Things I've seen tumblr memeing about James Somerton doing à la "How did no one see how bigoted he was!" as if those things haven't been a significant part of tumblr culture for over a decade :
Presenting untrue and bordering on conspiratorial versions of (queer or otherwise marginalised) history without any sources
Completely disregarding and disrespecting any expertise on socio-cultural topics/humanities and distrusting academics and historians (incl. acting as if no academics or historians could be queer or marginalised)
Downplaying the role misogyny played in the historical oppression of queer women and concluding that queer men must have been more oppressed than queer women
Bi women are, at best, not as queer as "real" queer ppl, and at worst, simply equivalent to straight women
Despite nominal trans inclusivity, transmasculine ppl are functionally women when convenient (combined with the above, bi transmascs are functionally straight women)
Despite nominal trans inclusivity (bis), shamelessly attacking, threatening and actively endangering any trans woman who questions them or smth they find important (often by unfairly presenting her as violent or as a threat)
Having absolutely fucking wild and reductive takes about ace ppl, the oppression they face and their place in the queer community
Stating that marriage equality is an assimilationist fight while completely ignoring its direct roots in the horrifying consequences of the AIDS crisis for partners of ppl who died of AIDS
Praising western media creators from the past for queer coding even under censure and in the same breath condemning current non western media creators for being homophobic bc their representation isn't explicit enough
Blaming China for all existing homophobic censoring in western media
Assuming all queer media would be better told by western creators and by western standards
Only out queer ppl get to tell queer stories
Heavily criticising almost all queer media created by women or ppl they see as such (see above points about trans ppl) or involving/starring a significant amount of women for any perceived or real amount of "problematicness", but fawning over and praising and negating criticism of queer media created by and starring mostly or even functionally exclusively men (even when it could be argued that, you know, not involving/seriously sidelining women is a pretty clear example of misogyny which should probably be considered "problematic")
And I'm probably forgetting stuff or there's stuff I have internalised myself and don't recognise as an issue
Like idk but I feel like the takeaway from Hbomberguy and Toddintheshadow's videos should maybe be "be aware of such patterns in your communities bc they definitely exist" and not "this guy is uniquely awful" and I feel like a lot of the discussion I've seen surrounding this has been severely failing at that. Most ppl who've spent any significant amount of time on tumblr prob either have internalised at least one of those thought patterns, have had to de-internalise them, or have had to be extremely vigilant to not internalise them (which is done by, you know, seeking out other sources, which also seemed like an important takeaway from the videos)
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The Revenant Wife
Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Mentions of grief and death.
Summary: Ellie knows very little of Joel and even less of the wife he had before the outbreak. When she finally meets you, its just as much as shock to her as it is to your husband.
Word count: 1.6k
Note: ficlet is based off of this previous post about Joel getting separated from his wife during the outbreak and assuming you died until you find one another years later. Reader is described to look like Sarah. Title came from the ever lovely @djarin-junk <3
Tagging those I think would enjoy: @pedrostories @thesadvampire @joel-mlller @softanon @max--phillips @captainsamwlsn @hooplahoopla @moondirti
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Ellie didn’t know that Joel had a wife.
Granted, she didn’t know much about his old life at all.
She knew he built things. That he had a brother named Tommy and a daughter named Sarah, but didn’t like to talk about the latter that much. In one fleeting conversation, full of mumbles as her eyes began to close while they rested under the night sky she heard him mention you but was far too gone to truly hear what he said. Nothing more than the vague rumble of his voice saying “my wife” before her eyes opened once more.
“You’re married?”
She asks with such incredulous shock it sounds more like “somebody married you?” but girls at her age hardly ever have filters.
“I was.”
There’s the same bristle in his throat and far off look in his eyes as when she first asked about his daughter. An open answer but one that carries enough unsaid to tell Ellie of your fate. To warn her that she should change the subject or simply shut her mouth and go to sleep before plucking his raw nerve one too many times until he snaps-
“What was she like?”
But Joel learned early on that Ellie wasn’t one to follow warnings.
“Kind.” His breath stutters. “But not a pushover- she didn’t take shit from anybody.” He stares up at the sky, feeling his chest grow tight and fingers twitch by his side until there’s a rustling, the girl next to him rolling over to face him and he turns to find Ellie peeking out from her sleeping bag with a smile.
Damn this girl.
“Not even from you?”
Joel scoffs. “Especially from me. The amount of times she gave me and Tommy and earful-” he shakes his head, Ellie watches a smile grow on his face in silence, as if worried she may frighten it away.
“Did she cook?”
Ellie thinks of the stories the older kids would tell her. The ones who remembered life before the Outbreak, who told her of freshly baked pies on weekend and fluffy pancakes in the morning.
Joel remembers the first time you tried to bake him a cake for his birthday back when he was sixteen. How he opened the door to your forlorn face and a store bought sheet cake in your hands because as your mother told him over the phone, you damn near burned the whole house down trying to bake for him as a surprise.
“From time to time.”
There was only so much she could get out of him before his voice became clipped and eyes full of an emotion she didn’t quite know the name of that he told her to get some rest. Leaving her with nothing to do but to stare at the sky and wonder about these stories in the shape of a woman who unveiled a little bit more about the mysterious man she traveled with.
Of all the silence and secrets that made up the man that protected her, she created stories to fill them. Stories of Joel Miller, husband, father, brother and badass contractor that everybody loved. Of his soldier brother, of his wife and their smiling daughter between them both.
In Ellie’s mind, you didn’t work.
But not in a ditzy lame way like some boring housewife. But just because you didn’t have to.
Joel said that everybody loved contractors so that means he probably got paid like, a ton of money to build stuff for people so you got to stay at home all day. Ellie imagined your house to be ginormous. Maybe Joel made it himself for you when you guys first got married. It was big enough that when Joel came home everyday he’d call out your name and it’d echo through the hall as you called him into the kitchen, where your daughter sat reading as you set dinner on the table. Sometimes you’d get upset if he came home late but then he’d kiss your cheek and you would roll your eyes but smile before you all sat down and ate as a family.
Ellie imagines Joel’s daughter, she wonders if Sarah looks more like her mother than her father.
Ellie wonders as the sleep takes over her body, if they could have been friends.
When it happens, months later after she’s come to think of Joel as something akin to family and he thinks of her as something he can’t say out loud just yet, she’s shocked. She’s face to face with a woman holding her at gunpoint that looks nothing like the smiling mother she dreamt of during cold nights.
You don’t match the stories Ellie made up in your head.
You’re mean.
No. Mean isn’t the right word.
Cold. Yes. you're very cold.
Ellie watches in shock as you ask where they're headed, gun focused on the center of her chest while the two boys at your side point their own at Joel, who has yet to speak.
She waits for him to answer, but he just stares at you in awe. The same man she’s seen kill and threaten to keep her safe day in and day out is rendered speechless until all he can do is utter your name and she realizes that he knows you. More than that, judging by the way he surrenders his gun to you with no fight, something she had never seen him do.
You lift your head to look at him, the brim of your hat raises just enough to clear the shadow cast over your face and Ellie can finally see your eyes and the snarl on your face.
You’re also very pretty.
“I won’t ask again.”
The two boys standing on either side of you have your eyes. Same color and intensity, narrowed into slits like guard dogs waiting for an order and Ellie sees the way Joel stares at them.
She wonders if Sarah had brothers.
“Out west.” He manages. “Takin’ her to her family.”
Your eyes move to her and she holds her hands higher in the air.
“That true?”
“What?”
“Is he telling the truth?”
The taller one, Duke, she had heard you call him, had already ripped the bag from her back and emptied its contents onto the ground, she had nothing else to hide from you.
But then she sees something in your eyes. A concern for her that she hadn’t seen since Tess or Marlene.
And she understands.
“He’s telling the truth.” Ellie forces out.
You watch her for a moment and there’s a moment of panic where she thinks you can see right through her lie.
But then you lower your gun and jerk your head over your shoulder.
“C’mon.” is all you say before you begin to walk away. The boys gawk at you for a moment before you give them a look of warning and they follow in your step, occasionally casting glances behind them at Joel and Ellie who follow suit.
She’s quick to grab onto the sleeve of Joel’s jacket and pull with a harsh whisper as the other’s march forward.
“You know this psycho?”
Joel flinches at her voice as it pitches up. If any of you heard her, which he gathered you did because Ellie didn’t have an inside voice to save her fucking life, you didn’t care enough to react.
Ellie whispers his name again. Insistent and angry for answers but he just keeps looking forward. He can’t take his eyes off of you or the boys ahead and it fills her with worry but she doesn’t know why.
“She’s my wife.”
You lead them to a cottage. Its paint is chipping and the fence is reinforced with wiring around the perimeter but it looks like a home. She can vaguely hear the soft clucking of chickens nearby and there's a flash of fur behind the fence with a pair of pointed ears that duck away just as fast as she saw them.
Ellie has seen the remnants of homes before the outbreak. The plates still stacked in the sink and the jacket still hung up on the hook. A story telling a family that once lived within its walls and is now nothing more than memories that ghosts along its foundation.
But this one is real. It’s yours.
There is a rickety wooden table in the dining room. Each chair around it seems to have been brought from a different house and is varying shades of faded brown. You kick the leg of one and nod toward it.“Sit, both of you.”
Ellie looks to Joel before sitting. He follows suit, choosing the chair closest to her.
“I’m gonna get some bandages for that leg-”
Joel shifts forward. “I don’t need-”
“I wasn’t fucking asking, Joel.”
You’re not stronger than Joel, if she had to guess. You both look the same age, but she’s seen his strength, his violence, all done for her safety and knows if it came down to it, you might not win in a fight against him.
But at your order, he sits back in his chair.
You turn and set a shoulder on your son’s shoulder.
At least. She thinks he’s your son.
Softly spoken words are exchanged while the other keeps his eyes on Joel and his hand on his holster. The boy says something back in insistence, but you tilt your head and he nods.
“If either of them try moving or taking anything.” You offer them one final look over your shoulder before slipping out of the room. “Shoot them.”
They listen to your footsteps slowly retreat until there’s nothing but the subtle creak and groan of the wood floor beneath them. Ellie leans forward to look at Joel, setting her hands firmly on the dinner table in announcement.
“Dude-” The young girl breathes out. “Your wife is a bitch.”
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Wow I have been nonstop thinking about tennis king yuuta and his little baby boy I’m going to kill you (affectionate) - @yuutito
teeheeeeeeeee….. here’s some more, aleks :’) enjoy :))))))
“Everybody thinks he looks like me, but I don’t see it that way. Maybe it’s because every time I look at him, I see my wife and I’m reminded of her […] I’m a little biased so I see her in everything.”
You find yourself with tears welling in your eyes the more you read into Yuuta’s latest magazine interview. Between his sweet quotes and the pictures of him with your son, it’s taking everything in you not to burst into full-blown tears.
Your boys look so handsome. You and Yuuta shared your concerns with publicizing your child at such a young age, but you two came to the conclusion that you’d rather have the control in the narrative than to let private family pictures be leaked uncontrollably. As another point of reassurance, Yuuta’s career provided him with just enough lime-light to be a household name without the crazy fame and criticism that came along being a true celebrity. Besides—Yuuta talked enough about you and your son in press conferences and interviews that it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.
The article wasn’t entirely about you, or your family—or at least, you’re sure it wasn’t intended to be; you knew your husband had a knack for rambling about his loved ones, even where work was concerned. As you continue to read, you find a segment where the author compared Yuuta’s current statements with something similar he’d said about you twelve years ago—at the very start of his professional career: “If I owe this [winning Gold] to anybody, it’s my girlfriend. She’s always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I wouldn’t have qualified or even thought to qualify if it weren’t for her.”
It feels like you and Yuuta were just two kids in love back then. You didn’t think it could be more than that—you didn’t think you could love Yuuta more than you did all those years ago, but somewhere along the way just being in love wasn’t enough to describe it; Yuuta became your partner, someone you loved fundamentally, but also because you couldn’t stand to see yourself without him. And just when you thought you couldn’t love anyone nearly as much as you love him, you turn the page to a picture of your husband and son peeping through the holes of a racket and your heart feels full.
When you scan the image more closely, you realize that it isn’t just any racket—it’s an old one, one you’d given to Yuuta as a gift probably back in high-school. You had no idea he’d kept it, but you suppose you shouldn’t be all that surprised; Yuuta is nothing if not sentimental.
“Ah, there she is~” Yuuta’s voice cuts through your thoughts. When you turn, you see him, with your baby boy on his hip, sliding the back porch door closed.
Both boys approach you with a smile on your face, and you set the magazine aside to sit up in the lounge chair to greet them. Yuuta presses a kiss to your forehead, then your lips before you do the same to your son. Immediately after, he reaches his arms out for you, and Yuuta chuckles, “You wanna be with your mama? Can’t blame you, I missed her, too.”
He hands the baby off to you, and takes a seat on the other end of the chair, reaching over to coo at his son as you smother his face in kisses.
“How was the farmer’s market?” you question, letting the baby settle into your lap.
“Good, he picked out some very bright peppers, and we got some more strawberries, know you’ve been craving them,” Yuuta smiles, reaching over to pat your son’s head, when the closed magazine catches his eye, and he reaches for it, quickly flipping through, “Ah—I guess that interview’s out. He’s grown so much, even though it was only a few months ago.”
You find the blush on his cheeks beyond endearing. Yuuta always finds room to be bashful no matter how many times he’s waxed poetic about his love for you, or his family—his cheeks always stain pink like the first day you met him.
“It’s sweet. You’re sweet,” you smile, sparing a hand to run through Yuuta’s hair, charmed by the way he leans into your touch, “I didn’t know you still had that racket.”
“Of course, I keep everything you give me,” he says, earnestly. He closes the magazine and scoots a little closer, taking advantage of the proximity and of your touch to lay his head on your shoulder, “Did you… read all of it?”
“Almost, but no, why?” you question, with a light-hearted grin, “Did you say something that would lead the world to believe you’re somehow even more in love with me? Because you might already be past the threshold, dear.”
Yuuta hums. He reaches to take you son out of your lap and carefully shifts himself to that he’s laying down, his head on your lap, and the baby in his arms, happily giggling and cooing as Yuuta holds him up. He lowers and raises him back and forth a few times, nuzzling their noses together when their faces are close, before sitting him up on his chest.
Then he tilts his head up to look at you, wide, love-filled eyes blinking slowly before he says, “Maybe… depends on if me saying I want more kids is past the threshold or not.”
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