#disrespected her culture for years

[airasora]

Link

[bucephaly]

It's kinda shocking to me how few people seem to know how prevalent the 'my great grandmother was cherokee' myth is and how it's almost never actually true, especially when it comes with things like 'never signed up' or 'fell off the trail' or 'courthouse burned down destorying the documentation' etc etc.

People just don't even seem to know the history like.. when the Trail happened. My great great great grandfather was 2 years old during Removal in 1838, so peoples 'my great grandmother hid in the mountains!' is so clearly wrong. And we have rolls. From before and after removal, rolls done by cherokee nation and others by the government, rolls that were not stored in one random flammable courthouse. It's not difficult to find the actual evidence of ancestry.

And just.. there are lots of ways those family stories get started. It was a practice during the confederacy to claim cherokee ancestry to show one's family had 'deep roots in the south' that they were there before the cherokee were removed. Many people pretended to be cherokee and applied for the Guion-Miller payout just to try to steal money meant for cherokees - 2/3rds of the applicants were denied for having 0 proof of actual cherokee ancestry. [We even see lawyers advertising signing up for the Miller roll just to try to get free money.] And the myth even started in some families in the cherokee land lotteries, where the land stolen from us was raffled off, including the house and everything that was left behind when the cherokees were removed. We have seen people whose families just take these things stolen from the cherokee family and adopt them into their own family story, saying that they were cherokee themselves.

If you had some family story about being cherokee and you wanna have proof one way or the other, check out this Facebook group run by expert cherokee genealogists that do research for free. Just please read the rules fully and respect the researchers. They run thousands of people's ancestries a year and their average is only around 0.7% of lines they run actually end up having true cherokee ancestry.

[eenochian]

“headcanoning farah as wlw is disrespectful because she’s muslim”

my. my guy. queer people exist in every group. queer muslims very much exist.

“ok but it’s a sin in islam”

WHY ARE WE SUDDENLY JUSTIFYING HOMOPHOBIA WITH RELIGION⁉️⁉️ it’s wrong for a christian to use religion to justify their bigotry, so WHY is it okay to use islam or any other religion to do the same?? i know that i’m comparing the world’s most oppressive religion (christianity) to a religion that’s oppressed, but like… allowing one group to essentially “get a pass” opens the door for EVERY group to get one.

what was even weirder is that the person who made the post about it wasn’t even muslim 😭 they said they looked it up which i believe, but then they had an actual wlw muslim in their comments telling them it wasn’t a big deal— and THEY LITERALLY TOLD THE COMMENTER THAT IT WAS STILL DISRESPECTFUL?? AND OTHER NON-MUSLIMS WERE GOING “grr but it’s a sin >:(” LIKE?? HELLO?? WHY are people not even included in the group talking over ACTUAL MEMBERS OF THE GROUP???

i care very deeply about respecting people’s beliefs and faiths. but once that belief starts to harm others, my respect is withdrawn. the golden rule is that your rights end where another person’s begin. i remember seeing posts from years ago about queer muslims. they’ve always reminded me of queer christians – the vast majority of their faiths hate them, but they do still exist. and it’s possible to be progressive while also being devoted to your faith. i’ve met so many religious folks that are allies and supportive of queer people, so seeing posts like this crop up and gain popularity is just… disheartening. it feels like we’re going backwards after finally making some progress.

[idsb]

Saw this on Twitter in a thread about how people who haven’t known her for as long still deserve tickets and like. That may sometimes be true but I’m sorry, if you haven’t listened to debut and just won’t / aren’t even curious to(???? I’d be so stoked about any Taylor music I haven’t heard before and it’s a whole studio album????) like. You AREN’T as big of a fan as some of us and probably DON’T deserve tickets as much as others in this fandom do lmao sorry but it’s true

[aroacehanzawa]

rant

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.

Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.

It is not in English.

Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.

...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.

So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.

I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.

Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.

And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.

I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.

[yueebby]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[cyxnidx]

LANGUAGE BARRIER !

characters: choso, gojo, nanami

summary: them with a bilingual-partner & their kids

ー# CHOSO didn't know just how big of a mistake he made letting his little girl learn an extra language. at first, he didn't think it'd be a big deal. his two year old learning your native language? that was an amazing idea - he loved it. the importance of maintaining your culture's language and spreading it through family made him think he was completing an aspiration he never knew he wanted. that was, until his you and his little angel decided to take things to the next level - insults. you taught her insults. and he didn't know it until he ended up upsetting her at the dinner table, and she blurted something incredibly disrespectful in your native language.

your jaw was on the floor. and choso was, rightfully so, incredibly confused. "what'd she just say?" he asks, genuinely confused about what she just told him. you begin laughing, scolding your little girl. "honey, you can't say that to daddy! that's bad." choso looks at her concerned. "what'd you say?" she crosses her arms, sticking her tongue out at him. he sighs, looking at you. "what'd she say?" collecting yourself, you sigh and whisper it to him, watching as his face contorts to complete shock. "that is so rude!"

ー# GOJO loved the idea. i mean, think about it? his little girl, stomping around, arguing with you in your language, and lowkey winning? he thought it was hilarious! of course, until she gets old enough to truly say something hurtful, but that'll be a while. or, at least, that's what he thought.

your daughter pouts, sitting in the middle of the living room floor, back facing you. she's six now, and far sassier than anything on plant earth. meanwhile, gojo is simply getting a snack bar from the kitchen. though, when you least expect it, she yells at you to shut up in your native language. your eyes go wide as you begin to slip off your sandal, walking toward her in spite of her screams. gojo wraps his arms around your torso, yelling 'calm down' and 'it's okay', having to catch your sandal when you attempt to throw it at her. your daughter approaches, just far back enough to not get caught by you, and apologizes formally before leaving to hide in her room. and now, gojo has to deal with you cursing at him. which is all fine, of course, except.. its somehow worse than you cursing at him in English?

ー# NANAMI thought it to be an interesting experience. he was the one to convince you that, no, it wasn't going to confuse him, and no, he wouldn't be upset if his daughter spoke to him in the language. because, unbeknownst to you, he's learning the language. ever since you were maybe six months pregnant? he wanted it to be a surprise for the little ones birthday. and that, it was.

you smiled, answering one of your daughters many questions for the day while nanami sat at the picnic table outside. today marks her fourth birthday, and she was ecstatic. she never really understood the significance of birthdays until recently, when nanami's been explaining to her how exciting they tend to be. "daddy! daddy! today's my birthday!" she exclaims, grinning ear to ear. "and ー and mommy made me my cake! and i helped!" she says, happily pointing to the cake, basically jumping off the ground and to the moon. nanami smiled at his daughter's excitement. "i see, darling. did you put the candles on it, too?" he asks, stifling a laugh at the slightly messy placement of the candles on top. she nods and grins. "you did a great job, darling." he praises, kissing her cheek. she asks you a question in your language, asking if it was time to cut the cake yet. before you could respond, nanami shakes his head, telling her she has to wait to light the candles first. your eyes go wide, while your daughter simply nods with acceptance. "since when did you-?" you ask, generally confused. nanami smiles. "i've been learning for some years now."

[mariacallous]

Last year, the lead singer of The 1975, Matt Healy, managed to offend a whole lot of Gaelgoirí (Irish speakers) when he appeared to mock a fan’s name – Dervla – at a meet-and-greet.

Healy isn’t alone, though, when it comes to anglophone bafflement at Irish names. A recent study based on an analysis of Google searches revealed the words that British people have the most difficulty pronouncing. The names Aoife, Saoirse, Niamh and Siobhán occupy places in the top 10.

And it’s not exclusively a British problem: I always cringe watching US talkshows where the host quizzes their Irish guest (usually Saoirse Ronan) on the pronunciation of their and other Irish names.

I’ve heard every possible variation of my own name from non-Irish people. It’s not uncommon in Ireland; in secondary school, there were four Niamhs in my class. But I rarely come across an English person who is familiar with it, despite the proximity of our two countries.

In case you don’t know, it’s pronounced “Neev” or “Nee-av”, either is perfectly acceptable. The prefix Ní means “daughter of”. My surname is trickier, and has even tripped up a few Irish people; it can be translated as Herbert, and is pronounced “her-a-vard”.

When I was living in London, I quickly learned that saying Niamh at the counter in a coffee shop or over the phone to make a booking simply wouldn’t fly. This led to the invention of what I call my “Starbucks name”. Anything easily pronounceable with a simple spelling would do. Mia, Sophie and Rose were among my common aliases.

Speaking to others reveals a litany of similar experiences. Aoibhe Ní Shúilleabháin, a designer and teacher, spent two years at college in England having her name mispronounced and disrespected. (Her first name is pronounced “Ay-vah”.) More than one lecturer resorted to calling her “blondie”.

She tells me: “I was asked to say, ‘Three hundred and thirty three trees’” – a tongue-twister that does the rounds on TikTok – “more often than I was asked to repeat my name.” She recalls the lack of interest when she attempted to explain that Irish and English are different languages with different pronunciation rules.

Clearly, the sensitivities at play here are rooted in history: Ireland was colonised by the English and our national language was all but wiped out. A language revival began in earnest in the 19th century, but it’s never quite recovered. Ireland’s most recent census shows that about 40% of Ireland’s population can speak Irish. The English destroyed our language once before, so every little throwaway comment and scoff at our names hurts a little bit more – and ultimately becomes just tiresome. A handful of people even remark, “Oh! I didn’t know Ireland had its own language,” when I tell them about my name.

Writer Darach Ó Séaghdha is all too familiar with these difficulties. (The “rach” in Darach is pronounced like “Bach”, he says.)He hosted a podcast called Motherfoclóir, a podcast about the Irish language and culture, and whenever there were guests on with Irish names, “inevitably the episode would turn into group therapy”. There was one bad experience, he recalls, when he was told that his surname “looked like a wifi password”. But he decided to give his children Irish names, too. It’s a common trend, he says, “because parents with Irish names have been battle-hardened”.

Like the others I spoke to for this piece, writer and director Rioghnach (think “Ree-nock”)Ní Ghrioghair believes that a sense of superiority among English speakers is to blame for the constant mistreatment of Irish names. But she’s defiant. “We are going to scrutinise the British for any transgression regarding the pronunciation of our names,” and other things, she tells me, like British media claiming Irish actors as their own during awards seasons.

There is no easy crash-course I can give to you on the pronunciation of Irish names, but you can always try out “how to pronounce”-style websites (which themselves can be contested). But the simplest and most reliable solution is perhaps just to politely ask an Irish person – and listen attentively to what they say. I may have accepted that English people are very rarely going to get my name right on the first go, but I appreciate a well-intentioned effort. Just don’t laugh at it, please.

[teapartyprincess4two]

Can you make a Latina reader x Matt sturniolo smut? You can make it up how you want it

Lipstick- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Thick!Latina!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: fluff, smut

inspiration: request^^

translations: embedded within the story!

warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, use of Spanish, Hispanic/ Latino culture mentioned, established relationship, slight cursing, traditional parents, mentions of alcohol, didn’t name any of the side characters, long

summary: Matt’s nervous to meet your family, but after making a good impression you treat him to a night full of kisses and lipstick stains.

—

Matt sits in the living room, nervous hands playing with the keys that hang from his belt loop. Your mother keeps him company, sitting on the sofa across from him as she asks him a plethora of personal and uncomfortable questions. Latina mothers are unashamed to prod into the personal life of others, especially when meeting their daughter’s boyfriend for the first time.

You’ve only been dating Matt for a couple of months, and although he seems like a nice kid, she’s not entirely sure she can trust your judgment just yet. The few boys you’ve brought home before haven’t always necessarily met her high standards. Matt hasn’t done anything to throw her off yet, but she’s sure she’ll find something to dislike. If he manages to stick around long enough, though, he’d surely grow on her.

“So what do you do for work?” your mom asks, momentarily looking up from her latest costura project to catch Matt’s anxious gaze. She expertly weaves the string in and out of the white lace, forming an intricate floral design in the process.

[translation: costura- sewing]

“Oh um… my brothers and I we make YouTube videos,” Matt doesn’t know where to look, he’s afraid to make eye contact but also afraid that if he doesn’t it’ll come off as disrespectful. He’s never been so nervous in his life, and from the look on your mother’s face he can tell that that’s probably not what she wanted to hear.

Your mother scoffs, obviously unimpressed with his answer. “Esta niña, siempre saliendo con los más huevones,” she turns her head towards the stairs. Matt’s been waiting for you to descend for over 30 minutes, and the awkward tension was even becoming too much for her.

[translation: “This girl, always going out with the laziest ones.”]

Matt coughs, taking a quick swig of the water bottle in front of him. He’s nervous, his hands are clammy and he has no idea what your mom just said. What was taking you so long?

“So is YouTube gonna pay the bills?” your mom was abrasive and she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. In her eyes, nobody was worthy enough of her babygirl. Matt remains silent, he doesn’t even know what to say, so she continues, “You know, when you two start having kids.”

The thought of having children at 20 years old terrifies Matt beyond belief, he can feel his hands getting clammier by the second. He understands that it’s a cultural dissonance, though, so he keeps his mouth shut. “We’re not planning on any kids soon, ma’am. We haven’t— Um, we haven’t really talked about it,” his voice trembles slightly, your mom was doing a good job of intimidating him.

Matt takes another swig of his water, his mouth was dry and he felt like his throat was closing up. “Oh, but you’re having sex with my daughter right?” the question is so unapologetically bold that it causes Matt to choke on the liquid, some of it managing to dribble down his chin.

“I’m sorry?” he chokes out, but he heard your mom loud and clear.

Finally, as if on queue, Matt hears footsteps coming down the steps. ‘Finally!’ he thinks, watching as your curvy figure rounds the staircase and enters the living room. Matt shoots up from his spot on the couch, his eyes immediately dancing over your entire body.

You’re wearing a fitted, black bodycon dress that reaches just above your knees. The spaghetti straps work to hold your bust in place, a gold necklace dangling delicately above the curves of your breasts. You push your freshly curled hair onto your shoulders, luscious locks framing your face perfectly. White lace-up sneakers adorn your feet, your ankle bracelet glimmering as you walk into the living room.

Matt can’t keep his eyes off of, every aspect of your being pulling him in and putting him in a trance. Your mom notices Matt’s inability to hide his attraction for you, “her eyes are up here!” His face goes beet red, eyes immediately darting up to your face.

You roll your eyes before sending Matt an apologetic smile, “Ya nos vamos, Ma.”

[translation: “We’re leaving, Ma.”]

“Bueno, mi niña. Pórtate bien,” she warns, bringing you in for a strong, warm embrace. Your mom’s change in behavior is so quick it gives Matt whiplash, but he can’t blame her for being standoffish with him. He understands that it’s her mother bear nature.

[translation: “Okay, babygirl. Be good.”]

You kiss your mom on the cheek, your red lipstick staining her face. You turn to Matt with a big, toothy smile sprawled onto your face. “You ready?” you ask, taking his hand in yours as you guide him outside. He nods and hums in response, squeezing your hand as he trails behind you in a lovesick daze. Your ass jiggles with each step and Matt wonders how he ever got so lucky.

“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologize once you’re in the car, getting situated in the passenger seat. “No problem. You look really beautiful,” he replies, starting the car and doing another once over on your body. You lean over the center console with puckered lips, “kiss?” He happily obliges, your red lipstick instantly transferring onto him. His pants are becoming tighter by the second and you notice it right away. Your relationship is still in its infancy, so even this has you blushing.

“Was my mom nice?”

“Mm yeah, some like that,” he replies with a chuckle, adjusting his pants and beginning the drive to your destination. You know he’s lying, but you’re grateful that he’s courteous enough to put up with your mom’s attitude.

“Just wait till you meet my dad and my siblings. They’re not as bad,” you say, the hum of the car engine and the low music in the background creating a calm atmosphere.

“Can’t wait,” he laughs, and although he’s nervous for when that day finally comes, he’s actually excited to become a constant presence in your life. It might be too early to say it, but he’s definitely falling in love with you, the tent in his pants making it obvious as ever.

—

A year has passed since that day and, as expected, your mom has warmed up to Matt. They aren’t super close yet, but she definitely sees him in a different light. She can tell that he truly cares for you and that what you two share is real, but the real test comes when Matt meets your dad.

Your dad works a lot, the manual labor taking a toll on his body that puts him to sleep as soon as he gets home. So, even if your dad is home when Matt’s around, he’s usually asleep or resting in his room.

Matt was nervous when he met your mom, but he’s TERRIFIED to meet your dad. There are so many factors to take into consideration; the language barrier, the cultural dissonance, the fact that he’s your literal dad! It doesn’t help that your siblings are gonna be there too, all of it makes Matt tremble with unease. But he’s been invited to your family’s cookout so he can no longer postpone it.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon. The weather is nice, it’s not too cold or too hot. It’s the perfect day for a cookout, and Matt should feel excited, but he doesn’t. Sweaty hands grip the steering wheel as he anxiously drives to your house. Chris and Nick are being dragged along as moral support, but unlike Matt, they’re not nervous.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you guys. I don’t even think they know I’m a triplet,” Matt’s words are coming out a mile a minute as he places the car in park outside your house. The panic is starting to set, and from the looks of it they’re the first ones here. Usually being on time would make Matt proud, but this just means there will be less people to hide behind.

“Dude, it’s gonna be fine. Plus, maybe Y/n has a cute cousin or something and we can be like brother in laws,” Chris is only half-joking. “Gross,” Nick grimaces, hopping off the car and beginning the short walk to your front door. Chris laughs, copying Nick’s actions and following closely behind.

That just leaves Matt. He’s glued to the front seat, mind racing uncontrollably. If he’s going to do this, it needs to be quick and painless or he’ll just psych himself out. He takes one deep breath in and out, unbuckling himself with such fervor that the seatbelt slaps the door. Once he steps out of the car, he takes a second to anchor himself before jogging to catch up to his brothers, who are already ringing your doorbell.

Three minutes pass and no one has opened the door, so Nick rings the doorbell again. “Allí voy, allí voy!” a voice shouts from inside, the door swinging open aggressively to reveal your little sister.

[translation: “I’m going, I’m going!”]

“Oh it’s just you,” she deadpans, moving aside so they can walk in. She slams the door shut, pushing past the stunned trio until she’s at the foot of the stairs. “Y/n’s upstairs,” she says, waving towards the staircase haphazardly.

“Y/N! YOUR BOYFRIENDS ARE HERE!” she shouts up the stairs, the loud outburst taking the triplets by surprise.

Your sister is a good 4 years younger and the complete opposite of you. She’s a thin tomboy, wearing an outfit so oversized that she’s drowning in fabric. Her style directly resembles Chris’s, chunky sneakers adorning her feet and a backwards hat resting atop her long, curly hair. A long gold chain that she stole from your older brother hangs from her neck, swaying back and forth as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her makeup is nicely done and her glossy lips are resting in a smirk, she loved embarrassing you.

“Stop yelling, pendeja!” you shout back, head peering from your doorway. Your sister shoots you an unbothered shrug, turning on her heels and disappearing into the backyard. You descend the stairs, immediately hugging Matt and planting a fat kiss on his lips. Within seconds his lips are the same color as yours, your cherry lipgloss tasting all too familiar.

[translation: pendeja- dumbass (feminine)]

“You guys are early,” you chuckle, pulling away from Matt to greet the other two. “You can blame Matt for that,” Nick says, the four of you walking outside to the backyard patio. The setup is simple but nice, rows of foldable chairs and tables lining the grassy lawn. Coolers are up against the walls of the house, each one filled to the brim with soda, juice pouches, and alcohol.

As Matt is surveying the area, he sees your dad, or at least he thinks he does. A tall, muscular man is working the grill. His shiny, bald head reflects the sun and his tattoos are on full display past the sleeves of his ribbed cotton tank top.

Matt grabs your hand, pulling you back slightly, “Is that your dad?” His voice is hushed, afraid to be heard accidentally.

You follow his gaze, “What? No. That’s my brother.”

An audible sigh of relief escapes Matt, and you instantly clock it, “Don’t worry, babe. Everyone’s gonna love you.” The reassuring words momentarily calm his nerves.

Your older brother’s boisterous voice breaks the moment, “Y/n, go get the rest of the carne from the kitchen!” He’s pinching carne asada, elote, and cebolla off of the grill with long metal tongs, stacking it neatly on a metal tray.

[translation: carne- meat, carne asada- grilled meat, elote- corn, cebolla- onion]

Chris is the first to approach your brother, his friendly nature making it easy for him to talk to new people,“Dude, that smells good!”

Your brother is very kind, his scary appearance completely juxtaposing his hospitable personality. He’s wearing baggy jean shorts and black air forces with a matching gold chain and bracelet. The black sunglasses that rest on his face make him look unapproachable, but the warm smile he offers Nick and Chris makes up for it.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” you quickly peck Matt’s cheek, once again staining his face with your lipstick. Matt hums in response, joining the rest of the men around the grill.

“I feel like I’m seeing triple. I didn’t even know there was three of y’all,” your brother jokes, offering them each a firm handshake. Even though they’ve heard the joke millions of times before the triplets laugh.

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Nick laughs.

“Bet you do. Which of you is dating my sister, though?” your brother asks, but he knows the answer; the red kiss on Matt’s cheek is a dead giveaway.

“That would be this lucky guy,” Nick replies, shaking Matt’s shoulders playfully. Matt’s cheeks burn a bright red and he can’t stop himself from smiling, he truly was lucky. “If the red lipstick on his face doesn’t tell you, then his smile surely will,” Chris chimes in, his finger smudging the makeup on Matt’s face.

Your brother laughs, “Yeah you might wanna wipe that off before el jefe gets back.”

[translation: el jefe- the boss (masculine, a nickname commonly used when referencing one’s father)]

“Oh shit,” Matt mutters, scrambling for a nearby napkin and rubbing it along his face feverishly.

—

An hour has passed and no one else has arrived yet, I guess the triplets didn’t get the memo that Hispanics are almost always fashionably late. Your brother is still working the grill, immersed in an entertaining conversation with Nick about God knows what. Chris, on the other hand, is playing soccer with your sister. He keeps either kicking the ball over the fence or missing it completely, his clumsy actions make your sister laugh uncontrollably.

You sit with Matt at one of the many tables, hands intertwined as you both anxiously await your parents arrival. “He should be back by now,” you mumble, a restless leg bouncing up and down. You knew Matt would make a good first impression on your dad, but you were still nervous.

It’s almost like you summoned him, the familiar sound of your dad’s pickup truck ringing in your ears as he pulls into the driveway. “Is that him?” Matt asks, grip tightening on your palms. “Yeah that’s him. Don’t be nervous, my dad is nice,” you reply, but you’re equally as anxious.

Your dad’s first words do nothing to help your case, you’re just glad Matt can’t understand them, “Vengan a ayudar, huevones!”

[translation: “Come help, lazies!”]

“Lemme go help, you stay here. Okay?”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

“Actually yeah, good idea.”

Matt follows you to the front yard, he’s so beyond nervous that his hands are practically dripping with sweat. Your dad senses Matt’s presence immediately, “Y este pinche güey que?”

[translation: “Who’s this fucking guy?”]

“Pa! No seas feo!” you exclaim, but your dad just rolls his eyes and silently instructs you to unload the truck. He bought more alcohol for the party, because when you’re Hispanic you can never have enough.

[translation: “Pa! Don’t be ugly!”]

“Es tu novio o que?” your dad asks, grunting as he picks up two cases of beer. He rests them on his shoulders with ease, he’s so strong that it intimidates Matt. “Yes, dad. He’s my boyfriend,” you reply, playfully rolling your eyes.

[translation: “Is he your boyfriend or what?”]

Your dad, much like your brother, is also bald. The greatest differences between the two men are the wrinkles that crease near your dad’s eyes when he smiles, his long bushy beard, and his protruding beer belly. “Nice to meet you,” your dad finally directs his attention towards Matt, offering him a genuine smile as his thick accent butchers the words.

“Nice to meet you too, sir,” Matt replies, picking up a case of alcohol as to make himself useful. Your dad can tell that Matt’s nervous, and even though he doesn’t like the idea of you dating, he decides to take it easy on him. He’s heard stories about Matt from your mom and by the way you look at him, your dad knows he’s the one.

As your dad enters the backyard, absolutely shocked to see Chris and Nick. Never in his life has he met a twin, let alone triplets, “Ay güey! Hay tres? No chingues, creo que me mareé.” Everyone, except for the triplets who have no idea what’s going on, laughs at your dad’s statement.

[translation: “Oh shit! There’s three? Fuck, I think I just got dizzy.”]

“I think he likes you,” you shrug, a sly smile playing on your face. Matt suddenly feels confident, all the nerves washing away.

—

As the hours pass, the party becomes less innocent as everyone becomes more and more inebriated. Matt’s chatting with some of your uncles and cousins, a cold beer resting in his hands. He’s been nursing the same bottle all night, only sipping from it occasionally.

You’re on the opposite end of the lawn, sitting at a table with your chismosa cousin. “Your man is so handsome, prima. If you find another one like that, send him my way.”

[translation: chismosa- gossiper (feminine), prima- cousin (feminine)]

“He does have a brother,” you joke, eyes still trained on Matt. You needed to get him alone in the house, away from prying eyes.

You could think of so many actual reasons you needed him right now, though. First, he was being such a gentleman with your family. He introduced himself and made small talk despite the evident language barrier. Secondly, when you served him a plate, he finished it faster than you’ve ever seen him eat anything. Then, when he got up for seconds, he moaned as the delicious flavors melted in his mouth.

Everyone loved him, and for whatever reason that turned you on. The longer you looked at him, the wetter you became. You’re clenching your thighs together, the sheer thought of him making you squirm. Before you know it, you’re excusing yourself from your cousin and walking up to Matt with a random excuse as to why you need him inside.

“Hey is everything okay?” Matt whispers, hands resting on your hips. His head is crooked down towards you, lips capturing yours briefly before resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah, just missed you,” your breathy words fan his lips as you place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth and travel them down his neck.

Although he welcomes the feeling, you’re both standing in the kitchen and if anyone were to walk in they’d catch the intimate moment. That’s the last thing he wanted, especially not after making a good first impression, “not here, baby.”

You pout, completely retracting yourself from Matt, “okay.”

“No, wait. I said not here,” he pulls you back in as he looks around the house in search of another secluded area, not wanting to completely abandon your touch.

“Then where?” your voice is sultry and inviting.

“Outside?” it’s the first thing that comes to Matt’s mind, and the suggestion breaks you from the mood.

“Outside, Matt? Really? Like what, like a dog?” you have a dumbfounded look on your face, almost like you can’t believe he even suggested it.

“No, like, in my car,” he dangles the keys in front of your face before pulling you back in for a heated kiss.

The kiss seems to convince you because he’s successfully leading you to his car. The street is dark, only illuminated by a few street lamps, but you find it with ease.

You fumble into the backseat, Matt following behind you giddily. “We have to be quick, okay?” you whisper, pulling Matt in for another kiss by the collar.

“You know I like taking my time with my girl,” you can hear the smirk in his voice, a playful scoff falling from your lips. You scoot further into the back seat, making room for Matt as he situates himself between your legs.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he brushes a stray curl away from your face, a gentle hand caressing your cheek. “Hmm yes, but I could hear it again,” you turn your face, kissing his palm.

“You look beautiful today,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. You mould into each other, your lips fitting perfectly against his. Matt grinds himself down on you, momentarily breaking from you long enough for you to feather kisses along his neck.

With each kiss comes an affirmation, “I’m. So. Proud. Of. You.” It’s too dark to see, but you’re leaving lipstick marks all over him. The praises send blood rushing to his dick as you continue, “You did so good, papi. Just like I knew you would.”

[translation: papi- daddy (bear with me ppl)]

“Yeah? How good?” he eggs you on, relishing in all your sweet words. His hands push your dress up, the fabric scrunching up around your hips to reveal the red lace panties you wore underneath. Matt swears he’s in heaven.

“You did perfect…” your words trail off as you watch Matt remove your underwear in a daze. “How about you show me how good I did?” he grabs your waist, flipping you both over so you’re on top. You let out an excited squeal, your bare cunt coming in contact with his rough denim jeans. His dick is straining against the fabric, begging for release.

You grind onto his clothed penis, one hand resting on his chest as the other pushes your hair out of your face. Matt’s hands instinctively find your hips, a firm grip guiding your swiveling motions.

“Tell me how you want me, baby.”

“Ride me?”

As soon as he says it, you’re wiggling down onto his thighs and unbuckling his pants. Your fingers dance along his erection, teasingly tracing it. Matt bites his lip at the sight, “Please don’t tease.”

“So polite,” you giggle, finally tugging his pants down. His dick slaps against his stomach, the swollen tip already dripping with precum. Your thumb runs across the tip, spreading the lubrication along his shaft.

Matt’s a whimpering mess, propped onto his elbows to get a better view of you. When his hips subconsciously buck into your hand you decide to stop teasing and situate yourself above his crotch, dragging his penis along your wet folds before positioning it right at your entrance.

You’re going so slow, too slow, so Matt decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs handfuls of your ass, pushing you down onto his dick with force. “Matt!” you gasp, the delicious stretch sending you into overdrive.

He doesn’t respond, instead he pushes and pulls your hips so that you’re bouncing on his cock. Your breasts are jiggling rhythmically, threatening to spill out of your dress. Animalistic grunts fill the car as Matt watches your pussy wrap around him, his jaw is slack and his eyebrows are furrowed in pleasure. Your soft whimpers and moans motivate him to keep going.

“You like that?” The car is rocking with the intensity of your movements, windows becoming foggier and foggier with each breathy moan that escapes your lips.

“Yes!” your voice is high pitched and squeaky, the pleasure choking you up. “Use your words, pretty girl,” he grunts, feeling the familiar wave of pleasure approaching.

“It’s so good, papi. So, so, so good,” you babble, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. Your pussy is fluttering around him, the sensation bringing Matt closer to his breaking point.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers, large hands squeezing the skin around your hips so hard that it was sure to bruise. You place loving kisses all over his face, especially on his cheeks and the corners of his mouth.

“I love you,” you moan, chanting his name again and again right after. He’s thrusting up into you feverishly, his pace faltering slightly as you both near your climax. “I love you too, princess. So much,” his voice is strained, strong arms wrapping around your waist and holding you in place as he shoots his warm load into you. His affirmations send you into a state of euphoria as your orgasm washes over you.

He’s peppering kissing all over your chest, whimpers escaping his lips as he comes down from his high. You delicately push his hair off of his sweaty forehead, admiring him as he continues his gentle attack on your chest.

“We should probably get back, babe. They’ll be wondering where we are,” you whisper, but he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to stay like this with you forever.

“Let me enjoy this a little longer,” he murmurs, hooded eyes finally looking up at you. Your lipstick is smudged all over your mouth. “Aww baby, your lipstick is all messed up. You look so cute,” he laughs, attempting to wipe some it off but failing.

He shifts slightly, the streetlights briefly managing to illuminate his handsome face. Your kiss marks are all over, a clear visual representation of how much you love him.

“You’re wearing more of it than I am,” you joke, earning yourself a playful slap on the ass.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: clearly I couldn’t just write a smut right? Lmaoooo idk I had all the characters in my brain & it couldn’t just be smut 😭 hope u enjoy

This is so different from anything I’ve written before so lmk how yall like it & if you enjoy having Spanish in stories w/ the translations in the story💃🏻 also don’t kill me for using papi, i’d gladly call my man papi any day 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[comradekatara]

do you have a masterpost of "ty lee comes from crypto-air nomad" posts? I'm fascinated by this idea and want to read everything I can but I can't find where it started 😭

i feel like this is a question better posed to @kyoshi-lesbians, who, at least in my book, is the leading expert in ty lee studies (among other things). that said, i can definitely synthesize the argument (and why i find it cogent and persuasive), even if i don't actually know from where the theory originated (but i'm sure that if you look up "ty lee air nomad you'll immediately be directed to an old reddit page or fan forum from years ago; it's a "theory" that goes way back).

firstly, ty lee's appearance is distinctly "air nomadic" in a way no one else's is. save for aang, of course. she and aang do bear an uncanny resemblance. everyone else in the fire nation has yellowish brown eyes, for example, while ty lee, like aang, has charcoal greyish brown eyes. and they also have similar (round and cute) facial features, similar expressions, similar vibes. similar dispositions...

ty lee does not "have the personality" of a ruthless fire nation soldier, despite acting as the princess's right hand who takes out more opponents than pretty much everyone else put together. ty lee acts like an airbender, flirty and flighty. her relentless optimism and goodwill and cheer is decidedly a mask, but it is a mask she adopts adeptly. even if she is performing, she nonetheless performs the "aang" function of her respective group.

ty lee presents herself as more spiritually attuned than other people in the fire nation, who outright disrespect the spirits and spirituality. her constant talk of auras is likely a calculated move on her part, as nearly everything is, to make her seem silly and trivial, because she thrives best when she goes underestimated. but her talk of auras also has to come from somewhere, and seeing as literally no one else mentions auras once throughout the entire show, ty lee's sources are clearly scarce.

ty lee also fights like an airbender. despite generally taking the offensive, ty lee nonetheless exhibits a graceful, acrobatic quality when in combat. she never kills anyone either, merely incapacitates them momentarily. and when she is faced with stronger than typical opponents, she usually relies on her skills as an acrobat by taking the aerial advantage. note her ability to jump incredibly high, such as in "the chase," or her ability to run along a moving cable wire in "the boiling rock." ty lee's skills go beyond merely being a good acrobat. she's incredible. and perhaps even exhibiting some latent airbending skills she inherited from her ancestors.

ty lee's air nomad ancestry coheres really well with her arc as a character. imagining that her family of genocide survivors hid in the heart of the fire nation and assimilated into the imperialist culture that sought to exterminate them makes her own role that much more impactful. there's already a beautiful parallelism to the fact that ty lee is an acrobat and performer who contorts herself to suit the desires of others and performs obsequious loyalty for her own survival, but an extra layer of depth is added if she's also assimilating into the royal court by reducing herself and hiding her true feelings and motivations, just as her family did.

i see ty lee's ancestors as having assimilated into the imperial core out of fear, but over the generations, genuinely being subsumed into fire nation culture, with the desire to social climb a natural extension of their patriotism. but there are also still facets of ty lee's ancestry, whether genetic or otherwise, that have remained in traces. the generational trauma, for example, definitely reflects why her parents had so many children. and the fact that she's constantly torn between two worlds, as a genocide survivor who also directly serves the imperialists who murdered her ancestors, represents her internal struggle as someone who desires freedom of expression and the choice to assert her individuality, but is also forced through circumstance into lying and deflecting and manipulating (which, to be honest, is also the air nomad way) for the sake of survival.

surviving is ty lee's number one priority, in a way it just isn't for mai. mai and ty lee both come from social climbing families (although i've always assumed that mai's family is far wealthier than ty lee's) but mai is also depressed and frustrated and bored out of her mind. and even though she was raised in a family that forced her to don a mask and reduce herself and perform a passive model of femininity, she also has no problem stating aloud how she's feeling and what her limits are (with the exception of when azula gives her a veiled command as a test, and mai has no choice but to obey).

mai has the privilege of knowing that the stakes don't really matter, which she all but states when she claims that she grew up in luxury and opulence, and always had everything handed to her. which isn't to say that she led a perfect, easy life. she wouldn't be as depressed and repressed as she is if there weren't factors actively harming her, but she still chooses to join azula by choice, even if it's really only the illusion of choice between two awful options, whereas ty lee has to be coerced through violence.

mai kind of has a "fuck it we ball" attitude and doesn't really seem to care about her own safety (if anything, she's more concerned with comfort), whereas ty lee would do anything to ensure her survival. and that kind of mentality illustrates how she differs from most of the fire nation elites, who were inculcated into imperial privilege and never really considered what prioritizing survival even entails (zuko learns that lesson the hard way). ty really exhibits the mentality of the genocide victim/colonized subject through her prioritization of survival in the face of what to mai is a problem, but to ty lee is an existential threat.

whether or not ty lee even recognizes that her desperate desire to live comes from a place of generational grief and trauma is another story, but i do think there is something to be said for the fact that descendants of genocide survivors can feel that grief as it has been passed down to them. i think ty lee feels it, and i think that it motivates her to do whatever it takes to live, because above all, she is a survivor. and even if she has to assimilate and manipulate and cut away every part of herself that's real and authentic and true, she will do it (until she doesn't). and that's also, incidentally, what makes her such a great foil to aang.

[spirit-meets-the-b0ne]

I can’t believe what a point of contention this has become. I genuinely cannot understand the animosity towards it lol

Seriously post after post bitching and crying and begging for this to be destroyed - now besides how grossly disrespectful that would be to the stone masons who worked on this for years - it’s bizarre? I understand the criticism against Viserys (as a father, husband, King) but as a Targaryen - this endeavor is probably the most noble. So, while I see the childish thought process behind “smashing his legos” - come on be ffr.

The Doom of Valyria was catastrophic and while I’m hesitant to call it a “lost civilization” it is akin to the Atlantian mythology in nature and description. It’s not only the ancestral home of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon, but it was a major hub of magic, the most advanced city in the known world and likely the place of origin of the Faceless Men. The Doom is endlessly fascinating, from its predictions to the sheer cataclysmic scale of it all. I mean 14 volcanoes erupting at once would make Pompeiis explosion look like a candle to the sun.

Recreating Valyria by painstakingly pouring over texts to replicate what once was is a tragic echo that reverberates through generations. And for a fandom that shouts back and forth about “true Targaryen” definitions it seems most of those don’t care for that echo. The epic demise of a homeland filled with magic and dragons that are never to be seen again should be more than a foot note. A generational trauma that follows every Targaryen - the ever present fear that the Doom will swallow them too - down to Dany and her dragons which would have seemingly signified the return of magic long lost. How could any “true” Targaryen have anything but heartache over the loss of Valyria and the Freehold? How could they not be plagued with the weight on their shoulders that none in Westeros could truly sympathize with?

And I’ve long held a grudge against HBO for the way they mistreat Magic (and race, gender, sexuality, etc) in these fantasy series (no I’m never going to forgive them ESPECIALLY in HotD for not doing the CGI purple eyes [somehow Witcher had it in the budget AND it looked good] because of how much that trait was a distinctly other/outsider signifier) but this stupid little model is actually one of only additions I respect. Because while it can be viewed as some petty distraction for a physically deteriorating chronically ill history buff to get away from his kids - it is the biggest symbol of devotion to Targaryen culture - way more than anything else in the series. So I’ll die on this hill. The legos must be protected.

[thepixelelf]

Band of Silver, Remember my Vow [Teaser]

Based on and inspired by the Sanskrit play, Sakuntala; or The Ring of Recollection, by Kālidāsa, which dramatizes the story of Sakuntala as told in the epic, the Mahābhārata

genres: romance, angst, past civilization au (set in a made up land inspired by joseon and influenced by other asian (and hints of european :/) cultures), subtle magic, not e2l just people who annoy each other at the start to people hopelessly in love w each other pairing: healer reader x lord scoups. platonic reader & soldier dino teaser word count: 2.2k estimated fic word count: ~15k teaser warnings: injury by weapon to an animal (hunting). animal attack. estimated fic warnings: descriptions of blood, injury, and illness. (possibly) sex but not smut. animal gore. notes: this was meant to be for caratlibrary's fall collaboration, but I flubbed it on the deadline (no surprise there!). I'm still not done, but I wanted to post this to see if people are as interested in the story as I am! I will not be making a requestable taglist, however I will be tagging people who comment/show interest in the tags of reblogs

In the story of Sakuntala, the king Dusyanta ends a hunting trip before he comes across the beautiful Sakuntala in a nearby hermitage. He is immediately captivated by her, courts her, and marries her soon after. However, he must return to his royal duties in the capital. He leaves his signet ring with her, promising to return. While distracted with her love for Dusyanta, Sakuntala forgets to greet a visiting and easily irritated sage. Angered by her disrespect, he curses her by making Dusyanta forget her existence. He is later convinced to lighten her punishment, and revises the curse so that the king will remember everything upon seeing the ring he left behind.

teaser under the cut!

The bowstring pulls taut as Seungcheol draws his arm back. His aim is unwavering— it better be, with all the years of training his breath to even at will, all those days spent shooting arrows at dyed targets and skittering rabbits. He kneels in the grass, still as a corpse, and waits for the stag to lift its head from where it’s dipped at the base of a tree.

Wait. Patience. That’s what he was taught.

Patience. Wait. Wait. Breathe.

But — air huffs through Seungcheol’s nose — why isn’t it lifting its damn head? The entire forest surrounding him is quiet. Nothing is here to disturb this perfect moment. This almost perfect moment.

Seungcheol fills his chest with air again, even and silent.

Wait. Patience. Breathe. Lift your damn—

“What are you doing?”

Startling at the sudden whisper in his ear, Seungcheol swerves to the side, his fingers slipping and releasing his arrow into the air. It slams into a tree, right where the stag’s neck would have been had it lifted its head. The sound echoes through the forest, and it spooks the stag. It dashes off out of sight, and Seungcheol curses under his breath.

“Why would you—” He whips his head around and finds you crouching next to him, a woven basket resting on your hip, held there by one hand. For only a moment, he is distracted by your face, and the way the sunlight, broken through the leaves of the forest, dances on your cheeks. He clears his throat. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

You blink and tilt your head. “What have I done?”

Abruptly, Seungcheol stands, gesturing his bow towards where the stag disappeared. “My— you…” He huffs, then looks away, returning the bow to its spot on his back and tearing off his gloves in muted frustration.

He came here for a distraction, but you are closer to an annoyance, albeit a not unattractive one. He prefers to lose himself in the concentration of the hunt.

As he moves to follow the deer, your voice stops him.

“Where are you from?”

When he turns, you’ve already stood up, and you regard him with slightly furrowed brows.

“You must be from rather far,” you say without giving him much chance to respond. “Were you planning on shooting him?”

“Him?” Seungcheol echoes. “You’re referring to that animal?”

You hum, nodding to yourself. “Rather far indeed. He may very well have been the patron spirit of these woods.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a terrible dishonour to harm an antlered one in this forest. A dishonour to what this place provides, and the vast life within it,” you explain, though the words mean nothing to Seungcheol. You step closer to him, tilting your body to peer at the quiver of arrows on his back. “You’d be a fool to attempt to kill one, and invite grand misfortune by doing so.”

His jaw clenches, and air comes out of his nose hot. “Who are you to call me a fool? Do you know who I am?”

You straighten. “Am I supposed to? You’re quite far from home.”

“I am Lord Choi Seungcheol,” he announces with pride, though it tastes of the arrogance his mother always tutted at on his tongue. “General of the Four Peak Soldiers, and— and future ruler of the Eastern District.”

You make a face, and it only makes the anger in Seungcheol burn hotter.

“A lord, huh?” you taunt. “Or a general. Which one is it? Or does it not matter?” Leaning back slightly, you study his face. “Certainly, it doesn’t matter to me. I am neither a Four Peak soldier, nor a citizen of the Eastern District, so I will say as I please. A fool is a fool.”

Seungcheol raises his hand, and you flinch, but only slightly. Your eyes remain firm on his.

He lowers his hand, tired of your presence and of having to listen. If he and you were in his district, you’d have serious punishment awaiting your next sunrise. However, he was out on his own, alone on a rogue, spontaneous hunting trip far away from home because he wanted some space to get his thoughts together. It’s something he’s done before, two or three or nine times. His mother shows contempt for this habit of his, but she does not try to stop him. All she asks is that he not bring home trouble.

You seem like trouble.

How was he supposed to know that the woods he ventured into had such trivial myths to abide by?

He is Choi Seungcheol, damn it. Your silly fairy tales won’t deter him.

Deciding to spare you this time, Seungcheol breathes out and turns away, walking now in the direction of where he tied his horse. Perhaps this trip was a failure. To expect to clear his head the same way he has done before was foolish — though he would never admit that. What is on his mind now is much heavier, much more inevitable than the other things he would run away from in his youth.

A marriage to the country’s princess.

His marriage to her.

Seungcheol’s hands twitch, and he yearns to draw his bow again.

“Lord General,” you call out, the tone of your voice itself a warning. “Don’t be a fool.”

He ignores you.

=

Ricecake seems to have had a much better experience in this forest than Seungcheol. He finds her munching on the lush, untrodden grass, and he almost feels bad for interrupting her meal. However, that feeling lessens when he remembers that if he were successful in his hunt, she'd have to carry the spoils all the way home. At least she has that.

Seungcheol rides for not half an hour, following the river, before another stag dashes alongside his path. He spends no time thinking. Pulling his bow from his shoulder, he notches an arrow and lets it fly. A second arrow leaves his fingers before he blinks.

The stag rears on its hind legs, one arrow in its thick neck and one pierced directly through its eye. It shrieks, haunted and low.

But it does not fall.

Seungcheol dismounts from his horse and draws another arrow, aiming again for its neck so it cannot escape far before it dies. He expects it to run in the opposite direction.

Its hooves dig into the dirt beneath it, and the stag charges towards Seungcheol.

He has no time to react, his arms moving instinctually to protect his head, before pain blooms fiery red from his torso. An icy cold engulfs him, and everything goes dark.

=

Pain is what wakes him up, dull and aching, but when he attempts to right himself, Seungcheol winces. A fierce pang rings in his body from his stomach to his right ear, which sparks a jolt of pain throughout his head. He falls back again, though his head doesn’t hit the hard earth. Instead, a steady hand catches his head, and another gently touches the front of his shoulder, as if to calm him.

“Easy there, Lord General.”

Your voice, and the way you patronise his titles again, make Seungcheol frown. It hurts to breathe, but he can’t help the annoyance that refills within him. What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow him? Why are your hands so gentle?

Though his headache may worsen with sunlight, Seungcheol pries his eyes open. His eyelids are heavy, and for a moment, he thinks he must not have opened them fully. He can barely see you, even though it was midday when he’d been knocked unconscious. It then registers that he is no longer outside, in the woods, but in a room, lowly lit with sparsely strewn candles.

The realisation makes him want to jump up again, but the pain in his torso forces a groan from him, and he falls back onto the support of your hand. He strains his head to assess his surroundings. “Where am I?” he grits out. It hurts to speak.

“Be careful,” you say, concern sewn into your brows. “You may have broken your ribs.”

He demands, though perhaps sounding weaker than he likes, “Answer the question.”

Your lips settle into a straight line, and you breathe out through your nose. “You’re in my home.”

“Why?”

“I found you nearby,” you begin to explain, pulling your hand out from under him to cross your arms. He feels a thin layer of folded cloth under his head. “You were washed up on the riverbank, unconscious. Bloody…bruised…” You tilt your head. “Perhaps even more bruised now, since I practically had to drag you here, though the balm should help with the scrapes.”

“Balm?” Seungcheol echoes. Now that he thinks about it, there is a strange warmth seeping through the skin on his face. “You’re a healer,” he concludes.

You nod, and for the first time, Seungcheol sees a smile on your lips. In the candlelight, it only adds to the warmth.

“You’re lucky it was me who found you. Who knows how long you were lying in the cold water.” You sit back, eyes thoughtfully gazing over Seungcheol’s blanket-covered body. They pause around where Seungcheol’s left hand is. “I was able to save almost all your fingers.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he jerks his hands out from under the blanket to hold above his face. The pain this causes is in the background compared to his panic, but that fades soon after he sees all ten fingers, wiggles them, then glares at you.

You’re smiling wider now. “That was a joke, Lord General.” At his glare sharpening, you let out a small laugh. “Your fingers are fine. They might be stiff for a few days, though.” Your expression shifts to a more serious one. “Your ribs, on the other hand… You’re severely bruised. I suspect they may be fractured.

Breathing in again, Seungcheol watches the way you eye his chest as it rises and falls. It hurts like a bonfire has sparked in his lungs.

“What happened?” you ask, no residual hint of playfulness in the simple question.

“I…” In the back of his mind, Seungcheol sees the stag again, sees the blood rivering from its eye and neck, sees its antlers as they bouldered into him. He sees you, and how you spoke to him in the forest. An enchantingly bright bad omen.

Don’t be a fool.

Yet here he is, under your care in your home, for doing the very thing you warned him not to.

"...I fell," he says after a moment of quiet. It’s only a half-lie. He did fall, even if that wasn’t how he sustained the injuries to his ribs.

One of your eyebrows rises up your forehead. “You fell.”

“...Yes.”

You hum, doubtful. “Off your horse, I assume. I’ve seen similar bruising and fractures when people are kicked. It happens to someone around here at least once a year; there’s no shame in getting unsaddled.”

He’s never fallen off Ricecake — she’s the perfect companion, but Seungcheol grits his teeth and says, “I suppose there’s not.”

A triumphant grin appears on your face, and you turn slightly to reach for a small notebook. “Well, Lord General—”

“That is not my title,” he interrupts on principle, though he instantly regrets it with the waking pain in his chest. Still, he cannot stop himself from correcting you. “You will address me as Lord Choi, or ‘my Lord’.”

Your eyes don’t leave your notes. “Alright Lord General, it—”

“You can’t—”

“—is my professional opinion that you should be on bed rest for three days, though your full recovery could take two to three moons. I’ll need to monitor your breathing until it regulates.” You speak as if Seungcheol is just anyone, not someone with power or higher standing. To you, he is just a patient.

Why does that thought not continue to anger him?

“I need to find my horse,” he tells you. “There are healers in the Four Peak fortress that can oversee my recovery.”

You shake your head. “Riding is out of the question. It will only worsen your condition.”

“I can’t stay here. I am needed as their leader.” And his mother is going to kill him for being gone more than a few days without a word.

“Do you have a palanquin?”

Seungcheol frowns. “Do I look like I have a palanquin with me?”

“Could you send for one?” you rephrase.

He ponders on that. It is rare for him to ride a palanquin, even back home. The cart is used more decoratively these days, reserved for events like longevity parades through the city, and no longer for extended trips over uneven ground like the forests he travelled through to find himself on your land. 

Still, he can’t stay here. Certainly not for three moons. “I’ll write a missive.”

“Alright,” you say with a nod. “There’s a merchant group that travels every two weeks between here and a city in the Eastern District. You can send it with one of them.”

“When are they travelling next?”

“You’re lucky, Lord General. They leave for the east in five days.”

Not as soon as he’d like, but at least the merchants hadn’t just left. Then he would have to stay here for one full moon before he’d even be able to send for help.

“For now,” you continue, “you should rest. It’s late, and your body needs time to recover.”

do not send an ask/reply just asking to be on a taglist!! I will only be tagging people who reblog and comment in the tags!!

[mimi-0007]

Lucinda Davis (c. 1848-after 1937) was a slave who grew up in the Creek Indian culture. She spoke the Muskogee Creek language fluently. The main information source was from an interview in the summer of 1937, at which time she was guessed to be 89 years old. Lucinda's parents were owned by two different Creek Indians. Being enslaved so young without her parents, she never found out her birthplace, nor the time of her birth. Her mother was born free in African when she escaped her captors either by running away or buying back her freedom, the white enslaver, who was also the mother's rapist and father of Lucinda, sold their child to Tuskaya-hiniha. Lucinda was brought up in The way the Creeks treated slaves was considered a much different and kinder form of slavery than the way the white Americans, Cherokee, or Choctaw went about it. Families could work under different slave owners and did not have to live on the same property as whom they worked for. The slaves worked quite hard and were paid, but had to give most of their pay to their owners, being allowed to keep a small amount. Lucinda was treated as a family member and did her duties. Her responsibility was taking care of the baby, amongst being an extra hand for cleaning and cooking here and there. She was not beaten or disrespected. It was understood what was needed of her, and she followed along.

[kaleidoscopic-quiddity]

reading the bluelock light novels and theres so many fun lil character traits and info thrown in (probably not on the wiki bc the LNs dont have an official english release yet)

isagi was a crybaby and a scardy cat as a kid

he was also really senitive to sounds and they’d make him cry (he just like me fr)

isagi’s always had really great spacial awareness and vision, even as a toddler

nagi lived at student dorms at hakuho academy (which explains why his parents dont live w/ him)

he got into hakuho, an elite tokyo prep school, with only two weeks of studying

there were two different rumors abt nagi amongst his classmates, one saying if you talked to him you’d be cursed with bad luck and the other saying youd find happiness after talking to him, the curse rumor is more popular 

(nagi my poor guy, his classmates think hes a weirdo just bc hes quiet an not interested in rich kid pissing contests)

he also has the nickname of ‘thousand year netaro’ bc he sleeps in class so much lmao

he doesnt study but still gets good grades, at least in social sciences

nagi helps his class win a volleyball tournament (that he was forced to participate in) despite knowing nothing abt the rules purely based off of his height, reflexes, trapping skills, and desire to finish the game quickly so he can go home lmao

bachira refers to his mother by her given name, yuu, which would typically be disrespectful af in japanese culture but in this context i think it just displays how close they are + the fact that bachira’s first/best friend is his mama :’)

he walked (dribbled), slept rough, and hitchhiked all the way to osaka from chiba prefecture for 5 days just to go see one of her art exhibitions too

he got a fortune from a shrine that literally read  that he will meet his “ 運命の相手” - unmei no aite, literally ‘partner of fate’ or ‘fated partner’, bachisagi soulmate-isms r crazy

he won a 4 on 1 fight with a bunch of delinquents in osaka

rin liked ice cream but really he’d be happy with anything as long as sae bought it for him

the itoshi bros played for the kamakura united youth club, which won the U15 national league

they shared a bedroom growing up

rin gets bad grades in every subject other than english bc hes too busy thinking abt football, and hes only good at english bc he wants to go pro and play internationally

rin got into horror movies and games only after sae left for spain, he likes the thrill they give him, especially splatter films

he found a scene of someone getting chopped up w/ a chainsaw calming after he had a rough day,, damn okay rin in there anything u wanna talk abt edgelord?

“Perhaps because of this stress, he has recently been watching shark movies at night, where sharks attack humans. It’s refreshing to see a giant man-eating shark attack and munch on humans.”  what a fuckin chuuni oml

sae got trending on japanese football twitter for scoring a hattrick for real madrid’s youth team

rin did the tongue-out-in-concentration/bloodlust thing pre-bluelock too apparantly

he didnt talk to sae whilst he was in spain bc he didnt want to bother him but he kept up news of him and thought abt him a lot

“He thought he would just shout out loud “I'm the best in Japan!” and hug him, but in reality, that didn't work out that way” <- rins first thought seeing sae after 4 years, excuse me whilst i sob

chigiri went to a ‘jitsugyo’ school, which is like a vocational tech or business school, it also has a foreign name (’lacosute’) so its probably a private school, maybe missionary?

chigiri likes cats awww, there was specially a stray black cat he’d talk to and buy karinto manju for

his ACL is attached to his knee in an odd which which is why he can run so fast

chigiri stopped cutting his hair after he quit going to his school’s football club once he finished rehab for his knee

reo got baya to hire him a whole team of ppl including a coach, nutritionist, nurse, etc once he decided on football, fuckin rich ppl i swear 

all the adults who worked w/ reo sing his praises but also said how cheeky he was lmaooo

reo was learning english, spanish, and german in preperation for going pro

he also got a specially made football training VR facility made for him this boy i swear

reo bribed the hakuho football club w/ fancy meat and the opportunity to meet idols to get them to put more effort in

immediately upon meeting nagi reo notices his height and how ‘cool’ and ‘intense’ his trapping is like okay fruit

[the-badger-mole]

So your post having reminded me of that awful comic again I decided out of curiosity to delve into the Kataang side of the fandom to see if any of them ever talked about this comic and Aang’s behavior. Apparently the consensus over is that it’s OOC of Aang. To quote:

“I find his behavior to be very odd, too rude, self-centered and outright aggressive, especially the part when he exploded the volcano on Katara's face nearly hurting her, he was angry about Katara refusing to talk about the kiss then directed that anger into firebending which it isn't right for Aang as an Air Nomad to use the aggressive emotions to bend fire, then despite his apology which feels hollow he dismissed he was even worried about her getting burned again.

While Aang has flaws and outbursts sometimes this behavior strikes me to be unreasonable and OOC.”

Which is pretty funny to me because he literally said he’d be in the avatar state if he could over the play shipping Zuko and Katara. If he didn’t have his chakra blocked he absolutely would have gone into the avatar state and had a destructive tantrum. I wonder do they think those moments in the canon show are OOC of Aang too?

Your Ozai and Aang parallels are sadly spot on. The fandom is just too blind to see it because the narrative tells us rather than shows us he’s the hero. I really want to see into Bryke’s mind because they continue to baffle me 20 years later.

Yeah, Aang in the comics tracks with who he was in the main series. He was always self righteous, disrespectful and emotionally unregulated, but he was cute and cheerful, so a lot of people tend to overlook that. Remember how disrespectful of SWT culture he was in Bato of the Water Tribe? Yeah...that's never walked back. Of course he would make sure his only airbending child had no connection to his SWT roots. Aang is prone to tantrums, and his emotional outbursts include bending. Like you pointed out, as has been pointed out so many other times, Aang saying that he would have gone into the Avatar State over that play suggesting Katara was interested in someone other than him is a massive red flag. That whole scene on the balcony comes after the Lava Fissure incident. With that context, Katara saying she was confused instead of outright refusing Aang takes on a really dark meaning.

But people are entitled to their takes. A lot of Aang fans want to ignore the comics as canon. That's fine. I can totally relate. I ignore the comics and LoK as canon, too 😏

Zutara fans 🤝 Aang fans

ignoring canon