#trophy widow

[eclipsecrowned]

most frequent flier on results for those polls. will actively try to make the pc break up with her.

[pucksandpower]

Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

[sonjalikestodraw]

Lovers, come get your groom!

Smitten is here to look dashing ✨ and sweep you off of your feet — and he's already dressed up!

Design notes:

Based on a peacock; symbol of love, vanity and cosmic majesty.

As a part of Slayer's psyche, represents Passion + Uncritical Infatuation

Inspiration: a swashbuckling adventurer (boots, trousers and duelist cape) and a prince (flowing poet's shirt, lavish decorations to match the Princess).

Every design element directs your eye to his chest/heart. ("I wouldn't mess with him. He has very strong feelings.")

The duelist cape is not only fancy and theatrical to fit his personality, but also wide open (vulnerable) and asymmetrical (skewed priorities).

Is part of "the knights" (him, Hero and Skeptic) but wears no protective gear whatsoever. Smitten is confident that he won't get hurt unless he thinks he deserves it.

The frills on the shirt matches Damsel's frilly dress.

Big love = big man = big arms for carrying his beloved to safety!

Heart-shaped hair buns for a relaxed, soft look. He's all friendly curves.

Peacock antennae = hair pins, with more hearts like visual noises. Surely, she can hear his spirit!

Peacock face markings = fluffy, shapely beard for a virile, masculine energy (and for the record, I ADORE butch Smitten headcanons)

Default/Damsel look is gold + crystal. Here, the cape decoration is directly modeled after Base Princess' crown, while the gold comes from the single color mentioned from Damsel's basement. He's a simple rescuer, a golden trophy. His boots are brown for the classic swashbuckler boot (+ matches Hero's brown feathers).

Burned Grey look is black (both a groom about to be wed and a widower) with the cape tattered (love lost/tarnished). The white pearls on the brooch are the same kind as Grey's crown.

Thorn look is dark red with black boots, a somber and bloody color scheme for our history with the Witch and Thorn's mood. And yet a passionate, romantic red. Wears a single poppy, picked from Thorn's cabin... it's as if he's dressed for a date, with a flower in his lapel.

[cottonlemonade]

hello can i get a medium dragon fruit with coconut water for ushijima please. always with chubby reader. thank you!

Long Distance Relationship

word count: 744 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: post-time skip husband!Ushijima x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with some suggestiveness

warnings: spoilers, mdni

request: fluffy-spicy long distance relationship with husband Ushijima

Toshi was the last person to stand in the way of your dreams and if that meant he was going to become the far away trophy husband to a gorgeous media relations executive, he wouldn’t complain. About two months ago - 44 days, but the loneliness made him round up - you had taken the opportunity of a temporary management position in Sydney. Your husband was confident that he could handle your absence for a while, but when he stepped into the apartment the day you had left and his usual call of “I’m home, darling” only echoed through the dark empty hallway, he suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore.

The bouquet of your favorite flowers he had picked up automatically on his way home seemed to mock him now and so he simply handed it to the elderly couple next-door.

Upon hearing that the tall stoic man was going to be a grass widower for the time being they had promptly invited him over for dinner and you were happy to know that your husband, who was just about skilled enough to make ramen and pancakes, was taken care of. During your nightly calls, he would lean on the kitchen counter, hair still damp from the shower and absently nibble on whatever the kind neighbors had made for him. At least the time difference was no issue, he thought as he did the dishes - all alone, without you distracting him by hugging him from behind or playfully swatting at his butt with the dish towel.

It was the distance that drove him crazy. Not being able to play with your hair before falling asleep or pulling you on top of him on the couch as he watched a movie, letting his large warm hands roam over your indescribably soft skin, his fingers tracing the stretchmarks on your pudgy waist for comfort.

He had tried to distract himself by going out for drinks with his friends, but all he could think about was your mischievous little wink when your foot would “accidentally” brush his leg under the table.

Hoshiumi and Kageyama had looked alarmed when their usually blank-faced friend seemed close to tears after two glasses of wine.

He was at an open training with the national team about a week after your leave when it occurred to him that he wouldn‘t get to have sex with you for three months. Lucky for you, his fans kept you well-fed with thousands of snapshots of your sweat dripping husband from various angles, nourishing every thirsty thought you had about him ever since you boarded the plane. He returned to his phone during his breaks to find pictures, videos or voice messages of you touching yourself to the thought of him and Toshi would have to excuse himself to the locker rooms for three to five minutes before resuming his drills.

Whenever he was on the court, he now happily accepted the fine he had to pay for wearing his wedding ring on a chain around his neck. Post-game interviews were spent bringing you up unprompted, before the camera panned down to Hoshiumi who pushed him out of the way for a proper take on the match.

He only snapped out of his miserable wifeless stupor when Hinata excitedly announced one day that if they won this game they’d head out to play Australia next.

“Toss me all the balls.”, he said to Kageyama before they took their positions on the field. Hoshiumi huffed and protested - even louder when after momentary pondering the setter agreed.

The other team never had a chance.

All the way over in your Sydney office the staff crammed into the conference room. Having bragged practically nonstop about your husband since your arrival, your coworkers crowded around you, watching with bated breath how Ushijima Wakatoshi demolished the opposing defenses, breaking through with every spike like he was possessed. And after what was probably the shortest game you had ever seen, Japan’s fans (and the office) erupted into cheers.

Toshi ignored the reporters who all wanted a piece of the MVP and headed straight from the locker rooms to the airport, booking a last minute ticket from the back of the taxi. He’d buy clothes and toiletries once he got there. It was about 6:30 am when your doorbell rang. Holding up a bouquet of your favorite flowers you were met with your slightly out of breath husband.

“Toshi!”, you called, surprised.

“I’m home, darling.”

a/n: you definitely called in sick that day. And then next day showed him off to eeeeeveryone in the office. Thank you so much for requesting Ushijima! I always love writing for him. I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

[milfhawks]

me when i’m a beautiful trophy wife black widow serial killer observing my latest husband quietly as i plan his demise… goddess behavior

[lovlidollie]

Neither movies talk about Feyd’s darlings very much. Does he have any personal connections with them?? Does he take pleasure in having sex with them?? How often does he interact with them??

i see them as trophies. in my humble opinion, i think they’re the wives of his toughest opponents in the arena. he’s killed their husbands, left them as widows, and has taken them as concubines to further humiliate their family. i think they’re fairly new, he would have collected them one after the other forming his own little harem. feyd wouldn’t know anything about them other than the fact that he had beaten their late partners, and he wouldn’t be interested in trying to get to know them personally. now he doesn’t collect the wives of every guy he fights, that would be a bit too much. instead he only takes from those that got the closest to permanently maiming him.

i think he would have enjoyed having sex with them a lot, especially when he was a little bit younger. when he’s fresh off the adrenaline from killing someone, the guards would bring them in (sometimes only one, other times all three) and he would fuck them in front of whoever he’s just killed; doggy style with his pet’s head in the sand near the body so she can lap at the blood. fucking them in front of people especially is a sure-fire way to insert his dominance and his control over his pets and those around him. feyd doesn’t go out of his way to pleasure them though. he goes to them for his pleasure. he’d let them suck his cock, bounce on it; he’d use their holes however he wanted, drag sharpened knives down the harsh planes of their bodies. but he wouldn’t go down on them. he wouldn’t offer them the softness of his touch. the pets wouldn’t care for it either way; he’d hardened them, turned them into monsters that thrive off of blood and cum alone. he prefers positions where he doesn’t have to look at them. i think feyd would also use them as an intimidation tactic. ‘oh you won’t give me what i want? guess i’ll just get my harpies to eat your wife’s brains,’ or ‘obey me or i’ll let them have their way with you,’ (which doesn’t mean anything good trust me; his pets are borderline more fucked up than him)

if he were to interact with them on a daily basis i think feyd would go insane and slaughter them. they’re for fun. for pleasure. not for everyday. they have their own little room, and he’s given them the autonomy to kill whoever wanders too close to their quarters. he feeds them plenty of blood and bodies and that keeps them satiated enough until he needs to fuck something. feyd only brings them out in public public when there’s a particularly strong message he wants to convey. i also think that he doesn’t really enjoy fucking his pets. while yes they do everything he says, they were a bit boring. he only fucks them every couple of days, even if it means he’s more pent up and aggressive because he hasn’t been able to cum in a a wet hole.

[nightklok]

I have so many things to say about Ultraman Rising it’s insane

I’m choosing to talk about how the movie uses grief and it’s such an interesting way of handling it!

Almost every character in the film has grieved or is grieving in some aspect. And grieving doesn’t even need to mean death but just losing something.

For Kenji he’s grieving over his mother’s disappearance, his childhood lost without his father, and the fact at a young age he realized how cruel other kids were and began to put on a front that lasted well into adulthood.

Hayao’s essentially lost out on not only 20 years of being in his son’s life but also being apart from his wife. The family he was happy to create and love but it was ripped apart with the sacrifice of having to fulfill his duties as Ultraman. He was alone for 20 years.

The way the two handle grief is in different ways.

Hayao’s handling of it seems to be a lot more calmer, meditated and carefully thought of. Even if he couldn’t be in Kenji’s life physically, he collected every trophy and home video Emiko sent of his games. He was an absent father but he was a father nonetheless and why he kept his distance is still in the air but it’s so clear that he did try to be updated in his life as much as possible even if he was far away. And because of the fact he loved Kenji and wanted to protect him, it’d extend well past to adulthood where he didn’t even ask him for help in finding Emiko. Why should he ask his son to help when he’s moved away from a career he spent years building to take on the family hero role? Maybe if he finds her it’ll get Kenji to talk to him again. Maybe he should start himself but he has to find her first. But not once did he yell at Kenji.

Kenji’s is harsher and more self destructive. Purposely making himself aloof, putting on a front of being loud and arrogant, making sure he’s so untouchable no one would want to be friends with him or be close to him, all things as a response to the grief he’s felt. While Ami’s breakdown of him did imply he was always known for being this way, I can imagine it got much worse with Emiko’s disappearance. Mina said he did his best. He assumed he was the only one looking for her and he failed. So why bother being nice? Shove a photocard in a player’s hands that they might’ve sold on eBay anyway, yell at your dad for 20 years worth of pent up rage and feel like shit about it but don’t bother to try and fix it. And don’t bother to talk or ask for help from your teammates even at your lowest…it’s not gonna bring her back but being in control of something might bring in some semblance of normalcy.

however I think the one with the most destructive handling of grief is Dr. Onda. And while I agree with some criticism regarding him, I think he’s a perfect villain suited for this. And in some ways, he can be terrifying.

He lost his wife and daughter. He has no one. Unlike Kenji and Hayao where they at least had each other, he has no one.

Ultraman failed his family.

Ultraman failed him.

Ultraman still has his family.

He morphed the KDF’s structure as a result of that. Even throughout the movie he states how this isn’t what he would’ve wanted to do but he had to help families. To make sure no one goes through what he went through.

But he’s also manipulative about it.

He knows grief about losing his family to Kaijus better than anyone.

He knows that he’s not the only one. And Ultraman can’t save everyone even if they tried.

With grief you end up wanting to blame anything.

So Dr Onda chooses grieving people to work alongside him. Consistently throughout the movie he makes sure to bring up how they lost loved ones/family to Kaijus or how they have to think of their families. While we can gather he wasn’t intentionally being manipulative, at the end of the day he’s a widow who lost his family, there’s no doubt about it he’s at least aware of the impact of bringing it up.

Even when there was some doubt over how the KDF began handling Kaijus, especially when it’s shown how sentient they are with their own culture, affection and love, Dr. Onda makes sure to bring up their own families. Forget how this Kaiju is clearly protected her daughter, your own families are more important.

He’s a perfect mix of how Kenji and Hayao handle grief and shows how destructive it can be.

Using the opposite of Hayao’s handling of grief and mixing it with Kenji’s creates such a manipulative monster of grief. We can argue that he has good intentions, that he just wants Japan to be safe and for families to not lose a loved one, but the movie now presents an interesting debate of why one species is so much more important than the other. Dr. Onda, in his own grief, chooses to brush aside that for the sake of trying to do something he couldn’t do earlier for his family. Even if it means trying to kill ultraman and his son.

At the end of the day nothing he does will bring them back. But he has to hope that despite trying to tear two families apart, he’ll save everyone for the greater good. And if he dies, no one will really grieve for him because he doesn’t have anyone. So he might as well die trying.

[artistsfuneral]

But where is the Bridgeton AU where widower Jaskier is one of the most desirable men in ton and since he's "playing" hard to get (he genuinely doesn't want to remarry but is polite enough to converse and dance with the marriage candidates and tjeir families) he's mainly looked at as a prize to win, a trophy, and then one evening standing at the sidelines of a ball, he meets the recently returned Commander Vesemir who's desperately trying to get his three (grown) sons to finally marry someone and what starts out as a pleasant conversation, turns into a dance, turns into two and by the end of the night Jaskier agreed to help Vesemir with his sons and oh no there's suddenly a lot of feelings involved??

[samwinchester-suggestions]

So get this. We’re at this high school in Oklahoma, and no I am not happy to be there, but there’s a ghost that blew up a locker and a water fountain, so we went. well we go hunting round and figure out it’s attached to this old trophy and I’m starting to think, oh how sad some kid died when he was just a kid and got attached to the trophy cuz it was his one achievement yknow. But no. We look up the names on the cup and they’re all alive except this one guy who died of pancreatic cancer two months ago, and he was forty eight. So we go to talk to his widow and she opens the door and bam, endless sea of memorabilia from his old high school, and photos of him playing football in high school that he signed, and his senior jersey is framed right above the doorway. Turns out this guy literally never moved on from his glory days in high school. Anyway we torched the trophy, which meant we burnt the one thing that this guy was most proud of, but his son hated him always talking about it so he didn’t care. Some people though, man.

[serialkilluh1996]

♱𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘♱

Dead-König x Widow-Female-OC

Themes: Angst

Written via: my phone

A/N: I'm writing this in honor of my dog, Bianca, who died undeservingly last week after being hit by a car. My mother would always joke that König reminded her of Bianca, which makes this all the more painful. I always referred to her as My Sweet Baby, and she always will be.

☣Content Warning☣

➛ HEAVYYY Angst

➛ oc doesn't have a specific personality just yet, so it's still kinda like a self insert but that's up to you

➛ Not proofread

Contact me if I need to add more.

Janisse sits at the coffee table in her living room, the dim light of a nearby lamp gently illuminating where she sat.

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock Went the sound of a nearby clock, the sound numbing her brain as she remained idle with her hands clasped together in her lap. The silence was loud. She wasn't used to it.

Her version of normal was hearing König fuss at her nonstop for a myriad of reasons.

"You'll hurt yourself"

"Stop pestering me"

"You're holding it wrong"

"we went shopping yesterdayyyy."

Not being able to hear the sound of his subtle frustration made her chest hurt. She felt empty. The last thing she heard from him was his pained whining. Janisse never heard him cry. He was a quiet, reserved man who was rarely vulnerable with anyone, so those whimpers of agony were something she'd never forget.

Janisse was more than grateful for his quick death. König had been shot right in the heart, so while it hurt, he didn't suffer long. But Janisse would suffer forever having to watch the light fade from his pretty blue eyes. He clung to her with bloody hands like a frightened child to their parent. König held onto her as tight as he could, his strength threatened to crush her hips as she cradled him.

Death was a strange feeling, really. Looking all around the room, seeing he was nowhere to be found. It wasn't like when he'd leave for missions and she'd wait patiently for his return. He just... wasn't coming back. There was nothing to wait for. She had mere photos left of him. Pictures that he damn near disposed you for taking. Pictures of him walking, eating, sleeping in the oddest of places.

He felt she just took those to embarass him in front of his team. To show off to his soldiers and ruin his reputation. But that was never the case. Janisse admired him, loved him in a way others couldn't. Those pictures were trophies, and now, ancient relics. Pictures his close friends would secretly beg her to show them just so they could remember what he looked like beyond just imagining his face.

Everything felt empty without him. Like an important organ had been removed from her body. Laying in bed at night with no extra body to lay on and absorb its heat. Nothing but the comforter.

Having to set alarms to wake up in the morning due to the lack of her boyfriend yanking the covers right off her body and yelling like a drill sergeant at only 6 in the morning. Watching old videos König had sent while he was away in other countries to let her know he was (mostly) safe and sound.

But none of it was really enough. The heavy lack of his presence still weighed Janisse down. There wouldn't be a day her sweet baby didn't cross her mind.

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself. And...to anyone mourning the loss of a pet, may they rest in peace.

[mosquito-queen]

there are a few things in yelena’s hotel room that are decidedly not holiday inn decor: her rings on the bedside table and a small porcelain rabbit in the window sill. the rings were understandable… but a bunny?

kate spies the ceramic interloper the morning after yelena had tucked her so sweetly into the hotel scratchy blankets, slung her arm around kate’s torso and spooned her. a black widow had spooned her.

and then she said something in russian so thick (and so hot) that kate had no chance of remembering the sounds to even attempt google translate at a later date. instead, all of kate’s brainpower was directed to being impossibly closer to the woman cuddling her.

and that had led to kate turning around so quickly that she whacked her head into yelena’s and between the stuttering of an apology and russian curses someone had kissed someone until the curses went from derogatory to praise and now kate’s muscles ached in a way adjacent to their usual fights. but decidedly in a better way.

now, she was laying on her stomach, head turned towards the window and arms cradling the pillow underneath her. the blanket was pulled up to cut across her shoulder blades. it wasn’t the blanket she had initially been wrapped up in - yelena had definitely stolen that at some point during the night. now all kate has is a sheet.

yelena’s breath is hot on kate’s shoulder, and she feels her forehead pressed against her upper arm. her heart softens. she bets yelena looks like an angel. she’s about to turn her head to find out, but something out of place catches her attention. she squints at the windowsill, spies the offending figurine lit by the morning sun.

yelena is shuffling closer to her in the bed, wrapping her arm sleepily around kate and pulling herself closer. kate is still trying to puzzle out why a deadly russian assassin would have such a tiny rabbit.

there’s a hesitant kiss pressed against her arm, yelena’s eyelashes fluttering against her skin, and in a groggy voice she says, “kate, i can hear you thinking.”

kate still doesn’t turn to look at her, forgets that yelena isn’t resilient to doubt, but is reminded as soon as the warmth starts to be pulled away. kate catches her arm, tucks it back around her, feels yelena slowly sink back into her.

“did the rabbit come with the room?”

“oh.” yelena is running her fingers over kate’s opposite arm, and shifts so she can rest her head on kate’s back to look at the window, “you do not recognize him?”

“should i? is it the easter bunny?”

yelena makes a dissatisfied noise and squeezes kate’s arm. the archer is grinning into the pillows at the frustration, “no. it is not the easter bunny,” she mimics kate’s voice, “he is from your movie, bambi.”

“yelena, americans are not born with disney movies in our blood.”

now yelena does push away from her, absolute shock spluttering across her face. kate turns with her, pulls the sheet up to keep some kind of decency, she laughs at yelena and gives in, “yes, yes, i know of bambi.”

“but you haven’t seen it?”

“no.” kate’s answer is short, her eyes tracking over yelena. getting caught up in the way her hair haloes her face, the way her eyes crinkle, the softness of her mouth, the way yelena is propped up that makes the duvet cover fall crooked and barely cover her. it’s too early for kate to practice discipline. her eyes wander.

yelena is either ignoring her gaze or is way too invested in bambi-gate, “kate bishop. you are an archer. you should have to watch bambi before you get to hunt.”

the memory yelena is referencing pulls kate slightly back to earth, and she groans, “i only went hunting once! once! and never again!”

this time yelena is grinning, “only because you did not get a trophy.”

kate reaches out, grabs the twist of blanket pooling around yelena and drags her down, “stop deflecting, and tell me about your rabbit.”

“you’re more awake in the morning than i anticipated.”

kate has yelena’s hand tangled in one of hers now, brings it up to mouth and bites at the fingers, “i’m full of surprises. and so are you. let’s hear it.”

yelena settles into kate’s side, toying with her hand, “mama gave it to me.”

kate sometimes knows when to be quiet, lets yelena continue playing with her hand, waits.

“thumper was my favorite. mama called me bunny, said rabbits were lucky. that i was lucky.” her voice is growing sadder, “natasha always stole him. she put him up on high shelves - places i couldn’t reach,” she whispers cyka in the most loving tone, “she stole him the night we left, had him in her pocket. he is lucky - everyone made it out that night.”

there’s a hard swallow, kate thinks maybe yelena could cry. she’s stopped playing with her hand, so kate begins tracing soothing patterns over yelena’s arm.

“she kept him the entire time we were separate. i don’t know how, but she never lost him… after.. after she -“ a pause, “clint had him. gave him back to me, he said during the blip natasha kept him above doors, in windows, near thresholds,” she clicks her tongue, “always superstitious…”

she trails off, and they sit in the silence with kate still tracing patterns.

“i had him the night on the roof. when i met you.”

[caveat-canine]

someone interesting just had to be blocked from my page and I usually don't share my outright opinions on things but I didn't know it was such a big thing in the community so here goes?

In typical scavenger fashion, I'm into vulture culture. I've never seen anyone in the vc community ever preach anything unethical but we do get compared to taxidermists and such quite often, which is alright since the venn diagram of that tends to be a big ol circle.

The collection and trade of animal remains isn't a black and white topic. There's ethical ways to obtain animal remains. There's unethical ways to obtain animal remains. Here's a little biased breakdown about how I feel about these ways.

Fur farms, hunting for sport, trophy hunting, and poaching- not ok.

Gathering roadkill/naturally deceased remains, hunting for food, using as much of a carcass as possible- ok and great.

Animal remains do not automatically equate to animal abuse/exploitation. I think it's important to critically think about things like this, especially in the nonhuman/therian community. It can be uncomfortable seeing remains of your species. Your personal discomfort does not automatically make something wrong, though.

Little rant/story time:

Most of the bones I have, I've found myself. I usually vulture in the woods near my house, but a few times have been lucky enough vulture on farmland owned by a horse rancher my mom used to work for. She has several hundred acres of land, but she's elderly and widowed so a lot of the forest isn't kept up with. A group of 20- something year olds decided to start dumping deer in a pit in the middle of the woods- that's where I found my buck skull. He's missing his antlers, because he was poached. Unethically killed? Yes. Unethically sourced? Up to you.

I have a fox, mink, and coyote skull, along with three rabbit pelts for my altar space, and a coyote tooth. All of them were purchased at my local powwow. Unethically sourced? Now I'm a white dude, so I can't really speak on this, but look me in the eyes and tell me indigenous hunting is unethical, and you will get laughed at, at the least.

My friend has a bat skeleton she's re-articulating. She found it dehydrated on the ground at her college campus and after an entire fiasco of the bio team taking care of it for a bit, it unfortunately passed. And now the skeleton is being used for education. Ethically sourced? They did all they could to save it.

My point? All three of these examples are different situations that aren't "fur farms" or "trophy hunting". Having a fox tail that was bought from some etsy seller who repurposes roadkill isn't inherently BAD. Finding a cool skull in the woods and keeping it to feel closer to nature isn't unethical.

Hell. If you/your family bought something from a fur farm because no one knew better? Now you know better, but treat it with respect.

Respect and education is what's going to change things, not calling others evil for having a hobby or an interest.

[alexendria-rose]

~The love Between a sorcerer and an ex assassin~ 3

Part 1, Part 2

A/n- so this is a little bit of the readers childhood past, this is mostly what the chapter is about. It will be a lot, I won’t go into specific details because that’s too much but I will basically be stating it. And yes the avengers do break up in this and I know it doesn’t make sense since Thor hair was already cut and Stephen isn’t in any of it but ya know it’s a fanfic so cut me some slack lol but most of it from here on out should be accurate. Also more of Stephen and readers slow burning love.

Warnings: cussing, Childhood trauma, SA, assault, PTSD, the inability to have children:(

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I never should’ve gotten involved between Tony and Steves fight. And now here I am hiding out in the sanctum, knowing Stephen would take me in. We’ve gotten closer in the last couple months-him not getting involved with either sides. Well unfortunately for me I was; especially on Steves side, where I was a walking criminal now and didn’t know where the others were-before I got onto that stupid jet; Stephen decided to get me before I got to far into the fight. The fight against the only family I knew triggering me in ways I didn’t even know. I couldn’t sleep knowing the avengers were split up and no longer had that family bond that we all once had. It was rough- not being able to go to Natasha and rant to her about this going around in my head. Now I was stuck with my thoughts- my childhood/the red rom triggering all of it; thinking about how it all started when I officially became a widow and there was not turning back,

“No please don’t!” My 5 year old self cried, the tears rolling down my cheeks as they pinned me down to the gurney. The doctor pinned my wrist down before putting a cuff on both of them.

“This is for the better. Dear child.” The doctor shushed me before patting my hair in a disgusting manner. “We’re just going to do a small procedure…” he whispered harshly. The other male opening up my small legs. I sobbed loudly wondering and pondering what procedure they should attempt to do-I was just a child not realizing that they were about to take the ability of not being able to have them myself. The doctor sticks the needle in my neck-me screaming at the pinch before realizing the black around me.

The fact that Draykov had so much faith in me at such a little age-made me sick to my stomach. Five years old I got the involuntary hysterectomy… most widows didn’t get those until they finally graduated but he knew I didn’t remember much of my family being the youngest widow; easily brainwashed it was like he kept me as a little trophy to prove to the other girls that I was smarter, swifter and better then them which made me an easy target for the girls that were jealous of the “great treatment” I was getting-not knowing being the favorite was ten times worse.

Draykov watched as I continued to fight the widow in front of me, my small arms and tiny body that was not even reached to full adulthood-just merely 12 years old, fought a widow much bigger then me; much older, more experienced. But for me-I was still quicker, faster and had much more advantage than her. I swept under her feet making her fall harder onto her back punching her across the face in the process knocking her out in an instant. Draykov starts clapping slowly making his way towards me before grabbing my chin- his thumb caressing my lip.

“Good job little one, look at you go.” He voice dripping with venom and poise. The way his eyes flicked up and down my body with the very exposed tightness of the suit clinging into the youth of my skin. I shake slightly under his touch, terrified as I stared at him.

“Thank you.” I mumble trying to stop the shake in my hands as he stared at me. The other widows watched in distaste, Natasha was the only one who looked at Draykov with disgust and anger in her eyes at the situation. God how badly I wish I can run away from this with her. Draykov grins at me his hand moving down to my waist caressing it with a soft touch but a disgusting one at that.

“This is why you’re the best widow my child.” He whispers lightly his hand resting on my waist. “You’ll get your reward later.” My stomach drops knowing exactly what that “reward” implied, something painful, something I’ve always wanted to stop but never could knowing it would just lead to torture rather than death. Draykov pats my hip before moving swiftly away from me. Natasha looks my way as the tears start to cloud my eyesight before looking at the widow that was unconscious below me- I quickly blink the tears away trying not to let the emotions fall knowing that punishment would eat away at me, I couldn’t be a weak widow-

The memory often ate me up, it hurt me that I couldn’t stop it but hurt more that I was just a child. A grown man idolizing a child that way… I laid in my bed staring at the wall before slightly gazing at the alarm clock near the bed- oh wow that’s lovely it’s already 1:00Pm and I’m here doing nothing. I sigh loudly taking the blanket off my body, my body shivering from the heat that was taken off my body but the cold hitting my exposed skin instead. My head pounded as I sat up too fast, the memories that sat in my head were knocking against my skull. I didn’t even notice the dry tears on my cheeks nor the red dark circles under my eyes. Why did the avengers have to split up? Everything was good, everything was great until that moment that everything went down hill for the team. And here I was hiding out in the sanctum because I was a literally criminal now; well I guess I’ve always have been… I guess it’s a different kind now huh?

I feet pad towards the kitchen in the sanctum rubbing my red eyes from the lack of sleep.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty.” I jump slightly at the voice turning around to face the only voice that I knew better then ever now.

“Why do you do that!” I groan towards Stephen. He chuckles lightly walking towards me as I lean against the counter. He stands right in front of me-way too close where our bodies are basically touching but reaches above me grabbing a mug a smile on that stupid smug face.

“For an assassin you really don’t seem to focus on your surroundings.” He laughs softly before moving his body away from me. Suddenly missing the closeness- nope can’t think of that. I roll my eyes at him before turning around and grabbing my own mug.

“An ex assassin.” I mumble lightly watching Stephen grab the pot of coffee pouring some in his mug, I bring my mug out giving him pleading eyes. “Can I have some?”

“You can,” he quicks an eyebrow giving me his teasing stupid smile.

“You know what I mean!”

“I know what you mean but you’re not saying it right.” He laughs moving the pot away from my grasp, I move my way in front of him trying to grab the pot from his hand but he moves way up so I couldn’t reach it.

“You’re an asshole. You know I could just flip you. Remember I’m an assassin.” I mocked him from what he said from earlier.

“You know that’s an unfair advantage. I’m just looking for one word.” He jokes looking down at me with a grin on his face. I try to jump up to grab the pot but he keeps it out of my reach before I end up tripping on my own toes because of my own stubbornness(can’t believe I use to be an assassin) Stephen uses his other arm catching me in the process of me basically almost falling flat on my face, my face close to his and his close to mine. My hand automatically placed on his chest as I looked at him. The tension obviously there from the way we both freeze from the contact, the intense eye contact. My eyes flickering all over his face, his doing the same as both our breath hitched at the same time. His head seemed to move closer to mine, my head unintentionally moving closer to his before realizing the situation; I grab the pot from his hand pushing my body away from him as quickly as I could. He clears his throat noticing the way I was hastily pouring the coffee in my cup trying to escape this situation.

I didn’t understand how Stephen made me feel these things. The way my heart always sped up around him, or the fact whenever he got super close my mouth would go dry, or whenever he would sit at his desk while I read my eyes would always linger towards him. Was it just strong friendship feelings? Maybe… but it was different that’s for sure. Something I haven’t felt before, but it also felt wrong. Part of me knew what I was feeling but that also scared me. Knowing I told myself that I would never get close to someone like that. Never. And I mean never.

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“Y/n. It’s a go.” The widow whispered into my earpiece. I brought the sniper up to my eye as I watched the person I had to take out. I didn’t care for who it was, my brain felt blank, as I just followed instructions. Yelena stood next to me as she stared at the same girl. I look towards Yelena and nod silently.

“Ready.” I mumble. Yelena nods back, focusing on the mission on hand.

“Fire on the place of three.” Yelena mumbles. “5,4-“ suddenly the alarms start ringing and kids start shouting. “She made us, target deployed smoke.”

“She’s on foot with the package. Stay high. Yelena and I are going to ground.” I mumble into the earpiece placing the sniper down as does Yelena. Before we start repealing from the roof onto the ground. We unhook our things before dashing towards the woman on foot with the package. We kick down the door that she moves across the woman getting hit with a car in the process. Yelena sees the package immediately going towards it, I run towards the woman tackling her down so she could grab the package, the woman starts to tackle me back before landing a hard punch on my face kicking Yelena legs in the process and grabbing the package back, she grabs Yelena hair pulling it back trying to get her to drop the knife but she also grabs a the thing from the package spraying it in Yelena face. I grab the woman while Yelena looks lose all the suddenly. I grab my knife before stabbing the woman in the stomach, and Yelena snaps her head towards me.

“Y/n stop!” She yells, the woman lays still looking at both of us, as I stand up to look at Yelena.

“Spray her with it.” The woman grunts out. “Free the others.” She manages to gasp out. Yelena looks at me as I glare Yelena the antidote holding close to my chest. Yelena grunts before trying to grab the bag from me but I kick her down grabbing my knife- not knowing what I was doing I start to lift my hand to stab Yelena but she was able to grab the antidote before I could spraying it on my face. I gasp out loudly dropping the knife in the process looking down what I was doing; wait where was? What was I doing? Yelena?

“Yelena?” I gasp out looking down at her, tears welling up in my eyes realizing I was about to kill the only kind of sibling I had.

I scream out loudly as I sat up from my bed. The sweat collecting on my forehead-actually everywhere on my body. I gripped the bedsheets as the tears welled up in my eyes thinking of the awful memory of being mind-controlled. All the evil things that draykov did while being mind controlled. How much he took advantage of that situation. My bedroom slams open revealing a very worried and scared Stephen. My hands start to shake as I look at him trying to form some sort of words. The tears trickling down my cheek. He rushes over to me moving himself on the bed before holding me close to his body. I grip onto his shirt my eyes wide in fear, he rocks me trying to calm my shaking form.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” He consoles running his shaky fingers through my hair holding me close and tight; I feel my body relax from his warm and gentle hands running through my hair. I sigh deeply sniffling softly.

“I wish it was just a nightmare.” I murmur out calming down my breathing and my trembling. He places his head ontop of mine.

“We don’t have to talk about.” He coax me softly his voice gentle and tender as he continues to rock me and hold me close. “Just relax, I know you haven’t slept in days. I need you to sleep.” He moves his hand to my back rubbing gentle motions to calm me down. I take a deep inhale breath appreciating the fact that he wasn’t forcing me to talk but rather worried by the fact I was indeed not sleeping well. He lays down against the bed more, my head on his chest as he continues to rub circles on my back and his moving through my hair. I close my hairs enjoying hearing his heart beating against my ear, and his soft breaths included in so.

“Don’t leave.” I muttered sleepily holding him close as I feel the sleep overcome me.

“I won’t. Im right here doll.” He whispers before the sleep finally overwhelms me.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ

The feeling of two strong arms around me, the soft patterns of breathing overshadow me as I start to stir slightly; I open my eyes to see the familiar cheekbones and facial hair that I’ve become accustomed to. His lips slightly parted from his soft breathing, his chest heaving up and down, and the way his nose scrunched up at whatever dream he was having; made my heart fluttering. He slowly opens his eyes sleepily looking down at me, he hums gently rubbing my back gently.

“You okay?” He says in a murmur but in a raspy sort of way. Who knew his voice could go even deeper. I nod shyly not use to being this close to a man(well consensually…) I had to admit this was the best sleep I’ve ever gotten- well ever.

“I’m okay.” I whisper quietly. “Thank you.” He closes his eyes leaning his head back a small smile coming up to his lips.

“Anything for you.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ

A/n: LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE ON TAG LIST. LOVE YOU ALL. please let me know if you like this btw I want to see love in the comments!!

[rappaccini]

just read spider-man reign 2 and sitting in a tree now takes second place in the Worst Gwiles Story Olympics because oh. my. god. how did this world just one-up earth-8.

and man. i hate being right.

i hate being right that gwiles 2 was going to happen. didn't expect it to happen literally this year.

i hate being right that gwen would be used to give miles a super-daughter. kid i predicted, daughter specifically? huh. unwelcome back charlotte morales-stacy. (also uh. why does she look like that. where’s the melanin. did the colorist forget or are we saying the quiet part about what people want miles’s kids to look like out loud too. or hey maybe gwen cheated. good for her he deserves it.)

i hate being right that gwen's role would consist of standing on the sidelines, holding that Beloved Child and looking Worried, as miles gets the big hero moments and swings by for a condescending little kiss for good luck. couldn't have predicted her being completely correct about the situation miles is impulsively dashing into, and being ignored, and deciding to ~trust miles~ even though he's obviously wrong and her intuition was right all along, and that causing her death but oh my god is it accurate. what kind of disaster movie misogyny bullshit.

i hate being right that gwen would be fridged to be that daughter's origin story and miles's widower angst, and that her death would be about them and not her. couldn't have predicted that her death would be being blown to pieces in front of that kid. or that they never bother naming gwen. she’s just Katherine’s Mom.

i haaate being right that this ship is fundamentally misogynistic. this is it. this is the end result of pushing for them to get together. this is what she becomes. spider-gwen in appearance only-- she's still got the pink hair and the converse and white hoodie-- but devoid of any personality or agency, a vessel for miles's kid, and miles's pain, and an angsty dad-daughter storyline. he doesn't listen to her, he doesn't include her (but he is going to include his preteen kid???), he doesn't take her feelings or desires seriously, he doesn't treat her like an equal or a teammate. she's just his pretty dip-dyed babymaker who dies as soon as she's given him that baby because that's all she's good for.

and that is what you are asking for when you ask for them to end up together. because you don't want miles to fall in love with spider-gwen. you want miles to fall in love with a supportive, passive woman with the visual aesthetic of spider-gwen and none of her actual personality, agency, or power. you want a blank slate with a familiar face that's easy to project onto, because you don't want gwen to live a happy, full life with someone who loves, respects and understands her. you don't even want miles to be with his equal. you want miles to have a blonde white wife with a cool alt aesthetic who does what he says and never competes with him for the spotlight, and who can give him an ambiguous-looking kid. that is what this ship is and has always been and will always be.

it just happened in one crappy alternate continuity. it's on it's way in others. congrats.

on a bitterly happy note: oh look. hard proof that gwiles/ghostflower isn't magically perfect, and they aren't cosmically destined to be soulmates and miles isn't ~the spider-man who's going to save gwen, because he truly sees her.~

it may not be being said intentionally, but it is being said out loud: miles is just as bad for gwen as peter is. he will treat her like a trophy and an incubator and a comfort object, he will never truly respect her as an equal and expect her to cater to him even when it puts her in danger. the only difference between miles and peter is miles will keep gwen alive long enough to get a kid or two out of her before she’s discarded violently and horrifically when the kid's old enough to go on adventures with him.

(and to be completely honest? miles might even be worse, because at least peter doesn’t take the version of gwen who’s meant to be empowered, queer and free of objectification, strip those things from her, and turn her into a disposable babymaker before she dies. there are levels of sexism there that even peter hasn’t reached)

it won't happen but i am rooting for katherine to kill him.

[gabessquishytum]

I see rich bitch dream so what about rich bitch Hob???

He basically had his rich bitch era in 1589 so this is canon. Dream is hired to do some custom work on Hob’s house. Maybe they’re getting the kitchen redone and dream is an artist with marble. Maybe he is a literal artist hired to paint a mural on the ceiling. Maybe he is building a huge custom fireplace or is a specialist who works on very old expensive houses—whichever.

Maybe Hob is a trophy husband maybe he has rich parents—whichever. But hob spends the whole time trying to get Dream to stop working and fuck him. That includes wearing his sluttiest outfits lots of tanning by the pool wearing literally nothing, and lots of offering dream water or tea or a martini.

He is a total brat who is used to giving orders but dream won’t give him the time of day. Hob gets more and more frustrated and provocative until the day that dream finally snaps, bends him over the nearest surface and spanks him for being such a brat. Then he tells hob if he can’t stop whining he’s going to have to gag him but if he’s a good, quiet boy, maybe later he can have Dream’s cock.

Unsurprisingly I am very much into this.

I'm thinking like... rich widower Hob. Or maybe his husband is still alive but never around to show him any attention. Either way Hob is a very pretty bimbo and very used to getting his own way. He gets whatever he wants, and when Dream ignores him? Oh, that's the challenge he's been waiting for.

He orders who new sets of revealing gym gear, just to sit around where Dream is working. Hob will literally talk about how desperate he is for a real man to take him, how he opened himself up in the shower so carefully and there's no one to use him... but Dream doesn't even flinch. He works on his project. He drinks his tea. He ignores Hob and his slutty cycle shorts.

Hob hates him, and he's never wanted anything more in his life.

He pulls out every trick he can think of, even shows up where Dream is working dressed only in lacy red boyshorts and a butt plug. As always, Dream ignores him, and Hob literally stamps his foot on the floor in his frustration. He ends up knocking some of Dream’s tools or something and that's what finally ends the stalemate.

Before he can blink, Hob is bent over the expensive couch where he usually lounges. His underwear is wrenched down and Dream rains down blows on his plush arse. Hob squeals and cries but Dream is ruthless.

Poor Hob ends up with his underwear stuffed in his mouth and Dream’s belt binding his hands behind his back. He sniffles and wiggles occasionally, but a stern glance from Dream keeps him still. Maybe when the workday is over, Dream will finger his spoiled, pretty hole. That all depends on his good behaviour.

He does earn Dream’s cock, eventually. But it takes a few weeks of good behaviour and an extra commission for Dream to work on. Hob is happy to pay whatever it takes. Being denied for so long has made him addicted, and he'd gladly spend his entire fortune just for the pleasure of drooling over Dream’s cock.

[deariemay]

Regarding Isis Morales —

By the time women are 40, 83% of them will be mothers. If you do not care about the systemic oppression of mothers, you do not support the rights of most women.

Isis first became pregnant at 17. She was a baby herself, not yet finished with highschool. She described the men who were the fathers to her first two boys as “from the hood”. She stated this was an unstable and unsafe place for her children, and left.

Isis did at one point have a job which paid 90k (before tax) annually, however working a 40+ hr a week full time job is an incredibly difficult task when you are the mother of two children who aren’t old enough to be enrolled in government-funded school and need to be cared for 24/7. Childrearing and homemaking are labor, so in reality she had two full time jobs. No, on 84k a year (after tax) you cannot hire a full-time nanny, which cost an average of 60k a year in California.

America is one of the few developed countries that have no government-mandated maternity leave. Women with children are left to fend for themselves for three to six months, and often lose their jobs upon returning. We have no subsidized childcare for working women past a certain income threshold, nor child health insurance. Putting your children through college costs tens of thousands of dollars each.

Isis was homeless and had two unsheltered children with nowhere to go after her lease ended with her ex. At this point, it’s likely her and her children had no health insurance either. Her husband said he would only give her a place to stay if she married him. This is coercion. Essentially, he bought her. This is exactly what men want. They want women to exist in a society where they are vulnerable and have no place to go, where women are expected to both work themselves to death and do all domestic chores, or legally sell their body to men.

Marriage is an arrangement where women legally sell their bodies in exchange for safety. We live in a country where women are encouraged to financially rely upon men and yet we blame women for financially relying upon men. Every facet of government encourages marriage— tax breaks, shared ownership of assets, shared retirement fund, widow’s pension, shared medical insurance, and more. Whereas single mothers don’t get shit.

And yet, everyone is more upset with Isis than her husband, who raped his own biological children, aged 2 and 4. We are upset because Isis married a rich man, in an attempt to secure her children’s future. We are upset that Isis didn’t ‘make sure he was good’ as if men who seem sweet and kind don’t murder their families again and again. We’re not talking about the man who raped his own toddlers.

Isis and her trophy-wife guides are simply a reflection of what society demands of women: shave your arms, do whatever men want, pretend to be whatever they want, dress nice, don’t gain weight, be submissive, do housework. She was teaching women what men want, and she was right. Men don’t want an individual, they want a blow up doll. She did not create these standards. Men did.

Isis states, “I built this whole channel around being this man's wife.” Then, “I didn't realize that the person I married was actually going to be my biggest nightmare."

Isis herself was the product of rape and had been sexually assaulted in her childhood, and always kept a close eye on her children to keep it from happening to them (they were not allowed to be on family members laps, or kissed, or hugged if they did not want it.) Learning her husband who she devoted her life to was abusing their toddlers absolutely destroyed her.

Instead of screaming “men should stop raping their babies” feminists are screaming “she’s so stupid for not knowing better”

Some statements from feminists about Isis:

Some women would rather advocate for forced abortion, eugenics and sustaining the deeply abusive foster care and adoption system than let mothers have human rights.

Tell men in the government to give single mothers adequate financial security. Tell men to stop raping toddlers.

Focusing all your energy on yelling “stop making tradwife tiktoks” and “scope out men first to make sure they’re nice” are going to get us no where. This is why feminism is so unproductive. ‘Nice men’ is a misnomer when women are more likely to be murdered by their husbands than anyone else. Marriage needs to be abolished and women should receive government-funded full childcare support. We don’t blame men because it’s just too easy to blame women.