#racism is stoopid
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I saw that video of tucker carlson or wtv the fuck his name was and some other random bitch saying that the british “civilised“ india and made us what we are today like honey did you guys skip history or what the indus valley was there before yall’s ancestors could wear clothes and if india wasnt here say goodbye to half ur hygiene and development including this dear social media u luv sm
I have actually never loved being indian more now then ever when south asian hate is at its highest. Anyways stay safe and keep on jamming to marana mass and zinda banda/vandha edam bye ty lysm💋💋💋
#desi#desi shitposting#desi tumblr#all is not well#i love being desi#slayyy#indian tumblr#desi shit#desiblr#yassss#idgaf#racism is stoopid#some americans terify me with their stupidity#omg 😍😍😍#💋💋💋💋💋💋💋#😍#😘#💖#🥰#Spotify
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Wait are people still trying to make c!Quackity into a fantasy world racism?
Bro that's stupid for several reasons. I'm white and even I understand it's stupid for many reasons. The DSMP Canon lore deals with many heavy themes yes, but racism is not one of them, and again i am white so feel free to correct me, but last I checked, making a character whose actor is Hispanic into a hateful racist when the character he's supposedly racist towards was played by a white man is...not poggers. That's actually quite shit.
#fantasy world racism can be fun in fics#like for background lore or world building#but to try and apply that to canon?#Mmm no that's dumb that's quite stoopid#again am white feel free to correct#I'm just assuming because that seems like common sense#tw racism#fandom critical#dream smp
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I didn't really like the helmet grab by Michonne in towl. I didn't think it was necessary for them to make her do that even though I know they were trying to show how angry she was. Am I overthinking this?
forgive me but I actually think you're not thinking enough. You're not thinking about what's happened from michonne's perspective. even if you were, you're not extending her any empathy because writing off her as just "angry" does not cut it here
....Michonne had to carry on believing rick was dead for FIVE YEARS, raising their kids despite that grief and then when she was given the smallest hope he was alive she gave up another 2 years with her kids, risking her life in the wastelands, surviving chlorine poisoning, and enduring more fucking trauma with nothing keeping her going but the fact that she loved him and would not give up looking...... AND THEN she finds him against all those odds and rick had the CAUCACITY to try and trick her into ABANDONING HIM and insinuate that she DOESN'T TRULY LOVE HIM UNLESS SHE DOES??? of fucking COURSE she rips that dumb fucking helmet off his head!! she wants him to say that nonsense to her FACE, hear how insane it sounds, and be greeted with the only appropriate response to an assertion so ludicrous: silence.
When my dad and I watched that episode we both agreed rick actually got off easy for trying to pull that shit after what michonne had been through. My dad even left the room when rick was bragging about his stoopid plan to trick michonne into leaving to jadis because my dad is very sensitive to second hand embarrassment and rick was so fucking idiotic for trying to do that to michonne and thinking it would work.
ALSO.....something that I've ranted about before is this idea of an empathy gap between how people see white characters and characters of colour (ESPECIALLY Black characters) because such is the racism of the world that people simply don't empathise or even sympathise with characters of colour because they've been conditioned not to. Years of racist media conditions you to empathise with white characters almost instinctively even when they're wrong. In this case, rick was wrong. Totally wrong, despite his intentions. He was dishonest, condescending, and inconsiderate. Michonne had every right to be angry and every right to show him how angry she was. The fact that you're uncomfortable with that maybe means you haven't really paid mind to what michonne has been through and maybe you haven't done that because she's a Black woman. Personally, I loved that scene so much and I also love all the scenes in ep4 where she's pissed off because michonne isn't just rick's love interest she's a protagonist in her own right and she's NEVER not once accepted less, even from him.
anyway, hope you don't think I'm being mean! I've just seen weird discourse about that scene that is so unnecessary. It simply wouldn't be a thing if people actually cared about michonne as a character, rather than just as one half of a ship.
#towl#richonne#the walking dead#I rmr in ep 4 when he said that shit AGAIN I was like THAT DOES IT IT'S TIME TO DIVORCE HIS ASS
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UP IN YOUR ARMS (CHAPTER ONE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader
summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.
a note from Lucy: chapter one! I'm digging my own grave here. thats all im saying. i promise it is focused on joel and the reader later in the chapter. im just setting the scene for differnt relationships in the series.
playlist
wc: 6969 (haha lol)
Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.
series m.list | m.list
The jazz band was one of the finest groups in the city. ‘Only the finest for The Canary Club’, as Johnny had put it.
Johnny Boy Finnick.
Now he was a man. Played sports in college, muscular, strong arms that pinned you to the wall or mattress or table. Hands that shuffled playing cards with ease and had you screaming far after the night was over. Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that never fell out of place from its slicked back style. Not even after he had crushed someone's jaw under the weight of his pummeling, bloodlusting fist.
Johnny made a name for himself bootlegging liquor, too young to fight in the first world war. Took over as The Boss of Boston. It’s how he got his name. Johnny Boy. Fresh faced but the heart of a ragged old man. Lost it all after the second world war, gained it back not long after. A killer with a bone deep yearning for blood, money, violence, and you.
He sat in his pressed suit, legs parted as he leaned over to display his full flush to the table, flashing a killer smile when he collected the money off his right hand man and three more of his boys. You smiled from the bar, beads of your dress twinkling in the low light of the speakeasy, ready to waltz over with another old fashioned and drape yourself in his lap.
“Thanks, Henry.” You smiled at your oldest friend, taking the drink he had placed down in front of you on the bar. Henry was your age, 25. A boy from Hartford, Connecticut, grew up in Kansas, then moved here looking for work in a big city. Honest, hardworking. Sweeter than cherry pie. And his little brother Sam was just the cutest pip you'd ever seen.
“No problem, Doll.” He teased, which deserved a roll of the eyes from you.
“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”
“This would make it…” he glanced up for a second, as if calculating within his mind, “one too many times to count.”
“Funny.” You gave him a quick bitter smile. All in good fun, clearly, for he took no offence. He just shot you a smile, running a clean rag over the bartop, collecting two glasses and wiping the rings of condensation they left upon maplewood.
“Your man looks thirsty. Might wanna take him his drink now. Before he gets the wrong idea about me talking to ya.” You sighed, craning your head slightly to look back at Johnny who scanned the place with a scowl. It made your skin crawl the thought of his temper snapping again. Despite it, you left Henry with a playful wink his way before swanning back over, placing Johnny’s drink in front of him and a vermillon kiss to his cheek.
Johnny sneered at the affection, wiping your lipstick stain from his cheek. All the confidence you had fell to the floor and shattered miserably. Liquid courage sloshed on the cured wood floor.
“Fuck’s sake, Doll. What you do that for?” He demanded of you, the disgust in his cruel cerulean eyes sending a chilling, agonising jolt down your spine.
“Sorry, Johnny.” You shied away, folded your hands together, eyes on the floor.
“Ain't you gotta powder your nose or something? Go on. Piss off.”
He was right. You’d be on soon. Drenched in the spotlight. Under the scrutinising, side cramping glare of everyone's eye. You could do with the quiet. So you shuffled off to your dressing room without a word more, holding back tears with your breath.
In the mirror, you mourned the girl you were. Mourned the life you had before it all turned upside down. Mourned the man you fell in love with. And the monster you had no choice but to stay with.
—
Joel was fuming. If you touched his skin you'd reel back with a scorched yelp because his blood ran hot, fast and thick under his flesh. Trust Tommy to catch himself in the web of underground crime. Always a joiner. Always a deserter too when things got heated. And who was left to untangle him from its intricate, venom snared weave? Joel ‘Gubbins’ Miller. He might as well have ‘mother to my brother’ branded on his forehead. Because that's what he was now.
The war ended four years ago and ever since Tommy had been searching for his purpose. Preached about it round the dinner table in their grimy, mildew inhabited apartment like a preacher would his sermon. And every time it set Joel’s teeth on edge. Because he knew what came after the downfall. The pickup.
Now, however, Joel was determined to nip this lunacy in the bud. Tear it up from the soil by the new roots.
The Canary Club was one of the few remaining speakeasies around in Boston. To a cop it was practically a ghost of an establishment. Might as well not be there. But to a man like Joel, whose brother never stopped babbling on about the next best thing he had cooking for himself, it was as easy as pie.
A shroud of cloud hung just above Boston’s looming buildings, teaming with the early moon to create a murky gloom over the dim city’s sin. It seemed to fill the hollow, smoggy air as they cast dark, taut shadows over the slick, grimy roads. The sky threatened rain for the third day in a row. A place that reeked of underground crime, drug rings and watered down, once bootlegged alcohol, laced with what one can only assume to be illegal too. All of that was washed down with the constant sour smell of new rain upon dirty tarmac. A city plagued and tarnished by its own rejects.The promise of work bought them in. But the lifestyle spat them back out. Chewed up and ruined by their own humanising hope.
He and his brother came in search of work. They were getting nowhere down south in Texas. On the dole and barely able to afford a loaf of bread between the two of them. Even their own mother hardly recognised her boys after the war. Said they were empty shells of men. Husks of the boys she raised. Killers.
The woman was a pacifist at heart. And it was a trait that Joel not only saw as weak, but typical of women. Or that's what his father had socialised him into thinking. He didn't know where his father’s ideals ended and his started. As the days went by he saw more of the violence his father harboured in himself. Grimaced at the lug in the looking glass.
Joel was no pacifist. But he didn't storm through the doors either. No gun was in hand ready to send people screaming bloody murder. That was stupid. A mistake that he knew could wind him up on the concrete in the flooded gulley with a bullet in his head where blood and water could finally mix. Instead he stole in quietly in the ambience of playing cards and a Jazz band, ordered himself a drink, and sat at the far corner of the bar where it was dimly lit. Just enough for him to see his drink and the room, but his face still remained shadowed.
While he sipped in ponder, he took the chance to people watch. Scan the patrons for any uncanny resemblance of dear Tommy. But nothing. He seemed distracted by the careful and steady hand that polished glass after glass, though each of them were spotless before touching the rag.
A pointless task. Some may say sisyphean. But the boy doing so knew when eyes were on him. It was a very rare occurrence if not related to his race. People of any darker colour were ogled often in these parts despite it being more accepted within the north of America. There was still divide and segregation. However, this new patron wasn't looking for Henry’s skin colour, rather contemplating how on earth a boy such as him had ended up in such a place. What connection he had to the gang. Was he like Tommy? Roped in at the side of the side of the road and choking on his remaining pride. Or in a sticky financial situation? All these questions seemed to circle like the rag in the crystal glass Henry held.
“What’s your name, kid?” Joel asked him with an ex-smoker's voice, brow dark in the shadow. The boy looked up, eyes youthful, but they'd seen things no man should have to.
“Henry.” He said after a beat, quick to refill Joel’s glass when it was empty besides a drop circled thin and amber in the bottom. “Yours?” Joel lifted his head, taking a sip before placing his glass back on the bartop in furrowed brow contemplation.
“Joel.” He leaned forward on his forearms, haunched over the bar, before looking around again. “Whatcha doin’ here, Henry?”
Henry laughed slightly, looking down at his feet before back in Joel's eyes. And what he was met with was the hollow ache of a man scarred by war. Henry’s face fell flat.
“Working.”
“No…I mean in Boston.”
Henry cleared his throat at the sudden, and even brash way Joel approached his question. So much that it took him a second to frown and then reply.
“Came from Kansas. Hard for a black kid to find honest work there. Especially with a family to look out for.” His words were solemn and reflected a truth Joel knew all too well growing up down south. Even if he never lived it in his own white skin.
“You look a little young to have a kid.”
“I don’t. I got a brother.” Joel nodded as he listened, waiting for him to go on. Which he did after a beat of silence. “Bright kid. Bright future too. He’s deaf though. Got a lot stacked against him in this world. Mom can't bring in enough to fund education for ‘im. So I stepped up.”
“No Daddy?” Joel asked and Henry shook his head. “How’d you end up here then?”
“A girl.” The look Joel gave Henry was sceptical. But the young boy was soon to put a stop to it all. “Not a girlfriend. Just a girl. We grew up in the same building. She moved up north for a life and I followed a few months later. She met a guy. A wealthy guy. And she wrote to me often of how swell Boston had been for her.”
Joel wasn't the questioning type. Neither one to beat around the bush. But Henry intrigued him. Reminded him a lot of Sarah. The challenge she had faced with the colour of her skin that he, as a white man, would never understand. He felt a guilt about it every day that flared up in the dark of night before his eyes closed for restless and futile sleep. “And this guy?”
“Him.” Henry nodded subtly over to the table of men playing cards. Poker. A game Joel knew well in the frontline and in Egypt where he fought. Him and a few others often huddled together in their own game. Nothing but the last pair of intact socks to bet on, or a single cigarette to get them through the night. Joel quit smoking the moment he got back. Knew it was something that made him unpredictable and jittery in the best of situations. “Johnny Boy Finnick. A big name in these parts.”
Joel followed Henry’s gaze, but his attention was snagged by the unmistakable head of dark curled hair facing away from him. He knew his brother anywhere and his blood began to boil as he threw back his second drink and slammed the empty glass on the bartop.
“Hey, man-” Henry tried, shoulders straining as he stood to attention. Joel didn't pay him any mind. Merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before his bar stool sharied upon the varnished wood floor. He cared not for the noise. Only the feeling he would get once his closed fist met the bone on the bridge of Tommy’s nose.
Trumpets flailed to a stop and drums failed mid blow. The room fell silent after a chorus of gasps.
He loved his brother. Deeply. So much it caused a chasm of a rib cracking hole in his chest every time Tommy slipped up. But he saw red now it all caught up behind his lids that blinked once. That split second of not seeing and before he had a chance to second guess, he was gripping the back of tommy;s collar and wrenching him up to his feet to deliver a shiner to the face.
Tommy staggered back, and everyone at his table stood up with the intention to harm. Yet no one but the brawling brothers fought. As he gained his footing again, he also gained his senses, recognising Joel anywhere.
“Joel, what the fu-” He was hardly able to finish before another shooting pain split his bottom lip open and Tommy’s mouth was filled with the taste of his own bitter blood. Blood he and Joel shared and were now shedding in a futile fight of nothing but testosterone. That was enough to send the same foul blow to his kin. Joel winced, knowing the crescent of a bruise that would bloom on his cheekbone overnight. One of Tommy’s many rings sliced his skin. He felt warmth in crimson dribble from a fresh flesh wound.
“Hey!” One loud and bellowing voice that had the power to command a whole unit of men boomed out before neither Joel or Tommy had the chance to throw another fist. It was for the better. Any more and Joel’s knuckles would have bruised purple. A colour of shame.
It was Johnny. And his face was stoic as he stared each brother down with a burning gaze that had even Joel’s hairs stood on end at the nape of his neck. Like an army stood to attention before the first charge. Except he didn't move. Joel knew now where he stood in the food chain of this speakeasy. And it was right at the very bottom. “You!” He pointed at Tommy. Go clean yourself up.” And Tommy went as pale as a funeral sheet before nodding meekly. His face melted from shock to shame in the blink of Joel’s very eye before he grumbled something under his breath and passed Joel with a sharp clip to his shoulder.
It's his turn now.
At this point you'd come out to see what the commotion was for. The walls, while thick upstairs in the printer's press, were thin in the basement. And you;d heard silence and the spit of a man as his blood splattered with spit on the floor in the doorway.
“The fuck do you think you’re doin throwin’ fists in my god damned club for?!” He roared. And Joel had to take the duration of both inhale and exhale to get his lips and tongue to work. But the scowl on his face said it all. “Huh?!” Jonny’s nostrils flared like a spanish thoroughbred bulls’.
“That’s my brother you got workin’ for ya. I ain't havin’ him in some shady drug ring you got goin in. I aint!”
Jonnly was no stupid man. Hr was smart. Quick minded and knew a man with balls. But Joel also knew very little. So this one time, he took the approach of calmness, and used his usual lying tongue for truth. Any other time it would she forked like Lucifer's serpent form. But now he was a man of coolness. “Right.” Johnny nodded at him, his tone was one that could soothe a ravenous bear. But with an edge as sharp as a knife. So sharp it could slice skin in one swift swoop. “Sit down.” He commanded calmly. “Let’s get you a drink.”
With a wave of his hand a cha was pulled out. Two heavy handed brutes shoving Joel down into a chair, an old fashioned presented to him by Henry in front of him on the maplewood table. Then Johnny addressed the room gently. Set its patrons at ease. The music played its jazzy, jolly tune once more. People spoke again.And Johnny took his seat opposite Joel.
“Look here…” The gangster waited for Joel to give him his name. Which he did. “Joel, I appreciate a strong swing as much as the next guy. But I don't appreciate it in my establishment.” Joel nodded in understanding. His temper ashamed him. How it ran hot under his skin. Fizzled white when provoked until he saw red in rage and swung. Never blindly though. He wasn't a loose cannon like the broken soldier stereotype enforced. Just a fractured man.
“You’re a soldier aint ya?”
“Was.” Joel said gruffly. Curtly and he brewed a stare across from Johnny.
“Oh, nah.” Johnny shook his head, swirling his drink in the crystal glass, “Once a brother in arms, always a brother in arms. The war sticks with ya. You’re a soldier.”
“Fine. Yeah, I'm a soldier.”
“I know the war. I served like you. Left a boy and came back a shell of a man. Now look at me.” Joel took a moment to calculate his motive here. Johnny’s arms stretched wide with a smirk of pure pride as he gestured to the heart of his Boston crime empire. “I got money. I got birds.” He held up his glass to Joel, “I got liquor.” then leaned forward and spoke in a grave tone, "What you got?”
Joel swallowed harshly, unable to answer because he had nothing in reality.
“You got a job?”
He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No.”
“Figured. Hard finding work when all the women are competent enough to do it themselves. Fight for your country. End up on the streets. You don't die a hero like you thought you would. No one knows your name.” He scoffed, holding fingers up in air quotes around competent. It left a bitter taste of disgust in Joel’s mouth as the father of a daughter. Curled the edges of his tongue distastefully. Made him kiss his teeth to hold back the insult. “Well, people know my name.” Johnny paused again, the air grew thick between them and smouldered on their shoulders. He was squinting at Joel opposite him, sizing him up. Joel was rugged. A strong build and most likely a strong character too. Something Johnny could always do with having in abundance. And so when the devil's own smirk curled at his lip, Joel felt a question brewing at the very tip of his tongue. One that would change his life for better or worse. Regardless of it he declined or accepted. “And they could know yours too.”
Joel didn't want to admit it for the sake of his crumbling pride, but the man had it all. Even a good five years his junior, the man made a living for himself. Picked himself up from the dirt and used bloodshed and bodies for the foundations.
“I could use a guy like you–”
“No.” Joel put his offer down flat before it had the chance to meet the air.
“Hear me out.” He said calmly, and held up a hand, “A roof over your head. A steady income. A little extra dough in ya pocket?” Johnny rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the older man's face. An action to which Joel’s nostrils flared. It was embarrassing to even mull over. “Come on,” Johnny smirked. “Give it a go.”
The southerner’s lips pursed, as if he was thinking it over. Which he was. But to what lengths would he go? Sure, Joel was conditioned in a short few months to kill. He was good at it. Mowed down men on the frontline like clockwork. And his trigger finger twitched at the thought of holding that power once more. But that didn't mean he was a man without morals. The men’s blood he;d coat his hands in had families. They were someone's son. Probably someone's husband or father. Joel knew the hollow ache loss left. The imprint of a shadow it left. The chasm ripped in your chest. Loss felt like an agonising, deep, helpless pit. But here was Johnny, throwing him a rope
“You know, you’re right. This ain't the time to talk this over.” Johnny held his hands up and leaned back in his seat before they clapped back in his lap. Now you were at Johnny’s side once more. But the figure of Joel in his chair had something jumping in your bones. Tongue curling to taste his very words. “Dollface here will patch you up.”
You raised a brow, giving the two of them a dirty look. “Excuse me? Do I look like a nurse?” You shut up when Johnny glared. Swallowed your pride, and sighed inwardly. You both hated and loved the power he held over you. As much as you despised it at times, Johnny had your being wrapped around his finger like a puppeteer holds his strings. And tightly. You felt his tug at the strain in your limbs.
“And you come back here tomorrow. We’ll talk in my office over a drink and a cigar. A good fucking drink.”
—
Joel swallowed harshly when he saw you. Eyes, wide and decorated by dark mascara lashes, white liner on lower waterlines, face of a doll like Johnny’s nickname for you suggested. The red lipstick you had re-applied moments prior was glossy, inviting him to stumble over velvet words he would hear you speak. Lean closer so the blood red could graze the shell of his ear while you would whisper a dirty joke at him.
He followed as you led him down a corridor off to the other side of the bar. Your dress seemed fit for hypnotising him into your bidding. Surely you were a siren who climbed the strats of a pier of the east coast and arrived here. Something about the beauty you wielded was not the everyday sort. It was the type you see women bend over backwards to achieve even a glimmer of for their man who came back after work. He could see himself now. Loosening his tie, hanging up his coat and hat. Leaving his briefcase and sanity at the door to see you in a pinafore and pin curls. Pretty gingham dress. He’d sit at the table and either be presented by you or a meal for his satiation. He’d prefer to devour the sweetness between your legs.
Your hand in front of his face had his attention now. Fingers snapping. Nails manicured and painted the same shade as your lipstick.
“Hey, you listening?” You asked, face set into displeasure. Joel straightened as he cleared his throat.
“What?” His tone was gruff and he mirrored your expression to you. His southern accent catching you off guard, but is intriguing.
“I said sit down.”
Joel looked over at the chair set at a vanity mirror you gestured to with an extended arm. The second time he had been asked to be seated. The second time he obeyed.
You took your time to wet a washcloth in the small basin in the corner with warm water. Took the bottle of whiskey you stashed last week from the bottom of a rickety chest of drawers. Joel watched you in the mirror, eyes narrowed a fraction to make sure you were of no threat to him. He knew he could take you easily. In more ways than one. The power imbalance had his length twitching in his trousers.
Your hands weren't gentle as you sat on the vanity between his legs. You took his stubbled chin in your grasp and jerked his head up into the light, tilting it to take a closer look at the gash.
“Stay still.” You said curtly, holding the rag to the opening of the bottle and wetting it. You then pressed it over the pad of your finger. The initial touch made his teeth bare at you and a hiss to escape his mouth. His large wrist enclosing around yours to make you stop. “I said,” And you yanked your wrist from his hold, “stay still.”
He did as he was told again. Silence setting his between the odd hiss from him and twitch of muscle under weathered skin. The crows feet at the side of his eyes were old. He clearly had lost his smile to something in the past. But you didn't ask, only wondered as you wiped the dried blood clean from his wound. “Fuckin grown man and you cant take a little sting of a cut.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself in amusement. Followed by a small huff of dry laugh.
“Maybe if you weren't digging your fingers into a fresh bruise I wouldn’t be wincin’.” You shot him a look and let go.
“All done.” And you held up your hands for good measure.
“What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, tossing the rag aside and crossing your arms. He reached for the whiskey and took a large gulp, pursing his lips at the slow burn in the back of his throat.
“None of your business.”
“What’s your name?”
“You know my name.” He stated lowly. He was right. But you found a sick satisfaction in having any man you liked bend to your will. Answer any question you so pleased to hear the answer to.
His bones groaned as he stood up from the chair. Your coat draped over the back of it fell to the floor and you swiftly got up to swipe it from the floor and hand it on the hook on the back of the door before pressing your back to it and facing him. Blocking his exit. “Move.”
“Tell me your name.” You crossed your arms, jutting your chin up at him.
“Don’t make me move you, princess.”
“Tell me your name.”
Joel bit his tongue, the vein in his neck starting to pulse visibly under his skin that once again went hot.
“Why do you wanna know?”
“Because I’m nosy.” You smiled, sarcastic and saccharine. “And i want to know the name i’ll be moaning tonight as i touch myself under the covers.”
“Fuckin-” His jaw ticked, nostrils flared in his disdain. You kept your smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a small guttural noise from the back of his throat. A headache was starting to coil behind the strain of his eyes. “Joel.” And he looked back up at you. It still wasn't enough “Miller.”
Your smile was genuine this time, just as sweet. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straight from the door to hold out your hand and give him your name in return. He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and swerving you. He pulled the door but you used your body weight to slam it shut with your back again. A loud slam and a creak of protest from its hinges.
“Where are you from, Joel?”
“Is this a game to you, girl?” Joel growled.
“Yes.” The smile you had was sly. Foxy. A single finger ran down his chest and dared to slip just under his shirt’s collar. “I like games.”
“You don't wanna do that.” He warned, dark eyes burning you up inside from your very core. It was the look of a man’s lust that had been left untouched, unloved for quite some time now. It strained at his morality. But who were you to give up the warning and keen hand of a man who so desperately needed a release to the coiling tension of his shoulders. You saw it. Felt it in the rhythmic yet chaotic hammer of his heart against his ribs. As if it were trying with all its might not to break his own bones clean in two and lurch from its enclosure of flesh and bone.
“And why not?” This was a devils game of chess. Careful calculated words from loose tongues and taking each other's moves in as you exhaled a counter. And oy had him three moves from checkmate. His king weak in defence, your advances stronger by each word that fell into his eras from your red painted, enticing lips. He could feel his limbs being string up for you to pull at like a puppeteer in an advanced level of her craft. But he was no kind man. His words were even less forgiving than his disposition.
“Because I aint a kind man. Haven't been for a long while. And I know types of things a man like me would wanna do to a pretty girl like you.”
“I doubt it would be anything new.” You cooed, watching your finger as it traced a line lower over his buttons, stopping at the top of his belt buckle and just shy of teasing at the growing bulge in his trousers.
The tension between you was thicker than molasses. And it seeped through the cracks of his better judgement to the part of him that hungered for touch. That was ravenous for a single one of your fingers.
“I don't think Johnny would like that.”
“And I didnt like the way he spoke to me earlier.” You pouted. The way a child would when dined a sweet treat before dinnertime.
“That aint a good reason to start an affair with me. Because when i get my grubby hands on ya there ain't no going back, doll.”
His words were enticing you more. To have a man obsessing over your body. Your curves. Your voice singing his name as he fucked you dirtier than anyone into anything. Joel was that man now. He knew it in the very marrow of your bones that you were trouble. His new little minx. So it was no surprise when his lips crushed yours under the full weight of his sexual frustration.
It was needy. Heated. A clashing of tongues and teeth as he pressed you with his entire simmering being into the wood of the door. His bulge grinding desperately into your thich that parted his legs.
His tongue swiped your lower lip before drawing it back between his teeth for him to suckle on until it tingled deliciously. He was jealous with his touches. Groping your hips as the sating of your dress that crumpled to the floor. It revealed sweet sweet skin. Skin Joel wasted no time in delving in for the first damning lick. A pleasure to every sense. Sight, taste, touch, smell, sound.
Heavy breaths were exhaled into the dewy skin of your clavicle, tongue languidly sliding over the high points of your collarbones and enclosing in a sharp suck over the skin just above your right breast. It sent a chorus of heavenly sinful, light and airy monas from your mouth and floated into his ears. His lips were chapped and weathered in contrast to the silk smooth of your skin. It was delightful.
He went lower, got to his knees as he drank up the sense of a woman's skin for the first time in years. This was the taste of true damnation. He was past the opening of hell's gates and somehow found heaven in the parting of your thighs down the newly trodden path of your navel.
He pressed his open mouth to your clothed cunt, tasted the seeping slick you gave him on his tongue and gluttonously inhaled your musk right at the apex of your thighs. Your fingers tangled into the curls of his messy, wind wrecked hair. Keening your hips up to press into the curve of his aquiline nose, and riding the burning in the pit of your belly starting to grow. Your head fell back against the door. Your mouth unhinged and letting out moan after sigh after mewl of his name. His face buried between the meat of your thighs as his hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them so he could push his face deeper between your folds. Your underwear drenched and ruined from your wetness and his spit while he tongued your hole through the flimsy lace.
You pulled him back, smirked at the wreck he was with his lips sticky and shiny in the light of your dressing room. To then pull him up to your lips so you could curl your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself on him. It’s where the taste belonged. Among notes of whiskey and chewing tobacco and drugstore gum.
His large hands pawed at your hips once more, listing you so your legs could wrap obediently round his waist. That's how it worked now. He wanted, you gave. And willingly like the sounds that fell into his motu like sweet, freshly harvested honey. Ut had the feel of money. Powerful and green like spring leaves. But with the warning of rotting when summer meets its tragic and fatal end. It was like trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Near impossible. The last sip of a drink that would ensure drunken and slurred movements. It took even the nest of a man his entirety to deny you, But deep down, Joel was a weak man. Strong in body, maybe mind too. But weak in soul. And he gave in with the cashing of your back against the vanity mirror.
He had his faults. He knew that. And you did too. It had you wondering how a man like Joel loves. Did he change for his chosen lover? Or was he just as rough a callus as he was with everyone else. Would he destroy and ache and leave you wondering when your body would be at his whim next and how he would bend it to his will. Or would he let you lean into his embrace as he kissed down the column of your throat to the holy entitled epiphany between your thighs. The glisten of your hot cunt aching to be touched by anything. His everything.
So you reached for his belt. So you undid it along with his buttons to touch his heated skin, To feel the blood flow beneath as the strain of each of his muscles. You ran a hand across his chest and he let his head fall back as a woman touched him for the first time as a man of war. A veteran.
He felt like he had been cast in gold by the sun for the first time in his life. Shed his skin for a new layer reserved just for you. As if he was thanking whatever resided up there for you. He was no believer in god, but, Jesus Christ, he was starting to believe in some form of higher power. You were proof that there was a blessing for him to steal away from the world. It was in your sound. Your taste. Your touch. It beckoned him the way your finger did, curling into the collar of his shirt to clash your lips with his and let. He had no autonomy over the moan that fell into his mouth where it festered at the back of his throat and was swallowed with a desperate and heady inhale.
You trod roads into his skin with your touch. Ones he knew he would follow later that night in an erotomaniac’s pleasure. And you finally pulled his length free from his trousers. Your underwear was soon to follow and your slick aided the way he managed to sink so smoothly into your sopping heat. A squeeze he would commit to memory and savour like the taste of fresh and ripe fruit. Because you were. Fresh and youthful in age. Ready to be devoured to the core as a gleaning red apple would be. The very same one that even took in the garden of eden. Temptation. Fruit flesh to signify sin.
He took his first bite out of you with a satisfying crunch. And keep devouring until there was nothing left but the remnants of your birth, ready to be resurrected, grown again in the form of a new tree.
He stilled once he bottomed out, letting himself bask in the moment. The first time he was nestled deeply in the walls of your cunt. He heard your quiet whimpers for him to move. Felt the way your pert nipples brushed his sweat slicked skin. It was a ghost of a memory the last time he felt this. The heat of someone in the throes of intimacy. And it was all over him. It was the very air he wes starved of. The past was all paled in comparison because of the way your hips bucked pathetically to feel his thrust inside you. To get him going. No one had needed him this rawly, this undignifying before.
A single hand clamped over your mouth, stilling your movements. He felt the tickle of your exhale against the pinky finger.
“Stay still…” He commended with a swallowed down groan when you clenched around him, ironically repeating your words from earlier.
You looked at him. The glazed over, far away look in his eyes. His voice low and laden in a gravelly tone that came from the very back of his throat. You pulled him forward to lick it out again with your tongue when his hand fell to your throat. It gave a warning squeeze. And you once again canted your hips in protest.
This time he moved. And it was like poetry as it hit that toe curling spot inside you. Made your eyes close in blissful ignorance of what this would do to you. YOu slick drooling from your cunt onto his shaft until it shined at his very base and dripped down his heavy balls.
His hand squeezed your throat tighter. Had you yelling for him in a suppressed squeal. His other hand clamped around your mouth for you to moan into. Your words of praise lost on his ears, listened to by his palm instead. Every devil was fuelling this act of infidelity. This act of carnal sin you both needed. Ut unwound your bones, but had the coil in your belly cramping with each swift buck of his hips.
You met his swift thrusts in a desperate attempt to be of use to him. Finding it hard to breathe, yet alone Your cunt spasmed delectably. Searching for a new feeling. A feeling primal and dirty as the streets of Boston. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your legs trembled while he went on, giving you something you would remember from this day forward, A sentence of being binded to him.
You were in the arms of the devil himself. St his ,ercy. Nsd nothing felt more thrilling than the pleasure that rolled at a landslide's power and pace down your spine into your core.
Another squeeze round your throat. Another unhinged moan into his hand. He snarled, baring his teeth at you before pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down. Your eyes closed and painted a picture of stars. You were close to seeing angels by now and the deep ache of pleasure grappled your flesh and had goosebumps flicking up to attention over your flesh.
His chest heaved with each curl of his hips. Your exhales heavier by the second while you moaned his name like a mantra to his hand. His teeth imprinted on your back like a randhishing. A mark of the sin that was witnessed by the two of you that day. Your voice was shrill. A repeated ‘Joel! Joel! Joel!’
“Fuck, yeah, sing f’me doll. Sing f’me. Let em know who’s doin’ this to you.” He panted in vain. “Tell me.”
“Feels so good–”
“Again.” He demanded.
“Feels so good! Too good!”
And it was. He had you burning white hot at the end of an illicit teather. You gripped his back with talons of hellbirds. Clawing at his shirt clad back. The wings of hi shoulderbales. The snake length of his spine.
“That’s it. Tell ‘em. Tell me! Tell me in making you feel fuckin’ good.”
“You are. Harder Joel.” His pace was like poetry. Ripped you in tow and had you displayed to him. One knee was hooked over his hunched shoulder, spine curled as his forehead pressed to yours. `The new angle had you singing like a songbird. High and melodic in tune. Your kitten heel slipping off and clattering to the floor without a second thought. The head of his cock nipped your cervix. The lewd wet sounds of your pussy smothering him in your slick and your shared moans filled the room. Everything of you was his now. You couldn't even think of giving this up to Johnny. Yes, he fucked you dirty. But Joel fucked you like it was his sole purppose of living. Like it was what gave him life.
You fell. You fell as soon as you hit your climax with a mewling moan that ended Joel right there and then. Coming together with heavy breaths and shaking, trembling chests. His release inside of you, strings of his come smearing you in him. Marking you for later. Well and truly ruined for any other warm body that dared to slip into your sheets.
But falling was not the problem. Only when you hit the ground is what causes all the grief. And the look you shared once the gold haze of afterglow faded was what confirmed this.
What have you done? How would you live without this?
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x you#joel miller x#the last of us#the last of us fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#tlou hbo#the last of us hbo#joel tlou#lu’s little bookshelf#joel the last of us#tlou#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal#joel x reader#tlou fic#the last of us fanfiction#joel x reader smut#joel miller tlou#up in your arms#1940sgangster!joel#noir!joel
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I’m a little confused going down your blog. Out of the main team Yang’s character arc stands out as the best for you. However, you viscerally disagree with what the writers set out to tell with Yang: “she needs to use her head before her fists”. Arguing she’s a clever technical fighter and most of her failures are from no-win scenarios/matchups. All this to say, how can you both consider Yang’s arc the best while rejecting one of its biggest pillars?
Pretty easily, actually. There are two reasons for that: first, there's a lot more going on with Yang's character arc/development than the abysmal "Learn To Fight Better, Stoopid" mess the writers saddled her with, which was both factually incorrect and a steaming pile of horseshit. Second, the other three main characters have their own issues with their arcs. Third, the pillar in question sucks.
Yang's character arc isn't just changing her approach to combat. She grows from an aimless thrillseeker to, arguably, the person who best understands what it truly means to be a Huntress (look at Volume 7 episode 1 for a great example of this, she's consistently the one trying to keep the group focused on important issues during the conversation with Pietro. Someone else wrote a much longer post about this topic specifically, but I don't care enough to find it right now). She finds and confronts the mother she's been searching for for most of her life and ultimately rejects her philosophy in favor of standing and fighting against a seemingly-insurmountable foe. She has a (bare semblance of an) arc where she, a bona fide badass who is justifiably cocky and confident about her fighting skills and general ability to handle whatever the world throws at her, is so utterly broken by a decisive defeat that she develops PTSD and then overcomes that and learns to live with a disability for the sake of the people she loves. Yang is one of the most complex and interesting characters in the show, even after the writers butchered her arc and Taiyang's characterization in Volume 4.
As for her teammates, yeah, there's some good development in there too, I'm not saying there's not, but Blake's character arc is inextricably intertwined with the White Fang storyline, which blows more dicks than your average pornstar, and she spends most of the Atlas arc doing nothing but losing fights and pining over Yang when she should be front and center of a storyline focusing on the Kingdom most closely connected to Faunus oppression and anti-Faunus discrimination; Weiss gets over her racism in the space of two episodes and it's never mentioned again and also does fuck-all in Atlas, the part of the setting she's most closely connected to and the home of her most important character conflict and her entire fucking motivation to become a Huntress, and Ruby has been so static throughout the series that I was on the brink of not caring where the writing took her even before I started losing interest in watching RWBY as a whole.
I've talked about why Taiyang's advice is horrible and straight-up doesn't match the information the show presents directly on-screen about how Yang fights a million times already. I'm not going over it again.
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Rest Management
Racism, Equality? Segregation & Tactics
My my my dear management
BigBonus Grapplers
They’ll fuck you over
Over three years now still drinking and pissed
But sleep dream go to work again
Smoking reefer in the boys room
Slap a face of adult or wrap your fingers around the posers neck and shake him silly teasing me with thc at work
I like a high I love the connections in brain
You leave me fucking severed
But I don’t take business personally
It’s just fucted up
I should acronym or maybe their names
For a fit into their own personalities
I Have That Power
Silence of the sheep
No open sit downs of night shift responsibilities
Two Malfoy likes delegating privately one on one to an employee
Bullshit
I must be getting fucked again
Fucks hold hands through the night
It takes two managers to manage
American
Fraud. (adult work levels)
Waste. (everyone’s times, to stupid to be productive you get easy work)
Abuse. { you all work like no others, here is your weight, [ ( fuck you fatman & snake )
That hiss has never bought me anything ] }
Did I do it right? Punctuation unlike us in energy living on same damn planet!
Stand two to close posers to open
Shit is stoopid
Take a rest from Racism inEquality Segregation & Tactics
I’m read up and beyond
My heart is racing ready to smolder pounding your fire weak
You all don’t even believe what you believe and again fuck it all up even more by thinking, that’s why I see stupid shits sitting wasting time on clock it’s been a past three year epidemic of demons, life takers of mine and others
Rapers of time need your name here y’all
Or acronym HJMSZ but it’s not
Your fault it’s your Leader
The one you look up too
RL
Rest Leisurely
Static Cling
Black candles pentagram and names surrounding
Oh
Fuck’em
Ritual circumstances performed all over
Did you pay to keep selves safe
We will see
This is churning scary
Like stepping on a stick of butter
Don’t fucking Milk me for Bread
Your stick of butter is melting in my
Asshole, shut up
Go read an email, fall asleep
Get high
But we know better than to come for you for answers
That’s why we only ask to let us free
You two fucked
Stand alert now open and greet
You don’t even greet me like that upon entry, I know my place
Racism
Equality?
Segregation
In lows of 2023
Same as fucking start of last year
New Shit in charge of building
No talks
No comments
REST Management
It’s not fucking Wal Mart!
.|.
Prunnnttttttsssssssss
I’m just talking out loud
My God says, You can
And I do
Even when it’s garbage it don’t bother me taking it out
It’s been my first thing since
I don’t know?
Whoah!
That can be read as or read as or red assed
Telling on their bullshit
White folk managers in charge as they love certain people of sun to wed
But fuck us tues to sat
Rest fucked up next week and year too
Don’t get pissed, it’s just business
I tell myself five times a night
Lift a box throw farther
Do more for thy body
Health an importance
Snakes and Fatmans
Life starts accordingly to social media ending after 31, destined for death oh not me, you like maintaining, soldiers did to, of the female persuasion don’t fucking guide me for work I was doing before your time
Fuck my poser and last President my last three years have been because of you mostly, let peons fear, chess board
I’m after kings queens knight rooks fuck the bishops their fucking children and not my threat religion political area a let’s pl
I need a minority leader in charge of me!
•
Rest assured management
This is not an Email nor End
New marching orders for fucking arriving soon
Could be email
Could be technician change
Could be just a venting
B4Awakening
I know place in this
Should’ve got me high too
R E S T
Save your energy
I won’t be doing all I do
Will if not, my mouth speaks
L O U D L Y
Hostile work segregation & racism
Want to talk about it Martian
Let’s chat brother brotha slow as turtle moving
Not to me!
R E S T C E O
One hundred grand bonus bulls kit
Oh that’s a store manager
Tactical restful life in leisure
Small manager syndrome
He don’t ask us, nothing since arrived
Explicit Writing
Fuck Them All
Let a Lord sort’em out
Light a candle
Make it a ritual for sinnisters
Pent them up in a gram
Written upon
Add those names
I can play evil against evol allow me and resign
Too Easy ask dirt he left dust when he righted out
Fuck him and all of you reading
My masters
No more stay
Namaste my masters
Whoah KY after me
I’ll explain the interests
KY REST in a state
Can’t stop fucking me
I’ll explain
Over Powering protecting their interests
A later Post, you all knew on coming!!!
#REST Management#wordsbymm#writing#words#thoughts#vent#Sole against KY#Soul against sanity#war machine#interests#builds up#funny how#here they come after#natural disasters#KY at OK#shite for mud#I’m writing back#for explanations#my money been going#$8200#as I’m now looking#witch bitch state fucked Prunts#or I pay#or go there and fight#state power#king southern belt power#not my peers#nor constituents#I’m just fucted#kill self for dead
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Agnostic and racism is thee same thing watch all the stoopid monkeys jump to it makeing sure they agnostic to be racist to be thee salt without flavor to be a white pedo skin bitch caterer
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Citizen of Texas or Citizen of The World?
When you travel is there any going back to being provincial?
What’s the best thought for retirees? The Great Triumvirate share their thoughts …
Philosophical, open ended, objective discussions… yes, I love ‘em. When you transition in life, you have time for this kind of high minded back and forth instead of the mindless chitchat. (Remember, I hate chitchat) There I was doing some editing on my book writing venture, when out of the blue; Radolpho of the Great Triumvirate, life long friends who were fortunate to retire early, asked an existential question in a text. Should we, those infected with wanderlust, think less of the great Lone Star State of Texas after doing some world traveling? Those outside of Texas would probably think, “who the (four letter word of your choosing) cares? Those blessed through happenstance to be Texans are more than likely divided into two schools of thought: one reacting with “BLASPHEMY,” the other reacting with, “what the hell are you talkin’ about?” No real Texan would ever completely disavow their citizenship in the beloved fraternity of being from Texas…not completely. But, if your reply is along the line of “wherr yu goin wit dat” or “What kind of stoopid quesshun is that” or “Vhat kind uff schtupid qfestion iss zat”… move along, you’ll never understand. Perhaps one might quote Texas songwriter Ray Wylie Hubbard, “Screw You I’m from Texas,” …not me, but someone might.
Rudolpho and I joined in with our views of Texas in relation to the whole, wide world. The conundrum centers around, I think, the world renowned Texas braggadocio. The kind of “Don’t mess with Texas” and “everything’s bigger and better’n in Texas” mentality, you know what I’m talking about! I know of a multitude of folks who say and believe that Texas has everything…why go anywhere else. One must get out of their shells and broaden their horizons. I pray I don’t get my Texas card revoked, but there is a whole helluva lot more to this world than Texas. I’m still here? Let me go further to explain. As the saying goes “Familiarity breeds contempt,” well, not contempt just a bit of boredom? I love Texas history, the Mexican culture (I’m half Mexican), southwestern culture, the variety of geography, the international nature of Houston, Dallas etc, the amazing cross section of music: Blues (Texas Blues) Conjunto (mixture of Norteños and German polka) norteños, Tejano, Rock, the independent spirit of Texas, the historical leadership of Texans (ironically the most historically respected are of the liberal persuasion: LBJ, Barbara Jordan, Ann Richards, Lloyd Bentsen, Sam Rayburn, Ima Hogg)
All that being said I’ve always hated Texas braggadocio… hate it. I believe that Texas is a unique marvel that is culturally and geographically blessed in ways no other states could possibly be. It can also embarrassing to be Texan because of its current politics, it’s mania about guns and it’s ambivalence to school shootings, it’s disregard for public education. I say this knowing that in my opinion, Texas offers more to see, hear, taste and experience than any other state, BUT “Familiarity breeds contempt”… if you love a Whataburger great, but… if you had to eat it everyday? Bleah…To me it’s not enough once you’ve seen parts of the world only dreamed of. “How’re you gonna keep Tha boys on Tha farm now that they’ve seen Paris?” Individual sights like Mt. Denali, the Dolomites, Seattle, Rome … are to individual tastes … but an American location with such a unique variety? It’s hard to beat Texas.
Herein lies the point, the world is vast …for god’s sake …see some of it outside your state! Provincial thinking breeds all kinds of bulls***, like racism, nationalism, jingoism, flag waving chauvinism … and other -isms. We all arrived at a conclusion…it’s not unique, it’s not earth shattering, we aren’t geniuses; but we have opened ourselves to a broader perspective. We side with Socrates on this matter. From Plutarch’s Banishment, Socrates is quoted as saying, “I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world.” There ya go…simple and smart. We are citizens of the world and we want to see all we can of it! Cross the borders…you’ll get it.
The best thought for retirees? There is no going back… being an early retiree, it becomes your consuming thought. Time is running out; see, do, hear, taste, travel all you can, you have the time …use it. Expenses might dictate how far you can go, but you can go! And, I gotta go the music:
Cause God blessed Texas with His own hand
Brought down angels from the Promised Land
He gave them a place where they could dance
If you wanna see Heaven, brother, here's your chance
I've been sent to spread the message
God blessed Texas*
*Seals, Brady & Howell, Porter; “God Blessed Texas;” © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC; 1993
#open mind#retirement#coffetime#stress#change#teacher#i need friends#health#writing#education#europe#self actualization#self discovery#self improvement#socialmedia#self healing#social circle#social anxiety#writer#social media#texas#austin texas#travel well#road less traveled#traveling#travel#see the world#discover the world#our world#worldwide
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hiii it's east african anon! just wanna say i find it annoying how many other "radfems" seem so bent on trying to make you look bad? from getting mad about a normal statement about your dating preferences to literally accusing you of distributing ACTUAL CP? it all just stinks of racism tbh, idc what they say. bc i never see them go after white women like that. anyway i hope those weirdos stay blocked (you do not need to justify yourself to them, just forget about them) & that you take some time to care for your mental health, you deserve to have a peaceful space here 💕 love you!
loveeeeeeeeeeee u and yeah i had similar thoughts to u but i cant say shid bc if i even question if there may be racist motivations some whiteys will get mad and claim i call everything racist
#but it is def inch resting the person who spent months incessantly defending racism is now#trying to come at me bc its apparently racist to prefer to date other woc. not like theres reasons like idk shared experiences that could b#Anonymous#stoopid drama
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i can see your pfp ???
FR????
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Yes, go ahead, bitch----try and cloak your racism with, "I'm not the racist, YOU'RE the racist" and then double down with some other bullshit to "prove" your lynching fanfic.
Do you even realice how utterly gross and disgusting you are?
Oh and keep repeating "unpopular" (no), to make yourself feel better on that one....
Also, dude....if you EVER fucking bothered to inform yourself of anything....subsequent contracts are almost always for 3 years/seasons.....so she wouldn't be able to 'leave "if she wants to" at the end of season 6, anyway....
Oh and no, the only white cast member you're critical of? Is Cole as Jughead.....so maybe you should think about WHY you keep getting called a racist, hmmm???
ETA: Snorty haz some stoopid to add, as well!
Ummm....why TF would the writers bother to "push something as hard as they are" if it were unpopular? Why wouldn't they just, you know, cut bait? Which is, generally, how TeeVee shows work.
Also, she isn't a "side character", that's the whole point, dumbass. You just hate it cuz:
A) racist
B) shipping goggles
Nobody's begging you to do dick. Why TF would they? Show's renewed, etc...
Erinn plays the show's primary heroine, now, is the actual lead's love interest and seemingly is now leading the resistance. She just had a centric that was also issues focused and enabled her to shine as an actress, why TF would she NOT be happy with her role on the show at this point?
She's playing a black woman who breaks down every single fucking barrier ever....and is utterly classy and amazing in the process...
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People who are racist are stupid specially those ones that are racist against indians/south asians like bitch you sure know “alot“(half of it aint even alat true) so you do know that if we never existed you and your sorry dumbass would still be stuck in like the stone ages right?
#desi#desi shitposting#desi tumblr#all is not well#fuck racist mfs#racism is stoopid#are you dumb#dumb shit#desis>>>>#we are superior#🛐🛐🛐🛐#ur just jealous lmao#slayyy#yasss#Spotify#i love being desi
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oh, oh what is that kirk pretending inject heroin to mock layne staley thing, in regards to those tallica answers... knew james and lars i presume comment something.. also kirk and wasabi, when they offered jason the wasabi ice cream, it was not malicious act, just being bit stoopid. if that actually is considered worse than actual sexist or racist things... dear god. (not fan of wasabi ice cream myself but that aint a crime) ps some people have refered even jason racist.. no clue why.
regarding kirk & layne stanley, i can't find anything about it so i'm not sure if it's actually true ? not going to make a claim one way or another, but james mocked layne publicly at least twice, which carries over onto the band's general rep. the wasabi thing was just a dick move; i think it's mentioned because for some ppl it's representative of jason's general treatment initially & not like ... the literal worst thing they ever did. finally, regarding the racism: i'm not going to be delusional about it. jason was a white man in the very white metal scene in the 80s, 90s, etc; the likelihood of him making some shitty comments is .... very high. i could get into how racism gets internalized in everybody who is part of a racist society, but that would be reductive & unhelpful so i digress: bigotry in metallica is no surprise ( hi james ). hope this helps
#they are not perfect people ! surprise !!!#despite my personal opinions on great#wealth & james' republican ass notwithstanding i do think they try to put mostly good in the world#asks#anonymous
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UP IN YOUR ARMS (series masterlist) - Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader
summary: Joel Miller is a deadbeat. He admits that. Coming back from the military after suffering a gunshot to the head- he's unemployable. He has no family, his wife having left him before he was drafted and his daughter dying of scarlet fever. Only his brother is left. And, the reckless idiot Tommy is, he gets caught up in the gang culture of Boston, bootlegging alcohol and the like.
It's only a matter of time before Joel finds himself in The Canary Club, an underground speakeasy. Where he meets you, the headline act.
a note from lucy: another joel!ay series. someone stop me i beg of yoy. make sure to read the warnings before the fic. dont forget to follow @cherub-notifs and turn on 'get notifications' to be notified when i post. xxx
playlist
PROLOGUE
w/c: 912 | angst
summary: the begining of it all tasted like whiskey and ciggeretes. But smelled of the interrogation room.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his 40s), allusions to Smut,smoking, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, being arrested, interrogation scene, references to violence, ww2 references, probably an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged.
PART I
wc: 6969 | smut, angst
summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.
PART II
PART III
PARI IV
EPILOGUE
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x you#joel miller x#the last of us#the last of us fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#tlou hbo#the last of us hbo#joel tlou#lu’s little bookshelf#joel the last of us#tlou#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal#joel x reader#tlou fic#the last of us fanfiction#joel x reader smut#joel miller tlou#up in your arms#1940sgangster!joel#noir!joel
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disclaimer that this is a stoopid, diphenhydramine-induced idea, and disclaimer for n-words with a hard -er, but i feel like
i feel like it would be a fucking hilarious and somehow maybe slightly effective anti-racism strategy to just
just start calling racist white people niggers lmfao. like can you imagine??? imagine some white alt-right nutjob on a podium preaching about ~taking america back~ or whatever and somebody just throws a rotten tomato at them and yells out “SHUT UP, NIGGER”
imagine some white asshole with a confederate flag bandana or some other racist apparel walks into a biker-themed bar, hoping to just enjoy a nice drink but the bar tender pointedly puts his hand on his shotgun and the dudes at the pool table cross their arms over their chest and glare at the guy and then the barkeep goes, “you must be lost, boy. this is a nigger-free bar.”
and Mr. Confederate Flag is SO thoroughly confused. he’s like, what?? what are you talking about? I am clearly white as hell.
So he thinks they’re joking and he just tries to laugh it off as he goes to sit at the bar, but then one of the pool table guys steps in front of him and gets in his face and he’s like, “What part of ‘nigger-free’ don’t you understand??”
the bartender’s grip tightens on his shotgun as he says, “Now go on ‘head and turn around. you best be goin’ back the way you came, boy.”
And so he turns around and leaves, shaking with fear and confusion as he hears one of the bar patrons mutter after him, “those fucking niggers never know their place.” His entire world-view is crumbling down around him. What has the world come to? When did the status quo change? What sort of massive tectonic shift could possibly result in something so... backwards??? So wrong???
And then that one Somalian pirate guy from that tom hanks movie where he says “i am the captain now” shows up, except he says “you are the nigger now.”
and then the racist’s body just dissintegrates into oblivion from sheer devastation.
#PLEASE do not share this lmfaoooOOOOO this is so tacky and wrong of me#obligatory disclaimer that i'm black lmfao and so i am Allowed to say all this shit lmao#i don't think i have any followers who don't know i'm black but just in case#now ya know
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My Biggest Problem
My biggest problem with Society
All started small in school for learning
Graduated forgot what was learned
And watch videos on phones for further Ed
I Cations, rather citations but no not for stupids
The ones patrolling
Forgot the re ed u Kay shuns too
Brain defect any (same word just 4.5 ways up, that four and a half don’t hiccup)
Ummm I didn’t maintain after my claim
To adulthood
No yearly tests
Not even in driving
You fuck, you can find a guru to teach to drive in inclement
Alligator tears
Narcissistic personalities
I’m venting my problem
Stop trying to take me over
You will lose
Or the fun of it will also be entertaining!
Problems
Big
Of Mine
Gargantuan like a Benji
Who knows that character?
Shut the fuck up
Party goers, you used that dude to Death
Dead before clocking in
And that’s not Bullshite
Or lil shites
I don’t want to die
Working for Them
The REST managers
My uppers
My Leadership
My dear readers
And leaders
Where do I begin?
Multi faceted open in all different r way e way s way even t way for or neither yours nor theirs interpretation
It’s Mine
When I want too!
My discretion
Non managed
They try for or is it
Time In Well Tell! Dear Clocked In
.|.
We’ve learned that symbol now
Have you?
The signs will tell, old school beyond past 2 ton time zone
Figure it out
Such pity i Have
Look into my eyes
I hate your actions
Specials
But it ends in pity for you
Sadness in a lot of the Auras
But not all
I look forward to their Smiles
The blessed ones with the Smiles
Most posed fakers
It’s under your skin my pitied
Not on top layers
Your like a blanked out Police Brutality Video
Aura muted hazed or blacked out
All the same in most around me
But some real colors I look forward to each day that special percentage keeps me sane due to all their beautiful colors
If monochrome aura
You don’t know
Genuine smile goes a long way.
My statement
Is it yours or you fake and poser?
Leave ya thinking
Only if you can
Do not try
Wax on wax off
Don’t deviate
But managers let you all most of the Time
Four years have pasted
Stoopid still pitied
By me
They all got bonus and raises
I preach
Rev. Martinez
For real
I got a beyond Private Classified Top Secret Certificate from a .org
Don’t fuck with me!
Stupid Santos
S S Lover mixed there’s a lot of those type of People now mix skinned and gendered
See a video hear chants “White Power White Power”
Me what the fuck
“ I see Black and Hispania people raising Hands”
It’s my ?
But not my biggest problem
I work in racism segregation in equality
I’ve typed about it
And tactics
It’s an on going
Say “No problem-a”
What I need is a Terminator!
Problems solved
But your mixed with that AI that created the Terminator same brained thinking anyways
Not my problema
.|.
Prunts
How’s voice was that!
I’m now hearing voices
It’s western madness bad
Of the minds of
U S / Leadership; just look up: they live so well up above, like birds, bulls on hills, lizards running in top of
Our Polluted H2O
That’s water Folks
I’ll add again
.|.
For your understanding
Have A Good Day
Smile Well Today
Or do us a Favor
Go cross contaminate
Keep a virus going!
And the People surely do?
Cause my problems
In KY
#my big problems#problemas#wordsbymm#thoughts#vent#words#writing#war machine#sit#fitting inside#fight out#new conglomerates#it’s a day in my pay for#continue#save ukraine#artcalledtattoo#would skin be wiser#to end this#meant one way#sinnistered from envelopes#not sure#evol states#evil states#southern belted#not equal not the same#Veteran speaking#bullshit here#and yonder#like an. A I I will pay and then sums#add afterward
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