#fic against fascism

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Exactly what it says on the tin. Established ghoap, bringing in fem!reader roommate. Poor writing. Reader has had any identifying features removed, but she owns a Ford Fiesta. Take that as you will. Just testing to see if there is interest in a lighthearted fun sexy fic like this. 🩶

*

“Remember. You’re desperate,” you muttered to yourself looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your tiny Ford Fiesta. The ink might as well still be fresh on the ad your roommate printed off for you (the perfect symbol of her guilt for moving back in with her boyfriend and forcing you to find a new apartment and new roommates in the first place).

The ad reads as thus: WANTED: ANY GENDER WELCOME to fill the second bedroom in a 2b/2ba 1290sq ft apartment. DOWNTOWN. In-building laundry. Utilities and rent split EVENLY amongst 3. NO FASCISTS, NO HOMOPHOBES.

It was the most promising ad you had seen after days of scouring the internet in your every spare moment (usually reserved for those moments when you were on break during shifts, feet and back aching, hating your life OR at the end of a long day when the post-sunset depression hit with all the force of a typhoon). Any two people who were against fascism and homophobia were alright in your book. As for the finer details—well. You were desperate. You were going to have to overlook any skeletons in their closets, as long as those skeletons weren’t literal.

I’m texting about the apartment downtown. Is this the right number?

Yeah, you’ve got it. Nice to text ya. You’re interested?

Very. Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss the details?

We don’t mind showing the apartment. Got a few others coming to see it as well. You cursed up a storm reading over that particular text, so much so that your roommate’s boyfriend knocked angrily on the thin walls separating your bedrooms. Scowling, you knocked back—a little too angry to be mistaken for conciliatory. You blamed that bastard for your troubles in the first place.

I’ll see it ASAP, if that’s okay.

Go-getter. How soon can you be here?

Which is how you found yourself in the parking lot of the building, hastily combing hairs back into place, hoping for some semblance of presentability. If only there was a way to hide the desperation in your eyes…

The apartment complex itself is everything you could have hoped for. It even has an indoor pool, which is a step up from the facilities offered at your own apartment. The rent is a little higher than what you were pulling at your old place, but you think you can manage it if you cut back on excess frivolities. And any joy. (Joy costs)

There’s a doorman even—an honest to god doorman! He instructs you on the way to the elevators, and you take them up to the top floor, feeling your ears pop from the change in altitude. By the time you’re standing in front of their door, your knees are knocking together, terrified of who you might be meeting. Even more terrified that they might not like you, that they might say no—

—and the door opens, shattering any expectation you have. The man standing there is undoubtedly, ungodly, unseemly, obscenely hot. His head nearly brushes the frame of the door, blond hair wild and mussed, like he’s just had the fuck of his life. He’s thick, too, muscles on muscles along his corded forearms, bared by the dark tee that stretches across his chest.

He is pale and dark eyed and frowning down at you so sternly that you are convinced you have knocked on the wrong door. God help you. It’s all an honest mistake—but then his gravelly, softly-accented voice says: “You’re here about the apartment?”

Your heart nearly stops. This is the person who owns the apartment? How could you be expected to live alongside this behemoth? Just as you are about to tuck tail and run, a hand grips the man’s shoulder and gently tugs him aside and another specimen—two of them! two!—appears. This one has his hair cropped in a Mohawk, his eyes a deep drown-worthy blue. A few inches shorter, he is just as impressive shape. He beams at you.

“Well!” he says, leaning on the door frame in a way that fetchingly shows off the cut muscles of his arm and chest. His voice is accented too, something rougher, different than the taller man’s. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Unless yer just a wee fascist.”

You blink. You had been thinking the very same. Your hackles rise on instinct, bristling in preemptive outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve had a type answering the ad,” the other man says dryly. “Johnny doesn’t mean nothing. Come in—if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

It crosses your mind that this is perhaps foolish: entering an apartment of strange men, regardless of how you had left the address with your roommate and specified a time to check in with her. But you’re desperate. So you slip in after them, Johnny making ample room for you to move past him in the doorway.

When you do, you smell his shower gel, something woodsy. You say a prayer that you aren’t drooling.

Your eyes roam over the open-concept apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, larger than you might have imagined. It is homier, too, for a place where two men live: there are pictures along the walls, potted plants in the corners and on the desk, and an easel overlooking the balcony in the corner, an oil half-rendering of the view outside.

It is tidy. It smells nice. It is owned by two of the hottest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“I want it,” you blurt out.

Johnny laughs. “Sure ya do. Let us show you everything and then we’ll talk.”

You barely manage to contain your impatience as they lead you room to room. The guest room is empty, except for some boxes that Johnny hastily promises can be moved. The closets have no skeletons (you check). You would have your own bathroom. The more you see, the more convinced you are that this would be an ideal apartment regardless of who was offering it to you, but the frequent banter between the two men (Johnny and Simon you find out) is so entertaining and inviting that it’s hard not to feel like they want you—to be their third. Roommate that is.

After every nook and cranny of the apartment has been seen, they seat themselves on the loveseat and you on the adjacent armchair, your fingers interlaced like a businesswoman about to make the deal of her lifetime.

“I still want the room,” you admit. Johnny smiles, an expression that you sense comes easily to his face. His smile falls a little when you continue: “I just have one question. Why the vacancy?”

Simon takes a measured breath. The silence grows thick as they share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only two who have known each other—who have been through things with each other—can. At length, he says: “We’re ex-military. Disabled.”

That explained the cane Johnny had been using to move around the apartment.

“The benefits were excellent until recently, when we saw a generous…cut to our monthly pay.”

You frown. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

Johnny gives a breathless little laugh. His hand comes down slowly to rest on Simon’s knee. You stare, unsure what you are seeing. “Well, it happens…when you get married.”

-

“That explains a lot,” your roommate says when you spill every little detail after driving home. By the time you arrive, her insufferable boyfriend is gone for the night (thank God) so it is just the two of you, like the good old days. “Namely why two men in a two bedroom apartment are looking for a roommate.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” you groan, palming at your eyes. “Am I homophobic?”

“No, just desperate and wishful,” she teases. She has no idea how accurate she is. It’s been years—literal years since you’ve been with anyone of substance. In the meantime, you’d been happy to settle for your fingers and your toys, but there was the occasional itch that only a cock could scratch in you. Figuratively. “This is a good thing though. The last thing you need is getting tangled up with your new roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Instead I’ll be in the middle of their marital bliss. Or lack of, depending on the day,” you suggest dryly. But you aren’t even sure how much you believe your own words. Simon and Johnny said they had been together for nearly ten years, and more than their words, you had seen them with your own eyes—the way they gravitated to each other, the way their eyes were never far from each other. The way they roasted each other so good-naturedly. They seemed like a couple who were past their seven year itch, who had grown older and comfortable with each other. They seemed like they had their shit together.

Did it make you terrible that you still wanted to be pinned between them like a bug in a science project?

“Then tell them no,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed. You see the guilt in her eyes, and it makes you just a little vindicated. Which makes you feel terrible. “You’ll find something. I promise. You could always stay with us until you do—“

“God no. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

You sigh. You nudge her with your foot. “Alright, out, I need to think.”

But it takes such little thought when Johnny (affectionately added to your phone) messages not ten minutes later.

I don’t want to rush ya, but another person asked to see the apartment. Should I show them?

No way, you text. That room is mine.

[loungemermaid]

I don’t get on here much anymore but I do wanna say if you voted for trump, block me. Stop reading my fic. In fact, you shouldn’t be a fan of the hunger games at all. It’s hypocrisy at its finest to use the hunger games as escapism, a story about a disenfranchised, exploited indigenous teenage girl and vote for white supremacists. You can’t in one breath claim to love a book about defeating fascism and vote for it. I don’t care what you think your reason was. If you voted for him, you decided that my rights as a gay nonbinary woman married to an indigenous nonbinary woman matter less than like, fucking eggs or whatever. You voted against millions of Americans because you didn’t want to vote for a Black woman.

(By the way, if you claim religious reasons too, Kamala is a Baptist and goes to church every Sunday.)

Matthew 7:23: "And then will I declare to them, 'I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

colt seavers x reader fic please!!

something fluffy, him being jealous, pining, being flirty.. thanks!!

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, Anon!! Hope you like this!! I’ve really missed writing for Colt! Sorry for how long this took- my writing process is either very slow or very fast, no happy medium haha. Now, I really hope you like this interpretation- if not, feel free to send another ask!<3

Also, I ended up writing Jody out, it just made a little more sense in this story.

Other than that, still searching for a beta reader! DM if interested!!

Content Warnings: None aside from a little cursing! This is as Anon asked, very fluffy! :)

Also, this switches between the reader & Colt’s standpoint!

Enjoy! Xx

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Reader’s POV

I’ve been working on my movie, ‘Dreams of Maybe,’ for about a year now. It’s to be my directorial debut, and because of that the pressure has been on. Debuts are a bit of a superstitious event for new directors: they either make or break your career, even if it’s only the getgo. Sure, some can get back on their feet if they get a second chance, and others end up making a name for themselves for solely directing god-awful movies, but I don’t have time for that. For a second chance, for none of it. This movie is a culmination of everything I’ve worked for during film school and even before, and nothing is going to deter me.

Now, despite its name, “Dreams of Maybe” is an action movie. Throughout the movie, the main character, a woman called Hyleia, wrestles with the turmoil of fighting the war her home planet, Kalythea, is engaged in. As per the title, she dreams of the “maybes” that could happen after the war-maybe settling down with the love of her life, N’era; maybe finally getting a Orundaw (this world’s version of a dog); etc. But, as a warrior, Hyleia knows that those maybes could also be poverty; her world falling back into fascism as it had been when she was young; etc.

Jenny Sikes, the writer and genius behind all of this, was still developing the ending, but I have extremely high hopes. And thus far everything’s been running smoothly. I had gone into this thinking I would have to have a stick up my ass and be “tough,” but thankfully that hadn’t had to happened.

If anything, I’m really enjoying the process. To the point that even if somehow this incredible film- sure, I’m biased, but it actually is that good- flops, the friends I’ve made and experiences I’ve had would almost make up for it. Almost because, you know, I’d be out of job. Details, details.

Aside from Jenny, who is probably my closest friend on set, I’ve also bonded with Kelly Newman and Kora Kline, the women playing Hyleia and N’era respectively; as well as man who was playing the leader of the fleet warring against Kalythea, a warmonger called Jöl. The actor’s name is Reed Smith, and contrary to his character he is one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met. And very handsome, at that- refined good looks with messily bleached hair that went with his character. He’s a proper Mr. Hollywood, minus the controversy and overall bitchiness.

My producer had also managed to get Fall Guy Stunts to sign on to the movie, which was phenomenal. Well, the producer just closed the deal. It was really our stunt coordinator, a man named Dan, who recommended the company as he’d worked with a man called Colt Seavers before, and claimed he was the best in business.

I didn’t end up meeting him until it was time for the indoor explosion. The scene itself is a red herring, a false sense of victory. Hyleia thinks she’s blown up Jöl inside of the negotiations building. Their leader was supposed to be the one to fire the bomb, but unexpectedly got shot down out of the sky and in a fit of adrenaline Hyleia detonated it from the ground, barely surviving. However, because of that she ended up having a target placed on her back by Jöl. It’s a whole thing.

Anyway, Dan and I wanted to go big on at least one stunt, and the producer suggested we do an indoor explosion- sort of a bigger, crazier one than the one in The Fifth Element.

I was a little skeptical, as indoor explosions are extremely dangerous and 100% real. Hence Colt Seavers being hired. “Best in the business,” or so says his reputation. The stunt was early in in the production and a last minute decision. At the time we didn’t think we were going to exceed what Reed could handle as far as stunts go, but we were wrong. Thankfully Colt owed Dan a favor- something about a Stallone autograph gone wrong- and the former was willing to step in as Reed’s stunt double with a 25% discount.

As it turns out, I had no reason to stress. Colt Seavers really is the best in the business, the statement was in no way hyperbolic. He literally got into the Guinness Book of World Records for it the stunt, which subsequently put our movie on the map. This was an enormous deal- the film had went from “just another sci-fi fantasy action drama” to “already on the map” within days, at least in movie buff circles.

He had managed the indoor explosion with ease, due to his own expertise and due to impeccable form. He looks like a walking action hero, and the sight alone is enough to take anyone’s breath away upon meeting him.

And if the sight’s good, the personality? He’s the sweetest, most easy-going, flirtiest man I’ve ever met with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a coffee addiction to boot. He likes plants and animals, musicals and Audrey Hepburn movies. He looks like the epitome of the action genre, and yet is actually a sweet man who is in touch with his feelings and interests. Extremely endearing if you ask me.

And sure, I might have a small crush on him. But I don’t think anything would come of it- we’ve made friends and that seems to be that.

But sometimes I do think about how nice it would be to sit at a coffee table doing puzzles with him, kissing his pink lips over the table as we go along.

But again, the magic “friends” word.

Reed thinks something will come of it, as Colt and I do spend a decent amount of time together, but honestly, I don’t know if I believe him.

Anyways, I’m currently outside of my trailer, sitting at a picnic table, in dire need of fresh air and a spark of creativity. Being outdoors has always helped me get the ideas flowing; maybe it’s the crickets and the birds. Maybe I subconsciously recognize what they’re saying and turn it into my own words. Or maybe I’m fucking freezing, because it’s the middle of winter in Canada and I’m inappropriately dressed. Who’s to say.

Although really, I should probably get my parka… the soft snow is beautiful, glimmering under the sun, but my sweater and leggings aren’t exactly cutting it.

The thing is, though all credit as far as screenplay goes to Jenny Sikes, I’ve actually been very involved in creating the story. Which means I’m also involved in helping find this elusive ending.

This stupid, needs-to-be-perfect, impossible, unattainable ending.

We’ve been spitballing ideas for the past few days now, but none of them feel right.

There’s the unexpected ending: Kalythea ends up getting destroyed by Jöl’s fleet alongside Hyleia and her lover. Sure, it would be depressing, but it’s certainly plausible given the pretext of the “negative maybes.”

Or maybe we use the too-good-to-be-true ending: Hyleia wins, gets the girl; Kalythea rebuilds itself for the better this time, doesn’t fall back into its well established patterns of fascism. That’s the most popular ending in the writers room as of now, but Jenny and I are still holding out for something better.

We owe the film something perfect. Something right. Something fitting.

We’re just running out of time to find it.

And I might be running out of time to live with how inhospitable it is out here. (Let it be known that I don’t much care for being cold.)

Just as I begin to recognize how cold I am, a comfortingly familiar voice breaks the silence. It’s low and soft, with a slight rasp to it that makes you hang on every word. And I love it.

“Y/n L/n, as I live and breathe,” Colt Seavers says by way of greeting, handing me a coffee. It’s in a (y/f/c) mug, which is honestly very endearing of him. I take it graciously in both hands, the warmth of the steam much appreciated.

“Colt Seavers, as I choke and die of hypothermia,” I say from behind the coffee, my teeth chattering.

“Aw, don’t do that,” he chuckles, his baby-blue eyes sparkling like the snow around us. He sits next to me, and I immediately feel warmer, his presence alone making me feel better.

“Why not?” I ask, turning to look at him, our legs touching.

“Cause then who would I have to talk to?”

“I dunno, Dan?” I suggest.

“Meh,” he shrugs, downing half of his own coffee. This man is an addict.

“You don’t mean that,” I gasp sarcastically.

“You’re right, I don’t,” he concedes. “Please don’t tell him,” he asks, dramatics in his voice.

“For now,” I wink, and we both share a soft laugh.

“You’re shivering- do you want my jacket?” he asks considerately, already pulling his puffy yellow jacket.

“Oh, that’s okay-,” I protest, not wanting to deprive him of warmth, but he cuts me off.

“Here, I knew you’d say that,” he smiles, handing it to me. I have to smile back at that, shaking my head at how well he knows me.

“Thanks,” I say, putting it on. It’s super warm, and it smells like him. I like it. I rest my head against his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

“Nah, it’s one of my stunt-guy superpowers,” he puts his arm around me, hand grazing up and down my arm to keep me warm. I gaze up at him, mesmerized by his eyes before realizing...

“Your lips are already blue,” I observe aloud.

“It’s my lip gloss,” he jokes through chattering teeth.

“Uh huh,” I agree with skepticism.

“H-how do you still manage to look g-g-gorgeous e-even while you’re drowning in my j-jacket,” he attempts to flirt, his clattering teeth most definitely ruining the effect he was going for. And yet still he makes the butterflies in my stomach come alive, just like he always does. I like when he flirts with me, I really do. But I also think that’s just how he talks with people, y’know?

But maybe…

Colt’s POV

I am so, so glad that Dan called in that favor all those months ago.

Look, having your own stunt production is great. Fantastic, even. You get to pick your own hours, do your own jobs, etc.

But being the owner means that you just sit around for the most part, assigning your crew to the good stuff while you just wait for the next call. And honestly, it’s so, so boring.

For a normal person, that might be the dream. Finally getting to relax. But my career has been anything but normal, especially after the whole Tom Ryder incident a few years ago. The dipshit was going to frame me for murder with the help of a producer I was once close to. As far as I know they’re both going to be behind bars for a while, but I had worked for and with them for about fifteen years. Finding out that they were such bad people made those years seem worthless, as if they weren’t real.

So, before Dan called me to work on ‘Dreams of Maybe,’ I was bored. Bored and itching for the next thing. I had fallen back into my habit of picking up as many random hobbies as possible- at the time I think I was most fixated on crocheting, especially those little stuffed animals. But, being ADHD means that I can’t stick with one thing for too long- it’s why my place back home is littered with fishbowls and puzzles, paint-by-numbers and table top sports among other things. And when Dan called, I was maybe days away from finding the next thing.

At the great thanks of my house he called, and for the first time I was back in the game. He had told me that I’d be doing stunts for Reed Smith, an up and coming a-lister who’s been in a lot of action movies as of late. I really liked him in “House of Ruins,” but the stunts were a little dull for my taste. But hey, that’s what I’m here for. For some inane reason I missed getting set on fire and thrown at walls.

The indoor explosion scene ended up turning out absolutely fantastically, and because of how good it was I decided to stick around, help the film get more prestige in the action-stunt world.

Not to mention that the literal world record wasn’t too shabby in of itself.

But it’s not even just the stunts.

I’m back in the saddle, but not only am I back in it but I’m back in it with my best friend Dan. I’ve missed hanging out with him, and how much I can trust him as coordinator.

Also, y/n. She’s the director of the movie, and wow. You know in the movies, when the guy sees the girl and his entire perspective changes? That’s how I feel about y/n. She’s incredible, she’s witty, and you know what? It’s cheesy, but she’s better than the movies could ever hope to be.

We’d hit it off after the indoor explosion, and it was like we’d known each other forever. We had a habit of going to the beach (back when it was warm) or getting coffee off set pretty much everyday, and it’s been pretty awesome.

I like to bother her, because it’s hilariously adorable when she gets flustered. It’s stupid stuff- I drive a little too recklessly sometimes (like stunt driving. I wouldn’t actually put her in danger) or I’ll sneak up on her and get a little jump out of her. Sue me, it’s fun.

Not to mention the tiny detail that I am irrevocably in love with her. I don’t really know when it happened- maybe it was from day one- but she just makes me feel so alive. I’ve been trying to get the balls to tell her, but as of now I’ve come to the conclusion that I won’t say anything if she does.

I think there’s a chance she could be into me, but honestly, I don’t know. If she is, it would be fantastic. If she’s not, that’s okay too, she’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. (Don’t tell Dan)

It’s just one of those things. We just… we have these moments, where it seems like maybe we’re a little more than friends.

You know, those long looks that dip their pinky toes into longing, laughing at jokes that aren’t even funny…

Or even just the way she lays her head on my chest, like today. She’s so comfortable there, my jacket far too big on her as she looks up at me with those gorgeous (y/e/c) eyes. She’s adorable, and I’m just fine with dying of hypothermia if it means I get to look at her as I go.

Okay, I’m not going to die.

I think.

You get the point.

“You know, you’re a lot smoother when you’re not freezing to death,” she tells me. There’s a slight note of concern behind the sarcasm, something you’d only be able to catch if you’ve hung out with her long enough.

“Wh-who n-needs to be sm-smooth when th-they’re t-telling th-the truth?” I ask, the cold stopping me from getting any word longer than one syllable out properly. Real attractive, Seavers.

Hypothermic climate aside, this is how a lot of our time together is spent. Drinking coffee in random places, me trying to flirt and her retorting with her endless supply of sarcasm. I wouldn’t trade anything for it.

“Mhm, let’s get you inside, champ,” she says, standing up. Already I miss the warmth of her resting against my chest, the closeness.

Good grief, dipshit. Get it together.

But once she extends a hand for me to take I’m back in cloud-nine, happy to be touching her.

See what I mean? I think I’m losing it. Or I’m just whipped like Dan says.

She leads me back to her trailer, barely ten feet from where we had been sitting. I can’t help but sigh of relief at feeling the warm air in the trailer. She laughs and gestures for me to sit on the little forest green sofa. I comply, setting my drink on the coffee table in front of the couch. She disappear into a little nook of the place before re-emerging with a big fluffy grey blanket that she must’ve pulled from her bed.

“Here,” she tosses the fluff over me, making my heart leap. I can’t help it, it’s just the y/n-effect.

“Thanks,” I say, shivering.

She walks over to her small kitchen space, and a few minutes later comes back with two mugs. She hands me one, then sits by me. Well more like on me, because there’s a whole sofa and her were touching everywhere. She’s adorable. And I love seeing her in my jacket… man, I’m going to have to tell her at some point.

I must’ve instinctively put my arm around her shoulders, because she hums contentedly and looks up at me. “Y’wanna watch The Fifth Element? I need something to get me in an ideas mood.”

Ohh, she must’ve been out there trying to figure out the ending. That’s what she does: she thinks outdoors. She finds it easier to think.

Of course, I’ll gladly watch The Fifth Element with her. Just as I’ve gladly watched it with her 7 other times.

“Of course,” I tell her, surprised that she can’t feel the way my heart is beating out of my chest from the smile she gives me. I genuinely get a little sad when she gets up to get the remote, but when she lays back against me any trace of negativity immediately dissipates. She’s got me wrapped around her fingers.

We watch a good chunk of the movie in comfortable silence, sipping our cocoa and staying under the blankets. She never takes off my jacket, and frankly I hope she keeps it; it looks better on her anyway.

“Wait, shit, what time is it?” she asks, suddenly sitting up and almost conking my chi with the back of her head.

“Uhh,” I check my watch. “Seven, why?”

“Damnit, I was supposed to meet the crew at the bar… half an hour ago.”

“Shit, I completely forgot about that.” Dan had invited me, it was supposed to be a hangout for the main actors and the rest of the “inner circle”- ie yours truly, Dan, y/n, etc. “We can take my truck?” I offer.

“But I’m so warm?” She protests, even though she’s the one that remembered we needed to go, which again, is adorable. Just like everything about her. Just like the way she’s wrapping herself tighter in my jacket which is at least three sizes too big on her.

“Keep the jacket, and maybe we can come back here?” I suggest, attempting to entice her.

She pretends to mull it over for a second, her hand tapping on her chin. “Can we finish the movie later?”

“Yeah,” I grin.

“Okay,” she mirrors the expression, and once again I’m feeling those damned school girl butterflies. When she takes my hand in hers to help me up it’s all I can do not to pull her back and kiss her senseless. But now isn’t the time.

Come to think of it…

When is?

Reader’s POV

We’re in Colt’s truck, as usual sitting unnecessarily close to one another under the guise of how cold it is.

I love wearing his jacket, being surrounded by his comforting coffee scent and his residual warmth in the fuzz. And he’s let me keep it- even if he only meant for tonight he’s not getting it back.

I love him. So much. And I want to tell him, but I also don’t want to put my foot in my mouth, y’know. And I can’t risk our friendship, it’s just too comfortable. Too comfortable to lose.

We get to the bar, and just like always he hops out of the car and quickly runs to the passenger side to open the door for me, extending a hand to help me down. I love his insistence on being chivalrous, yet another one of his endearing qualities.

We walk into Johnny’s, the bar that the crew regularly meets at, in comfortable silence. And again, we’re standing just a little too close, and again, I don’t mind- the proximity just keeps those butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

Reed waves at me from a booth in the back corner, sitting at the end of a bench capping Dan, Kora, and Kelly who are sitting in that order.

“Glad you made it!” Reed stands to greet us, giving me a hug. Dan also stands to let Kora and Kelly out, the both of which are presumably heading home. They both say bye to me before heading out arm and arm- the press doesn’t know it yet but they, just like their fictional counterparts, are very much in love. We get seated, and somehow Colt and I are separated- he’s sitting on the inside by Dan while I’m directly across from him sitting next to Reed. The latter gets a round of shots going for the table, and before we know it we’re all laughing about practically nothing, damn near shitfaced. Except, even in my buzzed stupor I notice that Colt’s gone uncharacteristically stony… weird.

I leen into Reed’s side, laughing about a story he’s telling about how he got stuck in the harness on one of the few stunts he did. Almost ripped his underwear off too.

Now before you get any ideas, I’m don’t sit super close with just anyone. With Colt it’s because I like him, like, like him; with Reed it’s because we’re just close. Not because we’re dating or have something weird going on, it’s because we’re friends. Also, he doesn’t swing my way to begin with. Another nugget the press has yet to pick up on, for better or worse. Except this little nugget is something that hardly anyone knows- I’m probably one of five-ish.

But I don’t like how sad Colt looks right now… did I do something? I really hope not. But he’s smiling again at something Dan interjects with, so maybe I just imagined it. I don’t know. I throw back another shot, hoping the additional buzz destroys whatever downer-mood is trying to creep in right now.

But the thing is, as the night goes on he still looks sad. He only gives me one word answers and hardly acknowledges me otherwise, and it hurts a little. So I just keep throwing them back until I’m a train wreck- and not just any train wreck, an upset train wreck. I really hope I didn’t manage to fuck something up here. I’d say he thinks there’s something between me and Reed, but why would he even care if there was? I don’t think he likes me like that. I wish he did, but I just don’t know.

I think I’m ready to go home.

Colt’s POV

I wasn’t expecting her to be into Reed, but so be it, I guess… it still hurts though. I’m already planning on buying some new puzzles to cope. I’m trying not to feel hurt, but I can’t help it. Jealousy is douchey but it’s still there… ugh.

But she’s just asked me to take her home, so of course I will. She’s drunk off her ass, and I’ve never seen her like this.

I can’t help but wish it was me when I watch her peck Reed on the cheek as goodbye. I need to get it together right now. She deserves someone good for her, and I need to be happy for her. Like a good friend.

And yet, my heart still hurts.

“Colt?” she snaps me out of reality. “I don’t feel so good,” her hand is on her stomach. Shit, she’s going to throw up.

“Alright, come on,” I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her throw the mass of people and saying goodbyes for her, thankfully getting her outside just before she throws up.

“This is like 10 things I hate about you,” she comments wistfully after she’s gotten it out of her system.

“At least you don’t have a concussion,” I quip, reminiscing the movie. That one’s one of my favorites, I can quote the entire thing by heart.

“Yeah,” she looks up at me, holding my hands. I can’t help but notice that she never took off my jacket and how cute she still looks in it, even if she’s just retched up her stomach. Our gazes lock for just a moment too long, and I cough to break the silence.

“Let’s get you home,” I nod my head in the general direction of where my truck is parked.

“Okay,” she agrees, only letting go of one of my hands. I can’t help but smile at that- I didn’t take her for a clingy drunk.

We cross the moon lit parking lot over to my truck, and I all but toss her in- gently, of course- before hopping in myself and starting the engine.

“Thanks, Colt,” she whispers before I put the truck in reverse.

“Yeah, of course, y/n,” I reply, driving off.

Twenty minutes later we’re back in the trailer, and I’ve helped her onto her bed. It took her about ten minutes to get some pajamas on, but finally she’s under that grey comforter.

“Alright, I should probably go,” I say awkwardly, feeling a little shifty.

“Wait,” she says, waiting for me to turn around. “Are you mad at me?” Her voice is tinny and sad, and it about cracks my heart into a million pieces.

“No, y/n, I could never be mad at you,” I tell her honestly, walking back over towards her and kneeling at the side of the bed so my head is level with hers.

“But you looked sad at the bar,” she mumbles.

Dipshit. My face must’ve given me away- I can’t help that it comes with subtitles.

“I wasn’t sad,” I gaslight her. I was just… happy for you and Reed.”

At that she starts laughing, a sound so infectious that I can’t help but smile. “What?” I ask.

“Me and Reed?!” she slurs. “He doesn’t even swing my way… shit I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

Wait. You’re telling me that Reed’s gay? How stupid am I??

“Wait…”

“Colt, I like you,” she says, her voice the los tour together it’s been in a few hours. “Like, like you.”

Wait.

She…

She likes…

She likes me?!

It’s all I can do right now not to pump my fist and and loudly say ‘yes!’ as if I’ve won a sports championship. Any trace of sadness is completely dissipated, because y/n l/n likes-like likes- me.

“Colt?”

Oh, right, I haven’t said anything.

“Look, y/n, we can talk about this more tomorrow,” because I’m not going to influence her while she’s still drunk, “but I need you to know this: I really, really like you. And I have for a long time,” I confess, and if the smile she gave me was my last sight I’d die a beyond happy man.

“Okay,” she whispers, looking me in the eyes.

“Okay,” I tell her. “I’m going to let you get some rest, but we’re going to talk about this more tomorrow, okay?” It’s not that I want to go, but I know it’s better to given her state of mind right now. Plus, the sooner I pass out the sooner I wake up and the sooner we can talk about this.

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Goodnight, y/n,” I stand up, but before I can walk away she grabs my hand. I turn to look at her, a little confused.

“Colt?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you maybe stay with me?” and again, her voice is too sweet to say no to. Like, I would do the indoor-explosion for free if she asked me like this.

I mull it over. I’m not a douche, I wouldn’t do anything while she’s drunk. Maybe I could just sleep on the couch?

“I can go sleep on the couch?” I suggest, parroting my thoughts.

“Noo, here, please,” she pats the bed beside her.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea right now, y/n.”

“Please?” she asks me, giving me puppy dog eyes.

“Fine, fine,” I grumble, as if displeased with the notion of being able to lay next to the love of my life. But she doesn’t even seem to notice my tone as she turn around to face me laying on the bed.

“I like you,” she whispers, before promptly passing out.

I shake my head amusedly. “I like you.”

So, so much.

Reader’s POV

I wake up, expecting to have the gnarliest hangover of all time. Except, by some miracle, all that’s there is a slight headache. Thank everything.

I’m a little groggy at first, but I register a weight draped over my side. Huh?

But then I open my eyes and see Colt, with his messy hair and his peaceful face, sleeping. He’s holding me close, as if I’m some sort of teddy bear. And that’s when I remember our conversation: I told him, and he likes me back!

I smile to myself.

“Hey there, smiley,” his voice comes out groggy, heavily taunted with sleep. I love the way it sounds.

“Hey yourself,” I say, still grinning.

“What are you so happy about?” he teases.

“You. And I’d kiss you right now but I think I have bad morning breath.”

“Well,” he mumbles, getting close. “Morning breath be damned, I want to kiss you too.”

“Well, in the case…” I lean in and press a soft peck to his lips. And it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. And now I know it for sure: I’m in love.

Wait.

Love.

The movie.

“The ending!” I shout, reaching over to my phone to text Jenny.

“Wha-,” he asks, obviously confused.

“The ending of the movie. They kiss before the planet blows up.”

“Wait… the planet’s not going to blow up because we just kissed… right?” he jokes.

“I dunno,” I shrug, sending the text and throwing my phone on the chair. “Sorry. I was thinking about the planet blowing up when I thought you were upset with me yesterday, and then this-,” I kiss him again, and he smiles. “Finished the thought train.”

“Huh,” he says, pulling me close. “I like you, so much,” he says, his voice sweet.

“I like you too, so much,” I agree, kissing him again. And one things for sure: I will never get tired of kissing Colt Seavers.

I can’t wait to be able to do everything we’ve always done, just as a couple. Puzzles and paint by numbers where we kiss each other over the coffee table. Maybe he steals one of my books and tries to recreate the scenes. Maybe he kisses me after doing donuts in the truck.

But no matter what maybes come true, the thing to remember is that love is the best part of it.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the line that flashes at the end of the movie, post credits.

Who knows?

All I know is that I love Colt Seavers. And he loves me.

The End <3

[autismnation]

Riot

Summary: There’s barely any fics of Hobie doing punk things even though he’s punk so here—you meet Hobie at a riot and get along instantly.

Pairing: Gender Neutral Reader x Hobie Brown

Warnings: Anarchist reader. Talks of politics and discrimination and fascism. Mentions of blood + mentions of injury (not detailed). Mentions of a riot (not detailed). Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender neutral reader with no y/n. 2nd person POV. Hobie might be OOC because I haven’t read all of his comics yet. Fluff (I guess?). Little bit of angst. Hurt/comfort (I think?). I’m British but might have used Brit slang incorrectly (I just typed down every slang word I’ve ever heard to be honest). I projected my views in this fic so if you don’t agree then sorry not sorry don’t complain lol.

Words: 1.6k

Flames engulfed the sky, cars overturned, windows smashed. People screamed as they fled through the streets, dodging tear gas and riot police.

You could barely manage to find refuge in a nearby alley, sinking against the wall as you stared at the cut on your leg. It wasn’t too deep but it was oozing blood at a constant rate. You thought you were on your own until you noticed someone walking toward you.

“Let me ‘ave a look at that,” the man said when he was close enough, a black bandana covering his face.

Startled by his words, you tried to shuffle backward and get away from him, but your injured leg made it hard.

“Get away from me,” you demanded, your voice firm.

You didn’t know the man, and due to the darkness, you couldn't see anything about him. You didn't know if he was a cop, a fellow protestor, or someone involved with neither. Either way, you were afraid to find out.

“Relax, mate,” the man said, his voice calm. Even though his face was obscured, you could hear the friendly smile in his voice. He had a tall and lanky appearance, opposite the muscular cops who would abuse anyone given the chance.

“Just want to help. If I was a cop, would I be wearin’ this?” He gestured to his bandana covering his face. “The fuzz don’t wear these, do they?”

You furrowed your brow at his words and leaned against the wall behind you, resting your head against it. He made sense. Didn’t mean you trusted him, but the pain in your leg was intensifying with each passing moment.

“I guess not, unless they’re undercover,” you said, then shook your head. “But I don’t care anymore, just help me.”

“That’s what I’m ‘ere for,” the man said, hooking his arm around yours and pulling you to your feet. “But we gotta get outta here. Now.”

Before you could process his words, he dragged you through the streets, sprinting and rushing through alleyways, remaining vigilant for any sign of cops.

Luckily, there were none. None chasing after you.

Suddenly, the man pushed you in front of him, guiding you up some stairs. Pushing open a steel door, you entered a partially demolished room, with one wall completely gone, overlooking the street. You could see the riot still going on, but it was impossible to determine if it was successful. There were more cars on fire than before, and the cops seemed never-ending.

“Hey, let me take care of ya,” the man said softly. He grabbed your shoulder and forcefully pulled you away from the scene, sitting you down on a disheveled and rather uncomfortable sofa.

The man pulled down his bandana, displaying the piercings adorning his face—a septum, two nostril piercings, snakebites.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he retrieved an antiseptic wipe from his jacket and got to work tending to your cut. You winced and your leg jerked. He held your leg in place, grip gentle but firm.

“That's a blood nasty cut,” the man sighed. “What happened? Did they get you with a baton?”

You shook your head, “No, it was glass, I think. I didn't escape quick enough when the first explosion went off. Were you there?”

“’Course I was," the man nodded, glancing up at you. “Name's Hobie Brown.”

You told him your name before glancing down at your cut, which looked much better. “What's the diagnosis, doc?” you joked. “Am I gonna live to see another day?”

Hobie let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head, “No, we’re gonna have to cut it off.”

“You got a prosthetic on you?”

“Nah, I’m kiddin’,” Hobie chuckled as he bandaged your leg. “You just ‘ad a nasty scrap with some coppers, nothin’ major.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at him, feeling a warmth blooming in your chest. “Thanks for taking care of me. Both physically and emotionally. Usually, I go home and have a massive cry.”

“It’s alright, I’ve been in similar situations. You’re not alone,” Hobie smiled back before sitting on the sofa beside you, one arm leaning on the back of it and almost wrapped around you. “So, what’s your story? You live around here? How come you ain’t scared of getting injured or arrested?”

You shrugged, “I don’t...I don’t really have a story. And I am scared, I’m just even more scared of having more of my rights taken away. So I gotta do something. It also helps that my anger overrides my fear.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a story. At least, it’s in the makin’,” Hobie replied. “So, what made ya pick up the fight?”

“Because fascists are cowards who need to die.”

Hobie laughed and clapped you on the back. “No nonsense, I like it. Couldn’t agree more. They ain’t got no place ‘ere. Respect others, help others, y’know?” Hobie said and pointed to the wall opposite you, reading the spray-painted words.

“Do no harm, take no shit,” you nodded in agreement, pointing to the pin on your jacket.

Hobie’s eyes widened a little. “Damn, that’s a wicked jacket. Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it,” you said, and Hobie immediately started exploring every inch.

It wasn’t intrusive or uncomfortable. He did it with the excitement of a kid, running his hands over each pin and admiring the sewing on your patches. He gently touched the spikes attached to the material and let out a chuckle.

“That’s badass,” Hobie grinned wide. “You made this yourself?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I got the jacket from a charity shop and made mostly everything myself. I made the spikes using cans.”

“Cans? I never would’ve thought of that,” Hobie commented as he ran his hand over your spikes again and let out a small hiss when one of them poked him. Then, he took a pin off his own jacket and placed it in your hand, “From me to you.”

“Eat The Rich,” you read aloud, smiling. Then, you secured it onto your jacket and gave him one of your pins: one that read ‘courage is contagious’.

“You think I’ve got courage?” Hobie said, flattered, “I thought I was just gobby.”

“You are, probably,” you joked, “But you’re also very brave.”

“Not brave, just got no choice,” Hobie corrected but secured your pin onto his jacket anyway, “I can’t stand by and watch the world go to shit. The fash need to be sorted.”

You leaned over and flicked him on the cheek, making him laugh, “That is bravery, idiot. I mean, yeah, maybe to you it’s the only option, but I know plenty of other people who just lie down and take it. And I’m not calling them cowards because it’s their choice not to fight back, and it’s understandable given the many risks involved. But you are brave, Hobie Brown.”

“Other people probably disagree,” Hobie shrugged, “I just don’t wanna be controlled. Hate the government, always have.”

“Me too.”

“I can tell,” Hobie laughed before pointing to the anarchist pin you had on your jacket.

“Power’s nothing but a problem,” you replied simply.

Hobie nodded, “Power, money, fame don’t mean nothing. ‘Specially not in this shitty, capitalist hellscape we find ourselves in. I’m tired of all the greed and corruption. I’m tired of seeing people suffer and go hungry, go homeless, and being kept down by the man. All them posh heads up in their ivory towers, they don’t understand us normal folk. I bet some of them can’t even fathom where we’re coming from. They’ve never had to fight for their rights, or fight for their meals.”

You listened intently, breaking out into a grin, “You should do speeches. That was really good.”

“Speeches?” Hobie repeated and laughed. He had always been more of an action-oriented person. “Nah, I think I’d make a right hash of a speech. I prefer screaming into a mic.”

“You sing?”

“Decently,” Hobie shrugged, “Got a band. It’s called ‘Anarchic Arachnids’.”

Your eyes widened, immediately recognizing the name, “Oh, shit! I was gonna go to one of your concerts but then some work stuff came up.”

“Shame. We’re quite good in my opinion,” Hobie smirked.

“Yes, the lead singer’s opinion is very reliable,” you said sarcastically.

“So, you got a team like me? Or are you rollin’ solo?”

“I’m rollin’ solo,” you told him with a light shrug, “Well, mostly. I used to go out with some work friends sometimes, but then Osborn raised the taxes, so I’ve got barely anything on me now. I gotta steal food from shops just to have enough.”

“Stealin’ from the shops, eh?” Hobie nudged you playfully with a smirk, “Me too. Though I haven’t eaten anything much good since the riots started. All the shops near me got burned down or looted, so I've barely got anything to scrape by.”

Your heart hurt at Hobie’s words—no person should struggle to eat, and it hurt even more so because you considered Hobie a friend.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit,” you frowned, reaching over to place a supportive hand on his shoulder, “Why don’t you come back to my place? I’m not the best cook, but I do make some good beans on toast…Mostly because it’s cheap and easy, so I’ve perfected it, but still. I can make you a meal and also give you some cans to keep you going for a bit.”

“You offerin’ me food?” Hobie chuckled. It wasn’t that he thought it was stupid or a bad offer; he was clearly pleased but surprised. “I’d appreciate that. Means a lot, ya understand? Don’t even matter if I go back with you or just take some food, I appreciate your kindness.”

“I’ll do both. C’mon, I don’t live too far away,” you said and grabbed his hand, pulling him up from the sofa with you.

Instead of leaving with you, Hobie wrapped his arms around you and hugged tightly.

“Really, thanks,” he murmured and you could only laugh to yourself.

Seems like you wouldn’t be solo any longer.

[beepbeepmfkr]

Read Blood of the Wardens (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/376555223-blood-of-the-wardens?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=beepbeepmfkr 

“Humanity seeks protection against the Chimeran scourge. 

Or at least, that's what the Homeland tells him.

 And for twenty four years, Aiko Colony-Born has accepted that fact without question or hesitation.

But now that childhood Indoctrination training has ended, and his status as a rare Colony-Born amongst the Homeland military caste has earned him the laughable first assignment of liaison to a faraway mining colony, Aiko find himself struggling to keep his resentment contained.

In Sector Nine, childhood friends Veera and Kent find their worlds upended. Twin Mercenaries are on the attack. And what's more, the weight of their bloodlines seeks to wedge them irreparably far apart. Shattering the only moors they'd known since youth; leaving them scattered and alone.

Humanity seeks protection against the Chimeran scourge. 

But is that even true?

Has it ever been?”

Read the prologue of my original fic “Blood of the Wardens” on Wattpad!

Blood of the Wardens is a Queer, blended sci fi & fantasy story that touches on colonialism, fascism, nationalism, and culture in an attempt to ask “what does it really mean to be human?”

I have part 1 mostly done, so I’ll be editing and posting it slowly over the next few days or so. Part 2 will be started during Novella November which is the NaNoWriMo alternative started by @novella-november !

[rageagainstmymachine]

Kinktober 2023 | Edward Richtofen/ F! Reader | Fic 6

Uniform Kink

Words: 3,362

Tags: Ultimis Richtofen, perceived Nazism, Nazi uniform, unwanted uniform kink

"This has got to be the worst place we've been." You groan, letting your head roll to the other shoulder, a heavy sigh showing your great displeasure. You were in some swampy marsh somewhere in japan, you think. It was a lot like the one you went to early on in your travels, the one right after than German insane asylum.

"You say that every time we go somewhere new." Richtofen hummed, his hands busy fiddling with some strange contraption. He happily whistled some tune, obviously not the least bit concerned with your unhappiness.

"Because every time we go somewhere new its worse than the last."

"What about the moon? The moon was fun! It was the moon!"

"I hated the moon. There was no air and that fucking weird cosmonaut was chasing us."

"That what made it fun! Well, that und how the blood und guts splattered farther with the gravity und such." He waved his hand dismissively.

You groaned again, your head rolling back over. You just watched as Edward fiddled with whatever he was fucking with, examining his features. His face was pale, almost grey and had dark circles around his eyes. You were all very tired, but Edward always seemed the most tired, despite being the most energetic. You had no idea how he did it, you wondered if he was on some sort of drug. Pervatin, maybe. That could explain a lot.

"You know, a picture would last longer. Just be sure to get mein good side, ja? What am I saying? Every side is mein good side."

You felt your face heat up at the realization you had been caught staring and averted your eyes. "Spaced out."

"Awh, and here I was thinking you were admiring my handsome face und perfect body."

You couldn't deny he was handsome. Hell, he was gorgeous. He was tall and slim, but he had muscle, even at his age. How old was he anyways? Fifty? He looked fifty. Not to mention that his uniform hugged him in all the right places, his broad shoulders and small waist...

Stop it! That uniform is monstrous! It represents everything that's wrong with the world! It represented fascism! It's ugly and you should hate it! You shouldn't be fantasizing about the way the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders or how perfectly his belt hugged his slim waist...

"I can practically see you thinking. Think any harder und you might explode." He teased, standing and approaching you. You couldn't help but watch his hips sway as he approached, or the way his long legs strode towards you. "I wonder what you could be thinking of to cause such a reaction..."

He stopped directly in front of you, smirking down at you. It was unnerving when he did this. You stood up, a subconscious reaction as nervousness began to creep up your spine.

"It must be quite exciting." He hummed, getting impossibly closer. You had to crane your neck to look up at him. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. 

He is coming on to you. Not that you're surprised. He has been suggestive to you in the past. Well, suggestive to everyone actually. Even a few zombies. Inanimate objects too... he was a weird man.

You hated the fact his seduction attempt was working. You could feel yourself becoming flustered. His uniform was so close. If you reached out, you could touch it. You wanted to touch it. To touch him.

You were ashamed of yourself.

He chuckled softly, leaning over and pressing a hand against the wall next to you, his body only inches away. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, as well as his breathing. "Oh, I think I know." He said lowly, his accent heavy, tone husky. "You want to fuck the enemy, don't you?"

Your breath hitched and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His eyes were lidded, a smirk tugging at his thin lips.

"You want to devour the big, bad German. And I do mean big in... multiple ways." He whispered the last part in your ear, making you let out a little gasp. Your hands found his lapels, torn between pushing him away and yanking him closer. When he didn't receive an answer, he clicked his tongue, bringing his hand up to grab a fistful of your hair. He tugged on it to force you to look at him. "Oh, you are much too prideful."

He crashed his lips into yours. You let out a muffled moan, kissing him back hungrily. This was a very bad idea. He was insane, this was his own twisted game, this was treason... But God, it was hot. It was right in all the wrong ways.

Richtofen kissed roughly, hungrily, desperately. It was messy, and you could taste the bitter iron of blood, you didn't care enough to ask yourself why. His teeth pulled and bit at your bottom lip, causing you to groan. The heat was building in your core, pooling low in your abdomen.

Your hands ran along the fabric of his coat, trailing across the embellishments on his lapels. You could barely even focus on the kiss as you touched the belts across his chest. Your movements froze when you touched something cold and sharp. Fingertips danced from one point to another, your eyes fluttering open and downwards as you realized you were touching his iron cross.

Your mind wandered to what he did to receive that metal. Did he fight in the Great War? It would make sense with his age. You couldn't be sure but you don't think you see a swastika on it, it had to be a Great War iron cross. Was he this insane back then as well? Why were you just now thinking about it?

He sensed your distraction and pulled away, fast enough to see where your eye line was. He peered down and grinned, finally noticing your hand on his medal. "You must be wondering how I got this, huh? Imagining all the ways one soldier can receive one." He said, his voice dropping an octave lower.

You couldn't help the fear appearing in your eyes as his tone became serious. It was terrifying when he was serious. He searched your face for a few seconds before his smirk returned, his tongue flicking out to lick his dry lips."Don't look so terrified, I was a field medic in the Great War"

"How the hell does a field medic get one?" You finally found your voice again, the confusion forcing your words out.

He laughed, a sound that sent shivers down your spine, whether it was in excitement or fear you didn't know. "Perhaps it's best to keep that a secret." He purred, leaning in close again, his lips ghosting over yours. "Just make sure those American hands of yours stay off the medal, ja? You can look all you want, though. It's more than obvious you have a thing for it…und the rest of mein uniform."

You swallowed thickly, looking away in shame. Damn.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." Edward chuckled darkly. "In fact, I've heard before that women go nuts for a man in uni-"

"Just shut up and kiss me again, Richtofen." You groaned, grabbing his lapels and tugging him closer, crashing your lips together once more. He hummed into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips, squeezing them firmly. He unabashedly rutted his hips into yours, his growing bulge pressing against you.

He pulled away from you, leaving you wanting and needy. God, so stupidly needy. He put distance between the two of you, and you almost asked why, but soon he was smoothing down his uniform, giving you a playful twirl.

"Tell me, fraulein, what do you like about it?" He questioned. "The fabric is a bit rough und tight, the belts are always digging into me, but if you find it appealing, who am I to judge?"

"Richtofen..." You warned.

"Do tell, I'm curious." He mused. He had that grin, that stupid fucking grin that made your blood boil. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He was teasing you and loving every second of it. He was getting off on your frustration and embarrassment.

It's the way the coat sits well on your broad shoulders, tapers down to your slutty little waist! It makes you look taller too especially with the cap, it commands authority. It's because your pants make your ass look so damn good. And the boots look ready to step on me. And god, how I want you to step on me. That white button up and tie combo makes you look professional and sane, yet you aren’t professional and nowhere near close to sane. It’s the Luger attached to your hip, ready to be pulled out and used, the belts just begging to be gripped, and whatever the hell is on your other hip! Is it a bag? And dear god, it’s the iron cross you wear. I can’t even imagine what you’ve done to receive it, I just know I want you pressed against me so hard, it leaves an indent against my breast. 

Your head spun as you admitted this all to yourself in rapid fire. If you didn’t run it through your mind, as much as you didn’t want to, you knew you would blurt it out. You had to get a hold of yourself.

Edward seemed to enjoy the silence, watching your face intently, waiting for you to give an answer. The only sign of his patience wearing thin was the tapping of his foot.

"You just look good in it, okay?" You tell him, giving him an inch. But he wasn't satisfied with that, he wanted the whole mile. You should know to never try to appease a German. Look what happened to Czechoslovakia.

He snickers, shaking his head. "Come now, Fraulein. You can do better than that." He purrs.

You huffed, chewing on your lip before glancing back to him, your resolve crumbling as you took in his gorgeous appearance."God, it's hot. Okay? It's super fucking hot."

His smirk widened, but he continued to prod.. "Why? Why is it so hot?"

"Because it shows off your broad shoulders and slim waist, and makes your ass look great… You're just a prick, but I want you inside me." You spat out, crossing your arms. "Happy now?"

"Ohohoho I'm very happy." He chuckled, removing the straps that crossed his torso. He set the satchel he carried aside, unclipping his holster and setting his weapon on the table. The way he didn't remove anything else signaled he had no intentions of removing his uniform tonight. He knew what he was doing. He still stood a ways from you, seemingly waiting for you to do or say something. You were too aroused to play these games. You relented to his wants.

"Are you going to fuck me or not, Richtofen?" You growled hoping to sound annoyed and not as needy as you felt.

"I might if you ask nicely." He cooed.

You clenched your fists.

"Please, Richtofen." You said, through gritted teeth. "Fuck me."

He grinned, stepping over to you. His hand caressed your cheek, before his fingers wrapped around your throat. You couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips, or the way your hips rolled. You could feel his length press into you and it was heavenly. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Say that again, but this time, less formal."

"Edward, please fuck me." You whispered, and he let out a guttural growl. He released your throat and gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting you and pressing you into the wall. You let out a little yelp of surprise, your legs instinctively wrapping around him. He captured your lips, his hands wandering, kneading your flesh; pinching and grabbing. his hands were just as eccentric as the rest of him.

He didn't waste time, carrying you away from the wall to the windowsill, setting you down to begin removing your pants. You kicked off your boots as you let him, watching as he tugged down the clothing. He took your panties with them, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. You felt the urge to cover yourself, but his hungry gaze and the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips quelled that. He was quick with his own pants, tugging them down his slim hips, freeing his cock. He wasn't here for romance, or foreplay, but neither were you.

He was quick to slot himself between your legs to line himself up, pressing his length into you in one smooth motion. You hissed at the stretch, his earlier remark about big things wasn't a lie.. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you moaned out his name. He wasn't gentle. He gave you no time to adjust. He began pounding into you immediately, a brutal pace, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

"I'm just a militarized Kraut for you to get off to, ja?" He hissed in your ear. His breath was warm, accent thicker than before, "Is that all I am to you? Just a uniform und a cock to satisfy that cunt of yours?"

"F-fuck, Richtofen."

"You think of me as a Nazi, yet here I am being your personal sex toy." He purred. His hips snapped against yours, his thrusts rough and quick, hitting that one spot. The one spot that made your back arch. He chuckled, his eyes half lidded and full of lust. "Where are you democratized morals now?"

"Fuck, I hate you."

"No, no, Fraulein. The word you are looking for is love." He grinned, his eyes dark. You felt a shiver run down your spine. He was scary, and yet somehow that excited you.

His thrusts were getting sloppy, his breath ragged. You were close, so close, you just needed a little more. He must have noticed, his hand reaching between the two of you to rub circles around your clit. The added stimulation sent you over the edge. Your back arched and you threw your head back as you came, a strangled moan of his name escaping your lips.

You could feel him shudder against you, a long groan escaping his lips as your walls squeezed around him tightly. He stilled inside of you, his grip on your hips bruising. He was quiet for a moment, and you opened your eyes to find his own staring into yours. They were lidded and full of want and need. He got too close to the edge, and he didn't want to cum just yet. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, and it wasn't long before he started moving again. He was relentless, his thrusts deep and rough, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm not nearly done with you yet."

"Give me a moment." You breathed, but he wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, fraulein. You'll take what I give you und I'll continue until I am finished."

He fucked like a man starved, his thrusts hungry and greedy. You were still sensitive, and every thrust against your g spot was a wave of overstimulation. You whined and begged for his mercy, but he would give none.

"You'll cum again for me, und then I'll consider stopping."

You cried out, clinging to him desperately, trying to find anything to ground you, anything to take away the intensity. It was too much, yet not enough. "Edward..."

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'm going to shut it for you, Schlampe." He hissed.

You couldn't stop the whimpers if you wanted to. It was too much.

Richtofen growled, seemingly fed up with your noises. Your clit got a much needed break as he removed his hand to paw at his chest. He wrapped his glove clad fingers around his Iron Cross and quickly yanked it off, pressing the medal to your lips. "Bite."

You opened your mouth and his fingers pushed the Iron Cross in. The taste of the iron filled your mouth and you moaned. He resumed rubbing your clit, the feeling of biting down hard on the cross was enough to ground you - your whines were significantly decreased. 

The way that Edward looked at you with a deeper stare made you wonder if he was getting off to watching you bite the medal he got all those years ago.

His thrusts continued to be hard and fast, but you could feel him becoming more and more erratic. The hand on your hip tightened, and his breath became heavier.

"You better cum before I do, otherwise you are in for a long night." He hissed, his thrusts slowing a bit. His hand picked up its speed on your clit, causing a moan to escape past the medal.

It was too much. The feeling of metal between your teeth, the way Edward was looking at you, the fact that he was wearing his uniform. The way he fucked you without mercy. It was all too much, and soon enough you were coming. Your body trembled, your eyes crossing as stars littered your vision. Your legs clamped around his waist as your cunt spasmed again, milking his cock.

He didn't last much longer, the feeling of your cunt squeezing him bringing him over the edge. A strangled moan escaped his lips as he spilled his seed into you, thrusts shallow and uneven. He stayed there, his breathing labored and his heart pounding as he continued to lazily pump his cock into you until he had nothing left to give.

The muscles in your jaw failed as your mouth quivered open, the Iron cross falling on your chest. It was coated in saliva and blood, which made Richtofen's cock twitch inside of you. He grabbed it, not bothering to wipe it off before pinning it back on his coat.

He slipped out of you, and you couldn't stop the whimper that left your lips. You could feel his cum dripping onto the windowsill. Richtofen didn't seem to care though, as he went about redressing himself. He was nice enough to throw you your clothes, and you took the hint. You didn't bother with panties, slipping your pants back on.

He didn't look at you. His hands were quick to fix his coat and uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles. He grabbed his hat and straightened it on his head, looking as polished as ever. Once he was finished, he finally looked back at you. His eyes held a warmth and rawness that looked terrifying on him.

"I'm not actually a Nazi, you know." He finally spoke.

You stared at him, eyes travelling down to the very obvious Nazi uniform.

He seemed to notice this and let out a snort, his gaze flicking downward. "Ja, ja. I know. But I didn't really have a choice in the matter. It's all rather complicated; Group 935, monetary needs, Maxis making promises to... certain parties. Which I strongly opposed, mind you."

"But-"

"It's a lot more complex than simply being a Nazi, fraulein. Besides, do I really look like the type to be a Nazi? "

"Absolutely you do." You say bluntly.

"I'm hurt." He gasped. "Und after I went through the trouble of telling you the truth. It was quite painful too - so much emotional torment." He feigned offense, putting a hand over his chest. "I may be an insane scientist, but that's all I am, I swear."

You could help the smile that found your lips. You tried to look away fast enough to hide it, but he saw it clear as day.

"There we go, I knew there was a smile under there." He smiled, his eyes soft. "Now, let's do this again soon, ja? Aber, I am a proper boy, you'll need to buy me dinner first before you seduce me, next time."

You laughed, shaking your head. You turned and left before you tried to stay longer, leaving Edward to chuckle at the door.

"Till next time, fraulein."

~

This fic on Ao3

All fics (Ao3)

I'd appreciate it if you left kudos!

[victor-cartoons]

> Víctor Dante Tilin

> 🇦🇷eng/esp

> 15-17 range

trans, non-binary, poly n bisexual (simplified)

pronouns: he/they for short. pronoun list >here< to know all of them.

proship/anti-anti/profic (anti-harrassment, anti-censorship, pro-kink), selfshipper, rare/darkshipper, furry, otaku n fundashi, SCENEMO and a still learning punk, obviously anti-fascism, alterhuman/psychological therian/fictionkin, certified teddy bear. heavily political but still learning.

im cringe!! im free!! i love dark romance n dead dove!! i WILL eat that dead dove!!/pos

; hypersexual, autistic and depression.

please interact if:

You like TankmanxBoyfriend, (bluetank/tankfriend)!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Proship/fic, anti-anti

Pro selfship

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Likes fandom things (cosplay, fanfic, fanart, etc, ESPECIALLY shipping!!)

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Tankmen series fan

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South park fan (especially stanman/StanxCartman or Cartman x kenny shippers!)

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+ 16 (I don't mind adults interacting but be aware that I am a minor and I speak in a very vulgar way about myself or fictional characters)

do not interact if:

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part of the "big three" paraphiles (Yes, even if you are anti-contact, nothing against you guys but you make me uncomfortable and how you cant help it, i cant help my discomfort. I hope you can or are getting help.)

transid or transmed

anti-kink, antiship, fiction/fandom purist, etc

^ This list is only for those who want to interact directly or personally with me. (want to be friends, etc.) I block freely, if you harass me, are a jerk, or I just don't vibe with you, I will block you, that's how it works.

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mainly my art, me yapping about my life, a lot, but A LOT of TankmanxBoyfriend, and vents, this is a blog to talk about myself and what I like, sooo-..

tags from my account:

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[pomegrnteseed]

it's all political, babe

people use the phrase 'we live in a society' a lot, but i'm going to use it here too; fandom is not removed from the society we live in. fandom is a reflection of the society, because it is members of society that make up fandom. just like the internet is not unbiased because people built it and people use it, fandom is not unbiased because people create within it.

you may not wish to interrogate your biases, your beliefs, your ideologies, your opinions while engaging with fandom, but that does not mean that those things are not working subconsciously or overtly in the choices you make when you read fics or enjoy artwork.

dhr is especially political. i said it in a tweet the other day, but draco lucius malfoy was the child of supremacists, raised to espouse fascist ideology. he was radicalised, he was a child soldier, he was groomed. for draco fans to claim that they engage apolitically is nonsense. i hate most everything joanne rowling stands for, but she was writing a book about fascism that was (riddled with problematic ideas and language, but) an accessible route for younger readers to understand the realities of supremacist notions of heritage and ethno-centric belonging. in other words, voldemort and his followers' obsession with parentage, with blood, with purity - it's the same thing hitler and the nazis were obsessed with. and their methods were the same too - ostracise, eradicate, overpower. sound familiar?

to divorce yourself so wholly from the reality of israel's ongoing genocide in palestine is to side with the oppressor. genocide relies on complicity via silence - to say nothing is to suggest it's okay. to argue that x isn't political or y isn't that deep is to fundamentally, forcefully turn away. you need to stop flinching. wokeness isn't a fun term to bandy around, it comes from Black american activism - it's time to wake up to the reality of the situation.

dhr fandom will remain political because it was based in a universe of politics. it catalogued the catastrophic outcomes of weak governments (cornelius fudge may you burn in hell), of fascist leaders (fuck you a million times over umbridge), of apathetic masses, of complicit media, of the power of public perception. it's far from the best example of these things where fictitious representations are concerned, but these things are literally woven into the entire narrative of the harry potter series. to say you don't want to see it is to contort your logic so brutally that i cannot in good faith see anything but wilful ignorance and a whole lot of internalised discomfort.

it's okay to not feel good about the things you like reading. it's okay to recognise that fiction is a fantasy land for paper dolls to smash. but it's not okay to pretend that these fantasy worlds are not founded in realities, are not reflected in the geopolitical status of the world now and historically. it's not okay to decide it's not for you because fascism affects us all. the state of the us, the uk, and europe in particular is fucking terrifying. read the news - far right ideologies are gaining more than 10% of the public vote at elections. fascism means ultranationalism (hatred of imagined Outsiders), suppression of opposition, dictatorship, militarised governance. it's literally happening around us. we are living it. and that's terrifying. it's natural to be scared. to want to flinch. to want to escape and pretend.

but you can't escape into dhr fandom and pretend that those exact same things aren't the lifeblood of dlm's backstory. that's a dissonance you cannot afford to grow.

if you look at some of the most read dhr fics: Manacled; The Auction; Secrets and Masks; From Wiltshire, With Love - they deal with the politics of war, of fascist ideology, of violence. The are also love stories, they are stories of hope, they are detailed depictions of how much we lose in the fight against hate.

we cannot have our cake and eat it too. we cannot say we are not getting involved in discussions of genocide that affect us all, because these discussions determine the world order. while we remain silent, we allow our governments to pretend their inaction is the will of the people. while we're silent, we give them a scapegoat; us. we cannot sit idly by and wait for someone else to come along. isn't that one of the characteristics we love most about hermione jean granger? her endless capacity for love (not mushy love, but active, hard-won love that forces people to keep going, that moves mountains with its sheer strength). hjg is a beacon for a lot of us in that way, never stopping after the war with her fights for the rights of all creatures, critters and magical folk. she's righteous. she's horrified by injustice. and if we say we love her, the idea of her, this pervasive fanon notion of her unrelenting fight for a better world, how can we not be moved into acting the same way? how can we read the works of others who have clearly noticed the themes and used this fandom as a vehicle for exploring the nature of fascism, the kernel of undying hope, and still refuse to acknowledge the realities these stories draw on and reflect?

i don't think we can in good faith.

living in a world embroiled in war, fascism, power struggles is exhausting. and we do come to fandom to escape. but we also come to fandom to share and learn and collectively despair and hope. we can't have nice things while we peddle the lie that fandom is apolitical, because it does those who gift us their hearts and souls in fics and fanart a huge disservice. it's not just paper dolls doing horny things. it's not just a romance story for the ages. it's real lives and real fears and real stakes. please treat it as such.

[messrsrobyn]

i just saw a tiktok saying the marauders would call the fanon characters slurs bC theY weRE FroM the 70s aND they WoulD NEvEr wear SkiRTs or liSTeN to pOP mUSiC and like first of all sirius black himself told me he's a disco fan, but also... not even going into the "those are just headcanons" territory bc those people love to bring canon, there's a) no evidence of homophobia in the wizarding world, b) there's actually a lot of text evidence that supports the idea of the wizarding world being better at gender equality (which is wild bc jkr is a terf bud i digress...!) and they were teens who were fighting against a fascist system. like, not to go all politics here, but guys, people in the 70s were gay and were fighting fascism and were wearing skirts. all around the globe. it's not a wild jump to think they'd at least be ok with the fact that gay people are real lol (not to say a lot of leftists aren't homophobic, but like, again, this is fiction...they are canonically the light side, they are canonically against bigotry [wild, again, bc jkr] so you come into my house and you tell me they'd hate crime me in real life?) and what amazes me the most is that it's usually the same person that hates jegulus bc "james would never date a fascist" but like, choose your fighter, he's either a man of high morals and fighting for what is right or he's a queerphobe. you can't have both things and use the "fascism" argument in my house!!! actually, people in this fandom should actually just stop using the word fascist, tbh. they think their biggest revolutionary act is to... be mean to people online regarding ships? anyways robyn you're amazing and your patience is certainly better than mine will ever be!!!

I SAW THIS TIKTOK !!!!!

"they'd bully you and me if they were real" well they arent 😭

idk. the creator then said in the comments that people are entitled to their own hcs and it's like,,, then why make a post shitting on them??? just read what you wanna read???

and also yes !! queer people have *always* existed, the 70s were revolutionary for queer rights. i think it was '73 when they removed homosexuality from the APA list of psych disorders, the wholeeee punk scene?! (which always trips me up when people also say "sirius wouldn't have worn skirts/eyeliner! he was punk! like,,, do you know what punk is???)

idc what people hc at all but i hateee when canon/period-typical attitudes are brought into discourses.

"they wouldn't have all been allies or gay, the 70s were very homophobic" sorry that i don't want to read fics about homophobia i guess? sorry that i don't fancy reading about my oppression in fun lil stories??? i get enough of that irl i don't want it in my books. even then, if it is included? i fw it, but why would i want the MAIN CHARACTERS of FICTION that i'm engaging with FOR FUN to be against me????

ALSO !!! agreed. i've said it before and i'll say it over and over again, i HATE the morality based arguments because none of them are real !! i promise that me reading a fic about regulus doesn't mean im a fascist, it means i'm reading a silly little story. or reading mlm instead of wlw doesn't make me misogynistic BECAUSE THEY ARENT. REAL.

especiallyyyy with ships. no. jegulus isn't misogynistic. i don't read jegulus bc i hate women i read it bc it's fun??? bc i want to???

the people making these kinda posts just want to be the best marauders fan and they want to have the best takes and they want everyone to bow down in the comments and say "YES!!! YOU'RE OUR VOICE OF REASON!!! YOU'RE SO SMART AND RIGHT!!!" when really i just want them to shut upppp and let people enjoy what they enjoy.

fandom is so much more fun if you spend your time engaging in things you like instead of hating on the things you dislike (shocking, i know)

[apostate00]

ALRIGHT, ANTIRAD LORE!!!

This will be more of a collection of thoughts and texts, with occasional proper writing, because I haven't compiled it into one text yet, so if some wording is a bit awkward, and thoughts seem to jump back and forth, that is why, please bear with me! :D

This is gonna be a long read, over 2k words.

I have also started writing an actual fic about it, if you're interested:

But without further ado, let's dive into it!

Anti-Radical becoming more and more Radical, catching odd glances from his Centrist allies, but he denies being radical wholeheartedly.

Idk how long you can deny your radicalisation into a different ideology, my friend.

He secretly survived Ancap shooting him, retreating out of Centricity to a secluded place, patching himself up, however becoming increasingly angry with more and more undeniably radical thoughts that stopped fully coming from the place of his supposed original ideological reasoning, and a genuine, deep rage.

Imaging his skin tone shifting to more fit the one of a radical ideology and he gets so scared by that, ripping him out of his spiralling thoughts and pushes him to return to the Centrists, scared of what he would become if he kept himself isolated.

It's interesting, he obviously is against any and all radicals but also I feel after almost being killed & his plans being foiled he hates Ancap just a bit more than all the other radicals.

He tries to hide the places of his body that have started to shift in color. Imagine the eye behind his eye patch despite still being blind, has changed color as well.

He's denying it himself so hard and also tries to keep it from the other Centrists.

He totally still fits into the Overton Window, totally doesn't believe all radicals, especially Ancaps, should be exterminated or subjugated, and a totalitarian-esque system (of course he'd never call it that, totalitarian is a radical word after all) should be put in place that ensures everyone be non-radical too.

Pshhh, he would never, who would support a weird twisted Centrist version of Fascism, not him.

He would be... well, off-compass. Not in any of the quadrants since he wants all of them to die.

Him turning on the Centrists because they're too radical in being complacent.

Tempted to make his eyes red simply based on his stronger hatred for Ancap specifically.

Man, imagine while he's still in strong denial, he meets another extremist who just kinda pauses, eyes him up and down, and goes, "...you're not a centrist.. i don't know WHAT you are" (they can feel the shift in his energy, clearly different from the mellow one most Centrists have, but also distinct from the vibe the other extremists give off).

THIS NEXT LITTLE TEXT MIGHT BE DUE TO CHANGE!!!

AntiRad losing it during one of their Centrist meetings and pointing his knife at Moderate Lee for "radical complacency" (not being unradical™ enough to be anti-radical)

He then gets toppled by the other Centrists, narrowly escaping being killed (again) as he was already being scrutinized and now has been classified as a threat since he has "gone off the deep end" and is clearly not a regular Centrist anymore

The other Centrists are very distressed at AntiRad being lose, clearly now being a threat, they can't quite calculate/place.

Moderate Lee is especially shook, wondering what happened to him to become like this :(

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AntiRad escaping from Centricity, getting out of the Overton Window, but not really finding a safe space to stay and patch himself up for a while cuz yk, there's a war going on, so in his desperation he slips through the cracks, completely out of the compass.

The void found beyond seems to seep into the cracks of his mind, his identity, using his emotions of his ostracization to further corrupt who he used to be.

Beyond the compass, its a no man's land, just before passing into the realm of the off compass.

I'd imagine there are gateways that connect the two properly, but obviously, AntiRad wouldn't know about them

He'd make it through though, (part) of his self warped and yet not destroyed, his ideological sense already being unreal enough beforehand to make it.

I'd imagine some ideologies that are deeply rooted in reality and sense in some way or form would completely lose themselves in that no man's land, not being built to survive in this "antimatter."

Essentially, going to the realm of the off compasses just sealed his fate of losing his former ideology and becoming something else.

Imagine despite being extremely scared Moderate Lee tries to find him and talk to him.

When Moderate Lee follows him he's gonna get himself some help though, probably overcoming his fear and asking one of the fringe ideologies that switches back and forth between the realms, who could guide him to one of the safe gateways.

Technically, Post-Left is kind of a fringe ideology like that, which is interesting.

AntiRad, you should've just asked around instead of going on your own

I know you were very wounded and having a breakdown, losing touch with yourself and reality and all that, but come on...

AntiRad being torn between trusting Moderate Lee and not doing it because he knows that the guy is literally just doing what he's told with no sense of loyalty (or so he thinks...)

I'm in favour of giving Moderate Lee some character development, too.

Imagine AntiRad's now black parts lowkey melting when he gets really worked up or spirals into the insanity that is his new off compass ideology, cuz his body wasn't originally meant to fit into this category of ideology.

I also had the thought of the gunshot scars AntiRad has turning black first since that whole deal was kind of the catalyst for his descend

Imagine ModLee seeing his limb kinda melt or crack and is like !!! D: & tries to help him, telling him to calm down (please)

AntiRad getting kind of shocked/scared by that happening to his body, stumbling into ModLee's touch and letting him guide him to sit down & try to care for him.

ModLee tries soo hard to calm AntiRad, make him come home, saying that they could explain things and that it isn't too late, while AntiRad spirals further into madness

Being off compass slowly messing with ModLee too cuz he's very clearly not supposed to be there at all, especially not for extended periods of time

ModLee staying by AntiRad's side even though being in this place is slowly destroying him

You've stopped being a complete coward, but at what cost, in this moment, it would be the right idea to run back home

ModLee tries to hide whatever it is that's happening to him (not decided on that yet) and it only becomes obvious to AntiRad once it's already pretty bad.

RADCEN MENTION TEEHEE

I had the most insane idea when listening to a song... imagine AntiRad yk goes completely insane and off the deep end, becomes a serious and active threat to everyone... and then in the end its ModLee who actually literally backstabs AntiRad to stop him, finally realising that he can't fix him

The sadness and regret on ModLee's eyes that only worsens when AntiRad turns back with so much shock and hurt and betrayal on his face

ModLee catching him in his arms, sitting down as AntiRad slowly bleeds to death and disintegrates

He hugs him and cries until there's nothing left in his arms but empty space.

AntiRad spluttering "why would you" and "what did I do" and "I trusted you", before he slowly regains some clarity right before his proper, final death, apologising to ModLee for all that had happened and then AntiRad had abandoned the man ModLee begged him to be, ModLee thought he was, and thought he could become again

Oughhh these two... even worse if they did actually start loving each other, but ModLee knew that AntiRad would destroy everyone and everything if he didn't stop him.....

"I thought we... I thought you–"

AntiRad realising before dying that ModLee was right to kill him, and that part of him did it because he loved him, and couldn't stand to see him become even worse.

AntiRad getting extremely panicked and anxious as he's close to dying because he already experienced it once and is horrified that he won't be back this time, so ModLee hugs him even tighter and tries his best to soothe him

So sad too because ModLee tried so hard, he tried everything to try and save AntiRad, to bring him back, to help him get better... but nothing worked so it was his last resort.

AntiRad & ModLee having some genuine good, loving and soft moments which shows ModLee that there is some good in him. AntiRad still has pieces in him that are the man ModLee saw, but it was never enough. And now he has to live with the fact that he also killed that good forever

We were talking about ideologies and death, saying that they most likely would be borderline immortal, so I came up with an idea that deviates from that a little:

Maybe if ideologies are extremely fringe and barely have followers then they have a chance of dying permanently. The more fringe the higher the chance

Because Anti-Rad has become something else, something that's more of a fictional ideology than a real one, ModLee and everyone else was 100% sure that that would be it for him & he was truly dead. But imagine that through his violent transition into this different ideology and his travel through the void beyond the compass, he was kind of forged into an anomaly that prevails in spite of it all

So he eventually comes back, reforming where he died, the site now abandoned, with only a small, but relatively fresh bouquet of flowers and a little arrangement of rocks to symbolise his grave...

ModLee brought him new flowers all the time still and sometimes he sat there and cried for him.

Imagine just moments after AntiRad wakes up and takes everything in there's a scream, and he turns around to see ModLee, dropping the new flowers he brought with his hands clasped over his mouth, looking as if he might faint.

On the other hand I also like the thought of Anti-Rad isolating himself, but there being some trace of his return around the grave that ModLee notices and goes kind of insane over it.

Man Anti-Rad's physical form becoming so unstable because of his ideological standpoint seemingly shifting again after his death, now being sad and beaten down, lacking that anger that once burned holes into his belly (metaphorically)

He feels as if coming back to life after what had happened to him was the cruelest punishment, because what is he supposed to do now? He lost his knife, hunting after his supposed cause now seems pointless, he barely remembers what it was anyway? It's as if his mind is scrambled and he doesn't know what or who he is and what he'd stand or fall for.

Meanwhile ModLee is convinced that AntiRad is alive again and everyone else thinks that he's finally lost it.

Thinking about AntiRad not having his knife anymore genuinely stressing him out and worsening his identity crisis because that was such an integral part of him, his cause and expression of ideology

With it gone it feels as if he's lost an integral part of himself...

The Centrists abandoning AntiRad & leaving him for dead after Ancap shot him...

Most did so because they thought he was done for and didn't actually think they could save him

But my brain wants to make RadCen bad... and make him leave AntiRad out of malice....

Ever since that Libunity fic where RadCen stabbed Post Left.......... he is...... so evil...

And also lowkey just in general???

I have no issue seeing RadCen committing atrocities and smiling about it

He left AntiRad to die because he feared his powers, he worried that he might turn against them, against HIM eventually. He didn't know what that knife would do to him if it ever drew his blood

And that risk greatly outweighed the loss of AntiRad's powers

I really love the notion in Centricide that RadCen never cared about any of the Centrists... yeah...

RadCen didn't show it but when AntiRad returned to Centricity, still very much alive, he both got worried and even more grim.

I like to imagine that when AntiRad snapped, it was actually RadCen egging him on, literally pushing him over the edge, so that he would blow up, and he'd get another excuse to get rid of him once and for all... with the one issue that AntiRad escaped once again

RadCen realised how AntiRad had become even more unstable and played into that.......

Man, AntiRad having genuine trust issues because he knew that the other Centrists just left him for dead, and then finally begins to trust ModLee again just for him to be the one to kill him...

The lyrics to the song I listened to that gave me the idea for this whole thing are:

"Farewell Wanderlust, you've been ever so kind

You brought me through this darkness, but you left me here behind

And so long to the person you begged me to be

He's down, he's dead

Now take a good long look at what you've done to me

He's down, he's dead

He's gone, oh he's lost

He's flown, he's fled

So take a good long look at what you've all done to me."

And I can't help but imagine the "Farewell Wanderlust you've been ever so kind" to be about AntiRad being with the Centrists, being friends w/ them & feeling at home

And then "you brought me through this darkness but you left me here behind" being still him reminiscing about what they'd been through together, including the start of the centricide, until the betrayal of them leaving him for dead......

Them beginning to bring him through the darkness, but leaving him behind before they're fully out of it....

"Now take a good long look at what you've done to me" AntiRad stepping into the barrier into the anti-matter that connects the compass to the off-compass... the instrumental showing a bunch of scenes from AntiRad attacking the Centrists, to him attacking Post Left and then his rise to power in the off compass, the ideologies he's vanquished or altered....

"He's down, he's dead | he's gone, oh he's lost | he's flown, he's fled" ModLee trying to talk to him as AntiRad approaches a sort of "stage" (not an actual stage but yk like a high point to look down on the field below), with the extremists, some centrists and some other ideologies looking up at him....

"So take a good long look at what you've all done to me" is something AntiRad yells at them, ready to finally engage in his ultimate carnage

And then the last few musical notes is ModLee stabbing him in the back.... AntiRad looking back at him with shock... the ideologies below being just as shocked as he was....

The last shot being AntiRad falling backwards onto ModLee....

THAT'S IT FOR NOW!!!!

(kind of I have more bits and pieces but pshhh)

[feasibilities]

Come Sit, Cariño - Comandante Benjamin x Black/Non-White/Spanish-Speaking Reader (18+) ☭

Warnings: Face-s!tting, Oral S3x, Suffocation (basically), Angst, Slight ch0king, Teasing, etc. Author's Note: This isn't a continuation of my previous fic about Comandante Benjamin, but my interpretation of his character is the same (a bastard who uses p*ssy juice to grow his beard). He wants to die in between a woman's thighs, tbh. Also, the gif is precisely how I imagine him reacting--just fine as hell. Warnings are coded to avoid filtering. Enjoy!

You were working under Benjamin's tutelage to collect intel on the far-right/government-sanctioned groups. You had experience in anti-fascism, but guerilla warfare was new territory. You fell in love with him as you spent more time around him. Lately, you felt like your time with him was dwindling. He cared more about the revolution instead of you.

“We only spend nights together. You only want to sleep or fuck at night. Where’s the love in that?” You snapped.

He continued reading his newspaper as if you weren’t there. You walked up to him & snatched it away. He seemed amused by your little tirade. He held in a laugh.

"I have to further a revolution. I can't compromise that just to spend time with you. You knew this when we got together, cariño." He jested.

You threw the crumpled newspaper at him and walked out.

☭

While you were sifting through classified documents, you heard Benjamin walk in and sit at the desk in front of you. You ignored him and continued making notes.

"You can't ignore me forever. Sé que me extrañas." He teased. You looked at him and met his beautiful gaze. Damn it, he was beautiful. His green uniform and brown skin were a perfect contrast to the red curtain behind him. You couldn't help but squirm when he looked at you like that. You walked to him and stood in between his legs. He grabbed your throat and kissed you roughly. You grinded against him. He pulled away and stared at you.

"I want you to sit on my face." He declared.

"What if you suffocate?"

"What a beautiful death." He acknowledged.

Benjamin stripped your clothing and laid on the desk. "Come sit, cariño." You crawled up his body and positioned yourself above his face. You slowly sat down & his beard prickled against your inner thighs. You immediately felt his tongue swirl around your clit. You moaned loudly.

As you rode his face, you reached forward & speedily pulled out his dick. In a teasing mood, you flicked your tongue on the tip. In response, he dug his nails into your hips. You took him in and bobbed your head slowly. He groaned & swirled his tongue faster. Your eyes rolled back while he thrusted his hips to meet your movements.

As you approached your climax, you felt your arousal drip onto his beard. You couldn't care less about letting him breathe or making him cum too early. This was payback for his dismissive attitude. Right now, he was a vessel for your desires.

Before you knew it, his seed was spilling out into your mouth. Reflexively swallowing, you sat up and grinded faster to finish yourself off. Your moans filled the conference room. Benjamin's breathing became labored. A pompous smirk came across your face.

Your legs began convulsing uncontrollably while Benjamin held you still. Your vision went white with bliss. Your flame of lust was finally rekindled.

[worldwright]

Good evening

Currently fighting for my life against a rice cooker 👍👍👍

I love seeing my dog every Saturday but it means talking to my father and oh dude he's so slow to think

"Well at least there's one good thing: he's going to eliminate every real wOkIsTs" yeah now show me a way to stop them being and find the real ones without speedrunnig fascism

Not that Laika cares <3 she's my sweet baby girl <3

I started watching dandadan bc I started reading it when it first came out some years ago (even before chapter 4 was out !!!) And then promptly forgot about it lol istg if there's no fic of this girl strapping that boy to paradise I'll be the one writing it

Have a wonderful morning my friend ! I'm still battling with this rice cooker of hell

oh my god you are SO RIGHT ABOUT THOSE STUPID KIDS I am enjoying that show so much

sorry to hear that it's not just this shithole country that's home to some of the stupidest people alive :')))))))

im chilling at home re-watching she-ra because it is cinematic comfort food. warm bread. simple and nostalgic and delicious

it's raining out :)))))))))) cozy inside with cats and blanky

may you be victorious in your battle with the rice cooker!! hope you have a lovely evening, friend :)))

[corellianhounds]

🍁 Thanks so much for the ask! In turn, I ask of you…

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

Ask Game

I’ll answer the second one first because it’s shorter!

45. In terms of writing I think my narration and prose is stronger. My writing used to have fun bits and pieces, but there wasn’t much connective tissue between actions and dialogue, so the payoff of my ideas wasn’t as impactful because I was filling in too many of the blanks that I should have just trusted readers to do on their own. There were a lot of actions describing emotions or expressions without a lot actually happening in the scene; I had the problem of trying to ‘direct’ the characters as though it were a visual medium instead of just getting to the necessary bits. I’m more judicious with those now and I’ve been able to write some more impactful, concise pieces because of it

NOW

17. My favorite highly specific AU is my MODERN STAR WARS WWF AU!!

Hear me out

One of the problems with translating Star Wars to a modern setting is figuring out how to include the violence and oppression— Fascists still exist and they’re not fun to contend with in a modern setting because they still exist in our world and they’re not fun to contend with in real life. Star Wars should be fun in one way or another, and it’s difficult to make a satisfying modern AU if you just take all of the violence out of the equation entirely

HOWEVER

With a lighter, more humorous wrestling entertainment AU that has kayfabe built into its very nature, you get the freedom of heightened performance and drama and fighting without having to include fascism as the antagonists’ motivations and without having to kill people. You can pick and choose what parts of the story are real life and which parts are the storylines crafted for the characters the performers are portraying in the ring!!

Some highlights below:

Set in the 80s-90s, playing a little fast and loose with the timeline for a lot of stuff, but the main pro wrestling flavor is what came before the Attitude Era, the main story mostly focusing on the OG trilogy up through The Mandalorian, but with some of the Rogue One and Solo movie characters in the mix. There’s also some old first season TBB ideas floating around that aren’t connected to the loose ‘main’ story

This will all be a combination of the wrestling performance storylines like the supposedly deceased brother of the Undertaker who set fire to their childhood home and killed their parents reappearing as an adult to challenge the Undertaker in the ring, combined with some celebrity drama and news stories and public scandals. Fun and dramatic stakes that are still real for the people involved, but without having to deal with what the Imperials actually are and what they represent

Palpatine is the head of the Empire federation à la Vince McMahon, Vader as his (mostly retired) prize fighter and face of the company. The Empire’s been buying out and/or shutting down rival federations, becoming this monopoly in the industry that few people are able to oppose without finding their careers and lives financially ruined

Jango Fett was hired and paid a lot of money to start the primary wrestling school where he trained a lot of the folks in his own community first that the Empire used as the baseline for their roster. He’s bitter about having to retire after an accidental neck injury sustained during a match against Mace Windu, and is also bitter about the clauses in the contract put in place by Palpatine (or I guess Dooku acting on Palpatine’s behalf as his lawyer/accountant) that dictate that anybody who trains in his gym (the rest of the clone characters) aren’t allowed to work for the opposition since Jango was privy to trade secrets that are considered proprietary knowledge of the Empire. Jango’s company is so caught up in extensive legalese that he can’t break the contract or start a new wrestling school anywhere else.

ACCOUNTANT DOOKU

Jango later worked as private security in the latter half of Boba’s childhood, skills and contacts he passed on to Boba. Boba trained as a fighter under his father and has a lot of the same skills and disciplines as Jango but since he’s Jango’s kid and was never enrolled at the gym, he’s technically free from the reach of the Empire’s contract

The Jedi Order in this universe is more of an actual trained martial art, not really professional entertainers. There are still people who leave to go into MMA/UFC style matches, but their training is in actual fighting, not professional wrestling entertainment. Sensei are usually disappointed to see their fighters go into professional wrestling with their skills because they don’t think it’s very dignified, but it’s not like they’re forbidden from doing it or whatever

Jedi like pro wrestlers who DO have either classical wrestling or martial arts training make for better performers and athletes in the wrestling federations because they know how to do the choreography the safest way possible since they have an athletic background and know what will or won’t actually cause their partner long lasting harm in the ring

Wrestling costumes allow for characters to retain some of the flair and armor and heightened stylization of their original costumes. Same with greasepaint and tattoos and elaborate hairstyles

Palpatine retains his Naboo/Coruscanti style though it transitions from blues and purples to black and charcoal gray over the years. Big gold rings and coiffed hair, slick black shoes, a stylish walking cane with the top looking like the hilt of his saber

Don’t even get me started on hot intimidating modern mid-forties Anakin. I don’t even find Hayden Christensen hot personally but the idea I have in mind for how he looks here is so cool. THE GRAVITAS.

COOL WRESTLING NAMES!!

Boba Fett has a couple of nicknames/personas, the later ones being “The Wrath of Tatooine” and “The Wraith of Tatooine” (after he comes back from the dead)

The Sons of Dathomir: Maul and Savage tag team duo, lots of grease paint and kabuki-style masks to keep the Zabrak look

Performances also mean you could easily incorporate the musical motifs of the characters. Enfys Nest is one of the most popular crowd favorites; her theme song is this piece with the vocalizations just after the 30 second mark, her intro into the ring being heralded by drumroll and singing that’s echoed back by the fans in the auditorium. She comes in accompanied by a ton of fog rolling down the platform on her entrance (alluding to the Cloud Riders)

Heck, I could just steal one of the Undertaker’s intros and have her ride down on a motorcycle through the fog. Her costume and color scheme would also translate really well

(Enfys Nest’s finishing move is called The Savareen Standoff. The music comes back in as she stands on the top ropes of one corner, the crowd ramping back up with excitement as she jumps and does a flip in midair before landing on her opponent and getting them pinned)

Carbonite plaque = Casket matches

Speederbike chases end up being motorcycle chases

Not everybody’s a wrestler! C-3PO and R2 are the ringside announcers. I can’t decide whether it’s better if R2 is at the Spanish announcers table, C-3PO translating as well as adding his commentary for the folks watching, or if R2 just gets overly excited while announcing to the point the production team/editors end up having to add the censor beeps over his commentary for how much he swears lol

One of the matches with Anakin ends up breaking out into side beefs with other people in and outside the ring and he can be heard yelling at the announcers, saying “I made you who you are today! You’d be nothing without me!”

Leia’s a safety inspector with a degree in journalism/entertainment law who’s investigating the dangerously unsafe practices the Empire federation has been having their employees take part in in the hopes of shutting them down. She and Bail (an entertainment lawyer) having been trying to get evidence on them for years. Dangerous stunts and gimmicks that have gone too far or ended badly are only a piece of the vast amount of rumors and accusations levied their way (to say nothing of the Fett school and other companies like it under similar impossible-to-escape contracts and NDAs). The Empire has been buying out and shutting down rival federations, becoming this monopoly in the industry; Palpatine has a lot of money and he can afford good lawyers and good press

But also: VERY satisfactory news story of Bail Organa being photographed throwing hands with renown WWF celebrity Anakin Skywalker in the streets for the shady/illegal stuff Anakin has been complicit in that has now put Leia directly in harm’s way lolol. Leia’s adoptive father vs. her real dad. So many juicy responsibilities.

Han Solo is a roadie basically in a steep debt to the Hutt Syndicate, Jabba catching up to him and threatening him into working for him. Jabba works him like a dog for weeks on the road so by the time it comes to RotJ he’s so out of it he’s basically dead on his feet before his friends manage to rescue him. He’s been working 16 hr days nonstop just chugging energy drinks to stay awake— The equivalent of Han knocking Boba into the Sarlacc pit here is him not legitimately not seeing Boba when he puts the tour truck into reverse trying to peal out of the parking lot and he ends up hitting him with the truck

Tbh you really don’t have to change much of his costume. He’s got a tool pack on his belt instead of a holster

Lando’s the head of his own moderately sized federation either in the Windy City or somewhere up in the PNW where it’s cloudy all the time. None of that’s relevant to the wrestling side of things, I just think it gives flavor.

The Cloud City match ends with Han (who audiences know is only part of the tech crew [or is he? 👀]) getting pulled into a casket match as it’s going ‘wrong’ (wrong?) and getting knocked out before Boba carts him off out of the ring. Still debating on how much of this will end up being real and how much is performance, some of that is dependent on how much of the original and prequel trilogies are real

Mask reveals are given the same gravity as they are in canon. Lots of performers aren’t seen outside the ring without their masks when they’re doing a work or a locker room interview. Allows for a lot of characters to just have regular lives outside the ring AND it keeps from breaking kayfabe when people end up traveling together on tour lol

The first time we see the Armorer it’s with Mando going to see her in the workshop where she’s got a welding mask on while she works on the props, costumes, and improvised weapons for the ring

The Mandalorian covert is a small independent wrestling/fighting company/gym. All of them have legitimate training too but work freelance and it’s not uncommon to see them in improvised arenas. Mando’s single and doesn’t have an immediate family and since he’s one of the better-known fighters he’s traveling out of town more often than the rest of them. His carefully crafted contracts and travel arrangements organized by either Karga or the Armorer as his manager allow him to retain some measure of anonymity and he’s never shown his face in the public eye as his wrestling persona, the mask he wears in the ring both a part of the character and actual practical identity protection

Ditching his work with the Guild federation could mean he ends up doing actual cage matches on the side until he’s picked up as a heel by the Empire

Gideon is on the creative team as a writer/manager for the Empire, and though Mando’s been incorporated into the choreographed storylines against other wrestlers, Gideon wants to include Mando’s real kid in some of the future stories, which Mando obviously vetoes.

So maybe there’s a title match between surprise contender Boba Fett and Mando where Gideon literally just decides to go grab the kid from the green room to include as a faked kidnapping plot line at the end of the fight, thinking it’d be okay to improvise because the publicity would be really good, but Mando wasn’t consulted at all beforehand so you can imagine how that plays out

Either Mando or Boba take the Undertaker’s place as the judge of the unofficial wrestler’s court (where arguments and petty squabbles between wrestlers are sorted out with good-natured punishments without having to go to upper management), known for being objectively fair and able to resolve things as a mediator (a stand-in parallel for being Mand’alor)

I have a whole side story for the first season of TBB. Echo used to be a wrestler until a pyro effect went dangerously wrong and he wound up out of commission as a performer (though the Empire at least covered the medical bills and prostheses. They may put their people at risk but they provide good health insurance). Works as the team’s production manager/trainer/technician. Tech’s also had training but he’s more of a roadie/technician/special effects guy too. Wrecker and Hunter are a tag team duo and Crosshair was part of the team for a while before they split from the Empire federation and the lawyers went after them for breaking their contract (because they found out some information they weren’t supposed to know). They’re actually semi on the run in their tour bus trying to figure things out and reach out to others of Fett’s school as they go and oh whoops why do we have a stowaway oh nO WE’VE CROSSED SO MANY STATE LINES, WE ARE SO DEAD—

Crosshair stays with the Empire as a paparazzo/trade spy, investigating whoever the Empire sends him to spy on, but is mainly trying to catch up with the rest of the crew. I figured a long range camera was a good substitute for the rifle. He’s a genuinely good photographer but the Empire pays well and he doesn’t mind doing some dirty work. “Did the Traitors of Kamino KIDNAP a CHILD? More Telling Info On the Messy Corporate Breakup page 11…”

I also have a bunch of ideas for Rogue One and the Mandalorian characters, but this answer is already waaaaay longer than anticipated 😆 Long story short, petty criminal/illegal cage fighter Jyn Erso has been put in contact with her estranged father (Galen stuck working for the Empire under similar NDAs and contracts and possibly even blackmail) who manages to leak insider information regarding the Empire’s increasingly unsafe stunts and demands of the performers and crew to Jyn and the Rogue One crew, who in turn act as investigative reporters and spies for Leia’s mounting legal case.

Bodhi’s a blacklisted ex-crew member and technician who worked on tour for the Empire, sent by Galen to meet up with Saw at his own boxing ring in order to get some pretty damning evidence to Bail Organa. Most of the Rogue One crew are technicians or former employees blacklisted from the federation and most of the industry, or are somehow connected and end up on an impromptu roadtrip happening in the background as the main story starts heating up

Basically making a professional wrestling AU allows for a lot of the heightened drama and fantasy elements to remain in play and for people to be grouped together in ways they are in canon, but there’s a freedom to being able to pick and choose which parts of the canon story are real in this universe and which are parts of the storylines being written for the matches. You still get to see showdowns between characters both in and out of the ring, and you can still have those juicy story reveals given the drama they deserve but without them needing to actually affect the characters in ways that they would if they were actually happening in just regular day-to-day life. You can have the missing twin reveals, the family drama, the betrayals, all of that, and still have it be fun and potentially very funny at the end of the day

[jewishregulus]

hi! i was thinking about your post about the death eaters/n*zi comparison. i don’t remember instances in the books where wizards are afraid of muggles because muggles actively attack them, for all intents and purposes the muggle world has no idea about the wizarding world. the “fear” the blood purists have is that mingling with muggles will “dilute” wizardkind and make them weaker and corrupt, and it’s definitely comparable with racism and the eugenics beliefs that were rampant during the 1930s. similarly, the fearmongering that occurred in europe against anyone who wasn’t ar*an didn’t stem from an active “threat” but it was an insidious way to instill mistrust and eventual complacency - and that is very much the case in the hp books as well. anyway i agree with you that the death eaters should be directed linked to the n*zi specifically, rather they’re a better portrayal of fascism in general and they still function as a good allegory for the adaptability of fascist beliefs and mechanisms in various instances. most of all i think people should really research and understand the history of fascism before writing fanfic actively including these metaphors because it’s very dangerous to flatten it as a manichean dychotomy.

(i also understand how you must feel and it’s totally comprehensible to feel uneasy when all the nuance gets stripped away - it’s totally fine if you don’t want to engage with this ask btw. just wanted to share because i’ve been thinking about these themes a lot, too. i think we owe to our ancestors to never stop thinking about stuff like this even in this silly context of a children’s book)

hi! i wanted you to know i completely agree with you on the fact that the deatheaters are clearly supposed to be a symbol of facism in the books! my main point is that it is an allegory in fiction and using this to call creators bad people in arguments online is very insidious especially because i’ve been called such things as a nazi sympathizer for liking regulus when i am jewish and my grandfather is a holocaust survivor. that’s what i was referring to, not making content exploring these themes at all!! even though i prefer not to bc the allegory in its whole is meant to reflect the holocaust specifically which makes me deeply uncomfortable due to the reasons ive said previously :

in many cases does jkr build on the idea of muggles attacking and killing wizards : i.e burning witches and such. there are wizard hunters canonically in the universe. this is in the legacy games and also in articles on pottermore and such. plus, considering the fact jkr said she didn’t even mean to make the allegory until other people started calling the deatheaters nazis, which she then ran with for the rest of the books. plus, the decision to make voldemort a halfblood considering the many untrue and antisemitic rumors of h+tler secretly being jewish is not lost on me.

i am confident in the capability of other jewish creatives to handle this with tact and grace and create some really beautifully written analysis. i am more so concerned w the way goyim continuously weaponize this for fandom arguments and create very absurd and horrific content. i’ve witnessed fics in which people write these characters actively partaking in the holocaust. yes, you read that right…. it really just disturbs me and therefore i honestly don’t have any trouble saying i don’t want goyim to use the allegory in general. it’s such a convoluted topic that jkr has used as the main form of her antisemitism throughout the books that i really , really wish goyim just don’t touch.

again: this is all for goyim. these are my boundaries and my standards atleast on my blog and engaging in my content. i can’t control what other people do on their accounts! however, for me atleast, i will not be discussing the deatheaters as a direct parallel to nazism ever , and would prefer if no one else does bc it makes me , quite frankly, sick to my stomach!

i really would enjoy talking to u one on one anon if u ever feel up for it , bc i really do like analyzing these books sadly lol, and it’s much more comforting to explore this topic w other jewish ppl which im assuming u are bc of our ancestors (hi cousin!!!)

again, just lastly: my main point was the weaponization of the allegory against the people who like these characters and especially jewish people themselves, not necessarily any depictions of deatheaters that relate them to facism. i just despise the lack of nuance and consideration for the people impacted by this the fandom takes!

[gywin97]

I’ve been re-reading some of my favourite HP fics as I wait for HL to come out, and I love how you can tell which house the author is in based on how they’re ‘fix-it’ fic goes:

Gryffindor

-          Massive, Avengers-style epic final showdown between Voldie and Harry

-          Golden Trio + Neville

-          “Harry no-” “Harry YES!”

-          Harry Potter / Ron Weasley have absolutely zero impulse control and it’s giving Hermione high blood pressure

-          Weasley Twins! Weasley Twins!

-          The Order is like 60% Weasley it’s basically gingers against fascism

-          Dumbledore is powerful but angry Minera McGonagall is terrifying

-          Sirius Black has more than five minutes of screentime.  

-          Remus Lupin is the one responsible adult in the room

-          “There’s no need to call me Sir, professor.”

-          Slytherins are all baddies, no redemption arc for you

-          Umbridge get’s GOT

-          *Draco makes a Weasel joke at Ron* Hermione: “You were literally a ferret.”

Ravenclaw

-          Harry visits the library and learns more spells than goddamn ‘expelliarmus’

-          Sassy!Harry, Smart!Harry,

-          The fuck kinda school is this??!?!

o   *See’s moving staircases* Really, right in front of my OSHA regulations?

o   So they’re really just letting anyone teach DADA, huh?

o   Susan Bones / Kingsley Shacklebolt shows up and lays down the law

-          Callouts for every plothole, and I mean EVERY plothole.

-          Someone notices the SOUL FRAGMENT living in Harry’s forehead

o   “Harry Potter must die” “Ok but have you tried literally anything else???”

-          Using magical gadgets (Time Turners, Sneakoscope, etc) and the Room of Requirement

-          Actual pagan rituals sprinkled in for flavor (Samhain, Yule, etc)

-          Witch  Wizard Wixen

Hufflepuff

-          Everyone lives / nobody dies, Happy Endings, Found Family

-          Characters actually sit down and deal with their TRUMA

-          “My cupboard-” “Your what?”

-          Harry is a sweetheart, polite to everyone

o   This includes Filch / House Elves / Goblins

o   no one can say no to his big green puppy eyes, sorry that’s illegal.

o   Snape/Minerva see’s Lily’s eyes and have emotions

-          Someone (Often Pomfrey) notices Harry’s abuse and takes action.

o   *Smacking Dumbledunce with a rolled-up newspaper* What! Were! You! Thinking!?

o   Harry gets adopted, and his new guardians are outside the Dursley’s house holding baseball bats.

-          You get a redemption arc, you get a redemption arc, EVERYBODY GETS REDEMPTION ARCS!!

Slytherin

-          Harry is a Slytherin / befriends Slytherins.

o   “Slytherin will never accept Harry Potter!” *Ten minutes later* “We’ve only had Harry Potter for a day and a half but if anything happened to him we’d kill everyone in this room and then the Dark Lord.”

o   Slytherin kids get personalities besides ‘mean’ and ‘henchmen’

o   Blasie Zabini is always a slut. I don’t know why this is universal, but it just is.

o   Theo Nott is always the nerd.

-          “So are we just gonna just not talk about the Chamber of Secrets or…?”

-          Fuck this, Fuck the Ministry, Fuck the Wizengamot, here’s 60 reasons why

-          BAMF Narcissa Malfoy

-          Harry gets a pet snake and regularly speaks Parseltongue

-          Severitus or Mentor!Snape:

o   Severus Snape hates James Potter but he hates child abuse more

o   “So I live with my aunt Petunia-” “Tunie?!?!”

o   The Eyebrow of Doom

o   Harry learning more about his mum than her eye color

-          Severus Snape ends up with a small pack of children following him around and he’s not sure how that happened but Merlin help anyone who fucks with them

-          Dumbledore call-out

-          It’s not dark or light magic, it’s just magic

[griseldagimpel]

300 Works on AO3 Check In

I now have 300 works up on AO3. The only harassment from Antis I've received is a hate Ask from an Izzy-Anti and a nasty comment from an anon really upset that I included a pit bull in my fic.

I've also gotten dogpiled, rude comments, and my works reported for talking about racism, but those people don't typically identify as "Antis".

For that matter, you get people who do identify as Antis but don't harass anyone. And most people in fandom have something they dislike but keep that to their own blogs rather than harassing anyone, even if they feel really strong about it. Like, in my current fandom (The Locked Tomb), a lot of the fandom really does not like John Gaius (my blorbo) or second cousin incest ship Camilla/Palamedes (my OTP), but I have not received any harassment for my fandom content here.

So let's talk about strawmen, exaggerated harm, and Making Up A Guy.

See, the reason I started doing these check ins is that I'd encounter breathless warnings about Antis harassing people across fandom. Don't leave comments turned on for your dark fic, the warnings would go, or you'll get harassed. You can't ship X without getting harassed, I was told.

And it just wasn't matching up with my experiences, even though I'm a prolific fic writer who writes a variety of content for a multitude of ships.

Oh, Antis who harass people exist. Like I said, I've encountered them. And I've seen the same happen with others. But I feel like the fear of Antis on a pan-fandom basis outstrips the actual threat. (It seems like some fandoms have a worse Anti harassment problem than others. Our Flag Means Death is bad, and I've heard horror stories about Voltron. But that's the thing: the warnings I see don't narrow their scope to a few specific fandoms; they treat it as if every fandom is as bad as Voltron.)

Now let's talk about Tiffany G. Last year, Tiffany G ran for the AO3 board. Now, like all candidates, she had to meet certain volunteer requirements; not just anyone can run for an AO3 board position.

Tiffany G made some comments about wanting to push back against misconceptions of AO3, and fandom lost its damn mind. She got accused, no lie, of being an infiltrator spy for the Chinese government. Hey, if you're ever wondering why the AO3 board isn't more diverse, it's because when a Chinese fan ran, fandom rallied together to slander her as a spy for the Chinese government. Fans openly celebrated when she lost. Which, you know, has to be a really shitty experience for a devoted AO3 volunteer.

And she was positioned as an Anti and a threat to fandom.

Fandom collectively Made Up A Guy. The phantom menace they'd made up didn't reflect who Tiffany G actually was or what she wanted. It was a caricature - a strawman for fandom to band together and destroy. But there was a real human person being targeted by all that ire.

So what's going on?

Well, out in meat space, there is a lot of censorship and repression, from the U.K. banning protests to the U.S. banning everything from books to gender affirming care to a thousand other shitty things happening all over the globe.

And that can make people feel genuinely powerless. Making Up A Guy to destroy is easy. It makes people feel like they've accomplished something.

But they haven't accomplished anything.

Well, except for probably making one dedicated AO3 volunteer (Tiffany G) feel like shit. Good job, everyone. You didn't stop fascism, but you hurt one random person.

And this is what all the warnings about Antis harassing people are about, why they're broad instead of narrow and why they tend to overstate the [real!] problem.

Because it's about Making Up A Guy that fans can feel so brave for opposing.

Because that's easier than actually doing something.