#COMRADE LEN

[renshengs]

the problem with when i get into fairly popular ships is i get into my very hyperspecific interpretation of that ship. combine that with my generally picky attitude towards fanfic and you get "well if no one's going to write it I'LL write it". so here we are. it's happened before and it's happening again

#this is about #jaytim #and like 10 other ships #i don't care for 80% of characterizations in jaytim fanfics they irritate me. i like my tims mean and offputting and stressed okay #and my jasons a little sillier. still brutal with bullets for words and sooo fucked in the head but yk. he's a geek!!! #even when i have to write tim with the shoujo lens from jason pov im like. this is my beloved freak of a guy. he's my most specialist boy #though i'm also not a dead dove connoisseur nor am i that interested in plotless smut. so the pickiness is self-inflicted i'm aware! #this is just me complaining in the tags. not a personal attack! i love n respect my jaytim comrades <333 #sheng says stuff

[petya-in-a-cup-sideblog]

If you read Three Comrades and didn't think they were at least a little bit fruity I don't know what to tell you

#THIS IS A JOKE #youre allowed to percieve the book in any way youd like #but as a queer person i view everything through the queer lens #if you DISAGREE then please just dont interact i want no drama! #i mean just look at LENZ #or the way robert talks about OTTO #three comrades more like one polecule #three comrades #erich maria remarque

[fightaers]

i just read a TERRIBLE sakura slander i have to actually sit down oh my god

#did we....... read the same manga??????? #the way people said s.akura mistreat nrt and ino and thats smth they have in common #WHAT #maybe thats smth that was perpetuated further with anime additions but ????? #as solely manga reader i cannot fucking remember one time sakura was ever purposely cruel #or even being petty about her feelings #maybe when she was 12 years old before shit went down??????? WHICH??? UMMMM???? #HELLO?????? SHE WAS A CHILD ???????? #everything ABOUT what she's doing after shes 12 and ssk defected and how shes responding was a DIRECT response to the circumstances #she was enduring #i cant remember ONE time she was EVER mean to any of her comrades #she was always so overly caring. so fucking READY to help them #my best example was how she was with sai. like my girl PUNCHED him when he badmouthed ssk #and still she was also the FIRST to genuinely ask sai abt his questions and hobby etc #shes both loyal AND curious / open enough to new friendships and bonds #i try not to divulge so much into the fanon lens of sakura #but if u think she's just this one-dimensional petty and jealous bitch to satisfy ur own narration of an event ...... IJBOL #take care of urself fr cause idk how it is at ur side but where i am? i'm fine and replenished #and sakura is still much more than the girl who couldn't succeed her teammates. #gen: out of character.

[poptartmochi]

in this house we love greek gods that preside over one specific thing and have fuckall to do for the rest of eternity <3

#sriracha.txt #creating some fuckt up little lady who presides Specifically over like. the point in which old crop is used to fertilize the new #thus playing into the whole cycle of life idea + giving her some foot to stand on as the kid of persephone and hades specifically #wrt the way old life supports the new? is this stepping on the toes of demeter and dionysus... yes... #but we pretend we do not see it.. i am overworked + low on spoons as it is and this is like.. niche lore for a character i am not paid to #play. i cannot dedicate much more effort to her. at least not right now #lament aside i think i will name her Rhoeas or something of that nature.. from what i can tell ῥόα is the word for pomegranates #which becomes ῥοιᾰ́ς for corn poppies.. #now sit with me boy 🕴 we lose the plot here a little bit + also extrapolate from wikipedia alone for this BUT. in many cultures poppies are #heavily associated with death and love alike. and ofc they grow in disturbed soil. #SO... if you look at the original myth with a modern + loose lens. i think you could justify some kind of poppy child being like #a bridge between demeter and hades.. she comes from the literal disturbed soil that came when hades abducted persephone #+ has ties with death and love + love that can endure death which can be a fun allusion to the way that demeter's love for persephone #persists even through persephone's stay in hades which houses the dead... do you feel me comrades #i think you could even apply it to persephone and hades themselves - a love that endures death? but naur offense hades is NOT the focus her #</3 🤪 coming back to this theme of like. love persisting through death and being sewn in the wake of death/disrupted soil. we come back to #the anchor point of her character which is the old dead crops being used to fertilize the new growth. it's the love the dead has for the #living right!! to help it grow in a new and difficult world! i think that itself ties back into the central theme w the poppies #and also demeter has ties to poppies so i don't think it would be crazy for some grandchild of hers to have ties to poppies :-] i think thi #all somewhat feasible if you reaaaalllly squint. anyhow i'm too tired to go any further with it rn #corylana

[edge--effects]

needdddd to have a conversation with fictional post-apocalyptic death god johnny knives about the ethics of their brand of vigilante justice

they were a petty criminal pre-apocalypse and pre-immortality, right? what made them decide to flip the script? become judge, jury, and executioner-by-proxy? someone deserving of the title your honor?

also, what even makes a person worthy of death in the eyes of johnny knives? are there lesser, non-death punishments? because an individual person killing another is one thing, but putting yourself and your acolytes in a position to decide who lives and who dies (or even, more simply, who’s guilty and who’s innocent) is another thing altogether

#applying my little prison abolitionist media analysis lens where it probably wasn’t meant to be applied #brb riding out into the desert with 2-5 of my best comrades to make a small blood sacrifice call down a god and have a heated debate #edit: ALSO i say vigilante justice but is that accurate when there’s a whole religion around it? or is it just a reproduction of policing #these are questions for johnny knives not critiques of the text persay. all part of rotating the gods in my head #wasteland pony express #wlpe

[closeted-goth]

i cannot wait till talk to me drops in two weeks so i can go see it approximately 100 more times (!!!!)

#who knew south australia had fire shit #thinking critically maybe the ending is a littol bit on the nose #but thinking uncritically talk to me might be the best horror A Twenty Four has ever dropped (Australian bias) #and also the movie of the year #i cannot tell u why i was crying at that one specific scene with the young king but i was #cannot tell u how many times i had to physically stop myself from shouting yooooooo (!!?) #i think it's just a horror movie but also maybe u could see it thru the lens of teenaged grief or the perils of addiction #the event horizon moment was very very very cool #who will come see talk to me ~100 times with me now taking applications #shoutout also to my good friend and comrade [REDACTED] for shouting me a game on the taiko drums <3

[tremendum]

Mr. Miller

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)    

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)    

word count: 6.8k requested: yes. here and here :) 

summary:  “six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that's no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone. Tommy's goddamn brother, no less.”

warnings: Jackson era, mentions of marijuana use, age gap (unspecified), sliiightly dub!con, smut (PiV, unprotected), creampie, overstimulation, pussy spanking, choking, spit kink, slight knife kink (do not look at me), dom!Joel (brat tamer!Joel if you squint), slight sir kink, so much dirty talk, lots of begging, degradation kink, dacryphilia, mean!Joel, this is just shameless smut i am horrible  notes: okay i kind of modified these asks but I thought it’d be fun to write it like this!!! as always reblogs/asks/comments are always great motivations :’) this is not reread because i am INSANE! xoxo

(  read the sequel other Joel fics:     fever       landmines    )

★  

to be completely honest, you never would’ve guessed you’d move to Wyoming. 

of course, in this world you didn't really have much of a choice of where you end up; it was hard to travel, yes, but there was some guiding hand that invisibly pushed you upon Jackson in the middle of a really rough winter. 

a girl, lost and on her own through the dangerous sprawls of what's left of the United States - of course Tommy and Maria had accepted you into the community; you were resourceful, willing, and strong-headed. 

most of Jackson was nice.

the people were good, the community functioned, and you were finally safe - you found a job working partly as a patrolman if an extra hand was needed, but mostly as a gardener.

it was a beautiful basin valley with sprawling mountains that glittered in the snow even during summer. 

you'd only been there for - what, maybe half a year? six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that's no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone. 

Tommy's goddamn brother, no less. 

you didn't particularly get off on the correct foot with Joel Miller. when he showed up in town, people were thrown off. you surely understood that - but it was Tommy's brother, and Tommy insisted he would be fine; he and the girl with him had already been 'round Jackson before, leaving just a week or so before you showed up, apparently. 

you'd definitely heard about him. 

coincidentally, you'd actually moved into the house that Tommy had wanted Joel to have; the house that had the spare girl's bedroom which Ellie came through to ravage once they came back into town. (apparently the towels at Joel's were too rough no matter how many times they were washed, and Ellie really liked that Tamagotchi you'd found in the bedroom she once slept in.) 

maybe that'd already put him off, the short time in which Ellie had found company in you. who knows. 

but unfortunately, your first impression of him was muddled by a very real lens of beer-goggles and a long week's aching exhaustion in your brain. he was large, a tall man whose disposition dripped of domineering power; he didn't trust anybody here and by the looks of it, they didn't particularly adore him. he kept to himself besides Tommy -  who unfortunately along with his wife were really your closest comrades in the community. 

you almost felt bad for him, because that's how many people saw you at first. but on that night, you were just drunk enough, as you greeted Maria and Tommy at the bar with smiles and a joke about your libido, that you didn't quite realize that Tommy's big brother Joel was sat there, eyes watching you with a glimmer of something lurking behind the rim of the beer bottle. 

to be fair: everybody in this life is unkind in their first impressions. that's just how the world is now - 'every man for himself' is an unfortunately ugly reality and those who are too soft to see that are rarely spared the gore.

but when Tommy introduces you to Joel with a huff of a laugh and a friendly slap on your shoulder, Joel's eyes are distrusting, judging. he doesn’t say anything to you.

you try not to be offended. 

"pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Miller." you nod with a grin, your cheeks hot with slight intoxication as his large, calloused palm slips into yours. his grip is tight - your wince is covered with your words as you momentarily shoot Maria a look, turning back to the man in front of you.

"I met your girl earlier. stormed into my house like she owned the damn thing. was lookin' for some stuff she'd found last time, I guess. I'm just glad she didn't find my collection of big-girl toys." 

okay. okay, yeah, maybe you are too drunk. Maria laughs, at least, and Tommy lets out a chuckle, eyes flickering to Joel. but he just hums, eyes glancing over you once more before returning to nurse his dark beer with a furrow of his brows. “right.”

and pathetic as it is, he was too damn irresistible; you’d imagined that stare -that brooding scowl- one too many times in the dead of night, hands down your pants or in a stranger’s bed. 

and it hadn't gotten better in the months following. 

it was of circumstances most unfortunate for you that Joel and Ellie moved into a house just a few down from you - as much as you wished to just never see the man and his censorious stare, it was unavoidable. especially when Ellie showed up nearly day-to-day with questions, excuses, or even just complaints of boredom to coax you into letting her inside your house. 

a week or so ago, you’d overheard Tommy in a hushed voice down at the dining hall trying to convince Joel it was a good thing, that Ellie was learning to garden, learning about woman stuff (yes, he actually fucking said that), and - god forbid- make friends. 

but you love Ellie.

she in't like Joel. she’s funny, and lively, and easy-going once you warmed up to her. in fact, you actually started to collect things from around town to show her on her ceremonious visits; books, tattered board games, once you even found a trumpet in the crawlspace of your old house. it was rusty and honestly probably still had dried saliva from whichever fifth-grader played it way back before the outbreak, but it was enough to entertain you and the fifteen-year-old girl for hours even if neither of you knew how to play it. 

and maybe it was after Ellie mentioned to you with a giggle that Joel complains about you calling him ‘Mr. Miller,’ or maybe it was when she said he’d always ask about you and what you’re like whenever she returned from your days together. 

no matter what the catalyst really was, you just know you have it bad for that man, in the worst way - because he is a fucking asshole. 

but the worst of it was when Joel and you get paired up to patrol together on the outskirts. it means hours together of breathing and awkward looks, silence from you because he was silent and clearly wanted nothing to do with you. 

you suffered through hours of Joel’s rugged sageness for survival, tugging you effortlessly through boulders, lifting yourselves high through dilapidated structures in the middle of the wilderness. he was strong and capable and fucking sexy, and that made it all the more unbearable when snide comments about your youth or your inexperience or your lack of punctuality would pass his lips. it was annoying how hot it made you. 

as the summer rolled around, the horde was growing ever-present at the lips of Jackson county, festering like the moss that spreads along the woodsy forests in the northwest - hence your increased activity with the others who patrol the area and keep the community safe. 

he was a many of almost no words, and though you were in no way the same when you were around people you trust, the man just brings out the skeptic in you - so for weeks, it was days of the two of you walking in silence, the only noise being weak impasses and jabs at the other’s self-esteem all veiled by a smirk or an eye-roll. 

and still, each day out passed with your untrustworthy gazes pinned on the horizon just as much on each other's trigger fingers.

-- 

you're at your wit's end on one Friday evening as you finally return into town from patrol with him. 

Joel is a man plagued by too many unnamed illnesses; the likes of which you so fondly call in your head 'can't-accept-help-itis' and 'stubborn-old-asshole-luenza.' part of his symptoms render him unable to say full sentences to you without a judgmental look or a skeptical scoff, and sure you're not always the best judge of character, but you're confident that Joel has his eyes on your backside every single time you bend over to move your marker on the trail. he’s thought about it, too. 

but right now, you’re so tense you’re about to snap. 

his gaze hasn't left your profile for - you swear to god - almost thirty fucking minutes. like, nearly the whole walk from the first outpost. he’s been staring at you like you’re a ghost, or a second head sprouted from your neck. 

the heat of the summer night is unsullied; though you’re high in elevation, the warm wind blows a gust over your bare knees and ruffles your hair, coaxing a damp feeling to settle between your thighs under his gaze. 

"if you stare any harder at me, you'll get a fucking nose bleed." you sneer, keeping your eyes ahead as you grit your teeth. his gaze is burning into your side and with your words, they maintain their heat. 

whatever he was thinking, he keeps it to himself. you glare at his own profile, thick thighs, sturdy chest, hair that blows gently in the warm air. his jaw, glinting against the lights that guide you back into town. at least he’s looked away from you. good.

your victorious smirk is wiped off of your lips with his next words, the first in several hours from him besides grunts and directives. "d'you have the logs on you?" 

you look at him with revelation. "shit." you sigh shaking your head, "they're- they're at home." 

his face slides into a look of disdain, deep vexation at the task of now going back with you to your own house to sign the logs and confirm your findings for this patrol. "great." he mutters, feet kicking into gear to hightail it up the street, towards your house. 

the heat is swirling around your legs in the darkening evening as you finally enter your house, sighing into the empty air. the lights flicker when you switch them on, and you'd bring yourself to be more embarrassed about the disheveled state of your things if it had been anyone else with you. 

it doesn’t even matter, after all; his sights are set one one incriminating little piece of evidence in the corner of the living room. 

the small nub that sits on the tray by your windowsill seems to be more salient for Joel than the hurricane that threw your belongings across the space. 

your hands fall onto your hips, sighing as he accusingly lifts it from its ashy grave, eyes furrowed in irritation. your flannel sticks to your sleeves in the heat as his eyes meet yours. 

"is this- 's this marijuana?" he's incredulous as his fingers pinch the burnt-out roach, and you screw your brows at him; is he serious? you ignore the dwarfed look of the small old joint in his large hand, instead rolling your eyes. "yeah, some folks call it weed. you can smoke it and it makes you feel real good. you ever heard of it, Mr. Miller?" you snark, the sarcasm spilling from your lips deliciously; Joel eats it up like a man starved, his jaw ticking as he tilts his head. 

you know he secretly loves when you taunt him with the honorific; yes, it gets on his nerves, but there’s a secret air about him that suggests he likes it that way. it is easier to blur the lines between hate and desire than affection and desire, after all. 

"Ellie comes over here every day." he hisses, eyes sharp. you blink slowly at him, trying to fight the laugh that creeps up your throat; his gaze is dark, furious - did he think you were smoking weed with the girl? she's, like, thirteen. (fifteen, she corrects you in your mind. but still.) 

"that’s correct." you confirm, turning from him to search the kitchen for the log you'd forgotten in your haste to leave. his footsteps ring angry onto the floorboards. "if you're worried about that, I’d never smoke around her. 'm not that disrespectful." you defend, avoiding eye contact as you shuffle through your drawer of junk. 

"doesn’t matter. she won't be coming round much more." he threatens it - tests the waters. as if he has the authority to punish you.

you lift a brow at him, "don’t you think she should be able to make that choice?" you throw back at him, tossing your switchblade onto the table to your right as you sort through the miscellaneous items with both hands. 

uh oh, that struck a nerve in the man. 

his eyes sharpen as he breathes harsh at your words; "don't talk about things you know nothing about, girl." he snaps, crossing his arms, "now find the fucking log so I can leave." 

you glare at him, gesturing in front of you; your eyes scream no shit, Joel, I’m looking. 

it's silent as you search through the drawer, gritting your teeth in the tense silence of anger, thicker than molasses. 

you click your jaw, refusing to let it go, let him think he won. 

"I do have self respect, y'know." you pipe up, lifting a brow as you finally stumble upon the log, pulling a dying pen from the drawer and scribbling notes as you plop down on a wooden chair at your kitchen table.

Joel stays standing; it does not go unnoticed when his eyes take in the contours of your body, the clothes that stick to you in the heat of the summer; a pair of jean shorts, torn from years of use, and a thin tank top, covered with an unbuttoned flannel. his eyes sear into you at your words.

wow. fuck him. 

(no, not like fuck him, but- fuck him.) 

"never said you didn't, darlin'." he mutters condescendingly, the pet name leaving his mouth bitterly. any form of backlash you were going to unleash on his dies in your throat quickly when he leans over your shoulder to sign his own name next to yours. your eyes widen to search his face as his own skim over your account of the patrol. he's- wow, he's closer to you than you would have expected. 

holy shit. smoky swirls of gunpowder, pine, and dark amber whiskey. they fill your nostrils, dizzying your mind as you let out a stuttered breath - it's hot in here... your eyes glance as a small lick of sweat trickles down his neck. your throat is dry, heat swirling in your abdomen as he hums, "jus' think Ellie should start hangin' around with others." 

"why's that?" you snap, daring him to say it. fuck, your heart is pounding in your chest. oh, if he just admits it; that he thinks he's better than you, that he thinks you're pathetic - lord, you yearn for it, you’d have a fucking field day. you want an excuse to hit him. or bite him.

fuck Joel Miller, and- okay, fine. fuck him, too. 

his brows are furrowed as he glares hawkishly at your stubborn form; his gaze is serrated with disdain, jaw clenching with the words you're just begging him to admit.

"she's been cussin' and speaking...vulgar." he mutters, eyes flickering away from you. your jaw unhinges as you huff in surprise; he has the audacity to accuse you for teaching her to be foul-mouthed? hadn't she traveled with him for, what, a year? she’s a teenager - that’s what they do. 

"oh, please." you snap, "that girl was far from a princess when you showed up here, you know." you mutter, tossing a look over your shoulder up at him, the buttons undone at the top of his shirt staring at you, mocking you. 

"I know." he dismisses. his hand falls to stable himself on the back of your chair as he leans down towards you, "but you ain't helping. don't need her gettin' into any more trouble." 

you narrow your eyes, "trouble?" you parrot, accusing. 

the air is warm, thick as you cross your arms, the windows open and flowing the outside summer air into your nostrils. "how could I be trouble? you hardly know me." you snap, offended. you swirl with irritation. 

"because I listen. people think you're harsh. untrustworthy." he spits, smirking down at you as if his words are poison that'll dissolve your whole being into a small puddle of regret. but no, it's gasoline; his words are enough to incite your flames, lick you alive with ardor. 

he doesn't like you? oh, big fucking deal. you don't like him. 

"you ever heard of the pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Miller?" you drawl, lifting an accusatory brow. “what if you’re the bad influence? it’s not like you have any more manners than I do.” 

his jaw sets and his nostrils flare from his sharp exhale; you let your eyes swipe over the splattering of freckles that peek out from under the scruff beard that grows; a scar jags across his skin, frown lines creasing his scowl in a dark, terribly attractive way. you’re tip-toeing a line here, you can feel it. 

he can feel it, too. 

his eyes dip down, though you try hard to hold his heated gaze; they trail slowly over your shoulders and down, down to the dip of your collarbones and then over your breasts, heaving slightly with the proximity of the man. his gaze nearly melts the tank top that stretches over your torso and a flood of excitement rushes through you, pooling in the seat of your underwear. a smirk creeps onto your face at his wandering stare - resentful, loathing, heated. 

something in you snaps, and you can't deal with it any longer; not with his proximity, leaning over your shoulder and staring you down, with half-rolled sleeves. his forearms, they’re thick- goddamn, he's so-

"-I can't tell if you're looking at me like that because you want to kill me, or you want to fuck me." you snap, breaking his spell as you snap his attention back to your own eyes with your bold choice of words. "either way, it'll have to wait. I got shit to do, Mr. Miller, and for some reason, you're still in my house giving me fuck-me-eyes." 

"-you better watch your mouth." he snarls, chest heaving as he leans forward menacingly, his jaw clenched. 

you let yourself smile up at him, "or what, Mr. Miller?" you ask kindly, voice dripping with perfidious innocence. 

he sneers, eyes raking over your form, jaw ticking. your body flushes with warmth under his scrutinous gaze; one of your bare legs slides up to rest on the chair next to you, on full display snd illuminated in the light of the kitchen as you smirk at him. his dark chocolate gaze slides over the skin revealed; your skin tingles in excitement under his watch. it makes you chuckle. 

"what, you don't like the way I speak?" you hiss, glaring at him. "chastising me for shit that you do, too?" you mutter snidely, pulling your leg back down as his eyes glare into yours. "I'm an adult, you can't tell me what to say. fucking hypocrite."

your hand presses into his chest, standing to your full height. his chest is firm, hot, but he lets you do it easily, moving back out of your space; giving you an out, offering you a chance to say this-isn't-what-I-want. but you won't take it. no, instead you slide up closer to him, until you're too close. 

"why so quiet now, Mr. Miller?" you almost purr, your hand still toying with your switchblade, the glint of it reflecting in his eyes. slowly, you lift the blade to trace it gently, softly over his jawline, as you’d do with your fingers. he watches you like a damn hawk, breathing heavy. 

the scratch of it against the facial hair is enough for him to snap; suddenly snatching the blade from between your fingers in one quick motion. 

“you’re testin’ my patience.” he growls, shaking his head as he holds the handle of the knife in an iron-like grip. you shake your head, “yeah, well, you’ve taken all mine.” you counter. “so…” you start, raising a brow at the knife in his hands, the way your legs are turning to putty, “you going to kill me, Mr. Miller? or fuck me?” you whisper it into his ear, up on the tips of your toes as the peppering-gray curls at the base of his ear tickle your lips.

a sharp exhale - almost a surrender. then, a rough hand pushes you down against the table, hard. your body is pliant, willing, excited as his force brings you to thud against the wood, his hand flying down quick just to your right in a loud thud.

your head snaps to your right, eyes wide and jaw open; your switchblade pins your own flannel to the table, stabbed down and holding the material and your arm in place. christ, it barely missed nicking your skin.

“depends on if you can learn some goddamn manners.” he growls, leaning over you, his hips slotting between your thighs.

maybe it’s the look on his face, or just how damn long it’s been since you had someone, or just because it’s Joel – but your facade falls so quick and you’re soon keening up towards him, arching your back so your chest sticks out.

“I’m a fast learner.” you promise; at that, he merely hums, his hips grinding slow over yours. you let your eyes squeeze shut, groaning lightly at the bliss of his rough denim sliding against your shorts-clad cunt, throbbing with desire.

you’re breathless; shivers cascade down your spine at the press of his hips against yours, licking your lips to wet them; “fuck, Joel-“ your breath is strangled, “please. I can be good for you.” you try to convince him, blinking your eyes up at him. his smirk is downright evil as his hands fall to your top, skating over the tops of your breasts before one hand grips your jaw in his large palm, squeezing hard onto your cheeks and forcing you to stare into his eyes.

his grip is unforgiving. “y’think you can jus’ bat those pretty eyes at me?” he sneers, his breath hot and fanning over your face. you’re overheating- god, it’s so fucking hot in your house; your hand raises to grip his forearm, swallowing your pride for the sake for finally getting to feel him inside you, “’m sorry, Joel.” you mutter, cheeks squished by his hand.

his brow furrows, shaking his head. a chastising tutting noise escapes his throat as he rolls his hips, grinding sloooow and smooth against your dripping cunt, aching with desire.

“no, you’re fucking not.” he spits, pushing you harder against the table. your throat is dry, a whimper of desire escaping your throat. his lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans more of his weight on you, your legs wrapping around his hips and your own surging up, up in search for some friction, “say it. say you’re not sorry. you like it, I can tell.”

shivers spill down your spine as you bite back a moan, cheeks alight with heat at his teasing. Your eyes lull over towards the blade that holds down your shoulder, pinning you against the table. a hot rush of arousal floods your underwear as you swallow, eyes rising to meet his in a lidded gaze. 

“I like it,” you admit in a shameful gasp, hand sliding up to explore his chest, “I’m- I’m not sorry. I like it, ‘m not sorry.” you mutter, voice desperate, pathetic; you’re swallowing a whimper as he grinds slowly against you again, his hardened cock straining against his jeans.

 his hand snaps to pin yours down to the edge of the table; your eyes snap up to his, meeting the swirling lust within his deep eyes, searching your face with a dangerous smirk. “you aren’t sorry?” he asks, voice dripping with condescending cockiness.

you shake your head no desperately, searching his eyes to see if he’s pleased.

he smirks at your desperation. "you will be, darlin’." he mutters, his own eyes exploring your chest as it heaves, breasts barely spilling out the top of your tank top’s hem. you smile up at him despite your desperation; hunger curls in your chest as you move your hips up against him and his face falters, a groan escaping his throat. his eyes swirl with the dark shine of a man who is nothing less than dangerous. 

the hand that isn’t pinned by the blade creeps up his arm, brushing the thick cords of muscle that rope his bicep and shoulders; soon, though, one of his hands is gripping your wrist and slamming it down against the edge of the table.

you gasp from the roughness, biting your lip as your fingers curls around the edge and hold tight under his grip.

“don’t move your hands,” he mutters as his lips dip low to trace over the seam of your top, breath brushing over the soft skin of your breasts. “or I’ll leave you here, pinned to this table.”

arousal floods you at his words and you nod silently, swallowing as his teeth bite roughly at your pressure point. “d’you hear me, girl?” he grunts, his hands moving to pull out one of your breasts from your top, your peaked nipple instantly tugged between his prying fingers.

you let out a yelp at the sensation and he huffs against your skin, biting again. “fuck,” you whimper loudly, bucking your hips as your hands grip tight against the edge of the table; one arm is pinned with the knife anyways, but your heart thunders as his tongue peaks out, brushing hot against your sweat-sheened skin.

A hand snakes to your throat and you can’t stop the moan you let out, air sucking through your windpipe at the light grip he keeps; you’re obsessed with how all-consuming he is.

Joel’s everywhere – his smell, his eyes, his hands, tongue – you want him to be inside you, you want him to be in you forever, ever, ever.

fuck Joel Miller. fuck him, and fuck him.

“I asked you something. answer me.” he squeezes your throat as he emphasizes, as he demands you; you buck up against him, convinced you’re soaking through your goddamn shorts, leaving disgusting proof of your sick, twisted arousal as you move against his crotch.

his dominance causes your face to flare with heat; you weren’t expecting him to seduce you into submission - you love it. “y-yes, yes, sir. I he-heard you.” you gasp, face flushing hot as the words leave you. he smirks darkly as he pulls away from you, danger lurking in his eyes deliciously as he nods, seemingly pleased.

he nods. “good.”

his hips are gone from you in an instant and your gasp is choked – but he wastes no time in popping the button on your jeans, sliding them and your underwear off of you in one long motion.

his pupils somehow blow even wider as he stands in front of you, palming his thick cock through his jeans, watching you pant hard.

you’re exposed in front of him – your pussy is swollen with need, pulsing with desire as one of your breasts rests exposed to the air as the knife pins you down by the arm of your flannel; you’re fucking exposed and you love it. he’s intoxicating.

 “you’re soaked.” he says after a moment of silence so long that you barely register his gruff voice. you blink, bringing your eyes back up to his from where he’s begun to undo his belt.

you can’t help the light smirk as you stare up at him, “maybe I happen to like it when you’re vulgar with me.”

he glares at you but there’s a hint of something more that flashes through his eyes; adoration? no, it couldn’t be. Joel Miller can’t adore anything.

but then out of nowhere his fingers delve through your velvet, slippery folds in a fervor; your breath chokes yet again in your lungs as you tense with the sudden stimulation.

a low, guttural moan falls from your lips as the pads of his middle and ring fingers rub tight, slow circles on your clit, “bet you taste so good, don’t you?” he murmurs, his teeth finding purchase upon your neck, sucking a mark so hard you’re sure you’ll have it for weeks. christ. “y’want me to taste you, pretty girl?”

fuck. images flash through your mind of him on his knees, tongue unraveling you, drowning in you while your thighs close around those thick greying curls.

your moan falls from you fast, nodding quick, “yes, yes, please, please, use your mouth.“ your whines are downright embarrassing – you’re not a wide-eyed virgin teen, for fuck’s sake – but Joel’s stirring you just right, making you purr with pleasure.

but instead of his tongue, a harsh swat falls onto your aching cunt and your hips jolt at the stimulation, your clit throbbing and the sting making you groan his name. you can’t help the moan of disappointment.

“well, isn’t that too bad?” he snarls, his voice mean. you feel tears of frustration spring in your eyeline as you huff a sigh, his fingers slowly, torturously moving over your clit yet again. “bet you’d love if I ate your cunt. probably dream about it, don’t ya? d’you think about me when you touch yourself?”

Christ, you’d never expected Joel-don’t-fucking-talk-to-me-Miller to be so fucking dirty; but you learned your lesson last time, so you nod quick, eyes lidded through the euphoric, teasing pleasure from the pads of his fingers.

“all-all the time, J-Joel, fuck, think about you all the time.”

and it’s true.

“that’s right. my slut, thinkin’ about me.” he spits, mouth peppering bites over your throat. “gonna have to make y’cum fast, baby. Maria’s probably waiting for us t’turn in the logs.”

the possession in his voice brings you even further towards the edge, catapulting you, sending you frustratingly close as your body tenses, puckering hole clenching around nothing as he slowly works you.

you nod your head, unable to open your eyes as your legs close around Joel’s fingers; in anger, his hand tears your thighs apart, swatting the soft skin of your thighs in punishment. you yelp at the sting, biting your lip as a new gush of arousal leaks from your neglected hole and drips down onto the table.

fueled by frustration and adrenaline and some desperate fire of attraction that’s been burning between you since he first showed up in Jackson, you nearly scream, “please, fuck me now, Joel, please I’ll do anything-“

his hand leaves his ministrations quick, his glare sharp as his fingers glisten with your desperate arousal; they’re soaked. you feel yourself flush in embarrassment until he smirks darkly, tugging himself out of the confines of his jeans. “there, see? learnin’ some manners.”

his cock is heavy and thick as it slides through your wet, slick folds. your breath, panting out and puffing as you watch in awe. his: stuttering as the tip of his dick notches at your clenching hole, teasing.

“Jesus, you’re trying t-to swallow me, darlin’.” His hand reaches out, grabbing a palm full of your tit as he rocks his hips, once again nudging your leaking hole.

your whole body shivers in anticipation; you will your eyes to not reveal how fucking turned on you are about his size - you’re more wet than you’ve ever been in your life and his cock is - well, it’s thick, long, bigger than you’d like to admit. 

“greedy fuckin’ pussy.” he grunts to himself as you hold yourself as still as possibly, one tear escaping as you your eyes clench shut in desire.

“’m ready, Joel.” you whimper, eyes opening to find his hot gaze already searing through you; he just smirks, nodding slightly. “yeah, bet you are, pretty girl.”

he can’t thrust all the way into you, not fully- his cock is too thick, your cunt slick with arousal but still so goddamn tight. the rumbling moan he lets out as he inches in slowly is fucking heavenly.

a strangled gasp leaves your lips when he starts to slide into you, inch-by-inch, stretching you open and filling you full of him. your fingers twitch at your sides as you yearn to card your fingers through his thick curls; his head falls heavy against your chest as he mutters, “s’tight, baby, fu-fuckin’ tight.”

“so much,” you whimper, fingers tight and shaking as you restrain from grabbing his arms to stabilize himself, “‘s too much.” you mumble, tears stinging. he hums, the ghost of a kiss over your cheek before he’s in your ear, whispering, “am I too big for you, baby? gonna hav’ta work you open on my fingers first next time, yeah?”

his dark grin grows as you nod your head dumbly, “fuck- yeah, yes.” you agree, nodding,

his voice is starting to slur, accent getting thicker as he soon splits you fully, speared and sheathed deep, deep into you. you’re fluttering around him as you accommodate to his size, the feeling of him nearly breaking you open as he starts to shallowly thrust.

you let out a loud moan, his thickness stretching you and sliding deeper than expected, kissing against a spot that has you keening. your toes curl and your head falls back as he pulls out, thrusting back into you slow, grinding, deep.

all you can say is his name; it falls from your lips like it’s the only word you know, his hips soon pistoning into you with fervor, chasing the feeling coiling in your abdomen. 

his hands roam. 

they explore every part of you they can reach, his teeth marking every inch of your throat and painting you into a beautiful piece of art. for him. 

the noise of your pussy swallowing his girth in is downright filthy as it echoes through your kitchen; your head lulls to the side as you let out a languid moan, the spot he's hitting making your eyes roll back. you can feel stray tears leak down your cheeks, hot and heavy as you whimper in desire; you're so goddamn close, already, you know he can feel it. 

“y’gonna-“ he grunts, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as yours leak down your cheeks, body shaking with desire, “-gonna take my cock and say thank you, ‘s that right?”

a shaking rush of arousal just slickens you even more; the sounds of his body rocking into yours wet and loud in the room as you nod frantically, the pleasure coiling dangerously fast. 

but it seems you weren’t quick enough with your response: Joel’s hips slow, then stop completely. 

you’re left gasping, eyes wide as you stare up at him in shock: “wh-why?” you whimper, his pulsing length half out of you, teasing you. 

Joel’s eyes meet your own and he sternly swats your tits, eyes watching as the breast exposed to the air moves in recoil. 

“do you want to cum?” he asks, as if he’s asking what 2 + 2 is. your face fucking burns as you nod, “yes-“ 

but he grunts, hips too agonizingly still as he leans forward, “then take my cock, fuck yourself on it. and use your fuckin’ manners.”

you blink at him, spurring into action only after a very brief short-circuited moment. your hips stutter and shake at the angle, unable to move in a way that stimulates yourself enough to bring you back to the edge.

you shutter, muttering, “th-thank- thank you,” but you can’t do it. you glare at him as you move your hips, hands shaking, muscles straining, but you can tell he’s not pleased: brows drawn, a swat to your exposed breast that stings and spurs your hips quicker.

“come on, this is pathetic.” he snarls, fingers gently pinching your clit. the yelp you let out is dry, starved. “why so quiet now, darlin’?” he throws your own words back at you deliciously. 

he stands stationary, eyes judging you, focused on where your cunt tries to swallow his cock, your movements choppy and weak. tears spring in your eyes; he feels so good, but you just can’t get it right. 

“please.” you nearly whisper it, but it’s exactly what he was looking for. he rocks his hips shallowly, your body rocking gently with the slow, deep force of him splitting you open. 

“please, what?” he whispers into your ear, teeth scraping your jaw. resentment and arousal flows through your veins as you let out a strangles, “please, s-sir-“ 

with the words, Joel’s hips cant up into you, the slight angle making your legs coil and your throat burn. 

“please fuck me, y’feel- I can’t do it, need- you feel so good, fuck me hard, please, I want it.” you let go, begging and desperate to give you what you crave. 

his hips pick up a brutal pace. your back is pounded into the wood below you, the cool blade of the knife cold against your flannel as one of his large hands moves you until your legs are thrown up, over his shoulders.

the stretch is unimaginable and he doesn’t give you any time to adjust; his hips are unforgiving, fucking you open and letting your juices of arousal spill over the skin of your thighs and onto the table. 

“such a foul fuckin’ mouth on you.” he spits, one hand gripping your jaw until it opens for him, your mind clouded with the chase of your highs. 

he spits into your mouth, saliva warm and intoxicating as you swallow it happily, nodding in a daze. “gonna fuck you stupid, aren’t I? you won’t think about anything but me for weeks.” 

he’s right, and he fucking knows it. 

you nod at him, unable to form full words as he hits the spongy, delicious spot inside you that nearly makes you pass out. your hands fucking ache from the grip on the table, but you hope he’s pleased that they haven’t moved a damn inch this whole time; even as he splits you wide open and takes you apart. 

you’re so close you might actually start to sob as the crest of your orgasm tingles your thighs, your toes curling and legs shaking. 

he's close, too. his thrusts are getting slower, sloppier. 

“whose pussy is this?” Joel grunts, his movements soon desperate and deep; his tip kisses your cervix and your body jolts up the table with each movement of his pubic bone against yours.

the pain is fucking euphoric, delicious as you grip the edge of the table so hard you’re unsure they’ll ever relax. his finger pinches your nipple and you yelp, sweat sticking to your forehead, “-y-yours, fuck, Joel- yours, a-always.” you whimper, breathless.

you feel his smile grow against your neck and the butterflies that grow in your chest seem out of place with the bruises that will soon blossom on your skin from his teeth, his fingers.

you smile, too.

"god, you're perfect- f-feel fuckin' perfect around me, baby. need you to cum." as his sentence ends, his head jerks up, one hand rising to grip your jaw tight. your eyes snap to his and the anger boils, festering with the desire and lust within his eyes, "know y'can't help it, can you?" 

you shake your head fiercely as your orgasm nears. he hums deep, a rumble from his chest, “what do you say if you want me to let you cum?” 

fuck. fuckfuckfuck you’re too close- your muddled mind spits a barely cohesive babble of pleads, “please, p-pleaseplease I-I’m sorry I’m sorry-“ 

“you’re sorry?” he presses, hips not giving up; your whole body burns as you wait for your orgasm, knowing in any second it’ll be ruined. “look at those pretty eyes. did y’learn your manners? y’gonna say thank you?” 

you let out a sob of pleasure, his thrusts so deep you can feel them in your throat. “yes, Joel- please- let me cum, please-“ 

his hand slides to your throat. “cum now.” 

you swallow around his grip and let out a near scream of his name as his other hand snakes between you; a finger brushes against your abused clit, the combined stimulation pushing you over the edge. 

you see colors. 

your orgasm explodes as you gush around him, pulsing, begging, unraveling around his touch. your voice is broken, mutters and whimpers of his name followed by thank you, thank you drifting through the room.

your thighs are soaked with your own spend and he feels you grip him like a vice; he can't help but kiss the tears from your cheeks as he milks you through your orgasm, muttering soft grunts in your ear. 

"that's it, baby. there y'go, cum on my dick when i fuckin' tell you to." he kisses the column of your throat as his thrusts slow to deep, long thrusts. "atta girl." 

you scream at his words and the overstimulation. he shushes you, thrusts slow. "'m gonna cum." he sounds almost desperate, his body so close to yours it's almost like he's trying to smother you.

he groans your name in a broken sound; his grip tugging your hair. he moves back, frantic to pull out and ride his high- but you panic. 

"w-wait!" you rush, hands springing without thinking to push his hips hard against yours. you can't bear to imagine him pulling out of you so soon - you need to feel him, be full of him. "cum in me, Joel- I need it, j-just- fuck!" 

his hand slams over your mouth, effectively silencing you with a loud grunt of his own, "shut the fuck up," he growls, sounding too close. “jesus, girl- gonna wake up the whole n-neighborhood-“ but even his shamefully dirty mouth falters when he chases his orgasm.

soon he thrusts shallowly into your pulsing cunt before he's moaning, spurting his seed into you. 

hot, thick ropes of cum paint your walls as you flutter, whimpering as you breathe heavy, hands skittering up his back despite his earlier orders. 

his lips brush over your skin as he lies on you, heavy; "jesus christ." is all he mutters, pulling out of you with a slick sound and tucking himself into his jeans. 

you can only stare at the ceiling, the light above the table you’re laid upon swinging with the residual force of your bodies colliding.

a hand falls in a sharp thud to your right, pulling hard to dislodge the knife from its home against you; the notch it leaves reveals the patrol log; speared in the middle with the evidence of you and Joel's digressions. 

oops.

you're wrecked. you're a trembling frame of a structure after the hurricane of Joel Miller took threw you, stripping you to your bare bones. a ghost of lips over the inside skin of your knees as they fall, weak, off of his shoulders. and then he stares at you as you shakily sit up, setting your clothes right, swallowing on a raw throat. 

“‘m sorry about the flannel.” he gestures to the rip in your arm where the knife had pinned you down and something about it makes you chuckle, smoothing down your hair. “are you- are you okay?” he asks suddenly, hard eyes looking almost soft under the glow of the lamplight.

he hands you your underwear and jeans and helps you slide back into them in a surprisingly sweet turn of events.

“more than okay, christ. if you make me cum like that again you can do anything you want to my clothes.” you wink with a deep breath, smiling gently at him when he helps you stand back up on shaky legs. he actually sends you a half-smirk at that, and it flutters along your chest. 

the nighttime air is not so suffocating as you and Joel make your way towards Maria, his hand grazing over the small of your back as you walk on Jell-o legs, faces flushed and sweat slicking to your skin.

it’s awkward.

“I-” he starts, swallowing air as you stare up at him. sweat trickles from his brow and you itch to trace it with your tongue. 

“I actually think you’re not too bad,” he finishes, turning to walk up the steps to Tommy and Maria’s. you blink, heat fluttering in your chest as he admits, but soon whirls around to ensure you hear him, “for Ellie. just- don’t do that shit around her, right?” he clarifies.

you grin at his reddened cheeks as he tucks the log into the box set near the door, filing it under the western outpost for the date. 

“yes, Mr. Miller.” you mock-salute him, smirking to yourself as his flush deepens, the scowl ever-present on his face softening slightly at your smile. 

“christ.” he shakes his head, “you’re gonna get me into a lot of trouble.” you don’t miss the smile that creeps on his face as he starts to walk you back home. 

--

read part 2

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#joel miller smut #Joel Miller #joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel smut #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou spoilers #the last of us (hbo) #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us (tv)

[owenthetokencishet]

Warhammer 40,000 as a universe is trying to do the impossible.

Warhammer 40,000 is, broadly, a grim satire of fascism. It takes the fascist's worldview, all the xenophobia, conspiracism, hypernationalism, and militarism, and amplifies it to a galactically ridiculous scale.

"The Imperium of Man has ruled for 10,000 years, warring endlessly against heretics, traitors, aberrant humans, and aliens galore, all of whom are so wildly different from humanity that peaceful coexistence will simply never be possible. The only emotion stronger than our hatred of them is their hatred of us. So, we war. We war and war and battle and slaughter until the end of days. We throw our sacred human form, untainted by mutation or the hideous sciences of our ancestors, against the barbarian hordes by the millions, most of us dying in the process. We revere and worship the warriors elevated by the hand of our divine god-emperor, the apotheosis of our glorious, eternal state. These warriors, reborn in the Emperor's image with His sacred eugenics, to become the ultimate fighting men. And yes, they are all men. We are never safe, while we must constantly be defending our borders from our enemies, we must also be ever-vigilant within. Anybody, from our comrades on the front lines to our commanders, tech-priests, preachers, or politicians, could be a traitor. Nobody can ever TRULY be trusted, and those who truly are heretics, must not only be destroyed, but erased. They, and all memory of them must be eradicated. One heretic can sign the death warrant of his entire world, and sometimes, for the preservation of the human race, billions must die."

Warhammer 40k presents a world where all of this(asterisk) is true (VERY BIG ASTERISK)

Through this lens, a lot of the more... questionable aspects make sense.

T'au Empire Mind Control: The T'au are how fascists view liberals. They CANNOT understand that an integrated, multicultural society could ever POSSIBLY work. They cannot FATHOM that different communities can just... agree to work together, it HAS TO BE the woke mind virus. "Can you believe these fucking idiots tried to NEGOTIATE with TYRANIDS???? These fucking losers tried to make PEACE WITH ANOTHER RACE??? PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT"

Why the chaos gods are what they are: The followers of chaos represent everyone of the 'ingroup' the fascist hates. Because nothing, not even their sacred ingroup, is sacred to the fascist. The followers of chaos are the germans who resisted, the jewish antizionist, the rebel (Khorne), the intellectual (Tzeentch), the sick and disabled (Nurgle), and the queer (Slaanesh). "There is no reason ANYBODY, ESPECIALLY not those of our sacred ingroup, could object to our glorious genocide. And the runts of the litter must be eliminated to not be a drain on the rest"

And EVEN WITHIN 40k, a lot of this is bullshit.

The T'au mind control thing is provably bullshit because the Farsight Enclaves exist. A whole T'au society that exists free from the apparent mid control of the ethereals

The imperium feeds as much into the chaos gods as the traitors do. A stagnant, decaying empire (Nurgle), with an incomprehensibly vast and byzantine bureaucratic structure (Tzeentch), where a select few live appallingly lush and lavish lives of hedonism and pleasure, completely detached from the people they're supposed to govern (Slaanesh), all for the purpose of making ever more destructive and bloody war with everybody else (Khorne)

There is evidence of peaceful human coexistence with xenos empires during the Dark Age of Technology, including one humanity CREATED, and many inquisitors and rogue traders will GLADLY incorporate xenos into their retinues. Trade and coexistence with aliens DOES still happen in the imperium.

Hell, the parody of fascism is in the very MECHANICS OF THE WHOLE LORE. Fascists don't believe in "facts" or "truth", if they did, they wouldn't be fascists. Therefore, in 40k, "Everything is canon, nothing is true". This allows players to EITHER

Think critically and try to connect the dots to form their best guess as to what "canon" is

Or buy wholly into one side or another's propaganda

And one of those groups is going to find a "truth" they can accept and treat as fact a LOT more quickly than the other.

40k lays out in perfectly plain low gothic, all of the bullshit and hypocrisies of the Imperium. They'll let entire sectors die in the interests of preserving human life. The way the imperial guard are lauded as heroes but treated worse than the lasguns in their hands. The way that in order to become a space marine, one of humanity's great guardian angels, you must have everything that makes you human either beaten out of you or surgically removed. The priests who worship science and technology viewing scientific progress as the most abhorrent of heresies. The divine worship of a man who scoured entire worlds for the crime of worshipping him as a god.

Actually hang on lemme derail the flow of this post and talk more about the emperor. The Emperor is the chief hypocrite in an empire of hypocrites. "I AM NOT A GOD" says the 10-foot-tall gleaming golden immortal psychic god-man, "NOW GO FORTH MY ANGELS ON YOUR GLORIOUS CRUSADE TO BRING SCIENCE AND REASON, and by science and reason I mean doing exactly what I say without question and turning a blind eye to fundamental truths of the universe, TO THIS BENIGHTED GALAXY"

The problem is that parodying fascism is impossible. Fascism is already so inherently, fundamentally ridiculous a worldview, for all the reasons explained above, that distinguishing sincerity from irony is nigh impossible.

If you, an antifascist, read The Turner Diaries, you will probably assume it's satire. The book ends with Earth as an irradiated hellsacpe where few can survive and nothing about its resulting culture is explained. But nope! This is fascist propaganda! It was written by actual neo-nazis who committed actual hate crimes! It is an enthusiastic YAAAAAAAAAY APOCALYPTIC WARFARE!!!!!! YAAAAAAAAY GENOCIDE!!!!!!!! At least all the black people are gone! Hell, when Rogue One came out, Lucasfilm got all sort of shit flung at them for portraying the evil space nazis... as the bad guys... which they always were.

This is why both we, the fandom, and Games Workshop as a company, are DIRECTLY pushing SO HARD against the fascists in the space, and must push harder. 40K IS NOT FOR THEM. And no amount of clever writing or obvious parody will ever convince them otherwise. It does not matter how unfathomably stupid you make fascism look to people with functioning brains, fascists will gobble that shit up. You cannot make fascism look worse than it is, and you cannot make it stupid enough to convince fascists its stupid.

The problem isn't that Games Workshop isn't doing a good enough job writing the imperium as bad (although they aren't), the problem is that it will never be an adequate mockery to make the fascists feel unwelcome. It's not a bad parody of fascism, fascism is just beyond parody.

#warhammer 40k #ramblings. musings even #40k #imperium of man

[sleepyowlet]

The creators of The Rings of Power seem to have forgotten (or never understood) Tolkien's one absolute core message:

WAR BAD

It's not something you should aspire to, it's not something to glory in. It's horrible and violent and all-around shit. But sometimes, you have no choice.

He was a veteran of WW1 ffs.

He saw it all, the blood, the dying, the dogged determination of his comrades and the women fighting to save lives, plugging bullet holes as best as they can. Holding the hands of the dying while being shelled.

But US culture is so rife with war glorification. In US media, depicting war as something horrid, something awful, something that should be avoided if at all possible - that started and stopped in the 80s.

"Saving Private Ryan" was the last hurrah of that line of works a decade later.

If you view, like, Eowyn through that lens? Her character arc isn't "strong war maiden turns into docile wifey". It's "Clinically depressed woman yearning for one last act of glory and then death gets confronted with the realities of battle, does what she strove for, but realizes that she wants to live. And do something with her life that doesn't involve bloodshed and killing."

Because Tolkien doesn't see glory in war.

Or, to bring in a quote from another franchise: "Wars make no one great."

And if you lose that message? You lose everything.

#rings of power #tolkien #lord of the rings

[txttletale]

Apologies for the dumb question and loads of personal information, but..

I have severe moral ocd, and in the past the exploitation has actually caused me eating issues. I’d get intensely guilty whenever I ate anything bc I couldn’t avoid thinking of the exploitation that occurred to get it here and I honestly started avoided eating.

is that what im supposed to do? I know there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism but my sustained existence is reliant on food from the exploitative world of global “trade”, medicine from the oppressive pseudo jails of the psychiatric system, and technology running on copper and cobalt that people suffered to mine. I claim to be a leftist, but my sustained quality of life, god, my entire life, is dependent on the imperial core continuing to extort the rest of the world. Should I just give up?

nah. ultimately if you're a socialist you have to understand that what you do as an individual is--politically speaking--irrelevant. it's good to be aware of the harms that were done in the process of production, but it's both a political dead end and personally self-destructive to then flagellate about that. (and to be clear, if that awareness is impossible for you to maintain without falling into disordered eating behaviours, you don't need to be that aware--again, this isn't about moral duty. genuine socialist politics are never about individual moral duty, or about being a good person. there is no level of Thought or Awareness or Conscienciousness that can become a lever of meaningful political action.)

the harms have already been done by the time the commodity exists for you to access--you're not participating in or exacerbating them by using the commodity. even if you did find a way to live completely without interfacing with the systems of exploitation, those systems would continue unabated. they don't care about you. the idea that if everyone spontaneously individually decided to stop using the goods that are generated by exploitation then exploitation would end is laughable in both premises and conclusion.

you have to look at this on a material level--the 'harm' is not an abstract quality that gets infused into the fruit or the medicine or the iphone, it's not haunted, you cannot show me an atom of 'harm radiation' emitted by an out-of-season banana--the 'harm' is a series of actual events taking place somewhere in the world. and the way to combat that has nothing to do with the personal consumption of individuals--it has everything to do with organized efforts, with groups of people taking collective action to stop that harm from happening.

you're not god. you're not a dynasty warriors character. you vs. united fruit and foxconn is a losing battle. you alone can't change the world in any way that matters, good or bad. the only thing you can do is join your energy to a group, to participate in class struggle. to unionize or join a party or participate in a mutual aid network. class struggle, the marxist analysis of class struggle, the only meaningful vector of political action across myriad forms, cannot be reached or analysed through the lens of 'do my personal consumer choices make me a good or bad person'. i know it is obviously difficult to do when we live in a society that focuses on consumer choice as the be-all and end-all of personal and political and moral expression, but you have to reject that question outright.

socialism is not catholicism--the aim of left-wing politics is not to live virtuously. it is to unite as members of the working class and improve all of our lives. focus on uniting first--find the people around you who you can form organizational bonds of solidarity with--and then figure out how to participate in the class struggle together. that's the only way forward. everything else is a trap, a dead-end, or in this case, pointless self-abnegation. good luck, comrade.

#ask

[tikkunolamresistance]

On Houthi and Yemen, and Antisemitism in revolutionary spaces...

We've been observing the response to our statement showing support for Yemen's aid in Palestinian resistance- specifically where we said "Glory to Yemen", as there's certainly a lot more to it than that.

Houthi and Yemen are not mutually exclusive: the country of Yemen and its people, civilians, have been bombed and murdered by the western nations for decades- in which the last FOUR United States Presidents have sanctioned and bombed Yemen.

Houthi, more officially known as Ansar Allah ('supporters of G-d'), are a militant organisation that emerged in the 90s but rose to prominence in 2014 when the group rebelled against Yemen's government. The rebellion caused the official governing body to step down, in hand causing a demobilizing humanitarian crisis.

You can read more about Houthi here:

And more on why they are attacking ships entering the Red Sea here:

It's true, Houthi are Antisemitic and we do NOT support Houthi. Their slogan is quite literally "curse the Jews"; Houthi are not our revolutionary comrades for there is no revolution in hatred and division. Their direct action on Israeli ships subsequently disrupting trade is undeniably important to disrupting the flow of capital and aiding the Palestinian resistance movement- but Houthi deserve no special recognition. Yemen has seen expulsion of Jewish people from the land for centuries, and the Antisemitism that Houthi carries forth is the same hatred that displaced Jewish people within Yemen's history.

Web archive from the Yemen Times about the treatment of Jews in Yemen and Houthi's views.

Within revolutionary spaces you must approach everything with a critical lens, and it goes without saying, especially now more than ever. Whilst we can recognize Houthi's direct action in hindering trade, and the promise there, aids the Palestinian cause by putting pressure on the Capitalist hegemony- we must equally affirm that antisemitism is unacceptable. To punish every Jewish person for Zionist crimes is unacceptable and a hinderance itself in revolutionary spaces. We cannot and will not allow Houthi's Antisemitic ideology to be regurgitated.

Leftists, Communists- recognising Antisemitism within Leftist spaces does not automatically corelate to giving grace to Israel- you must recognise that Judaism, Zionism and Israel are not mutually exclusive. The use, and bastardization of, Jewish symbology by Zionism and it's propaganda machine has long since blurred those lines, and thus it's integral to remain critical and vigilant. Even when Zionists proudly conflate the two to endorse the State of Israel's brutality- you should not deem the acts in and of itself Jewish. There is absolutely nothing Jewish about apartheid, colonialism and hatred.

Antisemitism is an age-old hatred, with the oppressive colonial state of Israel depending on it for survival. When we uproot Antisemitism, when we uproot oppression, division, hatred- we uproot the State of Israel and the Capitalist hegemony itself.

Antisemitism has no place in revolutionary spaces, and as is the case for any other form of discrimination and hatred- it cannot be ran from, only faced head-on. The solution to uprooting Antisemitism from global social infrastructure is not to enforce a new hatred, it is not to oppress another- for the cycle will only continue. We believe that society must educate one another to thus educate our future generations; we must ensure we remove division and hatred from social order, and that includes all forms of hatred.

Division itself must be dissolved to truly revolutionize social order.

#yemen #palestine #tikkun olam statement #free palestine #antisemitism #jumblr #antizionism #critical thought #critique #essay #media literacy #geopolitics

[bitchesgetriches]

Want to learn how to invest?

ATTENTION CITIZENS OF BITCH NATION.

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Have debt — yes, you should consider investing even if you have debt now

Don't know where to start 

Want to be certain that your educational foundation is absolutely solid 

Understand that investing is the key to building wealth, and know that a paycheck alone is not wealth

Don't want to work forever

Want your money to start working for you

Know that you just need to get started—no matter how small the dollar amount! 

Know that education must be your foundation and that investing without knowledge is dangerous 

Have a workplace retirement account

Don't have a workplace retirement account

The course costs $15. We wouldn't recommend something paid like this if we didn't believe in it, so this endorsement does NOT come lightly. Amanda is one of our ride-or-dies, and she left Wall Street so she could teach investing through a feminist lens.

But if $15 is too rich for your blood, we are offering Amanda's course FOR FREE to our Patreon donors. Sign up at the $5 level or higher and it's yours ($15-$5=$10 SAVINGS HOLY CANNOLI). We'll have the information for Patreon donors up tomorrow.

Lastly, if you can't make it live, you'll still get a recording of the workshop. So don't worry if you're not available this Sunday. Ok here are those links again:

Investing for Freedom Workshop with Dumpster Doggy

Bitches Get Riches Patreon for free access to workshop

#investing #stock market #how to invest #how to invest in the stock market #stocks #trading stocks #investors #investments #personal finance #money #money advice #money tips #making money #investing stocks #stockmarket

[annawayne]

TOP 10 favourite AA fanfics?

Hello!

Thank you for asking me too, since I saw the answers from the dear comrades in AA fandom, and I'm very touched you also asked me. Thank you!

As for TOP, it's going to be my subjective taste and, sorry, more than 10, so without further do, in no particular order:

The whole AruAni in Fort Salta, with the leading role of Village By The End of The World by @moonspirit. The true treasure for the AruAni fandom, but, in my opinion, even for the whole AoT fandom as an incredible and impressive post-canon tale.

Phenomenally written with complex, layered narration and excellent character analysis and exploration of various topics - outside and inside, past and present, and the sheer beauty of human lives with all the struggles, traumas and nightmares, tangled with the incredible moments of mundane and peaceful life. This story makes you love this life and see the beauty in the smallest of things - both the characters and the readers.

(but honestly, read all Moon's works)

Black Water and the whole collection by @distortedclouds

A very precise dive into Annie's (and Armin's) relationships through the lens of the family - Annie's father and the one Armin and Annie try to build on their own. It's a fresh and solid exploration with a fantastic character analysis without any restrictions - raw and honest, in all glory. Fantastic style, impressive depths, and a story that leaves a huge impact.

Little Bird by @aquietjune is, perhaps, one of the best Annie-centric fics ever written with a unique post-canon setting and a very sharp, in the most wonderful ways, writing style, that immediately steals you away from this world, and you're caught hostage by June's imagination and mysteries.

Legends by @mimiwrites2000 is an impressive, emotional rollercoaster of canon-divergence with heart-wrenching twists and a beautiful writing style that makes you feel longing for something that you don't even know a name. I would describe this fic as "bittersweet nostalgia".

(just like with Clouds and Moon, go and read everything, honestly)

By Each Crime and Kindness (I'm bound to you) by @aruanimess, in my opinion, is one of the best Cadets AruAni stories I've ever read - the story holds the tense melancholy of the canon with the bittersweet moments of adolescence which was forced to live and to love in their cruel world. But the world is also beautiful, and, I suppose, this is exactly what this story is about.

on the path that led me to you by @the-last-thread-of-my-sanity is another perfect example of one of the best Cadest AruAni fics, in my opinion. Very honest, and fragile, just like the first love and the first leaves in the spring, story, that, however, holds a very deep analysis of AruAni moments during their time as Cadets - and what lies beneath the surface.

The Difference Between Us by @/BreakingSanity - maybe, the most unique AruAni fic ever written. I mean, where else would you find Human!Annie and... Tiny!Annie 4 inches tall romance with unique, complex story-building and universe, plot twists and a lot, a lot of emotions? The story hooked you just from the very first chapter.

Wait By The Ocean by @/SirCookieton is absolutely stellar exploration of the grief and denial, love and hope, that is already doomed from the start, but the sheer longing, the raw emotions that etched every word through the course of the story, leave huge scars in your heart as a reminder that, sometimes, the most difficult part is accepting the inevitable.

Nothing Sweeter Than You, A Perfect Love by @dude-why-3 are my personal favourites and the stories that are very dear to my heart. This is a magical tale of star-crossed lovers in a Romanian village, set in the 1950's, and these stories are a wonderful example of how to write romance stories in general. But let me also mention Who painted the sky? - a story that granted me an experience I never had, but it's so well-written, that it feels like I experienced something like this. It feels like a memory from a summer.

A Force To Be Reckoned by @luciensdefenseattorney a solid historical AU, with mysteries, tension and great background stories! And as for the similar vibe, I would also mention The Viscount and His Silent Ballerina by @/cherriesinmoonlight

These City Lights by @annieleonhardt was one of the first AruAni fics I ever read, and it's still one of my favourites, even if it's not finished. Silent movie director Armin and silent movie actress Annie, set in the early 1920's? Yes, please.

Tater Tots & Heavy Thoughts by Anonymous is still one of the most honest, of the most delicate stories I've ever read, written with a lot of care, attention and love for the details. This story had a huge impact on me, and it still has, so if you want to dive into a fantastic character study through the perspective of some very heavy topics which are explored with a lot of care - this story is exactly for this.

Coveted by @/honeyriot is a majestically written exploration of intimacy and how two ruined souls find solace in each other embrace. 11 chapters of sensuality, honesty, bravery and vulnerability.

On freer seas by @/astralcrow is a very solid Pirate AU, with incredible and stunning world-building, great character analysis and development, and the tension that don't leave you several weeks after you finish this mind-blowing story.

And, some incredible oneshots I really liked a lot:

Tangerine Skies and Muffled Cries by @midnightraine131

A River, An Ocean by @yourmaejesty

Dawn by @/aikrm

okay by @lunamoon1233

Deep Cuts by @dude-why-3

A glimpse of us. by @/Decoii

invisible strings by @diam-etrical

If our love is tragedy why are you my remedy? by @aruxani

But let me summarize that eveyone who creates in AA fandom is incredible, and I'm forever grateful for all the content we have in fandom.

You all are wonderful and thank you a lot!

#aruani #aruani fanfiction #aruani fanfic #aruani fic #arminarlert #annie leonhardt #annie leonhart #armin x annie #answered ask #ask

[killingick]

“—Reaper do you read me?”

GHOST x READER

TW: HOMICIDE, MENTIONS OF GORE, EXPLOSION, WEAPONS

0650 ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ

ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: —ᴋʀᴀᴋᴏᴡ, ᴘᴏʟᴀɴᴅ

ᴅɪꜱᴘᴀᴛᴄʜ ꜱqᴜᴀᴅ: 7

ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ: ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ (6751) ꜱᴏᴀᴘ (2137) ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇʀ (4371)

"Area D clear, Reaper move forward." 

"Affirmative."

Leading with the barrel of your rifle, you peered around the corner, checking the blind spots out of reach from your comrade's sniper lens. 

Being more skilful when it came to close combat, you and Soap had agreed to traverse the area on foot, with Ghost as your lookout. Your mission to locate any files that could provide you with insights on your country's opposer's next move.

The area had already been wiped out by an aerial squad a few days prior, but you could never be too careful; anyone could have decided to report back to the scene to retrieve information, just as your squad had been ordered to do.

"I've been standing here for twenty minutes and my back is fuckin' killing me, can I get a bloody report ghost."

"Negative."

You snickered at the two's childish banter. Ever since Soap had said you were better with a knife than Ghost and had a higher body count on the field hence you receiving your code name 'Reaper,' Ghost's ego was massively bruised. 

He'd been keeping an eye on you, and occasionally checking on Soap but refusing to help him out any more than that.

"Entering a building on Block D. I've sighted 3 entrances, North, South and West. Windows are barricaded with debris. Entering through the South Point."

The building stood tall, kissing the hazy daze that covered the sky and buried the ground below in a blanket of snow. You couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped your lips as the building had somewhat felt slightly warmer than the outside.

Your uniform had done the bare minimum to keep you warm over these past few days. You'd always find yourself pulling your pants up by your utility belt and tucking your body warmer into it to stop the sharp cold breeze from nipping at your skin.

Ghost had offered you his body warmer given that it was warmer and bigger, but you'd brushed over the kind gesture given that you'd known he'd needed it. You knew he was more than tired about you complaining about how cold you were and it showed.

So when you'd been shivering your ass off on the outskirts of the city and letting out low curses unbeknownst to your other companion Soap who'd been fast asleep, he'd pulled you by your sleeping bag into his warm embrace, throwing an arm around you and rubbing your side soothingly till you'd fell asleep.

Soap had teased the soldier about it in the morning, but he flipped him off, claiming that he needed to get his head out of the gutter because he'd never feel any kind of way about you.

Which stung but you got over it despite your own feelings that had developed over time and acted normally.

You progressed about the room which was silent. Papers and bookshelves scattered themselves about the floor whilst dust occasionally fell from he ceiling as a result of the building being unstable. 

Pulling your visor down you turned on your night vision so you could see more clearly and avoid the dust particles from falling into your eyes.

"Let's play a little game since Ghost is still in his feelings." Soap teased.

"What has two legs and half a body."

"Don't tell me." Ghost groaned.

"Your mum by any chance?" Ghost chuckled heartily at the response, putting a smile on your face as you crouched down skimming over some of the papers on the floor.

"Okay L/N, stand by that. But no it was half a dog."

"I said don't tell me." You could hear the way Ghost cringed in his voice. After killing so many people you thought he'd have grown used to the violence by now, but animals is where he drew the line, which you thought was cute.

Checking both corners at the door way, you cautiously edged your way into the hallway. Most rooms were blocked out from entry with bookshelves, or rubble leading you over to the stairwell.

"What's smart, proactive and ticks—."

"Not Reaper." Ghost cut in.

"Fuck you Riley."

"He's not wrong." Soap chuckled earning an eyeroll from yourself.

"A bomb." Ghost replied.

"Ding ding ding." Soap affirmed.

Even though he couldn't see you, Ghost had been keeping a sharp eye on the building you entered. Squinting closely through the windows on each floor as best he could despite his distance and checking the entrances repeatedly.

He didn't want to make you anxious but something just didn't feel right.

Soap had almost encountered two parties of soldiers marching through his designated area which they'd all referred to as Block A, whilst he'd been rested and watching on Block C. Occasionally jumping down for cover on his building when overhearing other soldiers walking by below, speaking in another language.

But Block D had been strangely quiet and you were more than careful. You'd often get sent on search and destroy missions due to your stealth, and the fact that you'd never leave a trace of yourself behind down to the last hair strand, led him to believe that you wouldn't get caught for anything foolish. But the silence in your area was alerting. It was almost as if people had knew you were already there and that's when Ghost's heart sank.

A good few minutes had passed of him and Soap's childish games and you didn't respond with a sly remark or giggle. He'd constantly brushed it off as you focusing despite the fact that you'd be a lot more talkative with the two.

In addition to this, it had only just occurred to him that squads of 3 to 5 people would walk by his building.

The direction they had been walking in now becoming more evident as Block D.

An ambush.

"Reaper, get out of there, you've been compromi-."

A large bang sent tremors throughout the whole city. The building jerked harshly throwing Ghost onto his side on the rooftop, with his rifle falling gracelessly by his side.

"What the fuck?" 

"Just fucking get to Block D!" He cursed as he scrambled back onto his feet, sprinting through the exit and down the stairwell.

Did he just lose you?

He just fucking lost you.

You weren't responding, and as much as his heart would twist and tear from it's heart strings at the sight of your buildings windows being complimented by the red and orange flicker of flames, he refused to come to terms with the idea of it. Not until he'd fucking seen you.

"Ghost I'm here, it's not looking good. The whole area's fuckin' crawling with them I couldn't get closer to the building if I tried. REAPER 4371 DO YOU READ ME?" Soap called through the intercoms, once again no response.

Ghost ignored Soap's aimless screaming through the comms as he rapidly approached Block D, foolishly forgetting to check corners whilst he sprinted through back routes in his haste to see you.

As he turned the corner a blade quickly swung itself in his direction. Raising his rifle, he blocked it sending a swift knee to the opponent's stomach before clawing a knife out from it's holster and slitting their throat.

Pushing the body away from him he continued before pausing. As confirmed by Soap, about twenty people stood and lingered around the building, all with automatic rifles which he wouldn't stand a chance against with a sniper alone.

He cursed to himself, regretting leaving the automatic at their camp, not wanting it's weight to slow him down.

 He felt his heart stop as he slumped down against a wall, putting his head in his hands.

He'd failed you.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't let anything like this happen to you and like always, he failed to keep that promise. He knew you'd liked him but he was too scared to lose you on the field so he acted like he'd hated you just so if he did lose you it'd pain him less, but it wasn't fucking working.

If only he'd spent more time with you. If only he'd let himself be more vulnerable around you whilst he'd still had the time to.

A crackle came through the Comm's.

"You won't fuckin' believe this Simon, I fucking found her crawling through the street with the files! She's injured, knife to the side and Comm's is broken, but she's breathing, we need to get her back to camp asap."

A wave of relief washed over the soldier at his comrade's voice.

"Affirmative." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Forget the rendezvous point just get her there and don't get caught."

#sfw #cod mw2 #mw2 #call duty modern warfare 2 2023 expansion campaign dlc leak cod mw2 activision call of duty #cod #ghost x reader #ghost #ghost cod #cod ghost #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #oneshot idea #oneshot #poland #krakow #slow burn #black ops cold war #call of duty world at war #x fem!reader #female reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #british #uk #british accent

[cosmicjoke]

The Problem with Levi and Shipping:

You know, I read all kinds of fan fiction, and talking specifically about “Attack on Titan” fan fiction, even more specifically, fan fiction focused on Levi, I’ll read him paired up with Erwin, or Hange in equal measure.  If it’s a well written story, I don’t have any problem with either ship. 

But my problem with shipping just IN GENERAL, and again with Levi specifically, is that I see so many opinions about Levi and about “AoT” over all, spouted off all over the internet, stated with the kind of conviction as if him being in a romantic relationship with either Erwin or Hange is canon.  And my big issue with that is that it then colors those people’s ability to view the story of AoT, and Levi’s character, objectively. 

All of their opinions about either are filtered through the lens of seeing their ship as canon.  Every word Levi speaks, or action he takes, they take as some sort of supporting evidence of their ship’s canonical existence, and they twist the meaning of his words and actions to fit whatever ship they desire for him.  The biggest and most glaring example of this of course is Levi’s choice regarding Erwin on the rooftop in Shiganshina, and also the promise he made to Erwin about killing the Beast Titan.  People who ship Levi with Erwin almost entirely disregard the fact that it was for all of his fallen comrades that day that Levi promised to kill Zeke, since it was ALL OF THEIR sacrifices that day that gave him the opportunity to in the first place.  They all died to give Levi the chance to kill Zeke.  Reducing that to Levi ONLY caring about fulfilling his promise to Erwin specifically, just to uphold some notion about Levi’s character being in some special way linked to or beholden to Erwin beyond the dynamic of a subordinate and a commander, or even friends, makes it seem like Levi didn’t care at all about the hundred other soldiers that died that day, which is where you get these Levi haters coming in, trying to claim Levi as some sort of selfish asshole who’s obsessed with one man, and no one else matters to him.  Pushing this notion that Levi only cares SPECIFICALLY about fulfilling his promise FOR Erwin and Erwin alone does a major disservice to Levi’s character.  There’s also the fact that these people conveniently and regularly ignore the panels in the forest, when Levi is thinking about his promise, and he remembers all of the soldiers charging to their deaths, not just Erwin.  When Levi is making his way toward the Beast Titan, he looks at all of the charging soldiers, and he says “I’m sorry.”  Again, it just does a major disservice to Levi’s character to imply that it’s for Erwin only that Levi cares about fulfilling his vow, when Levi’s entire character is essentially predicated on caring about ALL his comrades. 

And the same applies to his choice.  Shippers will most often try to float this notion that it was only for Erwin that Levi made the choice he did, and that Armin played no role, or wasn’t at all a contributing factor in Levi making the decision he did.  And that’s just simply not true.  It requires one to completely ignore whole panels, and whole dialog boxes, and the order of those panels, to come to that conclusion. 

And the same applies to Levi’s relationship with Hange, though to a lesser extent, since Levi’s major actions and choices in the manga don’t involve Hange so heavily as they do Erwin.  But people that ship Levi with Hange will often do the same thing that people who ship him with Erwin do, which is to filter his words and actions through the lens of that ship, and interpret what Levi says and does through the parameters of a relationship which just simply doesn’t exist.

It makes it impossible to view Levi, and even the story of AoT as a whole, objectively, and leads to gross mischaracterization and misinterpretation. 

It’s fine to ship Levi with whoever you want, but I just wish more people that did would recognize and be aware that their ship ISN’T canon, and to stop treating Levi as if it were.  Because when you do, you miss all the vital and important aspects of Levi’s character, and it becomes impossible for you to understand his character and interpret his actions and words accurately, and that, in turn, leads to Levi’s character being cast in a negative light.

#Levi Ackeramn #Attack on Titan #shingeki no kyojin #Hange Zoe #Erwin Smith

[lambergeier]

i open twitter for a spot of lurking. i am instantly clubbed over the head by this take

no screenshots included and reblogs are off because i do not invite that kind of vibe into my house so like, i'll give everyone a minute to go read the linked thread. that done: lmaoooooooooo this is girl dinner levels of fandom discourse regression. this is we are not making it out of here alive shit. the subjects of our fantasies are not real so.....the incredibly sexist distribution of our fantasies doesn't have meaning? that must be discarded as a deeply telling data point because......it must be?? really unclear on that one

just like. many queer woman interpret their experiences through the lens of male characters so it's silly to discuss why society provides us so many more male characters ripe for the lensing OR why individual queer woman writers make the choice over and over again to focus their fantasies through men even in canons where women are available like: cool got it okay. you can see so transparently where this discourse came from (ao3 stats likely going around again, people get defensive) but to crawl SO far up the ass of self-righteousness as to imply that questioning fandom misogyny is to stifle queer female voices: truly how little the turns have tabled. fandom misogyny is a loop and we are velodrome-dessa.mp3'ing that shit. i feel stupid even typing this up

just take the L, comrades. i haven't written femslash that wasn't genderswapped mslash in literally 10 years. i see some damning trend lines from the latest ao3 numbers post and i take the L. don't want to take the L? great news you literally just have to spend some dedicated time thinking about dykes. It's That Easy

#'but my thinking time just naturally gravitates to male characters more than female characters' absolutely not #hattersarts made one nye resolution like ten years ago to consciously prioritize female characters over male characters in her creative wor #and she is now one of the most preeminent lesbian fanart scholars of our time. she became the tastemaker #we need none of us go that far. but we are all capable of it. you can simply choose to think about women more