#like. what the fuck is up with these ww2 men

[aemiron-main]

Currently going insane over the fact that a.) Victor is labelled as “Corporal” in the ST playbook, despite introducing himself to Mr. Newby as “Sergeant”-

-and b.) the fact that Adams and Hicks from the Eldridge crew were both listed as “corporal” by the actors despite Adams’ actor previously having listed him as “sargent”:

Which is especially interesting considering this bit from the ST4 Papa script re: “Sergeant Hicks”:

(and of course, Sgt. Hicks is involved in raiding the NINA bunker, hellooo TFS NINA weirdness!!!! also staring at this vs TFS Brenner Jr yelling at Henry about “any hick with a buck knife,” plus “Hickman Hill,” in the Elvis Cloned by Aliens Weekly Watcher article, PLUS the article from the end of ST1 talking about State Attorney Thomas E. Hickman (hello “E” as in (Edward”…) )

And I’m also staring at all of that/all of the weird Hicks vs Hickman vs Hickman Hill and the Hickman Hill alien ship stuff vs a.) the way that both Victor and Hicks get their officer title changed vs how Victor’s uses alien movie-esque language in the foyer (talking about how “they’re here,” and he’s NOT referring to Henry and Patty, instead, the identity of the “they” that Victor is referring to is unclear, and gets wrapped into his WW2 flashbacks/he then talks about being able to smell the smoke from “their” bodies, so weirdly enough, the victims of Victor’s WW2 bombing misfire are getting paralleled to aliens)

(especially with the fact that in-show Victor’s casting auditions were done by having the actors read from the script for the movie “Signs,” which is an alien movie)

b.) the way that Brenner Jr talks about making a connecting/making the connection & how that also has very similar alien movie-esque vibes re: “making contact”/“making a connection” with aliens

And c.) the Eldridge being a ship vs the spaceship supposedly seen above Hickman Hill vs Hicks being a sailor on the Eldridge.

But anyway, what the hell is going on with the weird mismatched WW2 officer titles??? Especially considering what I talked about wayyyy back re: Victor in Normandy on D-Day versus D-Day’s huge communication & chain of command problems & how that resulted in soldiers doing the duties of ranks they werent supposed to be doing/basically accidentally rising in the ranks… Versus TFS Victor introducing himself as being a rank above his “actual” (according to the play book, at least) rank, as Sergeants are ranked above Corporals.

And all of this gets extra interesting with the fact that there’s a direct reference to Welcome to Marwen (the movie from the ST4 board where a guy pretends to be a WW2 captain to cope with trauma & creates a whole fake little town as part of it hellloo hawkins esp with ‘welcome to marwen’ vs ‘welcome to hawkins’) during the scene where Mr. Newby and Victor meet for the first time… hahaha what the hell is going on???

Especially re: the parallel between Victor’s “corporal vs sergeant” stuff vs the Eldridge crew’s “corporal vs sergeant” stuff versus the Eldridge crew & Captain Brenner also having references to Welcome to Marwen…

[indigosabyss]

Unexpected Baggage

Erik should have realized Schmidt would do it again. How had he been naive enough to think that he would be the last child tortured by that man?

He had given up the last lead he had on Schmidt to save the girl he had seen being dragged around by the mad man's followers. He was trying very hard to not regret it. Reminding himself that the girl was like him.

Here were the facts: he was in France under false pretenses, his reason for living wasn't dead yet, and there was an American teenager following him who wouldn't stop talking.

"-and all I wanted to do was get Monica back!" The girl threw her hands up, "My family is probably having my funeral already."

Maybe he shouldn't have started tuning her out. That sounded like important context.

He turned around to look at her, feeling slightly bad as he watched her pull down the sleeve of her jacket from where it was riding up. She kept doing that. He didn't want to ask why.

"Listen, kid-"

"Kamala."

"-which part of America are you from? I'll try to get you home, so you can tell them to call off the funeral, in-person."

She screwed up her nose as she thought out loud, "It's the sixties, right? Well that means my Nani is in Pakistan, right now. Probably just about to meet my Nana, so my parents are definitely not alive yet, and to answer your question-" She paused to breathe, "I don't think I qualify as an American right now."

The first thing that came to mind was that she sounded incredibly American for someone who claimed not to be. Was that what a Pakistani accent sounded like?

The second thought, once he actually digested what she said, slipped out before he could control himself:

"What the hell?"

"Surprise!" She did jazz hands weakly, "I'm a bit of a time traveler. And, I'm hoping, a dimension traveler."

If she was right about that, Erik was incredibly glad he'd gotten her out of Shaw's hands.

[Has nothing to do with my Gwentin Takes On X-Men First Class fic. I just enjoy this movie and think the most emotionally competent person in marvel movie history will probably fix this mess]

[neroushalvaus]

Tumblr in the 60s

☮ monkeewholock follow

🎉🎉CONGRATULATIONS UNITED KINGDOM 🎊🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉BYE BYE GROSS INDECENCY!!!!🌈🌈🌈 62 countries have now legalized sexual activities between men🌈🌈🌈

🐞 homophilespock follow

SPIRK CAN FINALLY FUCK

🚀 starrfleet follow

They are American, not British... But I'm pretty sure spirk has always been able to fuck since the show is set in the future.

📻 lesbianbobdylan follow

Christ, this is not about your cutesy uwu yaoi otp, go outside and smoke some grass

10,8 t. notes

🌻 flowerpower follow

Politicians are not your friends but damn Kennedy is fine, I look at one (1) picture of him and my head literally explodes

🌻 flowerpower follow

...i just woke up, why is my askbox full

🌻 flowerpower follow

WHY IS HE TRENDING I'M SCARED

🌻 flowerpower follow

guys stop reblogging this it's been like five years i've changed

290,9 t. notes

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

do you think they call him little richard because he has a little. Richard

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

easy website

58,1 t. notes

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Being the only lesbian in your friend group sucks so bad. "beatles or stones??" i will kill you

🗣 lavendermenaceisreal-deactivated72537262

Disrespecting female social groups for male validation? Typical lesbian behaviour.

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Mike Jacker isnt gonna fuck you

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Oh no I think she couldn't handle that

77 notes

✌ draftdodgerdyke

DM me for the addresses of my Swedish and Canadian friends. Do not put your personal information in the reblogs.

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

You should be ashamed of yourself.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

huh??

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

I said, you should be ashamed of yourself. You disgust me. I assure you, when the commies attack us, you will not find your silly little post "groovy" anymore.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Jesus, don't flip your wig

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

My father fought in ww2 for you ungrateful degenerate.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Don't see what your daddy's unsexiness has to do with me and my lads taking a sexy sexy trip to Sweden.

#anyway only hot guys dodge the draft

587 notes

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

in every interview i watch of the beatles they are so DONE and trolling everybody, these fucking annoying BITCHES, i need them inside me so badly

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

#this but not john lennon #i just can't forget the heinous things he said about jesus

idk I actually think it was very sexy of him, stop trying to cancel john in my post

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

The reading comprehension on this website is piss poor. John literally didn't mean he was greater than Jesus or better than Jesus, he was just trying to make a point about the world becoming more secular. Cancel culture has gone too far.

🚷 to-hell-with-the-beatles follow

How dare you say we piss on the poor?? Jesus died for Mr Lennon's sins and it's not "cancelling" to send him a few respectably worded death threats to remind him of that. He cancelled our Lord first!

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

Girl Jesus literally said it's cool, I dropped acid yesterday and saw Him and He told me.

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

help the girls (christians) are fighting in my beatles thirst post

6,008 notes

🛼 donovandyke follow

I will be glued to the tv today. If you don't want to hear about it, just blacklist #moonlanding !!

0 notes

🗣 claudeberger4ever-deactivated98975287

Hi I'm new to the Hair musical fandom so I'm not super invested in the whole discourse, but I just felt like this needed to be said: Friendly reminder that not being against the war in Vietnam does not make you a bad person!

🥁 ringoforpresident follow

it literally does tho

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Another win for us hot guys

17,2 t. notes

[she-wolf09231982]

Joe Liebgott

“You Nervous?”

Summary: You thought your relationship with Liebgott was complicated…until it wasn’t and it led to an unexpected evening of overwhelming emotions and sexual tension.

A/N: One shot, Mature audience, JoeLoebgottx!FemMedic, WW2, Female Pronouns, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Military and Medical Terminology, Inappropriate Nicknames, HBO Band of Brothers References, Mentions/Descriptions of Injuries, Weaponry, Smoking. Angst/Conflict, Smut, FOREVER FLUFF

This piece was at the request of @awaterfalls ❤️ hope you like it Nat!

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

You weren’t the type to take being treated like a doormat. You were raised to find your place amongst others regardless of gender. You earned your respect because you did your job and you did it well, not because you were pretty and the guys wanted to bed you.

It was heavily frowned upon that women be on the front lines alongside men, but when nurses and medics started to get caught in the crossfire, they resorted to allowing females to do just about everything men did to fill the gaps. You had been assigned to Easy Company right after Toccoa, and most of them were less than receptive to say the least.

Eugene Roe was grateful to have an extra set of hands. Don Malarkey, Skip Muck, and George Luz were very taken with your sense of humor so they warmed up to you rather quickly. Joe Toye, Bill Guarnere, and Babe took some time, but when you tackled Bill to avoid getting blown up by enemy artillery, their demeanor towards you made a complete 360.

Easy accepted you as one of their own…except for one: Joseph Liebgott. He was the most ornery son of a bitch you ever met. He always found a reason to trash talk you, or find fault in anything you did. All because you were a ‘broad,’ as he referred to you. The guys tried to defend you but his opinion never changed about you.

You learned to just avoid him unless he needed medical attention. He did alright not getting hurt up until you guys posted in Schoonderlogt, Holland in October 1944. He had been on patrol late one night and returned with an angry gash on the right side of his neck. One of the other patrolmen they brought back, Alley, had been hit by German gunfire and needed immediate attention.

They set Alley onto a table for when Doc got there

"Boyle, get Doc." Winters instructed then looked at Liebgott, "Where?"

"Crossroads." Liebgott replied. You notice he took a dressing and pressed it against his neck.

"Well, if it wasn't for your loud mouth-" he started to accuse Joe.

"-Hey, you know what? Back off!" Liebgott shot back as Roe pushed through the gaggle.

"Get the boots off, elevate...Lieb use the sulfur... Doc directed but noticed Joe’s neck.

“Lieb, go see Y/L/N and get that checked out.��� Doc added.

“Yeah, no thanks, Doc, I’m good.” Liebgott said all too quickly with disdain.

“Joe, I wasn’t askin’ ya. It needs to be cleaned and dressed properly, it can get infected then you’ll have a bigger problem to deal with that will take you off the line. Go. I ain’t got enough hands to help ya.” Doc said sternly.

Liebgott released an irritable huff before pushing through the group to find where you were.

You had already grabbed gauze, dressings and sanitizing fluid when you heard Doc scold Joe about getting his neck looked at. He sat on a bale of straw waiting for you to tend to him. You spread out the supplies and examine his neck wound. You reach out to gently move his head to the left to get more light on it and he dodged your touch.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” He asked harshly.

“I was moving your head where I had more light on the wound. Why are you so squirrely?” You ask.

“Oh, I don’t know, because I just got shot at by a bunch of fuckin’ Krauts!” He replied sarcastically as he glared at you.

“Ok well then let’s get this fixed, shall we?” You returned with as much calmness in your voice as you could muster.

You press the cloth with the antiseptic onto his laceration and he pulled back upon feeling the sting.

“Ack! THAT HURT!” He barked.

“If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much!!”You bit back.

You were over his childish behavior towards you.

“Just get it over with.” He grumbled, finally maintaining his composure.

You made your hands busy on his neck, wrapping the dressing like a scarf around his neck after you cleaned it. Thank goodness you didn’t need to stitch it, that would’ve been hell for both of you with his attitude.

“There. You’re good.”

“Fantastic.” He replied without a thank you.

He stood up and trudged off to join the rest of Easy for the return to Crossroads to reclaim the position. The patrol had been gone all night into the following morning, but they had eventually took victory. That evening, Winters allowed the men an evening of enjoyment at a local pub in the town to boost morale.

The men had worn their dress uniforms, each looking handsome and ready to mingle with the local women and vice versa. You hadn’t dressed up since graduating Toccoa and even then, you hadn’t been with Easy Company then, so this would be the first time they ever saw you in dress uniform,

“Hey! Get a load of this!” Toye called out to the guys when you breezed through the front door.

Liebgott standing at the bar looked over his shoulder upon feeling the cold air on the back of his neck. His jaw dropped when his eyes landed on you. He scanned your figure from head to toe.

Hair clean and perfumed pulled back into a neat fashionable bun and a face with fresh make-up and painted lips. And those gams (legs) emerging from the pencil skirt and heels and of course a clean white medic brassard displaying the Red Cross around the left bicep. You almost had the entire room at a complete standstill when you walked in.

“…Woah.” Joe whispered to himself, unaware that Talbert was near by.

“Not bad, eh, Lieb?” Tab teased.

He grimaced at Floyd and turned back to the bar to drink his beer.

The night was filled with laughter, darts, dancing, and liquor. Most of Easy had at least one dance around the room with you to favorites like Bing Crosby, Ella Fitzgerald, and The Andrew Sisters. You had just finished a dance with Toye sometime around midnight when a soldier from Dog Company had approached you.

“May I have this dance?” He asked politely with a slight bow.

Joe, standing with Buck, Luz, Babe, and Toye, watched with intensity from the dart boards.

“Maybe the next song.” You reply kindly, having just sat down for the first time in an hour.

“Come on, doll, ain’t no time like the present, right?” He insisted yanking you be the arm to the dance floor.

Liebgott’s clenched jaw and furrowed eye brows caught the attention of Toye.

“Hey, uh, you ok there, Lieb?”

Joe looked at Toye inquisitively.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, you look a little…pissed.” Toye said plainly.

“Well, I ain’t.” Joe retorted.

He looked back at the dance floor to see where you were but was suddenly concerned he couldn’t find you right away. He saw the unknown soldier had taken you to the bar to get you a drink.

He handed you a pint and insisted you drink the whole thing.

“You said you could drink me under the table, so prove it!” He said.

“Fine, just this once.” You accepted.

You started to chug the pint, but when you started to lower the glass before it was empty, the soldier tilted the bottom up so you’d keep drinking. You finished and propped the glass open side down on the surface of the bar.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to my-“ you started before the soldier grabbed your upper arm.

“Oh we ain’t done here, honey.” He declared.

You tried to pull yourself out of his grasp but he pulled you in by the waist to hold you close.

“Get your meat hooks off of me.” You warned through clenched teeth.

“Or what?” He mocked.

“Or you’ll have half of Easy raining down on you.”

You hear a gravelly voice behind the brute soldier. He turned and there stood Joe Liebgott squaring up to him. Behind him Toye, Malarkey, Guarnere, and Luz.

“Come on, guys, there’s enough ladies here to go around, why can’t I have a little fun with this one?”

“Because she don’t wanna have fun with you.” Joe shot back, “Let her go.”

The soldier released your arm, as Liebgott gently tugged you behind him by your wrist.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Liebgott said to him as they all walked with you to the dart boards.

Suddenly you feel Joe’s hand on the small of your back, guiding you to a more secluded spot in the back of the pub.

“What the fuck is the matter with you??” He sneered at you, positioning you against the wall to talk to you.

“Excuse me?”

“You fuckin’ heard me. Why would you put yourself in a position like that? That guy could’ve walked out with you easily with as much as you drank tonight.” He lectured.

“How do you know how much I’ve been drinking? And what business is it of yours who I’m interacting with anyway?” You returned crossing your arms.

Joe took in a deep breath through his nose as his anger started to elevate in his chest.

“If I wasn’t watching out for you, you would’ve gotten yourself into some real shit.”

He leaned in placing a hand against the wall you leaned on. His face hovering centimeters from your own. You feel his breath on your face, and notice his pupils blown out from what you thought was hate and detestation for you.

His eyes undressed you from your red lips down to your fitted blouse then looked into your eyes. Your breathe started to hasten, causing your chest to heave.

“You nervous?” Joe questioned.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“-no.” You breathed.

He moved closer to you, pinning you against the wall as your chests touched. Your arms relaxed to your sides as your nails dug into the brick behind you. You were, indeed, very nervous. And he knew it.

The scowl Joe had slowly curled into a mischievous grin.

“I think you are.” He whispered confidently as his hand cupped your cheek.

Your eyelashes fluttered, “Wh-what are you doing?” You managed to ask.

His thumb stroked your cheek, “Admiring the view.”

You released an exhale after holding your breath for almost 5 minutes.

“I thought you hated me?”

He brushed his nose against yours, “No. As a matter of fact, I always liked ya.”

“Then why-“

Before you could finish your sentence, he closed the gap between you, locking onto your lips like it was his dying wish.

You snake your arms carefully around his neck as he pulled you into him by your waist. You slack your jaw open to allow his tongue to run along your lips. You nip his bottom lip playfully causing his hips to thrust into you.

You yanked at his jacket, pulling him into you again to feel his hard on against you. He groaned into your mouth.

“What are you doin’ doll?” He asked with a devilish grin.

“I really don’t know but-“ you pull him in again, bringing his earlobe gently between your teeth then whisper, “we can’t stop now.”

“Let’s get outta here.” Joe suggested ushering you out the back door.

~~~~~~~

You snuck off to one of the abandoned homes down the street from where you were and barely got through the door before you were undoing his belt. You kicked of your shoes into darkness then made your way up a flight of stairs leaving pieces of your uniforms trailing the steps as you ascended.

When you were down to your slip and him down to his briefs, you scamper off to an open bedroom hoping he’d chase you…which he did. You kneeled on the bed waiting for him to come to you. He approached standing at the bedside.

You seductively crawled over to the edge of the bed and suckled a trail of kisses from his collar bone all the way down the waistband of his underwear. Joe inhaled deeply through is nostrils as he closed his eyes in ecstasy. You nip and licked at the sensitive area above his pubic line.

“Quit teasin’.” Joe purred.

“Or what?” You ask looking up at him through your lashes.

A joker like smile appeared across his face as he swiftly pushed you onto you back then crawled over you, caging you between his arms.

“You’re asked for it, sweeheart.” He proclaimed before locking onto your mouth again.

His hardened cock grinding into you, you wrap your legs around his waist to feel as much of his friction as possible. He pulls back and began pulling your slip over your head then sat back on his heels to remove his underwear.

He gaped at you laying in front of him. He ran his hand from your stomach up to one breast, groping it then repeating on the other. He hovered over you, enveloping one of your peaked nipples in his mouth. His tongue swirling over the tip while sucking had you writing beneath him. Sensing your pleasure he switched to the other, taking the tip between his teeth.

“Please, Lieb.” You beg.

“Joe.” He corrected.

You look at him.

“I want to hear you scream my name a hundred times before the end of the night.” He growled.

You beam at him, “Please, Joe.”

He palmed himself, pumping a few times before he lined himself up with your drenched opening. He glazed his tip with your wetness, groaning at the amount of saturation.

“I really did a number on you, didn’t I?” He goaded.

All you could do was smile coyly.

He pushed into you deliciously slow. You whimper, both of you feeling every bit of your tightness around him. He embraced you instinctively until he bottomed out. He pulled back gradually, then snapped his hips forward against you with a grunt.

“Jesus Christ, Y/F/N.”

“Please, Joe.” You implore quietly in his ear.

This triggers him as he begins spearing into you roughly. He sits up, propping your legs up where he can hold you around the thighs as he drives into, hitting that perfect spot so deep inside. You push against the headboard to steady yourself onto his dick, feeling that tightening feeling in your stomach as he chased your orgasm.

He watched your face expressions purposefully, feeding off how they changed as he switched up his pace.

“Joe…” you’d moan, spurring him on to go harder.

“Yeah, sweetheart, say it again.”

“My God, Joe…”

He brought his fingers to your clit, using your slick to vigorously rub the vulnerable bud as he continued to plunge in and out of you. He loved watching you get overstimulated as you try to paw at him to pull him back into kiss.

“Right there, Joe…keep goin’.” You lament.

“Yeah? Let it go, baby.” He leered as he railed into you at a heart stopping rate.

“Oh…my GOD, JOE!” You wailed as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

He kept his pace, making sure you ride out your high until the guttural noises that emitted from him as his hips started to stutter and his load coated your insides.

He remained on top of you and inside of you, holding you like a life line with sweat dripping from everywhere. Both of you breathing in sync, each of you trying to steady your heart rates.

After a moment, you decided to break the silence.

“That was…wow.”

Joe chuckled then rolled off of you as he positioned your head on his chest.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, sweetheart.”

~~~~~~~

[remarcely]

When people start to claim in years to come that everyone was fooled by Zionism and that nothing could have stopped Israel, it will be the duty of everyone else to tell them to shut the fuck up.

Because if I, a random 20-something year old in the UK who doesn't follow politics or mainstream media, could understand the day after the attack in October 2023 what was going on, so could the people working on the news. So could politicians, so could world leaders, just like the thousands upon thousands of people world wide that have protested every day since.

There will never be peace until there is no profit in war. Our Prime Minister in the UK will never stop the arms deals, admit fault, or acknowledge the UK's part in the establishment of Israel after WW2, not just for the money but because then they will be liable and possibly sanctioned by the ICJ. They'll keep digging a hole, pretending they're on the right side of history and shifting all blame, while the dismembered bodies of men, women, and children of Palestine will be dropped into that dirt in mass graves.

Write to your local MP's, attend protests if you can, boycott companies that support the genocide, donate to families in Palestine, and- most importantly- keep talking about current events, both online and IRL.

[imustbenuts]

i finished metaphor refantazio which means i can talk about this game's themes with a working braincell now.

under the read more: pre-ww2 japanese history and religion fuckery. word vomit for anyone who might be interested in my perspective

Major spoilers head

i was RIGHT about louis being enamored with the royal family in some way and having a buttfuck ton of the royal family flowers in his room in his airship. i think this plot point is now heavily hinted at but currently discarded due to development/writing hell. i think louis probably followed hythlodaeus v out of the sanctum in extreme admiration. he has a lot of similarities with More in that they both had reality + lonliness crushed into their faces. his current self in the game is driven by despair and fear.

this is interesting bc theres actually also a lot of allusion to japanese pre-ww2 history going on from my admittedly very limited knowledge. so here goes:

There's a lot about Louis that reminds me of the whole shitshow going down during the Meiji era up until ww2. the gist of this past 200 odd years was that the western world came in knocking with christianity as a tool for colonization. which was understandably yikes, so they shut themselves off, only to then get another visitation later with pretty intimidating technology in the form of iron steamships with cannons. gunboat diplomacy. this meant that a previously imperialistic japanese society build on conquering had to react/adapt to this drastic force like fucking whiplash.

so they pretty much went from pro-military samurai shogunate to pro-emperor. the gist is there was a very pro-emperor-god-king rhetoric going on that sought to rid anything inconvenient towards that narrative. to keep people in line yes but to also get japan big and powerful enough to sit with the same western colonial powers.

so in place of the old caste system under the shogun, there eventually were now oligarchies, far right military factions etc under the emperor. only something like the top 5% of the population had a say in this new democracy system they set up too. (it got way more democratic in the 1930s? not sure. but what im saying here is 1860s-1900 ish at least)

so things were going. for a while. messy, full of 'expel the foreigners, revere the emperor' rhetoric but it was going.

then more depression happened and the overall economy went to shit in 1900. that era leading up to ww2 had a lot of young men in Japan being extremely nationalist and pro military, in part due to a whiplash of culture change and in other due to poverty. (ive come across the topic of white rice being offered for those who conscript. white rice was seen as the emperor's luxury food so that was somewhat of a draw to young men back then.) There were a lot of far right political factions and assassinations going on. international relations were also imploding bc the military had this idea that japan was the superior divine race and they were destined to conquer the world/asia. so they did some sabotaging false flag operation shit in manchuria in order to try and start a world war. (Mukden incident. 1931)

Which is then not a surprise that in 1932 a prime minister by the name of Inukai Tsuyoshi got assassinated by a bunch of far right pro military guys in their 20s. They were even then praised by the judge bc of their act being seen as pro-emperor and therefore patriotic. Bc again emperor god king delusion.

(read up on the League of Blood incident where these people also plotted to kill the oligarchs and liberal politicians. they uh actually succeeded in some cases btw. look, too much shit.)

meanwhile, the emperor, Hirohito, wanted peace, wanted better foreign international relations and relayed his desires to the same Inukai Tsuyoshi, but the military was going out of control. (and Inukai got assassinated so the position of prime minister is now Not Safe.) so out control they eventually became beyond any civilian/state control and bam ww2. pearl harbor and all that stuff.

(i havent read up on what kind of person hirohito actually is so ill refrain on commenting on his character. but in terms of actual power over his country hes VERY Hythlodaeus V in metaphor)

so while there isnt an organized religion in the form of a church, there is absolutely an element of religious and military fanaticism in that era.

So Louis has a lot of this vibes going on. He was also a young military boy. Is young probly in his 20s. Has a lot of royal flowers in his skyrunner that points towards this royal family worshiping thing. Seized control of a military faction that went completely out of control from the state. Is of some 'pure blood' race if his elda bloodline is any indication. Murdered the pro-equality but failed figure head bc he did not live up to Louis' expectations and was responsible for a lot of failures in the state policy. started a false flag operation that resulted in people dying and forced to leave an area.

also, did i mention lowkey eugenics? yeah that same imperial military was big on this too. the strong will survive the weak will be culled etc etc.

Meanwhile the mc gels well with the benevolent emperor narrative that is popular in JP media even today. I think it could be some indicator of how the general japanese feels towards the royal family, since supposedly an emperor is sworn to an oath of leading with valor, wisdom and benevolence. These are also represented by 3 regalia, a sword, a mirror and a jewel, presented during the official coronation ceremony.

The regalias might be treasures from different tribes originally, at least that's what some scholars think.

So I won't be surprised if the Drakodilos lance ends up being a part of the imperial treasure thing after the mutsari tribe gets protected under law. the mustaris here are the aforementioned 'different tribes' thing.

in fact, more on this topic with the mustaris. these people arent just random tribal people, to me they are more south/south east asian people. their biome is jungle island like, which means polynesian, and places like philippines, vietnam, thailand, indonesia etc.

the brown/tan skin is found in a lot of SEAsians, and the third eye is too a popular asian mysticism thing. it is especially prevalent in hinduism and buddhism. the idea is that a 3rd eye means enlightenment, or at least the ability to perceive the unperceivable.

if we subsitute sanctism with shinto, then theres some parallels here to be had with whats going on at the time too. bc the funny thing im seeing here is, shinto is sanctism, and mustari's religion has big buddhsim vibes without the name.

(that mustari arc boss looks like a twisted banged up buddha/boddhisattva what with the prayer position and multi arms thing going on)

in that pre-ww2 time period, shinto buddhism was going through a split and defining in order to prop up the emperor god king narrative. this process meant suppressing elements of buddhism. wont get into the reeds of this, but know that buddhism originated in india in a response against the hindu caste system. so in a way, a 'foreign' religon.

now, there is absolutely a thing going on here where Me:Re can come off as inherently pro-emperor and even a little pro-japanese nationalist, what with the whole 1 nation of vaguely SEAsians under a (japanese written) king thing. frankly, as a SEAsian this is gross but nothing surprising considering how hard Me:Re feels like an echo of pre ww2 jp politics. and also how jp media tends to be with topics surrounding this. im iffy on the japanese nationalist part, bc the needle is definitely moving in terms of racism/colorism today, and in the game lacks certain elements for me to see it as a big red flag.

that said, i wont immediately napalm the intentions behind this game to the ground. this game has got excellent commentary on racism and some stuff about policies. its got nuance. it is even a criticism against how the old japanese empire tried to go about doing things. it is open to the idea of democracy and even seems to say that politics arent perfect and can fail but its better to try than not at all.

this is far more valuable than blatant doomerism imo.

all this is why in the final segment, we fight More in the middle of shibuya scramble. this isnt just meta for the sake of meta, its allusion to their history specifically. this game is NOT so much a criticism about organized religion as it is about governance in relation to its people. this game is talking about politics without specific policies.

i can respect that despite all the major ick i might have.

this is why despite saying oppression is bad, it doesn't have any queer representation because it's leaning towards a conservative pro emperor ideology on the overall spectrum. Queerness is not part of that century old conversation at all in this context so take this as you will.

(personally the fact that queerness is not even remotely touched on means the overall thoughts on opression hasnt radically changed. Personally, this, specifically, sucks. Bc this means this narrative feels like it could've been easily released even 20 years ago and brought the exact same challenge to the table but ymmv. I suppose this is why people have been saying the game reminds them of old jrpgs.)

sooo yeah Me:Re is very much a big middle finger to fanaticism, but is also very japanese history at its roots. i had fun, and it def made me think

[bubbles-on-the-tide-of-empire]

Alright strap in folks. We're speculating wildly.

What if the opera singer:

Is actually this woman:

Margery Booth (According to her Wikipedia. All of this is Wikipedia. I haven't watched the 2014 movie yet) was a British born opera singer born in 1906. After studying opera in London and having a succesful career she married a German man named Dr Egon Strohm and moved to Germany early in the 1930's. She continued her opera career in Germany.

When WW2 broke out the Nazi's sort of trusted her, and she was sent to a place called Stalag III-D in Berlin. It was a camp for foreign-born people that Germnay was hoping to turn into spies against the Allies.

Margery however, was a fucking badass. Instead of spying for Germany, she worked with another prisoner to get the details of traitors in the camp and sent word to warn the Allies.

She sang for Hitler at least once while carrying secret papers hidden in her dress.

She was arrested by the fucking Gestapo in 1944 as a suspected spy, and didn't break under torture.

After the war she provided information that was used to help convict two men: American and British, both Nazi collaborators, both of whom were hung for treason.

Upon returning to London she was shunned because people thought she was a Nazi sympathizer. She moved to New York were she died of breast cancer in 1952, aged just 46.

----------------------------------------------

Pros:

the apperances of both women match (if not perfectly, well enough)

She appears to be about the right age. If we're going with the WW2 theory and use a estimated year of 1944, Margery would've been about 36. My reading of the opera singers age is 35-45.

I read a little smirk of defiance in Opera Singer's face before she starts screaming. Does she have a secret?

Reading the scream as "You brought me here to dance for you, but you don't own me. I will perform because I must. But I am at this very second working against you" feels valid.

I think using her and the fact that she helped convict both a British and American fascist is a good "It's all of us. No one is immune from the stench and reach of facism" point.

I would not be suprised in any way to find out that Gerard knew about Margery and wanted to talk about her. From the very little I know (again, only her very short Wikipedia) she seems like a hero and an absolute badass. If he loves Joan of Arc, he'd love Margery.

Cons:

From the few pictures I can find of Margery the eyebrows don't match, and that's a very easy thing to fix with makeup.

This theory doesn't explain the reactions of the men at the beginning of the video.

Hitler is not in this video.

I have no reason to believe this theory other then two hours of googling trying to figure out if the Opera Singer looked like anyone famous and eventually ending up at the google search "were any german opera singers spies?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Either way I'm glad I got to learn a little bit about Margery Booth. I feel sad for her. She died young and she died tragic. I hope she's at peace now.

[gerec]

Do you have any fic recs where Charles or Erik is a spy? I’ve been loving spy fics set against a WWII backdrop but any type is welcome!

Hi Anon!

Here's a list I made previously for an Anon who asked for 'James Bond' type aus. I think you'll find a few spy aus there to enjoy!

Also, here are some WW1/WW2 and others that didn't make the previous list :D

Spy Games by manic_intent

Prompt: Burn Notice AU, with Erik Lehnsherr as the spy and Charles as the trigger-happy ex boyfriend. Erik is burned for unknown reasons in Mexico and wakes up in New York City. Somehow, he needs to raise $500,000, in order to find out -why-.

Hier steh ich an den Marken meiner Tage by MonstrousRegiment

Erik Lehnsherr is a spy in the SS, and his British liaison is strategist Charles Xavier. Their relationship from the moment they meet to a year after the end of the war.

“You’re the only person in the world who knows what I am.”

Duct Tape Makes You Smart by AlchemyAlice

For a prompt at 1stclass_kink : X-Men via Burn Notice. "My name is Charles Xavier. I used to be a spy..."

Erik Lehnsherr's Baby and Child Care: 1st Ed. by ourgirlfriday * (Erik is a retired spy)

When everyone told Erik that having children would change things, he agreed wholeheartedly. For one, they’d need to get more food from the grocery store, and recalibrate the booze to juice ratio currently used in the apartment. He and Charles would have to either eschew mid-afternoon couch sex or become much stealthier about said mid-afternoon couch sex. The office, currently overflowing with Charles’s genetics texts and Erik’s maps and dossiers, would have to be converted to a baby room. They’d need toys of some sort or another. And he’d most certainly no longer be able to leave spare grenades on the end tables.

a fish hook; an open eye by fabeld 

Charles Xavier’s wealth protects him from mandatory service in the British Armed Forces, but he refuses to sit idly by when his telepathy can be used to assist the Allied Powers. As a British spy, Charles gains the Nazi Party’s trust and is sent to Paris to complete one last mission. His plan is disrupted when he runs into someone he never thought he would see again.

Trading No Secrets by feathershollyandgolly

Charles Xavier is an MI6 Agent with the terrible habit of asking questions when he shouldn’t. Erik Lehnsherr is a freelance Nazi Hunter working under Mossad. With nothing in common, they are not partners and they certainly are not friends (at least, not yet).

Mr & Mr Eisenhardt by faerie_ground (I know they're technically assassins not spies but it's too good lol)

“Now,” Mr Howlett says, and clicks his irritatingly pink pen. “How happy are you with your marriage? On a scale of one to ten.”

“Eight,” Charles says.

“That’s a rubbish scale,” Erik says. “You can’t fucking measure happiness on a scale. How are we supposed to know how much happiness differs between each number? What, are we just supposed to guess? Also, does one mean most happy or least happy? Also-”

Charles closes his eyes and looks like he wants to suffocate himself using one of the cushions.

*

Charles Haller and Erik Eisenhardt meet at a bar, fall in love, and get married. Neither of them know that the other is an assassin working for a rival agency- but they're about to find out real soon.

[tum-blrweed]

I think a thing that is pretty obvious now is that Israel is NOT going to STOP, so what we have to do is to MAKE them STOP.

People listen! Do what you can to help Palestine. Make posters, post about it on social media, talk about it, write about it, donate, sign petitions, call your congress, boycott, protest and etc!

I know it might not feel like enough. But it's still something, especially if everyone does it! If people in the past were able to start revolutions and overthrow governments. Who says we can't do anything now? There's power in teamwork, even if you're working with strangers to stop a fucking genocide!

Also important note, when I say protests I'm not talking about those violent protests that we see on TV. No.

You people remember Mahatma Gandhi? He was a wise man. We should follow his footsteps.

Trying to stop violence with more violence will only result in more hurt and death. And that's the last thing anyone needs right now.

But that's what governments of many countries do. They use MILLIONS on weapons that they send off to Israel (or Ukraine, Russia, etc) instead of actually trying to stop the fucking conflict. That kills people. Kids, women, men, seniors die. Soldiers on BOTH sides die. Meaning that not only are thousands of lives lost.

But families lose family.

Another thing people always seem to not think about is that war is not just killing each other. It's also about recovering from it. And not every country is able to do that!! Especially in Palestine's case because of how poor it is already. Because the amount of damage war does to a country is unimaginable. Not only is the economy and everything fucked, but so are people, physically and psychically. PTSD and C-PTSD will affect so many. So many that generational trauma will affect people decades later. So Israel is not only taking lives and ruining lives of the people that are lucky to survive. But also ruining lives of generations of Palestinian people that aren't even born yet!

There's people still affected by WW2 because of generational trauma in 2024, my own damn parents included. Generational trauma is not a fucking joke.

Hah, but obviously this will only happen if there will even be any Palestinians alive to have children. Since Israel isn't fucking stopping. Israel doesn't care about Palestinians! They kill everyone in sight and take over Palestinian territory!

One step at the time. The first one being: making as many people aware of the genocide and working together to stop it.

I want to summarise this with;

STOP THE FUCKING GENOCIDE

PEOPLE SPEAK UP

[cherubispunk]

UP IN YOUR ARMS (CHAPTER ONE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.

a note from Lucy: chapter one! I'm digging my own grave here. thats all im saying. i promise it is focused on joel and the reader later in the chapter. im just setting the scene for differnt relationships in the series.

playlist

wc: 6969 (haha lol) Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.

series m.list | m.list

The jazz band was one of the finest groups in the city. ‘Only the finest for The Canary Club’, as Johnny had put it. 

Johnny Boy Finnick. 

Now he was a man. Played sports in college, muscular, strong arms that pinned you to the wall or mattress or table. Hands that shuffled playing cards with ease and had you screaming far after the night was over. Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that never fell out of place from its slicked back style. Not even after he had crushed someone's jaw under the weight of his pummeling, bloodlusting fist.  

Johnny made a name for himself bootlegging liquor, too young to fight in the first world war. Took over as The Boss of Boston. It’s how he got his name. Johnny Boy. Fresh faced but the heart of a ragged old man. Lost it all after the second world war, gained it back not long after. A killer with a bone deep yearning for blood, money, violence, and you. 

He sat in his pressed suit, legs parted as he leaned over to display his full flush to the table, flashing a killer smile when he collected the money off his right hand man and three more of his boys. You smiled from the bar, beads of your dress twinkling in the low light of the speakeasy, ready to waltz over with another old fashioned and drape yourself in his lap.

“Thanks, Henry.” You smiled at your oldest friend, taking the drink he had placed down in front of you on the bar. Henry was your age, 25. A boy from Hartford, Connecticut, grew up in Kansas, then moved here looking for work in a big city. Honest, hardworking. Sweeter than cherry pie. And his little brother Sam was just the cutest pip you'd ever seen. 

“No problem, Doll.” He teased, which deserved a roll of the eyes from you. 

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”

“This would make it…” he glanced up for a second, as if calculating within his mind, “one too many times to count.”

“Funny.” You gave him a quick bitter smile. All in good fun, clearly, for he took no offence. He just shot you a smile, running a clean rag over the bartop, collecting two glasses and wiping the rings of condensation they left upon maplewood. 

“Your man looks thirsty. Might wanna take him his drink now. Before he gets the wrong idea about me talking to ya.” You sighed, craning your head slightly to look back at Johnny who scanned the place with a scowl. It made your skin crawl the thought of his temper snapping again. Despite it, you left Henry with a playful wink his way before swanning back over, placing Johnny’s drink in front of him and a vermillon kiss to his cheek. 

Johnny sneered at the affection, wiping your lipstick stain from his cheek. All the confidence you had fell to the floor and shattered miserably. Liquid courage sloshed on the cured wood floor.

“Fuck’s sake, Doll. What you do that for?” He demanded of you, the disgust in his cruel cerulean eyes sending a chilling, agonising jolt down your spine. 

“Sorry, Johnny.” You shied away, folded your hands together, eyes on the floor.

“Ain't you gotta powder your nose or something? Go on. Piss off.” 

He was right. You’d be on soon. Drenched in the spotlight. Under the scrutinising, side cramping glare of everyone's eye. You could do with the quiet. So you shuffled off to your dressing room without a word more, holding back tears with your breath. 

In the mirror, you mourned the girl you were. Mourned the life you had before it all turned upside down. Mourned the man you fell in love with. And the monster you had no choice but to stay with. 

—

Joel was fuming. If you touched his skin you'd reel back with a scorched yelp because his blood ran hot, fast and thick under his flesh. Trust Tommy to catch himself in the web of underground crime. Always a joiner. Always a deserter too when things got heated. And who was left to untangle him from its intricate, venom snared weave? Joel ‘Gubbins’ Miller. He might as well have ‘mother to my brother’ branded on his forehead. Because that's what he was now. 

The war ended four years ago and ever since Tommy had been searching for his purpose. Preached about it round the dinner table in their grimy, mildew inhabited apartment like a preacher would his sermon. And every time it set Joel’s teeth on edge. Because he knew what came after the downfall. The pickup. 

Now, however, Joel was determined to nip this lunacy in the bud. Tear it up from the soil by the new roots. 

The Canary Club was one of the few remaining speakeasies around in Boston. To a cop it was practically a ghost of an establishment. Might as well not be there. But to a man like Joel, whose brother never stopped babbling on about the next best thing he had cooking for himself, it was as easy as pie.  

A shroud of cloud hung just above Boston’s looming buildings, teaming with the early moon to create a murky gloom over the dim city’s sin. It seemed to fill the hollow, smoggy air as they cast dark, taut shadows over the slick, grimy roads. The sky threatened rain for the third day in a row. A place that reeked of underground crime, drug rings and watered down, once bootlegged alcohol, laced with what one can only assume to be illegal too. All of that was washed down with the constant sour smell of new rain upon dirty tarmac. A city plagued and tarnished by its own rejects.The promise of work bought them in. But the lifestyle spat them back out. Chewed up and ruined by their own humanising hope.

He and his brother came in search of work. They were getting nowhere down south in Texas. On the dole and barely able to afford a loaf of bread between the two of them. Even their own mother hardly recognised her boys after the war. Said they were empty shells of men. Husks of the boys she raised. Killers. 

The woman was a pacifist at heart. And it was a trait that Joel not only saw as weak, but typical of women. Or that's what his father had socialised him into thinking. He didn't know where his father’s ideals ended and his started. As the days went by he saw more of the violence his father harboured in himself. Grimaced at the lug in the looking glass. 

Joel was no pacifist. But he didn't storm through the doors either. No gun was in hand ready to send people screaming bloody murder. That was stupid. A mistake that he knew could wind him up on the concrete in the flooded gulley with a bullet in his head where blood and water could finally mix. Instead he stole in quietly in the ambience of playing cards and a Jazz band, ordered himself a drink, and sat at the far corner of the bar where it was dimly lit. Just enough for him to see his drink and the room, but his face still remained shadowed. 

While he sipped in ponder, he took the chance to people watch. Scan the patrons for any uncanny resemblance of dear Tommy. But nothing. He seemed distracted by the careful and steady hand that polished glass after glass, though each of them were spotless before touching the rag. 

A pointless task. Some may say sisyphean. But the boy doing so knew when eyes were on him. It was a very rare occurrence if not related to his race. People of any darker colour were ogled often in these parts despite it being more accepted within the north of America. There was still divide and segregation. However, this new patron wasn't looking for Henry’s skin colour, rather contemplating how on earth a boy such as him had ended up in such a place. What connection he had to the gang. Was he like Tommy? Roped in at the side of the side of the road and choking on his remaining pride. Or in a sticky financial situation? All these questions seemed to circle like the rag in the crystal glass Henry held. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Joel asked him with an ex-smoker's voice, brow dark in the shadow. The boy looked up, eyes youthful, but they'd seen things no man should have to. 

“Henry.” He said after a beat, quick to refill Joel’s glass when it was empty besides a drop circled thin and amber in the bottom. “Yours?” Joel lifted his head, taking a sip before placing his glass back on the bartop in furrowed brow contemplation. 

“Joel.” He leaned forward on his forearms, haunched over the bar, before looking around again. “Whatcha doin’ here, Henry?” 

Henry laughed slightly, looking down at his feet before back in Joel's eyes. And what he was met with was the hollow ache of a man scarred by war. Henry’s face fell flat. 

“Working.” 

“No…I mean in Boston.”

Henry cleared his throat at the sudden, and even brash way Joel approached his question. So much that it took him a second to frown and then reply. 

“Came from Kansas. Hard for a black kid to find honest work there. Especially with a family to look out for.” His words were solemn and reflected a truth Joel knew all too well growing up down south. Even if he never lived it in his own white skin.

“You look a little young to have a kid.” 

“I don’t. I got a brother.” Joel nodded as he listened, waiting for him to go on. Which he did after a beat of silence. “Bright kid. Bright future too. He’s deaf though. Got a lot stacked against him in this world. Mom can't bring in enough to fund education for ‘im. So I stepped up.”

“No Daddy?” Joel asked and Henry shook his head. “How’d you end up here then?”

“A girl.” The look Joel gave Henry was sceptical. But the young boy was soon to put a stop to it all. “Not a girlfriend. Just a girl. We grew up in the same building. She moved up north for a life and I followed a few months later. She met a guy. A wealthy guy. And she wrote to me often of how swell Boston had been for her.”

Joel wasn't the questioning type. Neither one to beat around the bush. But Henry intrigued him. Reminded him a lot of Sarah. The challenge she had faced with the colour of her skin that he, as a white man, would never understand. He felt a guilt about it every day that flared up in the dark of night before his eyes closed for restless and futile sleep. “And this guy?”

“Him.” Henry nodded subtly over to the table of men playing cards. Poker. A game Joel knew well in the frontline and in Egypt where he fought. Him and a few others often huddled together in their own game. Nothing but the last pair of intact socks to bet on, or a single cigarette to get them through the night. Joel quit smoking the moment he got back. Knew it was something that made him unpredictable and jittery in the best of situations. “Johnny Boy Finnick. A big name in these parts.” 

Joel followed Henry’s gaze, but his attention was snagged by the unmistakable head of dark curled hair facing away from him. He knew his brother anywhere and his blood began to boil as he threw back his second drink and slammed the empty glass on the bartop. 

“Hey, man-” Henry tried, shoulders straining as he stood to attention. Joel didn't pay him any mind. Merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before his bar stool sharied upon the varnished wood floor. He cared not for the noise. Only the feeling he would get once his closed fist met the bone on the bridge of Tommy’s nose. 

Trumpets flailed to a stop and drums failed mid blow. The room fell silent after a chorus of gasps. 

He loved his brother. Deeply. So much it caused a chasm of a rib cracking hole in his chest every time Tommy slipped up. But he saw red now it all caught up behind his lids that blinked once. That split second of not seeing and before he had a chance to second guess, he was gripping the back of tommy;s collar and wrenching him up to his feet to deliver a shiner to the face. 

Tommy staggered back, and everyone at his table stood up with the intention to harm. Yet no one but the brawling brothers fought. As he gained his footing again, he also gained his senses, recognising Joel anywhere. 

“Joel, what the fu-” He was hardly able to finish before another shooting pain split his bottom lip open and Tommy’s mouth was filled with the taste of his own bitter blood. Blood he and Joel shared and were now shedding in a futile fight of nothing but testosterone. That was enough to send the same foul blow to his kin. Joel winced, knowing the crescent of a bruise that would bloom on his cheekbone overnight. One of Tommy’s many rings sliced his skin. He felt warmth in crimson dribble from a fresh flesh wound. 

“Hey!” One loud and bellowing voice that had the power to command a whole unit of men boomed out before neither Joel or Tommy had the chance to throw another fist. It was for the better. Any more and Joel’s knuckles would have bruised purple. A colour of shame. 

It was Johnny. And his face was stoic as he stared each brother down with a burning gaze that had even Joel’s hairs stood on end at the nape of his neck. Like an army stood to attention before the first charge. Except he didn't move. Joel knew now where he stood in the food chain of this speakeasy. And it was right at the very bottom. “You!” He pointed at Tommy. Go clean yourself up.” And Tommy went as pale as a funeral sheet before nodding meekly. His face melted from shock to shame in the blink of Joel’s very eye before he grumbled something under his breath and passed Joel with a sharp clip to his shoulder. 

It's his turn now. 

At this point you'd come out to see what the commotion was for. The walls, while thick upstairs in the printer's press, were thin in the basement. And you;d heard silence and the spit of a man as his blood splattered with spit on the floor in the doorway. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doin throwin’ fists in my god damned club for?!” He roared. And Joel had to take the duration of both inhale and exhale to get his lips and tongue to work. But the scowl on his face said it all. “Huh?!” Jonny’s nostrils flared like a spanish thoroughbred bulls’. 

“That’s my brother you got workin’ for ya. I ain't havin’ him in some shady drug ring you got goin in. I aint!” 

Jonnly was no stupid man. Hr was smart. Quick minded and knew a man with balls. But Joel also knew very little. So this one time, he took the approach of calmness, and used his usual lying tongue for truth. Any other time it would she forked like Lucifer's serpent form. But now he was a man of coolness. “Right.” Johnny nodded at him, his tone was one that could soothe a ravenous bear. But with an edge as sharp as a knife. So sharp it could slice skin in one swift swoop. “Sit down.” He commanded calmly. “Let’s get you a drink.” 

With a wave of his hand a cha was pulled out. Two heavy handed brutes shoving Joel down into a chair, an old fashioned presented to him by Henry in front of him on the maplewood table. Then Johnny addressed the room gently. Set its patrons at ease. The music played its jazzy, jolly tune once more. People spoke again.And Johnny took his seat opposite Joel. 

“Look here…” The gangster waited for Joel to give him his name. Which he did. “Joel, I appreciate a strong swing as much as the next guy. But I don't appreciate it in my establishment.” Joel nodded in understanding. His temper ashamed him. How it ran hot under his skin. Fizzled white when provoked until he saw red in rage and swung. Never blindly though. He wasn't a loose cannon like the  broken soldier stereotype enforced. Just a fractured man. 

“You’re a soldier aint ya?” “Was.” Joel said gruffly. Curtly and he brewed a stare across from Johnny.

“Oh, nah.” Johnny shook his head, swirling his drink in the crystal glass, “Once a brother in arms, always a brother in arms. The war sticks with ya. You’re a soldier.” “Fine. Yeah, I'm a soldier.” 

“I know the war. I served like you. Left a boy and came back a shell of a man. Now look at me.” Joel took a moment to calculate his motive here. Johnny’s arms stretched wide with a smirk of pure pride as he gestured to the heart of his Boston crime empire. “I got money. I got birds.” He held up his glass to Joel, “I got liquor.” then leaned forward and spoke in a grave tone, "What you got?” 

Joel swallowed harshly, unable to answer because he had nothing in reality. 

“You got a job?” He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No.”

“Figured. Hard finding work when all the women are competent enough to do it themselves. Fight for your country. End up on the streets. You don't die a hero like you thought you would. No one knows your name.” He scoffed, holding fingers up in air quotes around competent. It left a bitter taste of disgust in Joel’s mouth as the father of a daughter. Curled the edges of his tongue distastefully. Made him kiss his teeth to hold back the insult. “Well, people know my name.” Johnny paused again, the air grew thick between them and smouldered on their shoulders. He was squinting at Joel opposite him, sizing him up. Joel was rugged. A strong build and most likely a strong character too. Something Johnny could always do with having in abundance. And so when the devil's own smirk curled at his lip, Joel felt a question brewing at the very tip of his tongue. One that would change his life for better or worse. Regardless of it he declined or accepted. “And they could know yours too.”

Joel didn't want to admit it for the sake of his crumbling pride, but the man had it all. Even a good five years his junior, the man made a living for himself. Picked himself up from the dirt and used bloodshed and bodies for the foundations. 

“I could use a guy like you–”

“No.” Joel put his offer down flat before it had the chance to meet the air. 

“Hear me out.” He said calmly, and held up a hand, “A roof over your head. A steady income. A little extra dough in ya pocket?” Johnny rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the older man's face. An action to which Joel’s nostrils flared. It was embarrassing to even mull over. “Come on,” Johnny smirked. “Give it a go.” 

The southerner’s lips pursed, as if he was thinking it over. Which he was. But to what lengths would he go? Sure, Joel was conditioned in a short few months to kill. He was good at it. Mowed down men on the frontline like clockwork. And his trigger finger twitched at the thought of holding that power once more. But that didn't mean he was a man without morals. The men’s blood he;d coat his hands in had families. They were someone's son. Probably someone's husband or father. Joel knew the hollow ache loss left. The imprint of a shadow it left. The chasm ripped in your chest. Loss felt like an agonising, deep, helpless pit. But here was Johnny, throwing him a rope 

“You know, you’re right. This ain't the time to talk this over.” Johnny held his hands up and leaned back in his seat before they clapped back in his lap. Now you were at Johnny’s side once more. But the figure of Joel in his chair had something jumping in your bones. Tongue curling to taste his very words.  “Dollface here will patch you up.” 

You raised a brow, giving the two of them a dirty look. “Excuse me? Do I look like a nurse?” You shut up when Johnny glared. Swallowed your pride, and sighed inwardly. You both hated and loved the power he held over you. As much as you despised it at times, Johnny had your being wrapped around his finger like a puppeteer holds his strings. And tightly. You felt his tug at the strain in your limbs. 

“And you come back here tomorrow. We’ll talk in my office over a drink and a cigar. A good fucking drink.” 

—

Joel swallowed harshly when he saw you. Eyes, wide and decorated by dark mascara lashes, white liner on lower waterlines, face of a doll like Johnny’s nickname for you suggested. The red lipstick you had re-applied moments prior was glossy, inviting him to stumble over velvet words he would hear you speak. Lean closer so the blood red could graze the shell of his ear while you would whisper a dirty joke at him. 

He followed as you led him down a corridor off to the other side of the bar. Your dress seemed fit for hypnotising him into your bidding. Surely you were a siren who climbed the strats of a pier of the east coast and arrived here. Something about the beauty you wielded was not the everyday sort. It was the type you see women bend over backwards to achieve even a glimmer of for their man who came back after work. He could see himself now. Loosening his tie, hanging up his coat and hat. Leaving his briefcase and sanity at the door to see you in a pinafore and pin curls. Pretty gingham dress. He’d sit at the table and either be presented by you or a meal for his satiation. He’d prefer to devour the sweetness between your legs. 

Your hand in front of his face had his attention now. Fingers snapping. Nails manicured and painted the same shade as your lipstick. 

“Hey, you listening?” You asked, face set into displeasure. Joel straightened as he cleared his throat.

“What?” His tone was gruff and he mirrored your expression to you. His southern accent catching you off guard, but is intriguing. 

“I said sit down.” 

Joel looked over at the chair set at a vanity mirror you gestured to with an extended arm. The second time he had been asked to be seated. The second time he obeyed. 

You took your time to wet a washcloth in the small basin in the corner with warm water. Took the bottle of whiskey you stashed last week from the bottom of a rickety chest of drawers. Joel watched you in the mirror, eyes narrowed a fraction to make sure you were of no threat to him. He knew he could take you easily. In more ways than one. The power imbalance had his length twitching in his trousers. 

Your hands weren't gentle as you sat on the vanity between his legs. You took his stubbled chin in your grasp and jerked his head up into the light, tilting it to take a closer look at the gash. 

“Stay still.” You said curtly, holding the rag to the opening of the bottle and wetting it. You then pressed it over the pad of your finger. The initial touch made his teeth bare at you and a hiss to escape his mouth. His large wrist enclosing around yours to make you stop. “I said,” And you yanked your wrist from his hold, “stay still.” 

He did as he was told again. Silence setting his between the odd hiss from him and twitch of muscle under weathered skin. The crows feet at the side of his eyes were old. He clearly had lost his smile to something in the past. But you didn't ask, only wondered as you wiped the dried blood clean from his wound. “Fuckin grown man and you cant take a little sting of a cut.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself in amusement. Followed by a small huff of dry laugh.

“Maybe if you weren't digging your fingers into a fresh bruise I wouldn’t be wincin’.” You shot him a look and let go.

“All done.” And you held up your hands for good measure. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, tossing the rag aside and crossing your arms. He reached for the whiskey and took a large gulp, pursing his lips at the slow burn in the back of his throat. 

“None of your business.” 

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name.” He stated lowly. He was right. But you found a sick satisfaction in having any man you liked bend to your will. Answer any question you so pleased to hear the answer to. 

His bones groaned as he stood up from the chair. Your coat draped over the back of it fell to the floor and you swiftly got up to swipe it from the floor and hand it on the hook on the back of the door before pressing your back to it and facing him. Blocking his exit.  “Move.”

“Tell me your name.” You crossed your arms, jutting your chin up at him. 

“Don’t make me move you, princess.”

“Tell me your name.” 

Joel bit his tongue, the vein in his neck starting to pulse visibly under his skin that once again went hot. 

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I’m nosy.” You smiled, sarcastic and saccharine. “And i want to know the name i’ll be moaning tonight as i touch myself under the covers.” 

“Fuckin-” His jaw ticked, nostrils flared in his disdain. You kept your smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a small guttural noise from the back of his throat. A headache was starting to coil behind the strain of his eyes. “Joel.” And he looked back up at you. It still wasn't enough “Miller.” Your smile was genuine this time, just as sweet. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straight from the door to hold out your hand and give him your name in return. He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and swerving you. He pulled the door but you used your body weight to slam it shut with your back again. A loud slam and a creak of protest from its hinges.

“Where are you from, Joel?” 

“Is this a game to you, girl?” Joel growled. 

“Yes.” The smile you had was sly. Foxy. A  single finger ran down his chest and dared to slip just under his shirt’s collar. “I like games.”

“You don't wanna do that.” He warned, dark eyes burning you up inside from your very core. It was the look of a man’s lust that had been left untouched, unloved for quite some time now. It strained at his morality. But who were you to give up the warning and keen hand of a man who so desperately needed a release to the coiling tension of his shoulders. You saw it. Felt it in the rhythmic yet chaotic hammer of his heart against his ribs. As if it were trying with all its might not to break his own bones clean in two and lurch from its enclosure of flesh and bone. 

“And why not?” This was a devils game of chess. Careful calculated words from loose tongues and taking each other's moves in as you exhaled a counter. And oy had him three moves from checkmate. His king weak in defence, your advances stronger  by each word that fell into his eras from your red painted, enticing lips. He could feel his limbs being string up for you to pull at like a puppeteer in an advanced level of her craft. But he was no kind man. His words were even less forgiving than his disposition. 

“Because I aint a kind man. Haven't been for a long while. And I know types of things a man like me would wanna do to a pretty girl like you.” 

“I doubt it would be anything new.” You cooed, watching your finger as it traced a line lower over his buttons,  stopping at the top of his belt buckle and just shy of teasing at the growing bulge in his trousers. 

The tension between you was thicker than molasses. And it seeped through the cracks of his better judgement to the part of him that hungered for touch. That was ravenous for a single one of your fingers. 

“I don't think Johnny would like that.” 

“And I didnt like the way he spoke to me earlier.” You pouted. The way a child would when dined a sweet treat before dinnertime. 

“That aint a good reason to start an affair with me. Because when i get my grubby hands on ya there ain't no going back, doll.” 

His words were enticing you more. To have a man obsessing over your body. Your curves. Your voice singing his name as he fucked you dirtier than anyone into anything. Joel was that man now. He knew it in the very marrow of your bones that you were trouble. His new little minx. So it was no surprise when his lips crushed yours under the full weight of his sexual frustration. 

It was needy. Heated. A clashing of tongues and teeth as he pressed you with his entire simmering being into the wood of the door. His bulge grinding desperately into your thich that parted his legs. 

His tongue swiped your lower lip before drawing it back between his teeth for him to suckle on until it tingled deliciously. He was jealous with his touches. Groping your hips as the sating of your dress that crumpled to the floor. It revealed sweet sweet skin. Skin Joel wasted no time in delving in for the first damning lick. A pleasure to every sense. Sight, taste, touch, smell, sound. 

Heavy breaths were exhaled into the dewy skin of your clavicle, tongue languidly sliding over the high points of your collarbones and enclosing in a sharp suck over the skin just above your right breast. It sent a chorus of heavenly sinful, light and airy monas from your mouth and floated into his ears. His lips were chapped and weathered in contrast to the silk smooth of your skin. It was delightful. 

He went lower, got to his knees as he drank up the sense of a woman's skin for the first time in years. This was the taste of true damnation. He was past the opening of hell's gates and somehow found heaven in the parting of your thighs down the newly trodden path of your navel. 

He pressed his open mouth to your clothed cunt, tasted the seeping slick you gave him on his tongue and gluttonously inhaled your musk right at the apex of your thighs. Your fingers tangled into the curls of his messy, wind wrecked hair. Keening your hips up to press into the curve of his aquiline nose, and riding the burning in the pit of your belly starting to grow. Your head fell back against the door. Your mouth unhinged and letting out moan after sigh after mewl of his name. His face buried between the meat of your thighs as his hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them so he could push his face deeper between your folds. Your underwear drenched and ruined from your wetness and his spit while he tongued your hole through the flimsy lace. 

You pulled him back, smirked at the wreck he was with his lips sticky and shiny in the light of your dressing room. To then pull him up to your lips so you could curl your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself on him. It’s where the taste belonged. Among notes of whiskey and chewing tobacco and drugstore gum. 

His large hands pawed at your hips once more, listing you so your legs could wrap obediently round his waist. That's how it worked now. He wanted, you gave. And willingly like the sounds that fell into his motu like sweet, freshly harvested honey. Ut had the feel of money. Powerful and green like spring leaves. But with the warning of rotting when summer meets its tragic and fatal end. It was like trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Near impossible. The last sip of a drink that would ensure drunken and slurred movements. It took even the nest of a man his entirety to deny you, But deep down, Joel was a weak man. Strong in body, maybe mind too. But weak in soul. And he gave in with the cashing of your back against the vanity mirror. 

He had his faults. He knew that. And you did too. It had you wondering how a man like Joel loves. Did he change for his chosen lover? Or was he just as rough a callus as he was with everyone else. Would he destroy and ache and leave you wondering when your body would be at his whim next and how he would bend it to his will. Or would he let you lean into his embrace as he kissed down the column of your throat to the holy entitled epiphany between your thighs. The glisten of your hot cunt aching to be touched by anything. His everything. 

So you reached for his belt. So you undid it along with his buttons to touch his heated skin, To feel the blood flow beneath as the strain of each of his muscles. You ran a hand across his chest and he let his head fall back as a woman touched him for the first time as a man of war. A veteran.

He felt like he had been cast in gold by the sun for the first time in his life. Shed his skin for a new layer reserved just for you. As if he was thanking whatever resided up there for you. He was no believer in god, but, Jesus Christ, he was starting to believe in some form of higher power. You were proof that there was a blessing for him to steal away from the world. It was in your sound. Your taste. Your touch. It beckoned him the way your finger did, curling into the collar of his shirt to clash your lips with his and let. He had no autonomy over the moan that fell into his mouth where it festered at the back of his throat and was swallowed with a desperate and heady inhale. 

You trod roads into his skin with your touch. Ones he knew he would follow later that night in an erotomaniac’s pleasure. And you finally pulled his length free from his trousers. Your underwear was soon to follow and your slick aided the way he managed to sink so smoothly into your sopping heat. A squeeze he would commit to memory and savour like the taste of fresh and ripe fruit. Because you were. Fresh and youthful in age. Ready to be devoured to the core as a gleaning red apple would be. The very same one that even took in the garden of eden. Temptation. Fruit flesh to signify sin. 

He took his first bite out of you with a satisfying crunch. And keep devouring until there was nothing left but the remnants of your birth, ready to be resurrected, grown again in the form of a new tree. 

He stilled once he bottomed out, letting himself bask in the moment. The first time he was nestled deeply in the walls of your cunt. He heard your quiet whimpers for him to move. Felt the way your pert nipples brushed his sweat slicked skin. It was a ghost of a memory the last time he felt this. The heat of someone in the throes of intimacy. And it was all over him. It was the very air he wes starved of. The past was all paled in comparison because of the way your hips bucked pathetically to feel his thrust inside you. To get him going. No one had needed him this rawly, this undignifying before. 

A single hand clamped over your mouth, stilling your movements. He felt the tickle of your exhale against the pinky finger. 

“Stay still…” He commended with a swallowed down groan when you clenched around him, ironically repeating your words from earlier.

You looked at him. The glazed over, far away look in his eyes. His voice low and laden in a gravelly tone that came from the very back of his throat. You pulled him forward to lick it out again with your tongue when his hand fell to your throat. It gave a warning squeeze. And you once again canted your hips in protest. 

This time he moved. And it was like poetry as it hit that toe curling spot inside you. Made your eyes close in blissful ignorance of what this would do to you. YOu slick drooling from your cunt onto his shaft until it shined at his very base and dripped down his heavy balls. 

His hand squeezed your throat tighter. Had you yelling for him in a suppressed squeal. His other hand clamped around your mouth for you to moan into. Your words of praise lost on his ears, listened to by his palm instead. Every devil was fuelling this act of infidelity. This act of carnal sin you both needed. Ut unwound your bones, but had the coil in your belly cramping with each swift buck of his hips. 

You met his swift thrusts in a desperate attempt to be of use to him. Finding it hard to breathe, yet alone Your cunt spasmed delectably. Searching for a new feeling. A feeling primal and dirty as the streets of Boston. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your legs trembled while he went on, giving you something you would remember from this day forward, A sentence of being binded to him.

You were in the arms of the devil himself. St his ,ercy. Nsd nothing felt more thrilling than the pleasure that rolled at a landslide's power and pace down your spine into your core. 

Another squeeze round your throat. Another unhinged moan into his hand. He snarled, baring his teeth at you before pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down. Your eyes closed and painted a picture of stars. You were close to seeing angels by now and the deep ache of pleasure grappled your flesh and had goosebumps flicking up to attention over your flesh.

His chest heaved with each curl of his hips. Your exhales heavier by the second while you moaned his name like a mantra to his hand. His teeth imprinted on your back like a randhishing. A mark of the sin that was witnessed by the two of you that day. Your voice was shrill. A repeated ‘Joel! Joel! Joel!’

“Fuck, yeah, sing f’me doll. Sing f’me. Let em know who’s doin’ this to you.” He panted in vain. “Tell me.” “Feels so good–”

“Again.” He demanded. 

“Feels so good! Too good!” 

And it was. He had you burning white hot at the end of an illicit teather. You gripped his back with talons of hellbirds. Clawing at his shirt clad back. The wings of hi shoulderbales. The snake length of his spine. 

“That’s it. Tell ‘em. Tell me! Tell me in making you feel fuckin’ good.” 

“You are. Harder Joel.” His pace was like poetry. Ripped you in tow and had you displayed to him. One knee was hooked over his hunched shoulder, spine curled as his forehead pressed to yours. `The new angle had you singing like a songbird. High and melodic in tune.  Your kitten heel slipping off and clattering to the floor without a second thought. The head of his cock nipped your cervix. The lewd wet sounds of your pussy smothering him in your slick and your shared moans filled the room. Everything of you was his now. You couldn't even think of giving this up to Johnny. Yes, he fucked you dirty. But Joel fucked you like it was his sole purppose of living. Like it was what gave him life. 

You fell. You fell as soon as you hit your climax with a mewling moan that ended Joel right there and then. Coming together with heavy breaths and shaking, trembling chests. His release inside of you, strings of his come smearing you in him. Marking you for later. Well and truly ruined for any other warm body that dared to slip into your sheets. 

But falling was not the problem. Only when you hit the ground is what causes all the grief. And the look you shared once the gold haze of afterglow faded was what confirmed this. 

What have you done? How would you live without this?

[ww2yaoi]

The Lewis Nixon/John Egan parallels are definitely interesting and I like the discussion that's going on. I think they're both alcoholics, and the comparisons start and end more or less there. I think they drink for different reasons though, but to a similar end result. Like someone else said, John drinks, fucks, gambles and parties because it's fun. He's giving in to his impulses because it's what a man does during a war.

There's a line in Mad Men where Roger Sterling tells Don Draper that his generation drinks for the wrong reasons, while his generation (the Greatest Generation AKA those who fought in WW2) drinks because it's "good." John drinks because it feels good. I don't think he consciously knows how much he's pushing his feelings down with it, whereas I think Lew definitely knows. He's more self-aware than John is, and he's much more cynical. Although the real guys were around the same age, Nixon as portrayed by Ron Livingston seems older than Callum Turner's Egan, and more ragged from his drinking, at least towards the end of the war. Now, we haven't seen John hit that point yet. But overall I think their drinking comes from different places, though it still serves a protective function in shielding them from the harsh realities of war.

Think about how often John tries to reassure Buck. He says they're going to be the two pilots left up there when it comes down to it. He says he's going to bet on them because he believes in them. When Curt dies, John imagines him drinking a bottle of schnapps. Lew isn't that optimistic I don't think, even if John is partly lying to himself. We see that facade come down in episode 4 during the party scene when Buck and John are talking to Rosie. It's not normal for the Bucky we know to talk like that. The war and probably losing Curt are getting to him, hence why Buck tells him to take a couple days and chill out in London.

Anyway, I think they're different enough characters when you look at it, but the parallels are obvious. I don't think John has gotten to the darker depths of Lew's character that we see in episodes of BoB like Why We Fight, but he might be getting there in episode 5! We'll see how his coping skills are portrayed.

[crabcackes]

Does anyone have james somerton's video about gay holocaust archived? Or a transcript

Because from his quotes in Todd's video he seems to have incredibly fucked up and frankly bizarre opinions about WW2 and nazis and I want to witness that shit

He, very disturbingly, claims there very a lot of gay men among nazis

He belives americans conscripted because they we jealous of nazi's fit arian bodies

He believes that upon meeting nazi soldiers americans became even more jealous which leads me to believe he thinks that literally all nazi were like on propaganda posters and in RRIefenstahl’s films?? 

He believe Hitler murdered Ernst  Röm in some kind of fatphobia moment?? 

He has this bizarre, both cartonish and erotisiced view of WW2 where one of the major factors was... body politics??? Hotness??? Like hooow do you think like that? What is his thought processes here? 

Also if he ever has said something about lavender scare or cold war please point me in that direction. His soviet winter coats comment broke my brain, like this is literally a family guy sketch and he presented that like a fact. 

[bulbabutt]

anyway i still think g1 elita one was super fucking cool and interesting and done better than most other times shes been portrayed. the fact the women show up and its explained as like 'yeah they were on a different ship than the men and thus have been HIDING on cybertron, optimus' crew thinking they all died and vice versa'

like that rules! thats so fascinating! it obviously COMES from a place of 'we didnt want to add women at first' but they explained it well! very 'yes, and' which i love abt g1

but whats extra cool is how real their roles are there. they give WW2 spies, like a real job women had during war times. thats awesome, that keeps them more interesting despite the like... 'role for women' aspect of the 80s. it keeps the conversation away from that modern girlboss internalized misogyny of a prime arcee or tf1 elita. 'im here cuz im not like other girls'. they're an entire crew of women keeping the fight going on their home planet.

when the men show up they clearly revere their female counterparts as equals, and i think thats important. i really fucking liked that aspect and it makes me miserable that they just ignored it going forward, and it took until.... war for cybertron trilogy on netflix to get elita back again. and she was nowhere near as cool.

[pluralforsheep]

CW: Nazism, TribeTwelve, swear words, (vent??)

Spoilers for EMH, Canyouseethewords blog, TribeTwelve and Sebastian's Journal.

Hi, it's me again. No shit. So. It's been like a month since the whole drama unfolded and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. I know things have quieted down lately, and like many others, I wish we could all move on and forget this ever happened. However, I can't simply recover from it, mainly because I feel the posts about me continue to spread on this platform, radiating the negativity and false info about me to this day. This drama has been devouring me for a long time now, and I've decided to make another post. I gotta admit I haven't been 100% honest in my previous post, it was more of my attempt to back off, cry over it and avoid this drama. But I'm not doing that again. I'm done pretending and I'm tired of being nice and tolerating others when they're completely misguided. I'm fucking angry. That's why I decided to make one more post about this and I have so many things to say. This is not another apology post, think of it as a vent post and recap explanation of everything where I'll be brutally honest.

Also, if anyone of you is a Nazi supporter, get the fuck out. I do not welcome you here.

First of all, I do not understand why my efforts have been ignored. I did everything that was asked of me. I acknowledged my so-called ''mistakes'', I owned up to them, deleted the posts, apologized, explained my intentions, and you decide to just fucking ignore it?? What do you want from me then, huh? I'm not the ignorant here, you are fucking ignorants. Made me realize I actually haven't done anything wrong. Made me wonder if I should've even deleted those posts, I put a lot of effort into them, and some people actually liked them. It's not my fault some of you are sensitive and brainwashed by censorship culture and you can't accept or understand a canon-accurate depiction of characters. You think I've been sweeping something under the rug? No. In fact, it's the opposite. You've been sweeping this whole shit under the rug by dismissing me as a Nazi supporter, just because I drew something that was considered canon for so many years. I've done nothing wrong, I've been honest about my art the entire time. I draw what I enjoy and what is accurate to the lore. I love history and the Slenderverse, and I draw canon-accurate content, yet you get mad over it. It's so ridiculous. If this post can't open your fucking eyes, I don't know what else will, and frankly I don't care anymore. I'm done with this shit. I've acted like the adult I am, and took responsibility. However I'm not going to point any fingers or dismiss anyone specifically, because I am not like this.

And to everyone: If you don't like something, just ignore it. But if it really seems problematic and malicious, why not contact the person directly and talk it out, or find ways to know their true intentions instead of making hundreds of hate-posts about them like some pissy children. This is such a toxic behavior.

About the whole Nazi stuff:

Don't get me wrong. Nazism is a sensitive topic, I understand that. But I think being offended by it right now, in the 21st century, is just so ridiculous to me. I understand it can get very annoying tho. They talk about WW2 and the Austrian painter on TV non-stop. But being offended by some art? Like, are you serious. Do you realize Nazi shit has been in so many fanfiction, stories and literature for so many years, and you have no reason to get offended by it? The Nazi concept has been used in so many media, whether just for a joke or a serious plot point. South Park, Family Guy, Indiana Jones, Marvel Universe, X-Men, The Boys, and God knows what else.. Would you get offended by a fanart of cute little fat boy Eric Cartman? Of course not. But I can easily say: ''He's a Nazi! You drew a cute fanart of him! You're a Nazi supporter!'' That's you. That's how you sound. Do you see how ridiculous that is? There are thousands of people shipping him with Kyle Broflovski, oh but he's a Jew, and they hate each other in the show. Yet there are artists who make ship art of them. Does anyone complain? At the end of the day, they're just fictional characters, and I rather ignore it even if it kinda annoys me. Btw, South Park is just an example of this issue, I'm not targeting anyone or anything specifically here.

The Brandit post:

I really need to go back and add something to that post of HABIT saying ''LET'S FUCK AND PISS OFF OUR ANCESTORS.'' which creeped Firebrand out (honest reaction). That quote seemed really harsh, I know. Was it bad humor? Yeah.. But do I regret drawing this? At this point, I must say no. I did not stutter. As I said, I will be brutally honest from now on. Do you think HABIT wouldn't say that? Do you think he wouldn't say something sexual to a Jewish person, or frankly to anyone really? Yes, he would!! It's in his nature, he's fucked up. Are we trynna ignore the fucking scene of HABIT pulling the jerk off gesture at Noah?? Did we all not see the same thing?? He is like this. He makes fun of him while adding Christmas decorated borders on a letter for him. He's aware Noah is Jewish, yet he pulls a sexual gesture at him. Don't try to deny this one.

About the symbols... From what I've just said, I drew the little symbols there next to them (Star of David and Hakenkreuz) because I wanted people to see and realize the fact that these two guys are a Jew and a (former) Nazi, which people have been sweeping under the rug, not me. Also, if anyone remembers the post I made, I believe I wrote ''I should have put Christmas borders there as well/jk.'' under it or something like that. I removed it later on because people didn't seem to get it. It was obviously a reference to Severance. Everything I draw is a fucking reference. That being said, this post was made for awareness, not romanticization, and I do not ship them, neither romantically nor platonically, I just really like drawing them together, because of their iconic trope, canon interactions, mutual respect and shared spite for Slenderman, and the fact that HABIT helped Noah many times. That's it. Also, I wouldn't ship HABIT with anyone romantically. That is just wrong in so many levels.

Canyouseethewords blog and Sebastian's Journal:

If you didn't grasp the point of the Josef Mengele post either, go read Canyouseethewords blog here on Tumblr. It's part of the EMH lore. Basically, this blog belonged to Evan's girlfriend Stephanie, but HABIT takes over the blog later on and makes various posts about infamous real serial killers, such as Ed Gein, Jack the Ripper, and even the Nazi doctor, Josef Mengele. Whether HABIT wanted to imply that he's possessed those various people, that part of lore remains silent. At some point, I believed he's possessed those various people, so I wanted to to draw one of them, and I chose to draw Josef simply because I liked the idea of the connection with him and The Event from T12. That's it. And if that weren't the case that he's possessed any of those people, which would be rather a big relief, he's still possessed a different Nazi character in T12, which has been retconned. A character that no one really seems to know of, which is understandable. I get that some people don't want to analyze and support T12 anymore after what Adam did. In all honesty, I think sometimes it's best to separate the creator from the creation. I hate Adam, but I love T12. Anyway, in the story of Sebastian's Journal is a guy named Sergeant Heine who is (or was supposed to be) possessed by HABIT at some point. It implies to Severance where HABIT said he's been working with a group of Nazis on a particular project, including Sebastian. However, that connection has been retconned.

The HABIT/Nazi lore shit, people keep complaining and pissing about for no reason:

Listen, it was part of the lore for so many years that it's difficult to simply ignore it now. As someone who's been part of the Slenderverse fandom for years, going back, I just cannot think of it as a non-canon at this point. And I've already said the point of HABIT's character, and you all should know this by now. However I'll clarify it again anyways. The point is that he's an abomination of all the horrific actions humanity has committed, including atrocities of Nazism. He's done so many bad shit, as if eating a baby on screen wasn't enough, yet, of all the things he's done, people get mad over him being a former Nazi?? Like are you kidding me.. It's so ridiculous and hypocritical.

However... When I think about it, maybe HABIT was never even a Nazi, I mean- Working with them is one thing. He probably doesn't even give a single fuck about some ideology bullshit. He likely participated in the Nazi party purely for the sake of killing people. He wouldn't care less if his victims were Jews, Romani, or anyone else, he simply enjoys killing people for the sake of torture. Heck, he doesn't even remember the name of the party he was in. In Severance, he stuttered when trying to say ''Nazis'', which, in my opinion, was funny as hell. But that one is just an idea of his character.

Anyway. Even if HABIT wasn't a former Nazi at all, would it change anything? Absolutely not. He would still be the same horrible piece of shit he is. And sorry not sorry, but he was never meant to be a likable character. As a well-written antagonist, yes. But as a person? Hell no, so far from it. There is literally no reason for people to get mad over him being a former Nazi, and if you are, it's hypocritical of you, considering everything else he's done.

I must say one more thing, and it's the only thing I'm truly sorry for is that I didn't put content warnings and explanations on those posts. I made people angry unnecessarily for my impulsive actions.

I think that's all. Perhaps I've learned something by the end of the day, and I hope that at least some of you who are reading this, have learned something as well. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this (if you have), I appreciate it so much. See you on the flipside.

[blubushie]

as much as i say shit like 'you cant ship scoutpauling because scouts kind of a loser' its all in good fun and i. really dont care. theyre all fictional characters and other peoples headcanons and interpretations are pretty cool even if i dont agree and if i DONT agree then i just ignore (or for genuinely bad takes like 'medic is a nazi because german doctor!' then i block) because its just not that deep and im not about to get into discourse over it. hardcore multishipper and multi-headcanoner (?), my interpretation of these characters changes for the scenario a lot

Oath oath oath

Also one of my favourite things to do is take really shitty headcanons (subjective) and make them good. Like Nazi Medic? Yeah I roll with it (kinda). In LTBs Medic was in the Wehrmacht in WW2 as a frontlines combat medic specifically because he's Jewish, and part of the Final Solution was forcibly conscripting young German men of Jewish descent and placing them in high-contact front lines (typically on the Eastern Front) where they were practically guaranteed to be killed for the Fatherland.

However because I'm a history nerd I also know there's a major difference between being conscripted into the Wehrmacht and being a fucken Nazi, so Medic isn't actually a Nazi. He was never involved in the Nazi Party for very obvious reasons. He was a combat medic who did his best to save his men (many of which were also conscripted by that point of the war) who very much also didn't want to be there, and didn't fully grasp what exactly it was that they were dying for (not that they had a choice in the matter—pick up your rifle or be shot for desertion).

So in LTBs, Medic was studying to be a doctor when the war began. He'd lived mostly undercover as a Jew, but eventually the Schutzstaffel did enough digging to determine he was Jewish and he was forcibly conscripted with the intention being he'd save Aryan blood and eventually die A Good Jew on the battlefield somewhere. But he survived, and he fled Germany after the war, and eventually got caught up with TF Industries and that's how he ended up a merc. At the worst being in the Wehrmacht may have altered his sense of morality—the horrors of war will do that to a man—but in my eyes Medic has never been a Nazi.

Nazi punks fuck off and all that.

[baura-bear]

tell me about your ww2 men

ohohoho you have no clue the can of worms you've opened >:)

my primary fixation at the moment is Band of Brothers but I thoroughly enjoy the other HBO war shows (The Pacific, Masters of the Air) and other war media because what's more fun than taking the bond that men form while in their most desperate moments and turning it into something gay!

Band of Brothers is about the 101st Airborne Division and their tour of Europe (specifically Easy Company) My top ships at the moment are Winnix and Baberoe (though there are SEVERAL more but that would take hours to get into). Also gotta preface because I know you haven't seen it. I am NOT shipping the actual dudes. Just their fictional counterparts (though a lot of the stuff irl men did was suspicious as hell...)

Winnix is Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon who are basically polar opposites. Dick grew up in rural Pennsylvania to a Mennonite mother, never drank, humble family, you get the vision. Nix was super fucking rich, went to Yale, had family homes in New York and California, spent his youth traveling Europe, and was an alcoholic. Despite them being polar opposites they became best friends and spent the entirety of the war side by side. Like. riiiigghhhtttt. suuuureeee. you're not in love. basically every guy that wrote about them was like "yeah i had no clue why they got along they were nothing alike" anyway they defo fucked in a foxhole

Baberoe Is Eugene Roe (medic hehe) and Edward "Babe" Heffron. There's an entire episode that centers around their dynamic and Eugene's role as a medic. The entire episode Babe is getting more and more frustrated that Gene won't call him "Babe" (like everyone else does) and is instead calling him "Heffron" or "Edward". This episode takes place during the Battle of the Bulge so it's pretty dismal and Eugene is just becoming more and more distant trying to disassociate from the horrors of battle and watching men die. Babe's friend Julian ends up dying and he feels guilty because they promised each other that if either died they would collect his stuff and bring it to his mother. Babe is unable to get Julian's stuff so he's really fucking torn up. Eugene quite literally feeds him chocolate and then cuddles him in a foxhole???? because that's a normal thing to do right. everyone cuddles their homies in the foxhole. The episode ends with Babe and Eugene sitting together in a foxhole while Eugene patches up a cut on Babe's hand (I can't even begin to unpack the significance of the bandage he uses but trust me there's more gay levels to this shit) Eugene calls him "Babe" finally which Babe is very excited about "Hey, Gene, you called me Babe!" "I did? when?" "Just now." "Babe. I guess i did." "Heheh! Babe." "Heffron. Watch the goddamn line" Also Eugene is from Louisiana and Babe is from Philly so they both have silly accents that I love

Beyond like making them gay and shipping them I do actually just think the story is very compelling and admirable AND it's a beautiful show. Like from the cinematography to the writing, acting, music. It's so good. There's a reason it holds up 20+ years later

i could literally write paragraphs but i won't subject you to that torture