get a glimpse into how normal people's lives are affected by the devils

Dead in the Frame by Stephen Spotswood i adore this series. it's so fucking good man. if you want a historical mystery series with queer rep that holds a deep respect for queer histories, this is great. the mysteries are twisty but build on solid genre-mystery foundations which make their resolutions feel both clever and familiar

Started/Ongoing:

Our Share of Night by Mariana Enríquez, translated by Megan McDowell, narrated by Frankie Corzo at time of writing this report i have actually finished the book (had to finish it before my loan was due back at the library!), but I will save my final thoughts on it for the next log, and also for the mutuals book club chat

[awkward-fink]

Hi, Fink! Ooh, you're getting married? That's nice :D I'm wishing you all the best with your future spouse!! I hope you'll get along well in the future too! :>

I hope you don't mind me asking more ask emoji thingies! How about 🍊 🍋 💌 and 🌺? :> You know, back on my old blog (I used to be a multifandom writer) I would have loved to have reblogged ask games like this, but I always knew that no one was going to ask anything, which is why I like to send these to people when they reblog them :> Have a nice afternoon!

Hi!! Nice to read from you again! And yeah, I am actually going to get married the next year or the one after that. If we find a venue that is. XD My other half and I are in a relationship for over 13 years now, so I think we know each other really well by now.

But thank you^^ And yeah, this ask game was a chance and I know that not many if anyone sends asks from this. But I took the chance and you jumped right in and I was and AM so giddy and happy about it^^ The time I logged in and saw that I had an ask? I ran to my dog to cuddle him silly, which he huffed at me for but who cares! I was sooo happy. And I would have bombarded you with questions from those ask memes. Even if I would do them on anon most of the times^^

🍊 favorite season?

You have the ability to ask the really hard questions, heh? That’s actually a good question in which I had to ponder for a while. I don’t think a single season is my favorite but the time between seasons. Specifically the time between summer and autumn. The golden sunlight streaming through slowly color changing leafage, the warmth still heating you nicely enough that a t-shirt is everything you need to wear, the animals finally being more active again (because even those poor plants can be way too warm). And I cant deal with too much heat to be honest. So I like it warm, but not hot, with colder air but lots of light. IF I had to chose a season though, I would certainly choose spring.

🍋 favorite genre to read / watch / write

Comedy and Fantasy and Sci-Fi, for sure. My fav series to read is “Codex Alera” series from Jim Butcher. It was a good written new idea of a story and I love the main character with all my heart, even if he got kind of OP in the later books. But it was never really overwhelming Gary Stu, you know?

💌 why did you start this blog?

I was lurking and writing anon questions and comments for far too long I think. I wanted, kind of, to be seen as well? Because I love to write and I love the CoD fandom. Years ago I was actually writing for the Transformers fandom, but then I was having no time anymore and now that I have the chance, I am going to leisurely write everything I want. And it’s great!

🌺 what is the best gift someone has ever given you and why is it so important

This is a question I had to think very long about. Because I was thinking of valuable items and such. And then the answer came right through my door. My sister came to see me and brought with her something I nearly forgot I had loaned her half a year ago. My grandmothers recipe book. My fathers side of the family is very large, my grandma had 9 kids and all of those kids had at least 2 children each, so you can imagine what a family gathering looks like.^^ But yeah, my grandma on that side had so many recipes, from her mom and she got it from her mom and so on. And I got the old recipe folder from her before she died and I am actually trying to get the recipes digitalized but some of those are really hard to read.

But yeah, that recipes and the memories of cooking and baking with Grandma Agnes? One of my biggest treasures.

[meg2md]

Operation: Trying To Get My Shit Together

It's my last week of nights, but like I said before, even though it's ass and I'm constantly in a state of existential dread, the hours are considerably better than normal day shift hours and I actually have a relative ton of free time as long as the floor isn't on fire and I'm not expecting transports. I read through all 41 volumes of Berserk in the past 3 weeks and have (almost) recovered from the emotional trauma it inflicted on me, and now I have one week left and no hyperfixations that call me too strongly. So I guess I can work on getting my life together lol.

Academic responsibilities:

M&M - draft due Tues, about half done

CREOG - test in January

ACOG - need to make AROM demos and borrow some amnihooks/FSEs, e-mail about borrowing CE demos, end of Oct

M3 surgical skills - submit simulation center form!!!!, next month

Urogyn - prepare for surgical cases next block by reading/watching videos, next week

Conferences: book hotels, flights; schedule reimbursement - this month

Research: meet about SDOH study paper; log into Athena to prep for data collection for Sedation project; touch base with JC about if AI study going anywhere

Fellowship: app in May, the biggest things are figuring out when/how to ask for LOR and drafting a personal statement. And then hoping my extracurriculars and research are enough :( also potentially an away rotation for end of March/early April - need to meet with MIGS ppl next week to discuss next steps

But the most stressful thing that's been weighing on me for MONTHS is my finances and disorganized spending. This week I REALLY REALLY REALLY want to get my budget it order. I can't even imagine how much my stress levels will improve if I don't have this crushing dread about my finances hanging over my head. This includes

Figuring out loans and how/when to pay them back

Budgeting software (I used YNAB previously)

Paying back my friend who lent me money for vet bills

Calling insurance to see why therapy costs so freaking much

My spending has been out of control!!!! It is like, the absolute worst, most damaging symptom of my ADHD that I don't have a good handle on yet, especially when I'm so dysregulated from nights. I thought I could work on it over the weekend but alllllll my limited, limited energy was spent on basic self-care (laundry, dishes, cleaning floor) and I had NOTHING left.

Anyway. Today is for starting on the budget journey and working on M&M. Maybe I'll log into YNAB and reset some things and just start over. ho hum

I'm just..... so beaten down, so tired. I have so much existential angst. Like idk that I'd want to do anything other than medicine in my life, but like..... what's the point of living ? Lol. Is this all there is? I don't have a partner, I don't have many friends near here. I don't want to not be alive but I like, need a reason to live

:')

[wanderrealms]

In a moment of weakness I loaned several books on log driving in 19th century Finland from the library.