#i have so many reasons i can write an entire professional argument about that

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

my maths teacher is essentially making us all do the work for his class digitally and the laptop-tablet thingy i lent from the school is never doing what i want it to and it's incredibly frustrating and the only reason i somewhat tolerate it is that he's the same teacher i could talk to about not using gendered pronouns for me whenever possible in school papers and the like and he also remembered that and made a conscious effort in front of the entire class to reword what he was saying to refer to me gender-neutrally. which really is a feat in my native language, so like, i love him for making the effort and remembering. but also why digitally

[lunarw0rks]

Hello! I just found your blog and I just started reading everything I saw 😅. Can I request 141 + König + Alejandro with a pregnant reader? They don't know yet and when the reader will break the news they are really stressed with work and end up taking it out on the reader, they end up getting into an argument and saying they hate the reader and that their life would be so much better without the reader in it (😈). The reader takes this seriously and leaves when they are asleep... Months later they meet again when the reader is on her way to the hospital to give birth (😈). Angst to fluff pls. If you don't feel good about writing or it's too big, that's fine. Have a nice day and thank you so much for all the time you spend writing to us.

The Things We Say // 141 Drabble

Summary: You're expecting, but it's not good news. To him, at least. Your relationship takes a hit, but once he meets your child, he's swallowed with regret for how he treated you.

Warning(s): angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of premature birth/complications, mild injury/blood, strong language, established relationship, fem!Reader, no use of y/n

A/N: I was hurting my own feelings---but, there's fluff after the angst, so don't get too upset besties<3 Hope you don't mind anon, I took some creative liberty because I didn't want them all to have the same plotline. | Word Count: 5.9k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.

⋘ » ☆ « ⋙

AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.

Price

One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.

Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.

His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?

The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.

He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.

❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.

John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.

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He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.

But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.

To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.

John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.

—

❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.

❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.

What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.

In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞

—

The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.

His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.

❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.

The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.

His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.

John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞ 

Simon

Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.

It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.

❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.

Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.

❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought. 

Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.

He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.

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Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.

It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.

He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?

❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.

—

Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.

Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.

You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.

Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.

Soap

Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.

❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.

He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.

He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.

The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.

❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.

You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.

❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.

Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.

He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.

You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.

❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.

❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.

You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.

Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.

—

It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.

❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.

❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.

Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.

If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.

With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.

The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.

All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.

Gaz

Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.

You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results. 

❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.

❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.

He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.

It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.

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It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc… 

But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.

His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.

—

❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.

Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.

—

❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.

What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.

❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.

It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.

Alejandro

Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.

❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.

What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.

❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞

You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.

Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.

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You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.

❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞

Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.

It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞

—

Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.

You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.

About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.

The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.

The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.

—

The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.

Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.

König

There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him. 

You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞

With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞

He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?

❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.

How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.

He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.

Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.

The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.

—

❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.

He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.

He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.

König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.

Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.

If you made it this far - THANK YOU!

[copperbadge]

hi, i had a medium to big question. in your post about the adhd self-help book you mentioned people with adhd being conditioned to be nonconfrontational, but i've never once in my entire life connected the two? can you break down the connection for me so that i can once again (this week, even) have my understanding of my own condition blown wide open?

So, you are not the only person to ask about this, but that's on me for being unclear -- I wasn't trying to assert that kids with ADHD are automatically conditioned to be nonconfrontational, I was more trying to be like "Hey not everyone needs lessons in medical self-advocacy but a lot of nonconfrontational people do." And I think there is a higher population of people with neurodivergence who are deeply confrontation-averse, but I don't have like, numbers for that, it's just an assumption based on other knowledge.

It gets complicated; ADHD is a disease based heavily in acting impulsively against your best interests. But yeah I do think people with ADHD are often conditioned to avoid confrontation because of two main factors: rejection-sensitive dysphoria and executive dysfunction.

RSD, which I hate perhaps more than any other symptom or behavior associated with ADHD, automatically kicks our nervous system into high gear in social situations and encodes embarrassing moments in our memory with high-def clarity. Because RSD naturally causes a level of anxiety around socialization, it tends to make us nonconfrontational simply because a) we don't want to be yelled at, b) we don't want to embarrass ourselves by getting emotional about something that may not warrant it, and c) by the time we realize what's happening our body is already on high alert which means we are likely to go into fight-flight-freeze mode.

Me, I freeze, usually, but none of those three options are great for fast thinking during an argument. I used to lose arguments a lot simply because I couldn't think or react as fast as the neurotypical person I was fighting with, so I simply stopped having fights. Notably, I did not have this problem when fighting with my brother, who is also neurodivergent and has many of the same freeze reactions I do.

If people disagree with me, even when I know I'm right I also know I probably won't be able to vocalize it properly, so I back down. Usually it's trivial so it doesn't matter, and I've gotten strategic about how and when I argue about things that do matter; it's also a lot easier to do with strangers or professionals (like doctors) where I don't have to worry about long-term social repercussions. But yeah, our own nervous system tells us "hey maybe don't pick this fight" about every single fight and if we do pick that fight, it treats our opponent as a dangerous predator.

Executive dysfunction's interaction with nonconfrontation is something I have less problem with because while I do have poor executive function, I've spent a lot of time and energy training myself to cover the Important Stuff. I have mild ADHD so I'm capable of this; I'm not trying to say everyone with ADHD is, because lord knows it's exhausting for me and I've been doing it for roughly thirty years. But essentially, I cover where it counts: if someone needs me to do something I do it, I meet deadlines, I pay bills.

So with that disclaimer in place, a very common issue especially for children with undiagnosed ADHD is that they'll be told or asked to do something and simply be unable to begin or complete it, then when they're asked why they didn't do it they can't explain. Even if they try to explain that they simply couldn't, like they were incapable of doing it for reasons they don't understand, that usually doesn't hold water with a lot of parents and teachers.

"I couldn't bring myself to write this essay," is actually something I told myself a few times in college, but it's not something I'd bother trying to tell someone else, because if you think you're neurotypical that sounds very insane. So I'd lie and say I forgot, or I'd take the fail, or I'd simply drop out of the class. Crucially I would not fight with the authority figure who was questioning me about it, because I knew I wouldn't be able to explain myself, and I'd just end up getting in more trouble for longer.

Our culture is structured for neurotypicals, and it's not even structured for all neurotypicals. Behavior that deviates from Approved Neurotypical even when you think you are Approved Neurotypical is highly punishable. So if your options are passivity, even when passivity leads to pain, or confrontation, most people who aren't Approved Neurotypical will opt for passivity once they've had a taste of where confrontation leads. I know I do.

And the thing is, there's nothing actually wrong with that. It's a strategy calculated to minimize pain. Even when I'm firing on all cylinders on a fresh dose of Adderall, I still generally let fights go unless there will be actual real consequences, because it's just not worth it. But knowing we have ADHD and knowing we fall into this pattern, I think it is good to be aware that sometimes letting a fight go is really going to fuck you, and at that point even being bad at it is better than not engaging.

I'm pretty good at calculating those, but it's a lifelong process, knowing which hills to die on when you assume you will automatically die if you ever get above sea level.

[quillsareswords]

Soft as Snow

DAMIAN WAYNE X READER

SUMMARY: You and Damian finally get to enjoy a Chistmas in your new home.

A/N: Merry late Christmas and happy holidays! I meant to do a writing week along side this, but things got kind of crazy. This was actually part of a Secret Santa I participated in with some other writers here on Tumblr! I drew @unmotivatedwrit3r! Hope you like it bb :)

Other participants: @citrinesparkles @birdy-bat-writes @glorified-red

WARNINGS: language

MASTER LIST in BIO

DECEMBER 5TH

   He hadn't expected you home until this evening, but your shoes are sitting beside the landing table, beneath the coat hooks, when he gets home. "Beloved?" he calls, hanging his peacoat beside yours.

   "Kitchen!"

   He follows the sound of your voice down the entry hall. He habitually glances into the living room on his way past. Your canvas shopping totes are set on the coffee table, shades of red and green peeking out from inside. He recalls you commenting this morning that you'd stop for groceries on your way home. He should've expected this.

   You're standing in front of the coffee machine when he rounds the doorway. In front of you, stacks of mugs. You smile brightly at him. "Hey! You're home early."

   He peers into the cupboard as he sidles up beside you. You've pulled every mug from the shelves; all shapes and sizes spread and stacked between the wall and the edge of the counter. He hadn't realized there were so many. "So are you."

   You shrug, setting the last of them—a white mug with some vulgar phrase written in cursive—among the rest. "I finished up sooner than I thought, so I got groceries."

   He snakes an arm around your waist, rolls his eyes knowingly. "Let me guess: you went to get groceries, but got distracted and walked away with a new collection of trinkets."

   A wry smile. You reach into the closest bag. A red, green, and white monstrosity spotted in flat black deer outlines. "Christmas mugs don't count as trinkets. Obviously."

   He hums mocking agreeance. "Right. Of course not, dearest." He glances over his shoulder for emphasis, "I assume those are also definitely not trinkets?"

   You smile brightly. "Nope. They're Christmas decorations. Definitely essential."

DECEMBER 11TH

   He tries so hard not to wake you. You'd been busy all day, then gone to bed late because you wanted to see him off for his nightly patrol. You idiot.

   It's not like he doesn't appreciate it. His night always starts off on the wrong foot when he doesn't get a kiss from you beforehand. (It's just bad luck, at this point.) Even so, it's not a good enough reason for you to stay up.

   He won't argue about it again. He won the argument about you waiting up for him to get back; he doesn't like his odds for getting you to bed at a decent time.

   He sneaks around the house carefully, guided only by the light of the Christmas tree and the night lights always glowing in the hallways. He pins his arm to his chest and swerves through the living room, the kitchen. If not getting blood on your carpet was a sport, he'd win the Olympics. Between you and Alfred, he's pretty sure he could get stabbed and leave no evidence in an entirely white room.

   Luckily, it's only a few minor cuts that are dribbling crimson through his suit. All he needs is a few butterfly stitches and some bandage for the worse graze on his forearm.

   Unluckily, he realizes a little too late that the First-Aid kit in the kitchen has not yet been restocked. Which means the only fully stocked kit is the big one…in the master bathroom. The one on the other side of his bed. Your bed. Where you're sleeping. Damn it.

   He's a professionally trained assassin. He's a goddamn ninja, literally. He can sneak up on any person, into any building. You have no formal training. He once witnessed you sleep through an actual earthquake. Somehow, he always wakes you up.

   Not this time. This time, he will not wake you up.

   The Christmas lights wound around your potted plants light his way. He picks across the bedroom, around a pile of the day's clothes, across the rug. He steps over a stray Amazon box. Reminds himself to pick it up later. He's four feet from the door. Victory is close at hand.

   "Damian?"

   You're joking. When he turns, you're propping yourself up in bed, scrubbing sleep out of your eye. How! He didn't make a single sound!

   "You gonna take that off before bed, or..?"

   He sighs, tiredly. "I'm not going to bed yet. Go back to sleep, I won't be long." He whispers, still steps lightly, even if there's no point. He steps close, rests the rough palm of his glove on your cheek, and presses his lips against your temple. "I promise. Go to sleep."

   You hum, still half asleep. "What're you doin'?" You reach up absently, always wanting touch, always seeking him out. Your fingers brush up his arm, and then, wide awake– "You're bleeding. Why are you bleeding?"

   He shakes his head, smoothing a thumb along your cheekbone. "It's only a cut. Nothing to worry about."

Of course, you won't accept this as an answer. He can't convince you to get back into bed once you clamber out from under the blankets, so he follows you into the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bathtub.

You only use the light over sink, leaving the room just light enough to see. The dim lighting echoes the early hours somehow. Neither of you say much, directions aside. It'stoo early for much conversation. You smooth white straps over the minor cuts, a patch on a scrape up his cheek, carefully wind the gause around his arm.

When he's no longer dripping blood on the tile, you go and get a clean set of pajamas while he peels off the uniform and dumps it into the tub. Then, you both shuffle back to the warmth of the bed like moths to flame.

Despite the bandage, his arm is still a comfort when wrapped around you.

DECEMBER 14TH

   "What are you…doing?"

   He looks up from his hands, eyes wide, confused. "I'm– I'm wrapping gifts?"

   You cock your head to one side. You squint. "Oh. That's a box?"

   He blinks once. Twice. "Of course it's a box. What are you talking about?"

   Your face twists like you're not sure if you should laugh or not. "Baby. Look at it."

   He looks back down at the bundle of scotch tape and green wrapping paper. Sure, it doesn't follow every crisp line, and some of those straps of tape are way too long, and when did that corner get torn off? Oh, it's stuck to that piece of tape. Or is that a different corner?

   "Have you ever wrapped a gift before?" You ask slowly, tentatively. You only now realize that maybe you really shouldn't be laughing, if he's never wrapped a present before. He'll take it mockingly, answer defensively, close himself off to save himself the embarrassment.

   His nostrils flare as he stares down at it. "No," he says pointedly. "I don't usually have the time. Pennyworth wrapped them. If I did have time, I used a gift bag."

   You nod, sly little smile working its way across your face. "Makes sense. Is that why everything you give me is small?"

   He blows out a surprised noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. He finally looks up at you again. "You've never complained before. We both know I'm awfully skilled with all sorts of things; the size never matters."

   You roll your eyes. "Oh, sure. Do you want me to show you how to wrap it or not?"

   He chuckles, steps aside, gestures that he's made room for you.

   You step in beside him, in front of the dining room table. In typical Damian Wayne fashion, the workspace is perfectly organized; scissors and tape set neatly on your right, a roll of shiny green wrapping paper on your left, the lumpy mystery package in the middle.

   He lays one hand on the table beside the scissors, leans on it, and props his other hand on his hip. "Please, show me the magical ways of gift wrapping."

   So, you do. You carefully salvage what you can, flatten it, trim it, tape it down. You smooth the edges crisp around the Amazon box. You explain it as you go, even though you know he could watch you do it once and copy it step for step.

   He watches you closely. First, your hands. He really did want you to teach him how you get the gifts under the tree to look so nice. But, he's a weak man at heart when anything concerns you. You always get this look on your face when you're working with your hands. It appears when you fold laundry and wash dishes, too. He catches himself looking at you instead of your instructions.

DECEMBER 20TH

   "That is definitely my sweater."

   "No, it isn't." You have a really bad poker face. Your eyes sparkle too much.

   He crosses his arms, mindful of the cut, still tender on the outside of his arm. "I bought that last year. At your suggestion, if memory serves."

   "I don't know what you're talking about." You upend the hot paper bag in your hand, spilling popcorn into a festive plastic bowl. "This was in my closet."

   "We share a closet."

   You wave your hand dismissively. "Potato, pa-tot-oh." You sprinkle on some salt and hold the bowl out for him.

   He takes it in one hand and waits for the next item. "I don't mind. You know I don't. I do wish you would admit that it's mine."

   You scoff, dumping a box of holiday chocolates into a matching bowl. "Why on earth would I do that?"

   He doesn't answer right away, waits until you glance over at him. "Because I like it when you wear my clothes."

   Your facade washes away under the tides of a grin you can't contain. You turn away instead, pretending to put all your focus on the candy bowl.

   He and his stupid sweet face. He shouldn't be allowed to wear sweaters or smile like that. He smiles at you all the time, much to your joy, but every once in a great while, when the mood catches him right, he gives you this world-healing, puppy-yipping, kitten-soft smile that makes you feel like you're floating. It should be illegal. He should at least give you a warning.

   You decide the fluttering in your chest is a little too much for two o'clock in the afternoon, snowstorm or not, so you change the subject. "What movie should we start with?"

   He takes the cue, he lets you do it; but he keeps staring at you like you like you're the only thing in the house worth looking at. "You decide. You're the better judge."

DECEMBER 25th

   It's been twenty-two minutes since you woke up. You've been killing time, between your phone and the morning newscast on the television across from the bed, but now you're getting suspicious.

   He'd been far too excited for any man who wakes up before sunrise. Christmas Day could be an exception, you suppose—fathers and guardians springing out of bed to watch their children rip open gifts. But Damian? You've never seen him so lit up before lunch.

   Stay in bed, he'd said, the moment you rolled over for a kiss. You did get one, but he leapt out of bed so soon after that you wondered if you should be offended. You should probably explain that be right back usually doesn't mean a half-hour.

   At minute thirty, you debating going and checking on him. You can hear noise, if you strain your hearing over the news anchor. Sizzling? Clanking, definitely. Clinking.

   Footsteps in the hallway. The door knob rattles. Alfred the Cat perks up by your feet. Muffled swearing. Not in English, but you know the tone.

   "Do you…want help?"

   "No," he replies quickly. "Stay in bed."

   You prop yourself up against the pillows and cross your arms. "Don't have to tell me twice."

   There's a long pause behind the bedroom door, before the knob turns and the door swings open. You're pretty sure you see a socked foot reel back out of sight.

   And then, he appears. Despite the brightly colored fleece pajama pants that match the shirt you slept in, he's still all poise and grace with a tray in his hands. He looks awfully proud of himself, like a cat prancing around with a fat mouse in its mouth, green eyes glittering.

   You laugh incredulously. "What is that?"

   He practically struts around to your side of the bed, sets the tray across your lap. "Breakfast, my darling."

   Sure enough, there's enough food to feed you, he, the cat, and the news anchor. Two mugs of coffee, a stack of Christmas tree shaped pancakes, a platter of scrambled eggs, and a bowl of fruit-chunk-filled yogurt.

   He takes your stunned silence as an opportunity to crawl over your legs and settle back down on his side of the bed.

   "What– Why?" You're still laughing, grinning ear to ear. "I mean, this looks delicious, but why?"

   He's smiling, too. "Well," he sighs, "I knew you were excited about Christmas, especially for dinner." Dinner, which was supposed to be held at Wayne Manor tonight, but had to be canceled to accommodate the weather, which decided to cover every side-street in two feet of snow and every major road in ice. "So I decided to…make up for it, I suppose."

[dcafpaperback]

I agree that Ginny could've been better written. I also agree that hinny could've been developed better, probably every Ginny/Hinny fan knows and acknowledges this. I can count on my fingers how many scenes they had in 7 books (I mean, scenes with just the two of them)

Still, I don't think the problems with her character is solely on JKR's writing. She got herself in a corner by not including Ginny in the main plot and Ginny's feats are in the background.

You could say that these feats only exist to prop her up as Harry's romantic interest, fair. But bear in mind that neither Harry or Ginny exists in real life. They're characters, everything they say and do is for the plot. And Ginny isn't even present when the plot was about her (COS), that counts as JKR's error.

But with how little we see of her, it's believable that she sneaked out to fly broomsticks late at night. People say that Ginny being a jock is out of nowhere but the only way she had of entering the team was in OOTP. She couldn't at COS (1st year), couldn't at POA (full team), and couldn't at GOF (quidditch canceled). Not only that but if it's believable that Harry's talent on Quidditch was passed down from his father, Ginny's case could be similar. She had 3/4 brothers playing the sport.

The thing I also agree with you is about fanon's version of her. Some fans, trying to overcompensate for the immense bashing she suffers, make her a BadAss Woman™, which is reductive and boring. I prefer the her raw, flawed version. She can be a little mean? Yes, totally. But not unprovoked.

Finally a sensible person who takes into account all arguments before approaching a topic. Ofc I'm well aware they are fictional characters and everything is to feed the plot. Yes the feats were mainly curated to cater to the narrative of being Harry's love interest. She could've been and should've been much more, given to how vibrant her persona was. Yes she had her flaws but she was still a brave, kind, headstrong girl. I wish we had some dates, some long convos between Hinny the way we had with Harry and Cho and its not even the OTP. Her sneaking out to play quidditch because she wasn't allowed to play as the youngest makes sense. She totally learned a lot by observing her brothers. The main reason why a lot of people think her being jock came out of nowhere is because of her lack of presence in the most Quidditch centric books of all 7 books, GoF and PoA. She is surprised and shocked at what a Wronski Feint move is (she shouldn't have been she is Charlie the seeker Weasley's sister), she doesn't join the boys in their quidditch talks. You remember there was an in detail description of how the entire Gryffindor house was tensed with anticipation for the Slytherin vs Gryffindor match in PoA. Everyone was only ever talking about that match, even Hermione quit studying out of anxiety. Also every other Gryffindor was practically drooling over Harry's Firebolt. No mention of Ginny. Was she just as tensed ? Was she excited ? Was she discussing tactics with the twins ? Did she ever admire Harry's firebolt ? No idea. For a girl who goes on to pursue professional quidditch, JKR did her dirty by not AT ALL involving her in quidditch scenarios before book 5.

So yes she could've been a better character, she had the potential for it. But like you said, I also prefer both her and Harry's flawed version. It makes them who they are afterall.

[balanceoflightanddark]

Kuvira and Bryke's Problem with Moral Ambiguity

I will be honest with you...I really like Kuvira.

She is probably one of my favorite characters from Legend of Korra. I like her design. I like a lot of the ideas behind her. And I think Zelda Williams did a great job with the character. So I can understand why Bryke wanted to do something different with her and try to redeem her.

Here's the problem. I love Kuvira...but she's also indicative of one of the show's biggest problems. Mainly the inability to commit to a morally ambiguous conflict.

Again, the whole point of Kuvira's character was that she wasn't a wholly irredeemable monster. That her methods, while heavy handed, weren't entirely in the wrong and her heart was in the right place. And we do see evidence of that early on with her forces giving relief to billages, stamping out bandits, and outing corrupt officials. Heavy handed and early warning signs sure, but nothing too over the top.

Then they made her into a power hungry dictator.

Yeah. Kind of hard to sell her as sympathetic when she takes imagery from real life oppressive and fascist political parties and governments.

Sad thing is, Kuvira here is not the exception to this. Throughout The Legend of Korra, we are presented with many antagonistic groups that are responding to some injustice or moral qualm which doesn't paint the current status quo the heroes are defending in a good light. Non-bender discrimination led to Amon and the Equalists. Unalaq was a response to mankind losing touch with the Spirit World. The Red Lotus were spurned by corruption in high places. And Kuvira was restoring order to a broken Earth Kingdom full of anarchy. It's clear that Bryke intended for all of these groups and characters to have some kind of point to generate moral ambiguity. Asking whether or not Korra and Co were truly in the right.

Yet when it came time to deliver, the antagonists were almost always portrayed as being in the wrong and often were portrayed in a way that makes it difficult for the audience to truly sympathize with them. The Equalists and the Red Lotus become terrorists. Amon is a bender with flimsy reasonings. Unalaq literally fuses with the Avatar equivalent of Satan. And again, Kuvira becomes a dictator. While their points are given some credence, the characters themselves always become a final boss for the heroes to triumphantly defeat. Which...muddies the message since it becomes difficult to see the villains' argument when they're treated the way they are.

Now admittedly, it is difficult to write a character like this. Balancing out the character's reasonable and sympathetic traits with the need to be an opposing force to the protagonists who audiences are normally predisposed to root for. So the question remains: how do you go about finding this equilibrium?

While I'm not a professional writer, I can think of at least two good methods. The first is allowing the antagonist to do genuinely good things that seems at odds with their position. This could include a concern for civilians or their comrades, limiting their violence, or throwing themselves in the line of danger for the sake of others. Kuvira does demonstrate this a few times with sending relief to civilians who need it or choosing to face down the Avatar herself rather than ordering her men to do it.

The second is actually giving a concrete reason for why the antagonist is escalating things. Maybe the situation is just that bad where the antagonist feels the need to escalate or is a response to something that the heroes did. Perhaps the antagonist's grievances are legitimate and they have a solid reason to fight. Again, this is explored with Prince Wu's incompetence and the attempted assassination on Kuvira's life by Suyin. While her methods are heavy handed, you could see why she may need to employ them.

The foundations for a solid character are there. If they expanded on that, we could've had a fairly compelling conflict where neither side is entirely in the right nor are they in the wrong.

And then they introduced re-education camps and had Kuvira invent the Avatar equivalent of an atomic bomb.

Uh...hate to be that guy, but why the hell is Kuvira sympathetic again? Especially when other villains who did far less evil get crapped on while she gets a redemption arc in the comics?

glares at what they did with Azula

...I'm sorry but no. Korra wouldn't have ever turned out to be a fascist And trying to say the villain can be redeemed because they're like the hero raises so many flags for the franchise as a whole that I'm surprised they didn't do the same with Ozai. What? He's who Zuko would've ended up as if he went too far.

I get what they were getting at with Kuvira. I really do. And with better writing, maybe she could've been that character I mentioned. The groundworks are all there. But the problem they ran in was consistency and commitment. They failed to keep her sympathy and anti-villain status consistent by making her too horrible to properly feel for. And they never actually committed to fostering this morally ambiguous conflict.

Trust me, I'm not knocking against Kuvira and her fans. I'm really not. I understand the appeal. I even think a lot of her fans have better interpretations and ideas than Bryke (trust me, Kuvira has some pretty good fanfics out there). But if they wanted to redeem who we saw in the series, we needed more than a single comic trilogy. Especially when other characters don't even get a chance at that.

[anxresi]

GOD am I sick of this. (Watch Out, MAJOR Rant Ahead)

Why do Chloe haters (nearly) ALWAYS insist on using this tired old line to ‘win’ an argument?!

No-one (at least anyone I’M paying attention to) is saying Chloe should get away with her bullying because of her shitty parents.

We’re saying poor Chloe has been a victim of character assassination, sabotage, purposeful vandalism, ruination etc by the very person who created her! No... not her fictional dad or mom... but a certain real-life Frenchman by the name of Mr Thomas Astruc.

If you want a somewhat over-exaggerated parallel, it would be like Da Vinci painting a moustache on the Mona Lisa, Michaelangelo chopping David’s ‘bits’ off or Geppetto making Pinocchio into firewood (I say this because there’s been TWO movies about the lying puppet in the last year. Hint: don’t watch the Disney one).

It’s like... I can’t even debate these people, because they haven’t just got the wrong end of the stick, we’re not even in the same forest!

My point is to those somewhat disingenuous individuals, and let me be VERY blunt here, because I ain’t repeating myself... (clears throat): 

Chloe’s Character Writing Has Been The Worst I’ve Ever Seen In A Professional Cartoon Show. The Fact They Utterly Destroyed One Of The Few People In Miraculous With Any Potential For Serious Development For Growth And Basically Replaced Her With Another Girl Who’s Just As Blandly ‘Perfect’ As Most Of The Other Females Demonstrates How Utterly Lacking In Ambition, Creativity And Talent The Makers Truly Are. (As If The Glaring Lack Of Other Positive Attributes To The Show Isn’t Evidence Enough) The Only Reason You Use A Completely Manufactured And Different Scenario Than The Case I Put Forward As Your Lone Defence Proves You KNOW I’m 100% Right. THAT’S Why So Many People Are Defending Her... Not Because They Think She Should Get Away With Her Progressively More Ridiculous Misdemeanors Inserted Into The Scripts To Convince The Audience To Hate Her More And More, But Because We Recognize The Less-Than-Subtle Route The Writers Have Taken In The Last Few Seasons To DESTROY Her Character, Her Role, Her Agency And Any Hidden Depths Or Layers She Might Have. This Is A Girl Who LOVED Her Daddy, (Occasionally) Valued Her Best Friend, Adored Adrikins, Confessed How Inadequate She Felt In Front Of Her Idol Ladybug, Made A Heartfelt Apology To Her Teacher In An Emotional Hug (It Made Me Cry :,/ ), Made REAL STRIDES With Her Behavior In terms Of Being More Independent Towards The End Of S2, Had An Intriguing Relationship With Her Favorite Stuffed Bear Which Acted As Her Conscience, Was Setting Herself Up To Be An Efficient Anti-Hero With Questionable Loyalties... And All This Fascinating Narrative Was Left To ROT In Favor Of Turning Her Into The Most Boringly Generic Baddie In The Entire History Of The Show. WELL DONE, EVERYONE. Then To Add Insult To Injury, They Claim This Was The Plan All Along And Her Rapid Deterioration Into A Teenage Psycho From A Standard School Bully Is Some Kind Of Bizarre Statement On ‘How Some People Can Never Change’ Rather Than The Obnoxiously Terrible Piece Of Hackneyed Writing It Actually Was. Damnation Arc? A Fancy Title For Utter Bullsh*t That’s An Insult To Miraculous Ladybug Fans’ Intelligence Everywhere, I Say. I Don’t Know About You Guys, But I Feel Cheated, Swindled, Bamboozled... You Name It, Or Just Thorughly P*ssed Off Should Suffice. Want Some Evidence For My Claims? Okay, Here Goes: Get Comfortable... Removing ALL Of Chloe’s Positive Traits And Redemptive Moments Overnight After S3. Pretending They Never Existed Or Happened In The First Place. Turning Her Into A Villainous One-Dimensional Sociopathic Object Of Ridicule. Giving Us Zoe Who’s Goodie-Two-Shoes Non-Personality Is No Substitute Whatsoever For The True Queen. Cynically Producing AN ENTIRE EPISODE in S5 For The Sake Of Retroactively Making CHLOE Solely Responsible For Adrinette Not Happening Sooner. (Thus Purposefully Exposing Her To More Vitriol From Obsessive Shippers) Pretending That She Had ‘Plenty Of Help’ To Change When The Truth Is No-One Seriously Attempted At All. (Even Saint Marinette ‘Encouraged’ Her And Good Ol’ Toxic Audrey To Bond By Being Awful To Each Other Instead Of Getting To The Heart Of Chloe’s REAL Issues), Breaking Up All Her Closest Relationships One By One Until The Only Person Left Is With Her Is Her Tyrannical Mother Who Promises To “Take Control’ Of Her Life Now In A Different Country That Her Father Has Disowned Her. (So I Guess Letting Chloe Get Further Traumatized By Her Main Abuser is Thomas’s Idea Of ‘Punishing’ Her... Great Message There For Children!) This Means Adrien Wants Nothing To Do With Her, Sabrina Has Been Unceremoniously Dumped And Even Butler Jean Has Been Fired With Little Fanfare. (Not That Chloe’s Had Any Interesting Interactions With Adrien Since S2... What Was The Point In Making Them Childhood Friends Again?! Her Dad Is Basically An Enabler Who Got Off Scot-Free Now He’s Resigned As Mayor And Looks To Have A Fresh Start With His ‘Perfect’ Adopted New Daughter, Sabrina Has Been MIA For YEARS And Only Gets Acknowledged This Once To Further Isolate And Damage Chloe And As For Butler Jean... Who?!) What It Boils Down To Is That Thomas Doesn’t Just Want To Strip Chloe Of The Bee Miraculous Permanently And Write Her Out Of The Show, Oh No! He Wanted To Transform Her Into The WORST Possible Version Of Herself To Try And Forcibly Extract Away The Last Few Fans She Has, And Then Give Her The WORST Possible Ending In The S5 Finale Despite Other Characters (E.g Gabriel) Doing FAR Worse And Yet Either Ending Up Getting ‘Redeemed’ Or Thought Of As Heroes(!). Oh, And Lila Has Multiple Moms Now(!), A Completely New Identity(!!) And Is The Main Antagonist From Now On(!!!)... I Think Her Superpower Is Dumbing Down Everyone Else So They’ll Believe Her Obvious Untruths. GREAT STORYTELLING, GUYS. Mr Astruc Is A Pathetic, Petty, Spiteful, Talentless Excuse For A Showrunner Who’s So Problematic To Discuss His Many And Numerous Controversies Would Take Another Post Probably Five Times As Big As This Already Overlong Wall Of Text, So We’ll Save That For Another Day. Good To See Though, That His ‘Brilliant” Scheme Appears To Be Failing And The More He Sticks Pins In Chloe’s Likeness The More Support She Gets Online And The More ‘Very Sweet’ Zoe Gets Hyped Up Into Something She’s Not, She’s Recognized As The Shallow Shill She Truly Is. I Just Hope Little Kids Aren’t Taken In By His Obvious Crusade To Make Chloe The Most Hated Teenager Since Joffrey. Why Couldn’t The Idea For Miraculous Have Fallen To A Guy Who Had Some Semblance Of Ability, Instead Of This Mediocre Hack Who’s Happy To Wallow In Stale Romantic Cliches, Underwhelming Superhero Fights, Uninteresting Lore, Non-Existent Continuity, Bbaadd Dialogue, Filler, Filler And More Filler, An Overabundance Of Characters = No Development For Them, ‘Special’ Episodes Abroad That Are Anything But, Prioritizing The Merchandise Above The Show ALWAYS, Allowing SO Many Spoilerific Leaks To Spread Under His Watch, Blocking Fans Left, Right And Center When They DARE To Question ANY Part Of His Writing (Because Apparently We’re Too Dumb To See The GENIUS)... And... rreesstt.

I am well aware that this post started out as one thing and ended up rather more convoluted than I hoped for, but Tumblr has always been a great source of therapy for me... so what better to get all my major bugbears out in one word soup of a paragraph that nobody will ever read if they know what’s good for them, before slouching back in my spinning chair with a glazed yet satisfied look on my face?

Nothing, that’s what.

[ravenkings]

"The ideology of Silicon Valley is clear: move fast and break things, scale at all costs, pump and dump. The lingering earth-flavored utopianism of the California Ideology softened the edge, and American two-party politics ensured at least a facade of responsibility, but both have largely fallen away over the past year.

I can point to Musk’s acquisition of Twitter, tech company layoffs, general societal Jokerfication post-Covid and the takeoff of generative AI as proximate causes, but the root cause is an unsustainable concentration of power among frustrated young men; more specifically, among engineers.1

C.P. Snow famously described the cleavage between The Two Cultures in Western society, between science and the humanities. In 1959, Snow observed the social supremacy of the humanities—his argument was that they needed to learn to understand the other culture, for the benefit of society.

But now the engineers are in charge. Universities are STEM departments and professional schools, with humanities a luxury curiosity. Television and now social media has devastated literary culture. We no longer believe in the rule of law or in liberalism more broadly.

So now they’re openly talking about Accelerationism, “effective accelerationism,” even, leaping into the gaping hole in vibe space left by the implosion of FTX/Effective Altruism. Venture capitalist Marc Andreessen has been pushing this for many months, and yesterday released

“The Techno-Optimist Manifesto”

The content is far too stupid to engage with; it takes 10x the effort to refute bullshit than to produce it. Instead, we should think about this document as post-textual. The medium is natural language, but what it encodes is not linear, conceptual reason but vibes. The concluding list of thinkers and fictional characters is simply a clout bomb.

This is a collection of tweets: pure discourse, responding to The Discourse that came before it. In contrast to the idea of individual agency at the heart of liberalism, there is no agency here: the writing is driven entirely by discourse and vibes. It is all implied by what came before it. None of means anything."

[...]

"But Andreessen is more interested in the right hand of cybernetics—he specifically and repeatedly endorses the philosophy of Nick Land, the most famous proponent of Accelerationism. I can’t believe it’s come to this.

Thiel famously said that capitalism and democracy are incompatible, and chose the former.

Land’s Accelerationism says that (techno)capitalism and humanity are incompatible, and yet he still chose the former.3

So make no mistake. Accelerationism is terrorism.4 It violates what Ortega y Gasset calls “man’s most fundamental right...the right to continuity.” Technological accelerationism aims to eliminate the human and instantiate the world of the inhuman functionary. The current rate of change is already incompatible with human dignity, and they want to speed it up. From the manifesto:

We believe in accelerationism – the conscious and deliberate propulsion of technological development – to ensure the fulfillment of the Law of Accelerating Returns.

For people who valorize “The Scientific Method,” they don’t seem to understand what a “Law” is. If this is a Law of Nature, it’s odd that humans have to “fulfill” it. If it’s a human Law, who passed it? Can we overturn it?"

[lacquiparle]

Of the various woke movements that have popped up in the last several years, perhaps the most, well, intolerant of them all (and that's saying something!) is the transgender rights movement.

In a crowded field, I give them first place in re-writing language to assume agreement - "misgender", "gender-affirming" - even "he, she, him, her, them, they" (kinda puts redefining"racism" to shame).

Perhaps you think the pronoun thing is inevitable - maybe, but I don't think so. I think it would have been cool to develop a compound "he-she", "them-him", etc that would recognize that the gender was in dispute. I don't care about professional settings. What I care about is among friends. I would love to have a "she-he" (affectionate), a way to say, "You think you are a she. I recognize that and that you are responsible for your life and decisions. I disagree with your claim. Let's move on." (Ok, that would be a pipe dream, but I like it.)

The movement tries (hopefully unsuccessfully) to teach trans people to treat all disagreement as hate. This belief is, to say the least, not helpful for getting along and seems like it would be horrible for the mental health of the movement's "clients".

As you might suspect, I also think the trans activist movement is wrong on the object level, but that is not why I wrote this post. The reason I wrote this post is because I'm starting to wonder if the reason the trans movement is intolerant and the reason it is wrong are connected. 60-70% confidence: the project the trans movement is attempting to make is not within the normal elasticity of human nature. Such projects normally just fail, but when they succeed, they can only do so through extreme intolerance of dissent (cf. Communism), destroying society, not necessarily through their original failings, but through the secondary destruction of fighting the humans in their society for so long.

But now I feel that I have to add a longer, less important to me, post as to why the trans movement is wrong. That post is under the cut.

The best pro-trans argument I've seen is written by @slatestarscratchpad (Scott Alexander) who is exceptionally tolerant of disagreement in his entire corpus, so, of course, actually wrote a response to critics. You should read it. It's his 2014 post Categories Were Made for Man, Not Man for the Categories. My orders of magnitude shorter summary and my rebuttal follow after the link.

Scott argues that many things, including sex/gender (which he treats as synonyms except for an aside recognizing that some people disagree), are a cluster of characteristics that allow freedom in choosing a useful definition:

"Absolutely typical men have Y chromosomes, have male genitalia, appreciate manly things like sports and lumberjackery, are romantically attracted to women, personally identify as male, wear male clothing like blue jeans, sing baritone in the opera, et cetera.

Some people satisfy some criteria of manhood and not others, in much the same way that Pluto satisfies only some criteria of planethood and whales satisfy only some criteria of mammalhood."

According to Scott, in these edge cases, the common use definition (in 2014) makes chromosomes the tiebreak, but the trans activist project wants to change the tiebreak because it would help people with gender dysphoria.

Scott is wrong about what the common use definition is (was?), but more importantly, the common use definition in 2014 and the basically unquestioned definition until some time within the past 20 years (which I will call the "traditional definition" from here forward) is good and useful and probably load-bearing, and the new definition isn't working.

The traditional definition is basically a physical appearance definition, which, in intimate spaces is a genitalia definition (technically still a cluster of traits, but a much much smaller cluster than Scott suggests). Some people are trans by this definition, and it had been generally accepted that sex change surgery changes one's sex, which was synonymous with gender, before the current controversy.

There's a purpose to the traditional definition. It's about the other meaning of sex - sexual intercourse and sexual reproduction and the many associated downstream effects thereof. No matter how well a woman gets along with her fellow lumberjacks at the ultimate MMA fight, what we need from sex/gender is a way to identify that she is the lumberjack that most of the other lumberjacks will look at differently, especially in the lumberjack shower. This is the load-bearing part. It has ripple effects all through how people treat each other. [Gestures in the general direction of Camille Paglia]

In theory, the new definition would work if people's self-definition was good, or even better than the traditional one, at getting what we need - if it found the outliers in sexual attraction, both to and from a person. In the real world, considering the people who claim a gender different from how they look, I don't see that happening at all. I don't even see it picking out the outliers in the broader cluster. It's not finding boys who think like girls or vice versa. Instead it's demonstrating that it's the nature of humanity to misperceive the other sex, and to latch on to a typical-mind, simplistic, or caricature understanding of them. It's as if Alpha Centauri and asteroid belt object #5C312 noticed some similarities of themselves to planets and decided that they must be planets. Meanwhile, Venus and Mercury decided that they weren't. Then we just went with it and tried to go on talking about astronomy, never bringing up uncomfortable facts, such as that Alpha Centauri is so big.

(Aside on gay people and 3rd, 4th, etc genders skipped for some pretence of a semblance of brevity, or maybe just laziness. These don't rescue the modern trans argument.)

But what about the extreme cases with gender dysphoria? I'm not a psychiatrist and I don't have the clinical experience Scott has. It's hard to imagine the pronoun thing is working. If people need to tell others their pronouns, they won't be perceived as the gender they want to be. Also, I think insisting here is where we destroy society. (See above.)

There has been a solution since the mid-20th Century. I already mentioned it. I don't think we've developed anything better. It's a lot more expensive and permanent and life-changing than just changing pronouns. It can't and shouldn't be done lightly. Society has a good reason for the traditional gender categories. If it is to keep them, the only gender changes allowed have to be so. Sorry. It does have the advantage of being the best at changing social perceptions.

[zukkas]

(Same anon that was asking about proship) I do agree that the boxes are somewhat stupid (I think that anti is also bad because it implies a negative opinion and being entirely against shipping). Could you speak on the nuance a bit further? I’m genuinely curious

You also probably shouldn’t censor words because it messes up the Tumblr filtering system for people who have the word proship filtered

i censored the words bc I didn't want them to end up in the tags/search bc i don't feel like having random people i don't know come on my post to lecture me about their stance when ive already made up my mind

as for why i have my stance specifically, first of all this is SUCH chronically online discourse that i really just don't wanna bother with it as much as i can avoid it. you say you're one of these to anyone outside of very specific internet circles and they look at you like you have 13 limbs

second of all, my main thing is to ship and let ship. even if I don't like a ship, even if i think it's "problematic" or whatever for any reasons, in the end it's a fictional ship, and if the shipper isn't hurting anyone with this ship, i just block the tag(s) and move on. i've seen a lot of antis have ships they don't like and try to justify not liking them by making them out to be problematic in some way (like, for example, saying narumayo from ace attorney is incest or pseudo-incest because the two characters are found family. i don't care for narumayo whatsoever but you don't have to make stuff up to justify not shipping something).

that being said, I don't think ships where the characters are related or an adult and a minor should be glorified as i've seen before. i don't know the people writing these and i have no way of knowing what they've been through and i know that writing these kinda fics for many is just a way to work through their trauma, but there comes a point where i think you have to look inward and ask yourself why am i writing this. what am i putting out into the world by writing this. is this actually helping me deal with the things I've been through or am i just hurting myself more by retraumatizing myself. and if you actually think pedophilia is "hot" or whatever, seek help. seek actual professional help and do not go near any children, ever. i don't care if they're fictional children, i don't care if she's actually 3000 years old and just looks like she's 9, children cannot consent, they do not have the mental capacity to do so in an informed manner.

as for ao3 censorship since that's so entrenched in this discourse, i don't think ao3 should have to remove anything that's not illegal. ao3 was created specifically to avoid this kinda censorship that fanfic authors have dealt with ever since being able to post fics online has been a thing. a lot of the stuff on there is repulsive to me as well, but i know some of the shit ive written would also be considered "problematic" by a lot of people, so where do you draw the line? there's so many edge cases and so many things to consider that it's a complete waste of time and resources for ao3. and it's an archive, for fucks sake. it's not meant to pass down judgment on what's moral and what's not, it's meant to archive. and if you don't agree with that, there's plenty of sites like ffnet and wattpad that do censor "problematic" shit, just go back to those.

im not looking to debate any of this, i've made up my mind so if you're gonna reply to this/send me an ask with an argument for your "side" you're just wasting your time

[mitolathoughtfulobservation]

Letting Go: How Harboring Grudges Damaged.

Continuation.

4. Grudges in Different Types of Relationships

Grudges don't just affect how you feel-they also impact your relationships with others. Whether it's a family member, friend, or partner, holding onto resentment creates emotional distance. The deeper the relationship, the greater the potential damage a grudge can cause.

Family Relationships: Family grudges often stem from unresolved issues or misunderstandings that have accumulated over time. These grudges can last for years or even generations if not addressed. Silent resentments between siblings or parents and children can create lasting rift.

Friendships: In friendships, grudges may arise from unmet expectations or feelings of betrayal. Over time, these unspoken resentments can cause the bond to weaken or break entirely.

Romantic Relationships: In romantic relationships, grudges often surface after repeated hurtful behaviors or unresolved arguments. Without open communication and forgiveness, these grudges can build walls that are difficult to tear down, leading to emotional disconnect.

Work Relationships: Even in Professional settings, grudges can poison your interactions with colleagues or superiors. Holding onto workplace grudges can create a toxic environment and hinder your career growth.

5. Why We Hold On to Grudges?

So why, if grudges are so damaging, do we continue to hold onto them? Here are some common reasons:

Fear of Vulnerability: Letting go of a grudge often means opening yourself up to the possibility of being hurt again. This vulnerability can be scary, so people choose to cling to their resentment as a form of emotional self-defense.

Desire for validation: Sometimes, we hold onto grudges because feel that we deserve acknowledgement or validation of our pain. We want the person who hurt us to recognize their wrongdoings and make amends.

Misunderstanding forgiveness: Many people equate forgiveness with excusing bad behavior or admitting defeat, which make letting go of grudges seem like an impossible task. However, forgiveness is not about freeing yourself from the emotional burden.

6. The Cycle of Resentment

Harboring a grudge often leads to a cycle of resentment. The more we hold onto the negative emotions, the more they grow. This cycle keeps us stuck in the past, unable to move forward. Over time, the grudge becomes bigger than the initial offense, infecting our thoughts, relationships, and even our sense of self.

7. Signs You're Holding a Grudges

Sometimes, people hold grudges without even realizing it. Here are some signs that you might be carrying unresolved resentment

You often replay the situation in your mind, thinking of what you wish you had said or done.

You feel a surge of anger or frustration when you think about the person or event.

You avoid certain people or situations because of unresolved feelings.

You find yourself bringing up past conflicts in unrelated conversations.

You feel emotionally closed off, guarded, or distrustful of others.

In essence, short-term anger is like a passing storm-it comes and goes quickly, allowing you to forward. However, a grudge is like a lingering cloud that refuses to clear, constantly casting a shadow over your thoughts and emotions.

In Conclusion: The Beginning of Letting Go

Grudges, as we've explored, are not just fleeting moments of anger-they are deeply ingrained feelings that can linger for years if left unchecked. Understanding this distinction is the beginning of letting go, a necessary step toward finding inner peace and healing relationships.

Though I no longer carry grudges or anger towards anyone, I understand the weight that such feelings can place on the heart. In my own journey, I have learned to erase painful memories and make space for peace. I write this to motivate those who still harbor resentment, to show that letting go is possible. Set yourself free from the pain, and let peace rain upon your life. The journey of forgiveness is not just about others-it is a gift you give yourself.

#YSKLAT, #Follow@YSKLAT

[emeren]

speed racer- eren jaeger

pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader 

word count: 6k

content warnings: nsfw, smut, 18+, smoking, degradation, overstimulation, breeding (w/o baby talk) 

notes: 100% inspired by the official art, like mmm yes please. also i know absolutely nothing about how car racing works, but that’s not important. this is unedited because my brain turned to mush writing it. enjoy!! <3

SUMMARY: eren’s a semi-professional car racer, who has a tumultuous friendship with the reader. after losing a race, eren sets out to win something else in his life, much to the reader’s surprise. 

“took you long enough!” sasha called out, holding her hand above her eyes in an attempt to block out the bright sun. you dished her a smile, weaving your way through the throngs of people in the stands, attempting not to step on anyone. your eyes briefly flitted to the track, the assistants distantly getting their cars ready. they were hardly visible from here; merely faceless figures idling around. you heaved out a sigh as you reached sasha, the brunette gingerly patting the spot next to her. 

“you couldn’t have gotten better seats, sash?” you asked as you sat down, pushing your sunglasses on top of your head. sasha waved her large bag of popcorn in front of your face, an exasperated expression on her features. 

“the line was long, and what’s a race without popcorn?” she grinned, offering you the bag. you rolled your eyes but took a fistful of the bright yellow snack nonetheless. “plus, if you really wanted that good of seats, you would’ve come early yourself.” 

“i did come here early,” you retorted, your voice muffled by the popcorn. sasha raised a questioning brow, her elbow nudging you in the side. 

“getting here early just so you can poke around the racer’s quarters is not the same thing,” she singsonged, a girlish smirk on her face. you scoffed, turning away from her as you felt heat race to your cheeks. “c’mon, everyone knows you and eren are totally into each other. i don’t understand why you guys don’t just go for it.” 

“i wasn’t poking around, and i am not into eren,” you said, shifting uncomfortably as the words left your mouth. it was true, to some degree. the two of you had been friends in high school, back when eren was just some skinny kid with anger issues. now he was a semi-professional racer, and the rivalry between the two of you was palpable, to say the least.

you’d been in the same friend group and for some reason eren just loved to pick on you whenever he got the chance. you suspected it had something to do with his repressed daddy issues or whatever, and he’d known mikasa and armin far too long to be so catty with them. initially they were just playful taunts, but as you got older, they started to become more personal. with age came your own unchecked need to banter and argue with him. 

somewhere along the way the arguments turned to sexual tension. a sexual tension that for the most part, the two of you were happy to ignore. it allowed room for a more sassy friendship, at least. 

“uh huh, suuure,” sasha responded, seemingly unconvinced. she must’ve sensed your discomfort, deciding to change the topic. “who’s who?” 

your eyes traced the track, analyzing each vehicle. “armin’s in yellow, mikasa’s in red, eren’s in white, and i believe levi is in green.” 

“levi’s racing? isn’t he getting a little old for that?” sasha laughed, squinting. you chuckled. 

“it’s just a small fundraiser race, plus he’s a crowd favorite over here,” you explained. sasha nodded as she processed the information. the sun was hot, beating down on your back. “i’m honestly surprised this many people came out.” 

sasha tossed more popcorn in her mouth, halfway done with the bag despite the race still not having started. she offered it to you again. “mhm, this is the same type of crowd that we’d see in the underground.” 

you thought back to your days of attending the illegal races, late at night and under the cover of darkness. though you were just a junior in college, it felt like those nights freshman year had been decades ago. that was before eren showed real promise in the professional circuit. it was also where levi scouted him out to be his successor. 

as if on cue, you could see the figures of the racers emerging from the port, each headed for their respective cars. you couldn’t help the way your gaze immediately followed the tall, brown haired racer adorned in his white racing jacket, checkers on the side. the crowd erupted into cheers at the sight of the all the racers, one from each color of the rainbow. eren walked with a certain confidence, his adamant determination being one of the only things that followed him from high school. 

though you couldn’t clearly see his face from where you sat, you knew he was smiling. eren had always loved the adrenaline rush before a race. 

“alright ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to the annual shiganshina fundraiser race!” the reporter boomed over the intercom. sasha squealed in her seat, excitedly gripping your arm and pointing towards your friends. you felt a mix of excited nervousness waft over you, giggling along with her. “today we’ve got racers from all over the circuit, and each one has volunteered their precious time for the cause. can we get a round of applause?” 

the crowd erupted in yet another ear deafening round of applause as the announcer read off the names of each of the racers. you and sasha made sure to scream your loudest when armin, mikasa, and eren’s names were read off. 

you hoped they knew it was you, your throat scratchy as you sat back down. there was no need to be loud for levi; the entire crowd went absolutely feral at the mention of his name. 

the announcer read off the conditions of the race, as well as the reasoning for the fundraiser itself. you and sasha chatted quietly about the after party while the racers put their helmets on and got in their cars. before too long, the announcer was gearing up for the start. 

“alright everyone, we’re about to start. get yourselves ready.” 

you and sasha stood, hollering and cheering for your friends as the cars all lined up. you knew you’d be happy if any of them crossed the finish line first, but it was undeniable that it would be eren. it wasn’t armin or mikasa’s passion like it was eren’s; they viewed it more as as fun hobby. nevertheless, you dreaded how smug eren would be once he added another win to his already growing list. he really was a bastard sometimes. 

“racers ready your cars. 3... 2... 1... go!” 

they were off, levi’s green car easily settling into first place, cruising past the other cars as he whipped around the first curve. you held your breath, eyes scanning the other cars placements. eren was in fourth, armin in fifth, and mikasa in second. sasha yelled sporadically, reaching out and squeezing your wrist tightly. 

as they rounded the circuit for the second time, eren passed the third place racer, coming up behind mikasa’s red car. you held your breath. “c’mon eren...” 

“shit! he passed her!” sasha screeched, jumping up and down. you smiled as he whipped the corner, nearly cutting the edge of the median. 

“levi is still so far ahead,” you commented, trying to pry sasha’s death grip from your wrist. your eyes glanced to the clock, realizing that the race was near its finish. levi was cutting the third corner and eren was quickly gaining on him. 

“looks like it’s gonna be clo-” sasha’s voice was cut off as a large man tripped over the bleacher behind you, effectively shoving you into her side. “shit, the popcorn!” 

you regained your balance, giving the man behind you a dirty glare as you turned to sasha. she frowned at the popcorn that’d been spilled all over the ground. “what a waste!” 

looking back up at the track, the crowd broke into screams of excitement. you expected to see eren’s face on the big screen to the side as confetti streamed through the air, but were surprised to see levi’s unimpressed stare. 

eren lost? 

“you’ve gotta be shitting me,” sasha gaped, her face slack in shock. you shrugged, shaking the feeling of disappointment from your shoulders. serves him right. 

people started to vacate the stands, shoving their way past you as you turned to sasha. “let’s go find connie and jean, sash.” 

she nodded, still frowning. the two of you climbed down the steps, going against the flow of the crowd as you weaseled your way down onto the spectators path. you could see all of the racers shaking hands, congratulating each other. your mind briefly considered whether or not eren was going to be upset, but you decided not to dwell on it. 

you watched as the racers disappeared into the tunnel, eren’s tall figure no longer in view. just then, connie and jean came walking out from the service booth, both wearing their maintenance coveralls. 

sasha wildly waved her arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the remaining stragglers towards your friends. 

“hey guys!” she smiled, the boys jogging to meet you halfway. 

“why were you guys in such shit seats?” connie asked, skipping over a greeting. you let out a small laugh at sasha’s expense. she merely shrugged, turning to jean. 

“we going to your place?” you questioned before she had the chance. jean nodded, adjusting the backwards baseball cap on his head. 

“yeah, just gotta wrap some things up, then we can head out,” he replied. you grew happy at the thought of kicking back with your friends, enjoying a nice night of fun. parties at jean and connie’s place were always the best. 

***************

“some race that was,” connie groaned, leaning back and bringing the beer bottle to his lips. so far it was just you, sasha, connie, jean, and a bunch of random drunk people who’d come from the track. sasha scoffed from her spot on the worn, brown couch. 

“you could say that again,” she grumbled. “we didn’t even get to see levi cross the finish line ‘cause some guy rammed into us.” 

jean looked at you from where he leaned against the wall, a bottle in his hand and his eyebrows raised. “wait, for real?” 

“yeah,” you sighed, drinking whatever bitter liquid sasha had poured into your red solo cup. “didn’t even say sorry.” 

“how many times do i have to tell you guys, just come work maintenance with jean-boy and i,” connie suggested, wrapping his arm around sasha’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. she rolled her eyes and shoved him off. “you guys would get to watch the race from the track itself.” 

“i don’t know the first thing about cars,” sasha laughed, you nodding along with her. 

“and you think we do? i just said that so we could get the best seats in the house,” connie snorted, taking another swig of his drink. you chuckled at his idiocy, unfazed by yet another one of their stupid stunts. “where’re the big racers anyway?” 

“they should be here soon,” you responded, glancing out the window. jean was unironically blasting the fast and the furious soundtrack, something he’d done after every race for as long as you’d known him. by now the songs were ingrained in your brain. 

“who wants to bet jaeger is in a pissy mood?” jean snorted as he moved to sit down on the arm of the chair you were planted in. 

“when isn’t he?” you sneered. connie and sasha hummed in agreement. both you and jean loved nothing more than to push eren’s buttons. you knew jean’s motives stemmed from some boyish fun, whereas yours felt a little more personal. 

the sound of clapping began to compete with the music, your neck craning to look past jean into the hallway. eren, armin, and mikasa came into view, people cheering them on and patting them on the back. they each wore their racing jackets over their street clothes. 

you felt a familiar sensation burn in your stomach at the sight of eren. his dark hair was pulled back per usual, wispies framing his tan face. The white jacket stood out against his black t-shirt and black jeans; key necklace he always wore glinting against his chest. as your gaze travelled up from his body, you were startled to make contact with his teal eyes. you quickly glanced away in embarrassment. 

“well, well, well,” jean cheered, raising his bottle to the trio. “how’d it feel to lose to a short, old man, eh jaeger?”

eren scowled, obviously peeved. “if i had to lose to anyone, i’m glad it was levi.” 

connie snorted at that. “man, professional circuit has you soft.” 

“whatever you say, baldie,” eren smirked mischievously as he came to sit down on the couch. connie defensively rubbed his head. “at least i’m making money in prof.” 

“i still can’t believe you have people that actually want to sponsor you,” you snipped, a playful expression on your face. eren lazily looked towards you, the familiar irritation laced in his eyes. 

“i’m sorry, what was that? i wasn’t listening to you,” eren retorted, looking as unbothered as ever. you glared at his words, but caught armin’s disapproving eye and decided to stay quiet. 

as the night carried on, you watched your friends relax and reminisce about previous races and the days spent in the illegal ring. it seemed crazy that your life was so centered around car races, when you weren’t even a racer yourself. but you supposed you were just happy to be supporting your friends.

at some point you got up out of your chair to refill your cup. the large hoards of people had started to dance; the house feeling hot and humid as you shoved your way to the kitchen. luckily the room was empty, save for armin who was drinking water out of the kitchen tap. 

“thirsty?” you asked, amused. his head snapped up, surprised by your voice. it took one look to tell he was absolutely trashed, face red and eyes half lidded. he smiled goofily and nodded his head before stumbling back out into the crowd of people. 

you quickly filled your cup, following the direction armin had gone. as you stepped out of the kitchen, a body came out of nowhere and smacked into you. 

eren jumped back, trying to avoid the liquid that sloshed out of your cup. “hey, watch it!” he hissed. 

“you watch it, casanova,” you snapped, irritated by the sticky alcohol that dripped down your hand. eren’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, his arms defensively crossing his chest. 

“i told you not to call me that,” he bit back, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. you rolled your eyes, instinctively bringing your hand to your mouth in an attempt to lick the drink off. eren watched you, his gaze clouded with an indiscernible emotion. you knew what you were doing. 

“hm. too bad,” you quipped, dragging your tongue down the side of your hand, popping your pointer finger in your mouth. eren glowered at you as you let out a giggle. “see ya, loser.” 

“whatever, brat,” he huffed, shaking the tension from his pants as you sauntered off into the crowd. he hated the effect you had on him.

you’d already decided not to get shit faced. while the rest of your friends had chosen otherwise, you danced alongside them, your resolve wearing thin much faster than theirs. jean and sasha bounced happily up and down, screaming the lyrics to whatever song it was blasting from the speakers. connie and mikasa were playing beer pong, and you had no clue where armin and eren had gone.

you heaved in a breath as a sharp pain shot through your side, signaling the end of your dancing career for the night. your two dance partners were too far gone to notice, waving goodbye to you as you stepped out of the sweaty crowd. 

slipping your phone out of your pocket, your eyes nearly popped from your head at the time. two thirty?!

only slightly tipsy, you decided to find jean’s room and call it a night. he’d just have to sleep on the couch. with one hand dragging on the wall, you made your way through the house, past armin who was doing body shots with a couple of strangers, up the stairs and down the dark hall. it was quieter up here, but you could still hear the music and knew it’d be awhile till sleep visited you. 

shoving jean’s door open, you were surprised to see none other than eren laid back on the bed, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth. the strong scent of weed hit your nostrils, nose scrunching up in reflex. he propped himself up on one arm upon your entrance, eyeing you. 

“oh, sorry i’ll just- wait a minute,” you paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “you aren’t supposed to be smoking on your sponsorship.” 

eren let out a loud laugh at that, more smoke spilling from his lungs. “thanks, mom. i know.” 

you stood in the doorway, not really sure what to do. “jean’s gonna be mad if his room smells like weed tomorrow.” 

“yeah, why do you think i chose to do it in here?” he leered, bringing the blunt to his lips and deeply inhaling, sharp cheekbones protruding with the action. you sucked in a breath, not wanting to acknowledge just how gorgeous he was. his jacket was off, black shirt tightly gripping his muscular yet slender arms as he propped himself up. he blew the smoke from his nostrils this time, making your face heat. “wanna hit?”  

you sighed, weighing the options. jean’s bed was a lot more comfortable than connie’s. you could just wait till eren was done, and then pass out. “no, but i’ll wait with you till you’re done.” 

“suit yourself, brat,” eren hummed, flopping back down on the bed as you shut the door behind yourself. you came to sit by him, looking down as he heaved in a sober breath. he really is beautiful, you thought. 

your eyes scanned his face. “you really shouldn’t be smoking, you know. you could lose the sponsorship.” 

eren rolled his teal eyes, giving you a side glance. “i’m aware. i’m also aware that you aren’t going to rat on me.” 

“and what makes you so sure?” you asked playfully, your voice low. eren’s gaze shifted to you, placing the blunt between his lips as he sat up, face inches from yours. 

“because. you can act like you hate me all you want,” smoke blew from his lips as he spoke, slowly inching his face closer to yours. you swallowed, eyes struggling to maintain contact with his dark stare. “but i know how badly you want me.” 

you blinked, heart rate accelerating as he glanced at your lips. “speaking from experience?” 

eren’s mouth quirked up in a smirk at your words. “something like that.”

you watched with desire as he brought the bud of the blunt up to his lips, deeply inhaling the toxic smoke. he lifted his free hand, pointer finger gently tracing your jaw as his thumb came up to caress your chin. he tapped softly against your face, as if asking you to open your mouth. 

you weren’t sure what part of you was wanting to submit to his every move. maybe it was the alcohol. or maybe it was the accumulation of sexual tension. something told you it was a deeper itch that needed to be scratched. an itch only eren could reach. 

you parted your lips, eyes fluttering as eren leaned forward and carefully brushed his own against yours, dumping his lungful of smoke into your mouth. you breathed it in, fighting the urge to cough and whine as he pulled away. 

“good girl,” he breathed, leaning away to snuff the bud out on jean’s bedside table. you heaved out as much as you could, shocked by your own willingness. you were mainly surprised by how much you enjoyed whatever that was. 

you stared at him expectantly as he turned back to you, a serious expression on his face. “eren.” 

“yes?” he asked, leaning heavily on his arm, eyes unashamedly focused on your lips. his other hand came up again, lightly ghosting your jawline. you could feel yourself growing wet between your legs; the way eren was fucking you with his eyes sending an unwelcomed throb to your clit. 

acting on impulse, you lurched forward, latching your lips onto eren’s slightly chapped ones. he wasted no time in kissing you back; hungrily pressing himself closer to your body. his lips were warm and tasted like weed and coca cola, his tongue wiggling its way into your mouth where you happily welcomed it. 

you brought your hand up, wanting to run your fingers through his hair, but were stopped when they got caught in the bun. eren grunted, kissing you harder and bringing his own hand up to yank the tie from his locks, letting his soft hair fall to his shoulders. 

your fingers were quick to glide through the brown strands, scratching his scalp in the process. some throaty sound emitted from his chest, the noise making your cunt ache in need. how is he so hot? 

eren’s hands came to your waist, roughly shoving you down onto the bed, so that he hovered above you. your lips continued to meld together, saliva coated mouths wetly intertwined. you removed your hand from his hair, bringing both hands to run down the expanse of his arms that were on either side of your head. you squeezed his biceps, surprised when he suddenly pulled away. 

“is this okay?” he panted, breaths labored. his pupils were dilated, all seriousness behind his gaze. you nodded your head without hesitation, practically begging him to continue. “words.”

“yes, yes. i want this just as much as you do,” you responded. eren smirked from above you, his dark hair swirling around his face as his key dangled in front of your chin. 

“good, because,” he leaned down to your ear, lightly nibbling the lobe as the cold key rested against your throat. “i’m going to punish you for all these years of torture.” 

your eyes widened, the words sending a desirable chill down your spine. “torture?” 

eren’s hot mouth travelled slowly from your ear down the side of your neck, lightly peppering the skin with lustful kisses. his tongue came out as he reached your collarbone, dragging the wet muscle up the front of your throat, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. a small whimper involuntarily left your mouth as he pulled back, grabbing your chin in his large hand.  

“all of the nicknames,” he pressed a kiss to your lips. “the quips,” and another, your chest tightening. “the stunt you pulled earlier with your hand. oh god. it’s like you were practically begging me to bend you over and teach you a lesson.” 

he pulled back, dark eyes boring into yours. the desire was palpable, your breathing shallow as he stared at you. it was like he was waiting for some silent agreement. 

you held eye contact, tilting your chin back ever so slightly in his grip. “good thing i learn fast.” 

your words flew straight to his cock, throbbing uncomfortably behind his jeans. eren let go of your chin, his lips hungrily reconnecting with yours as his hands pinned your wrists to either side of your head. his tongue was quick to invite itself into your mouth, warm and erotic. 

you wanted to tug on his hair again; wanted to hear his primal groans and feel him vibrate against your mouth, but you were pinned to the bed. desperate to hear eren moan, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, the action making him yank his head back. 

“tsk tsk, none of that,” he growled, wet lips glinting in the low light of the room. “this is your punishment. guess we’re going to have to do something else.” 

you frowned as he let go of your wrists, lifting himself from the bed and standing. you propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes laced with desire as eren swiftly pulled the black shirt over his head, key pendant resting on his newly exposed chest. he was dangerously attractive like this; dark hair disheveled on his shoulders, only adding to the feral stare he was giving you. 

he leaned forward, grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the end of the bed, legs dangling from the side. you watched in awe as he dropped to his knees, fingers coming up to toy with the button of your jean shorts. 

“these little shorts make your ass look so good,” he grumbled, tapping the button. “be good and take them off for me.” 

you wasted no time in lifting your ass off the bed, struggling to yank the denim down your legs without hitting eren in the face. he watched your every movement, licking his lips as you wiggled them off. 

without thinking, your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to reveal a black bra. eren’s pupils dilated further at the unexpected sight of your breasts. 

he helped pull the shorts from your ankles, tossing them aside as you sat back down, just in your panties and bra. you paused for a moment, unsure of what he was planning to do. 

“watch me,” he demanded, staring at you through his brows. you nodded your head, breath hitching as he placed an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, tongue swiping against the smooth skin. 

his eyelashes fluttered as he licked up your leg; just the way he looked at you being enough to have you creaming in your lace panties. your teeth tugged at your bottom lip, the burning in your face mirroring the way your clit throbbed along with your heart beat. 

eren’s tongue trailed until he reached the edge of your underwear, eyes never failing to stay connected with yours. you swallowed as he lifted his head, placing his tongue flatly against your clothed clit. 

it was a warm, muted feeling, your body all too aware of the beautiful man between your legs. eren brought his fingers up, hooking under the fabric and pushing it to the side. 

“so wet for me already,” he hummed, a smile on his face. you blushed in embarrassment, the feeling of his breath on your glistening pool of moisture making you shiver. “’m gonna eat you so good, little bitch.” 

you gasped as eren rapidly brought his face down, burying his head between your legs. the sensation was like no other; a swirling feeling in your stomach as his tongue hungrily swiped against your clit. your hands flew down to his hair, tugging as his lips wrapped around the bud, suckling softly. 

a moan escaped your lips, the sound causing eren to groan out in reply. the vibration of his vocal cords against your center amplifying the pleasure. 

a distinct feeling began to burn in your chest, the sloppiness of eren’s tongue licking up your slick causing your legs to squirm, tightening around his head. “fuck.”

eren pulled back at the pressure against his skull, a smack sounding through the air as he released his suction on your wet cunt. 

“i told you to be good,” he hissed, lips coated in your sheen. you knew the image of eren’s face between your legs, hair disheveled and mouth swollen, eyes dark and lustrous, would be burned into the back of your brain. 

flustered, you nodded your head, spreading your legs so they weren’t pressing against his face. he nodded in content, arms coming up to wrap around your thighs to keep you steady. 

and he was back; eating your pussy like he hadn’t been fed in years, a primal desperation. he pressed his tongue down harder, the cry ripping from your throat at the sensation only egging him on. you struggled against his grip as he abused your clit with his mouth, sucking and tracing his teeth over it so good. 

his tongue slid down to your entrance, shoving itself in without invitation. the fullness wasn’t like having sex; it was a heated, swirling feeling. the wet muscle circled around your spongey walls, your face beginning to burn and hands growing clammy in eren’s hair. 

you threw your head back as his ministrations sped up, your hips attempting to grind into his face. the warmth in the pit of your stomach building like a loaded gun, ready to release itself. 

all it took was the added pressure of his hand wrapping around your thigh so that his thumb could press against your clit, feverishly rubbing. you came crashing down, your eyes screwing shut as the wave of dopamine stretched to every part of your body, legs jerking against his hold. 

eren pulled his head back again, a smile on his wet face as he licked your release from his lips. “tasted so good, so good for me.” 

you breathed out in reply as he came back up above you, gently taking your chin and bringing his mouth down to yours. 

the kiss was small and simple, your eye lids growing heavy. you could taste your bitter release on him, the unfamiliar flavor not completely unpleasant. 

“sleepy?” eren mumbled against your lips, coming back to look at you. you nodded your head, eyes catching on the key that dangled from his neck. “too bad. we aren’t done with your punishment yet.” 

you frowned, your body suddenly more awake than it was before. “huh?” you asked, sitting up as eren shifted to pull his jeans off. 

you weren’t sure what you expected when he yanked both his jeans and boxers down; you guessed you’d always thought his anger issues were compensation for something. the realization dawned on you that eren had nothing to compensate for as his cock sprung from his pants, the sheer size making your mouth water. 

a smirk crossed his face as he stepped from his jeans. “enjoying the view?” 

“what? no,” you scoffed, averting your gaze. eren crawled back over you, his bare length pressing into your stomach as his hands came up to unclasp your bra. 

“don’t be shy, this is your punishment after all,” he whispered, pulling the cups from your chest. his eyes unashamedly scanned your breasts, a smile tugging his lips as he gave them a generous squeeze. 

you tried to ignore the imprint of him on your stomach; but it was nearly impossible. you could feel the spot between your legs grow wet again, arousal already weaseling its way back into your system.

eren brought his lips to yours once again, the kisses much sloppier and desperate than before. he grunted as you shifted to lay back down, his exposed dick rubbing against your stomach. “can’t wait to be inside of you,” he mumbled against your lips. 

you whimpered at his words, his lips melding with your own while he simultaneously tugged your panties down your legs. he propped himself up with one arm, the other positioning the tip of his cock at the entrance of your already throbbing cunt. 

you took a deep breath as he slowly eased himself into you; the sheer stretch making your eyes lull back in your head. eren moved his hips slowly at first, loosening you up. he was watching your expressions; his eyelids heavy and mouth slightly agape. 

“shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, hips starting to move faster as he gazed down at you. you swallowed, closing your eyes as he sent one particularly hard thrust, cock nearly ramming your cervix. “you good?” 

“mhm,” you responded, bringing your hands up to grab his hair. “just so big.” 

eren let out a breathy chuckle at that, eyes traveling down to your pelvis where his dick was visibly creating a bump with every thrust. he placed his hand on your stomach, pressing down as he bucked his hips violently forwards. he was so deep. 

you cried out at the feeling of his length sliding in and out of your cunt, your walls clenching around him as your hands clawed at his muscular back. 

he was filling you up so good, a moan leaving his lips as your enhanced arousal unexpectedly brought your second orgasm down, tears pricking your eyes. eren kept abusing your pussy, his thrusts growing senseless before he buried himself deep within you, releasing his load inside of your exhausted center. 

both of your breathing was labored, eren looking up at the ceiling. his face was flushed as he recovered, you laying limply beneath him trying to regain your composure yourself. 

“that felt so good,” you admitted, bringing your hand up from his back to caress his angular face. eren frowned at your words, large hand grabbing your wrist and removing it from his jawline. 

“m’not tired yet,” he said seriously, your eyes widening as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips. your fucked out face beneath him had his dick already hardening again. “m’not gonna be tired till i win.” 

he suddenly pulled up, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing your legs up by your head. the action strained your muscles, the feeling of eren’s cum dripping down your ass filling your head as he readied himself to fuck you senseless. 

he stared at your cunt; at the way his cum was oozing out of it, the abused pussy ready to take him in again. he used his fingers to catch the drip, forcing it back inside of you. the thought of filling you up all nice and pretty sent him over the edge, his hand shamelessly guiding his cock back inside of you.

eren was meaner this time; each thrust was deep and deliberate, hitting your cervix and making you cry out in pleasure. the burning sensation in your clit was overwhelming, your mouth hanging open as eren slowly fucked you stupid. 

“good, pretty girl” eren breathed out, ramming his hips into yours. “took her punishment like such a good girl.” 

you tried to nod your head, but you couldn’t move. the feeling of hot, sticky tears rolled down your face, eren’s cock deep within you almost too much to bear. he grabbed your chin, tongue swiping up your cheek as he savored the salty flavor on his tastebuds. this man and his licking. 

“tell me, did you learn your lesson?” eren grunted in your ear, hand still gripping your chin. you tried to form a sentence, fucked beyond words. “hm, use your words and i’ll let you cum.” 

one more deep thrust and his dick stopped its strokes, pausing within you. “yes... yes.” 

“yes what?” 

your tongue was heavy in your mouth, pussy all too aware of eren’s length within it. “i learned my lesson, you won.” 

he smirked, aggressively bucking his hips into your weak cunt, the action making you cry out as he rammed your cervix. the tears continued to roll down your cheeks as eren’s dick twitched, spurting the his seed into you. your third release followed his, your clit spasming from the overstimulation. 

eren heaved himself out of you, collapsing deftly onto the bed. the two of you sat in a heated silence, your face sticky from the tears. eren glanced to you, eyes trailing down your body. 

“i’ll get a rag,” he mumbled, shoving off the bed and walking into jean’s bathroom. you were beyond exhausted and knew that you’d be sore tomorrow. eren reemerged, quickly cleaning you up and handing you your shirt. 

your eyes lazily watched him as he walked over and locked the door; brain too tired to form a sentence. 

he must’ve noticed your concern. “we can sleep in here tonight; i don’t think you’re in any shape to move.” 

you carefully crawled into the sheets, not even bothering to put your shirt back on. eren followed suit, climbing in behind you. 

“night,” he whispered as he shut the bedside light off. your lids were growing heavy, a smile on your lips as you began to fall asleep. 

“night, casanova.” 

<3 <3 <3 

[enduracarrotchips]

YouTuber AU

Hello welcome to Dating Scandal but with Twitter Involved (nightmare)

A little exposition here: 

Link, Zelda, Sidon, Revali, and Riju are the most popular group of youtubers on the internet and have a huge fanbase that likes to theorize, draw fanart, and write fanfiction about them. Disclaimer, I don’t actually interact with real-person fandoms myself lol there’s just too much potential for drama and misunderstandings & they’re always bound to end in a dumpster fire but that is sort of what this au is about so.

Impa, Mipha, Daruk, and Urbosa are family friends that appear in a lot of their videos/streams. 

(This is an art blog I swear)

enter vidcon 20XX

Link: 

blows stuff up/sets stuff on fire with a side of cooking vids and gaming

most are filmed outside, he does those challenges where you try to cook stuff with limited ingredients/materials

has the largest fanbase of all of them, but not the most…intimidating.

does a lot of collab videos, mostly with Impa, Daruk, and Riju because they have similar interests/channels, but Zelda appears in his videos and is seen filming and the stans read too far into it

simps. i’m pointing at you.

Most popular videos are “shield surfing on rock!—how I broke my leg” “can Daruk eat Impa’s motorcycle?” and “how to inhale ranch dressing.”

Twitter handle is @ arsonistslullabye because he’s a hozier fan

45m subs

Zelda:

theories, analyses, conspiracies, and the occasional e x p e r i m e n t

she once got link to eat a frog for 50 bucks.

most people argue that she’s better than more popular YouTubers because she actually has quality content to give to the world and she has a lot of defensive supporters

She used to get a lot of hate before Urbosa spoke up about it and scared the bejeezus out of everyone

has an actual posting schedule

“Happy Sunday everyone, it’s Zelda Hyrule and today we will be talking about cryptozoology and why blupees exist, you cowards.”

Twitter handle is @ zeldaofhyrule and she is pan. just so you know. One of those calm extroverts that mystify me to this day.

18m subs

Sidon:

fashion/life hacks. Like gourmet troom troom but if they were real people.

Has the 2nd largest fanbase

most of them are girls

Sidon has a boyfriend though, which he told everyone at VidCon a few years ago

cue the drama and shipping and the entire fandom trying to figure out who the boyfriend is. A well known reddit thread emerged that presented the common guesses being Link, Sidon, and Zelda.

“But it can’t be Zelda, Sidon’s gay.”

“I’m not in the fandom but I thought Zelda was a boy??”

“Did you just say Sidon? Is that a typo? Are you saying that Sidon’s dating himself?”

Sidon x Sidon became a fandom joke.

Don’t look at me I’m just setting up all the worldbuilding. every fandom has their weird dark sides and Sidon x Sidon is the Linkcest of the Sidon YT fandom.

Mystery BF is actually Bazz, a pretty inconspicuous guy who appeared in a few of his videos. This was confirmed a year ago, but everyone still ships him with other YouTubers because they’re convinced he was lying to throw them off his scent. He really can’t catch a break and this is why you should not ship real people.

Twitter handle is @ officialprincesidon

says “beguiling” a lot

21m subs ᕙ( ͡❛ ▿ ͡❛)ᕗ

Mipha:

Sidon’s sister, hasn’t posted a single video but just has the channel for show because she appears in so many of Sidon’s videos as a model for his makeup tutorials and whatnot

has 328k for that. Everyone loves her, she’s great. @ mimipha

Revali:

Link’s sworn rival

Link thinks they’re friends

He kept popping up in link’s Twitter threads and making snarky comments until zelda called him out for not even following link (so why was he stalking his acc) which kept the Twitter drama to a minimum

Revali was the catalyst of a few popular memes and that’s where most of his subs come from.

drags link into a few challenges that always get a ton of views because of how competitive they get

“ITS JUST ASININE” is a running joke that everyone tries to get him to say. His @ is itsjustasinine as well

Urbosa is the only person who can win an argument with him

5m subs and growing rapidly. newer to youtube than everyone else.

Impa:

Doesn’t have a channel she’s just a mutual friend of Mipha, Zelda, and Link

Rides a motorcycle, so she is used in a few of Link’s videos.

@ ihaveamotorcycle because she thinks having a motorcycle is a personality trait. the most unruly on Twitter when it comes to replying to fan’s stuff, leaking upcoming videos and generally causing chaos.

Mipha’s girlfriend. That’s how she met Zelda and Link.

Urbosa:

Is actually a model, but she has a ton of YouTuber friends because she’s known Zelda since birth.

when she entered the youtube community she didn’t realize she would be adopting like 15 children

5m subs. her videos are professional & related to her modelling career. @ urbosasfury

I feel like she would do unboxing vids. I’m not sure what she’s unboxing.

Daruk

Just a friend of Link’s, fun guy. yells a lot. once ate a rock and had no reaction.

people are scared of him for that reason

Riju:

yoga & gymnastics & “ha look at how flexible I am its eAsY” videos

you know the type

she also does reactions and is sponsored by save the sand seals charities which she is very enthusiastic about. She’s also Urbosa’s niece and the only minor in the gang (15). I like to think that the champions YT community is actually not creepy so everyone respects her a ton

doesn’t post frequently, she mostly appears in Link’s videos to jump out of airplanes or whatever. And sometimes Zelda’s if she’s interested in the topic. 500k subs, but she’s always really popular when she appears in Link’s videos.

VidCon:

In the months leading up to VidCon, some fans on the internet made a few discoveries: first of all, that the inside of Link’s house is painted green. This is a big deal because all of his videos are filmed outside either in his backyard or on trips that he and the brosquad go on to do…whatever bros do. explosions. idk. The point is he had some announcement about VidCon and filmed it inside. Only the wall and a potted plant were shown.

However, the colour was similar to the the shade of Zelda’s living room. Fans dug through years and years of old videos and found a clip of Zelda walking through a hallway, where there was an open door and a glimpse of a houseplant.

There were 2 types of responses to the theory:

“They could just be roommates guys calm down”

“and they were ROOMMATES?”

others pointed out that Link could just not have a house and had to crash in Zelda’s

Some guy on reddit claimed he had a botany degree and declared that the houseplants in the clips were not of the same genus. Normal people pointed out that the plant would have grown 4 years between the clips and would look considerably different.

#Zelink trended on twitter for a while and people posted other old clips from both of their channels and the frog video blew up again

Impa retweeted a post tagged as #zelink with “rofl” and later publicly apologized for causing confusion.

Fans noticed that in the “can a motorcycle drive over my arm” (it was clickbait he’s fine) episode 2 years ago, Link was eating out of a paper lunch bag with his name written on it in handwriting that a few people claimed to look like Zelda’s, leading people to believe that she had packed him a lunch.

However, this theory was shot down with the counterargument that Zelda can’t cook. although. i mean how much skill do you need to make a sandwich.

No one knows what tumblr is doing at this time

Zelda wore a scarf in her “Save the Sand Seals” video that matched identically to the scarf Link wore when he travelled to Hebra to film a shield surfing video, but it’s been debated wether it’s actually the same scarf or not.

Neither Zelda nor Link has spoken up about the theories, and besides Impa’s one slip on twitter, neither has any of their friends. Zelda received a lot of backlash for the assumption that she was dating Link because he has a lot of delusional fans that didn’t want her to “steal their man” or whatever the hell that type of fan would get mad about

Oh yea and bolson & karson run a zelink fanpage on twitter sorry I forgot about that

after that whole mess, everyone was even more anticipant of VidCon in the hopes that some of their questions would be answered.

The whole batch went to VidCon this year: Link, Impa, Daruk, and Riju are a gang while Sidon and Mipha go together and Zelda & Revali each go separately. Urbosa is there for supervision moral support

Zelda has always been much better at dodging questions that she doesn’t want to answer than anyone else, so her Q&A went without a hitch. When asked to confirm the rumours she said “which one?” and then moved on to the next question (without actually confirming any rumours).

Link is generally a more awkward person but eventually said that he had filmed the video in Zelda’s house because it was nicer and didn’t realize it would cause such an uproar. Fans were disappointed, but Bolson claimed he saw Link and Zelda exiting the hotel elevator on the same floor after Link’s Q&A session. No one believed him.

Fans went back to theorizing over who Link, Zelda, and Sidon were all dating, because apparently they can’t just be dating unknown people and have to be with other YouTubers

Sidon and Bazz got engaged about a week after VidCon, making at least 4 preteen girls cry

actually try 4 million

Sidon x Sidon made a brief comeback but Sidon spoke up about his fandom for the first time ever on twitter and told everyone that no, he was not dating himself. eventually, everyone settled down and accepted that none of them were in a relationship save for a few loud fans.

Link and Zelda still got the occasional “when will you tell us who you’re dating?” comment but most of them were joking and the people who still hardcore shipped them were generally frowned upon. Zelda’s popularity went up after VidCon and she regained the 200k subscribers she’d lost after the first theory dropped.

Two months after VidCon, Link posted a video titled “Zelda and I’s House Tour!” and gave around 45 million people a heart attack

as revealed in the video, they had actually been dating since they were 16 and everyone’s just a fool.

the potted plant is named Hestu.

[guardianspirits13]

I wanna talk about Natsuo Todoroki for a second here.

tw// mentions of abuse, self harm, and suicide

Natsuo visibly has the most emotional trauma out of anyone else in his family (Touya not included), and I really wanna talk about why that is.

For starters, we haven't seen him really smile since he was introduced in chapter 187. He's introduced as having a friendly, easygoing persona and it's easy to imagine this is how most people outside of his family know him. However, every time we see him appear since then, another layer of his trauma is revealed and expanded upon, and it cuts DEEP.

I think the main reason that Natsuo still seems so vulnerable compared to the rest of his family is different than what you'd assume. Fuyumi and Shouto both spend a lot of time around Endeavor, and have been in close proximity to his (relatively recent) decision to atone. They have seen his growth firsthand and come to terms with it. Rei has obviously taken a very different path to healing- not entirely voluntarily- but she has been working with doctors and therapists for years to change and recover and reconnect with herself and her children. Natsuo is off at college, and takes every opportunity he can to avoid Endeavor. He (understandably) wants nothing to do with him, and shows stagnant resistance to his attempts to atone.

The reason why Natsuo can't move on from the past is because his trauma didn't come from Endeavor. It came from Touya.

Now initially we were led to believe that it was simply Touya's untimely death that still bothers Natsuo, and it makes sense seeing how Endeavor drove him to the edge. Losing his best friend and brother as a young kid without parents to support him or any therapist to speak of can absolutely been the source of persistent emotional damage, but the more and more we learn about Touya's situation, the more evident it becomes that Natsuo's trauma is much much deeper than even grief.

Touya, as we know, was driven by an ambition instilled in him by his father and experienced extreme rejection sensitivity when those ambitions were no longer realistic. Touya's relationship with his parents could be described as insecure attachment, a psychological term primarily regarding how kids react and respond to their parents and other close relationships. As he was raised, Touya learned to equate his potential to be a hero with his personal worth and similarly confounded attention with love. The difference being, of course, that love is unconditional, but even attention was being continually directed away from him as a punishment for continuing to train and burn himself so he could once again become worthy in his fathers' eyes.

This is where Natsuo comes in. At first it was assumed that all of the Todoroki children were born out of Endeavor's strong-willed desire to have a child that could surpass All Might, but we learned that this isn't exactly the case. I'd argue that it was narratively poetic on Horikoshi's part once this was expanded upon. Fuyumi was born to support and encourage her brother, and that is the exact role she plays 23 years later, keeping her family together.

Natsuo's case is even more intersting.

It was bad enough if Natsuo was only born for the potential of his quirk, but it's even more sinister that the sole intent behind his birth was to discourage Touya from his ambitions. I'd say it was to replace him, but it was more to promote the idea that Touya was expendable than to raise aonther kid with the same ideals but the potential to actually achieve it, although that was definitely a secondary motivation.

The parallelism in this is how much Natsuo's life revolves around Touya. He was born because of Touya, he looked up to and took care of Touya as a kid, and the absence of Touya in the present continues to drive him and his decisions in life (but more on that later).

I continue to pray that we will eventually get more solid backstory on Natsuo and Touya's relationship as kids and where it cut off, wether on a bad note or not, but there are a few things we know for certain. One, Touya was mentally ill. Yes, he was rejected by his parents but he seems to have been particularly vulnerable to this compared to any of his siblings since he was the first of them and thus relied only on his parents for validation in his early years. He shows early signs of a variety of different mental disorders, particularly BPD, which I have previously written a whole analysis for on its own. Touya is shown self-harming both by the very nature of his quirk and even by very directly ripping his hair out. He was incredibly self-destructive.

This is why it is so much more concerning to me that Natsuo, who was AT LEAST four years younger than him, was his primary source of comfort. Natsuo was too young to have known anything more than 'my big brother is sad that daddy won't train him anymore' and he obviously wasn't equipped in any way to handle Touya's severe mental illness. Touya most definitely needed professional treaatment as his forms of coping were abnormal even for the neglect and rejection that he experienced. Natsuo comforted Touya through breakdown after breakdown, and more than that Touya relied on him and came to him voluntarily for support. Natsuo was the best option he had, and he took full advantage of that. The main source of Natsuo's trauma was Touya's reliance on him.

Not to say at all that this was in any way Touya's fault- he was mentally ill and desperately in need of some form of comfort to keep him sane; it was almost a survival method at this point since neither of his parents really acknowleged him at all anymore. Touya's instability hurt Natsuo more than parental neglect ever did, but it was the neglect that enabled it and striped Touya of the supportive atmosphere he would have needed at this point not only to prevent but to heal from the mental damage he had already suffered.

Natsuo dealt with this for years and you can see how much it hurt him to see Touya in so much pain, not only from Endeavor's rejection but from his own self harm as well. For Natuso to know that his brotherly love would never be the same as having loving parents; would neve be enough- but at least it was something so he continued to love and care about his brother for little in return- is indicative of the kind of character he is.

(Edit: After the events of chapter 302 we know that Natsuo's relationship with Touya wasn't perfect. I will elaborate more on this in a different post, but I just wanted to clarify that although we were shown a very high-tension scene between them, it is implied that this was a regular occurrence that Natsuo was usually more receptive too but tired out of, in addition to Touya's spiraling mental health. It fit with the natrative to show the tension Touya was feeling with his family from all directions, but Natsu and Touya clearly had a stronger relationship up to and before this point, evidenced by their sharing a room and playing together regularly.)

He is incredibly selfless, and it's interesting to note how many of his positive qualities as an adult stem from negative experiences as a kid. He never really felt love from his parents, so he relied on Touya (and likely also Fuyumi) for that as well. If he grew up learning he had to give love in order to recieve it back, it absolutely influenced who he became in the future, a solid example of this being the responsibility he feels to reach out and have a relationship with Shouto and further regrets that he wasn't able to help his abuse in the past either. Another aspect of his character that intruigues me is how gentle he is. Personality-wise he seems about as opposite as he could be from the awkward, stoic, emotionally-stunted person that is Endeavor.

There are a couple of reasons for this, beyond what I've already discussed.

One, he had little to no contact with elements of toxic masculinity growing up, especially not from Endeavor.

Two, most of the influence he did have growing up was from Fuyumi, who is established to have endlessly cared for him since he was a literal baby.

Three, he grew up in a household where almost everyone around him was in much more literal, immediate pain than he was so he developed a very strong sense of empathy that might also have been tied to early survivor's guilt.

Now I have one important distinction to make, and that's the temptation to label him as a 'softboy' or something of the like after seeing him caring for his family and more pointedly, watching him break down in tears during chapter 252. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with men being soft or vulnerable (on the contrary it's actually so so important and relevant that Hori is writing characters like this in a mainstream shounen manga but that's an essay for another time), it is unfair to label him as such based on a moment when his trauma is being exposed.

Because his truama stems from such a young age, there is a blurry line between just being born with more emotional intelligence and the situation he was in fostering those traits. You know, the classic nature/nurture thing. My point being, it's important to tread carefully when discussing the nature of his personality to avoid invalidating his trauma; I have no doubt that he is very strong for having survived these things, and the moments we see of him onscreen are definitely among his most vulnerable.

Another thing that people less familiar with Natsuo's character might assume is that he is hot-headed and argumentative. I thought that at first too- after all, he doesn't seem to shy away from yelling at Endeavor when given the opportunity. However, this doesn't seem to be the case at all.

The first real scene we see him in with Endeavor, the man walks into the room and Natsuo decides he can't handle it and goes to leave. However, Endeavor happens to be blocking the doorway. Endeavor physically stops him and provokes him to his face, asking him to say whatever is on him mind. While Natsuo is notably not confrontational, Endeavor is. I think it's fair to say that he felt at least uneasy at this gesture. Natsuo is very honest with his feelings, and it's obvious that he's pissed at the audacity of Endeavor to be so oblivious to his own son. This is presumably one of the first real interactions they've ever really had, and at this point Natsuo has been dealing with trauma (caused by Endeavor!) on his own for years, and Endeavor seems completely oblivious to his pain and dismmisive to the rest of the family's as well.

Again during the internship arc Natsuo tries to get along with Endeavor and this time he actually gives it a fleeting chance. Tensions are high, however, and the conversation very quickly becomes uncomfortable, at which point he leaves. It is continually implied that Natsuo is uncomfortable being around Endeavor because his very presence brings up painful thoughts and memories of a time when sharing the same space as him was a warning to run and hide. This is later directly confirmed by Natsuo as he says that every time he looks at Endeavor's face he remembers Touya and the pain he was in.

I feel like an important side note is that we have never seen Natsuo outside the context of his family, which is understandable, as the role he plays in the story directly relates to them. However, if you take a look at Shouto, even though his experiences have shaped him to become who he is, he definitely acts differently when Endeavor's not in the vicinity.

Back to Touya's death, it would be very rare that someone would mourn a death for an entire decade without finding closure unless there are other factors preventing it, and uncomfortably this seems to be the same thing for both Natsuo and Endeavor: guilt.

This is getting incredibly long already, but it's important to note that Natsuo probably felt an incredible responsibility to take care of Touya and protect him because of his empathetic nature. His love was never going to be the same as having loving parents. His encouragement was never going to be the same as having support from Endeavor. Even further than then neglect and abandonement, it was not being able to save Touya that really made Natsuo feel worthless.

He seems to try and remedy this inability to save Touya and diminish his guilt by doing everything he can to be better. He reaches out to Shouto to be a better brother, he consistently pushes his limits to entertain Fuyumi's notion of a happy family, and he's working hard towards a degree rhat will allow him to help people like Touya (and Rei) because he failed to do so in the past.

His bio mildly implies that he didn't have much of a direction he was heading in after high school, but Fuyumi's encouragement led him to seek out his current college career. This goes back to Natsuo's 'purpose' in a sense revolving arount Touya, from his birth to his relationship with him to his death, after which he lost his direction. They were always rather inseperable, so naturally their seperation hit Natsuo hard. He lost his direction in life so when Fuyumi encouraged him to rediscover it, he thought of helping people, because that's ultimately what he was born to do.

Thank you so, so much for reading this if you made it to the end! I clearly have a lot of thoughts on this. Let me know what you think about it as well, and hopefully we'll get more info on this soon in the manga :)

[o-fantome]

The Feminization and Fetishization of John Laurens in the Hamilton Musical and its Fandom

In this I will be talking about a few things:

The whole “turtle boi” thing

His role in the musical

The feminization of him in the fandom

The fetishization of him (and his relationship with Hamilton)

The shredded bits of personality he has in the musical

His historical personality being taken from him and instead added to Hamilton’s character

I will not be putting any art of him in here to respect the artists’ privacy, but if you’ve been in the Hamilton fandom or at least heard of the issues I’m talking about, you’ll probably know what drawings I mean. Also, no hate to anyone or any artists who I may indirectly mention, or to anyone in the Hamilton Musical fandom. I understand that not everyone in the fandom is like this, but I will just be using the broad term “the fandom” for simplicity. 

[cw: mentions of alcohol and alcoholism]

“UwU Turtle Boi John Laurens”

This image of him likely stemmed from the one drawing he did of a softshell turtle. But how the fandom took that and blew it up into him being obsessed with turtles and other sea creatures is beyond my knowledge. A lot of art depicts him with turtle stuffed animals or riding turtles or just general turtle-lover stuff. Not only are these wrong, but they’re also pretty weird. They often tie into the strange feminization of him, which I will discuss later.

His Role in the Musical

Laurens in the musical acts like Hamilton’s sidekick. He follows him around most of the scenes where they are together. He is almost always at Hamilton’s side, and when he is not or he is at the side of another character, he ends back up at Hamilton’s side fairly quickly. This seems like it makes sense, right? Hamilton is the main character, of course, everyone else is going to be behind him or beside him in some way. But it feels very forced, like Lin-Manuel Miranda purposefully made it so Hamilton was above everyone, no matter the cost. Laurens’ character suffered from this, and any kind of standing or power he held just from his personality alone was gone. What he is to Hamilton is like what Patroclus was to Achilles; a sidekick, overshadowed by the other’s glory and popularity. 

An example of this is the Laurens-Lee duel scene. Historically, Laurens was the “trigger happy” one. When the first shot was fired between himself and Lee, he wanted to go again. Hamilton was not very happy that the duel was happening. When both sides (Hamilton and Laurens, Lee and his second Evan Edwards) arrived, he and Edwards tried to get Laurens and Lee to just apologize and be on their way. Laurens refused. When Laurens wanted to shoot again, Hamilton prevented him from doing so. In the show, however, the roles seem reversed.

The Feminization of Him in the Fandom

In almost every Hamilton musical fanfic or story I have read (and I have read quite a bit from my time in this fandom) Laurens is so feminine-- especially in lams fics. He acts feminine, he dresses feminine, he is described in the fics as feminine, he carries around his cute uwu turtle stuffie wearing his cute feminine uwu turtle pyjamas. It’s sickening. John Laurens was a brave soldier and a talented artist and this is how the fandom sees him? As some freckled gay baby twink?

Not only is this disrespectful to John Laurens, it is also disrespectful to Anthony Ramos, who played him in the OBC. 

The Fetishization of Him and His Relationship with Hamilton

This, the feminization of him and the “UwU Turtle Boi” character are all very similar. You could argue that this and the “UwU Turtle Boi” character are the same, or that this and the feminization of him are the same. You wouldn’t be wrong; they are all very similar and overlap a lot. Because I covered the “UwU Turtle Boi” character already and have no more to say here about it, I will talk about how the fandom treats his relationship with Hamilton.

There are two very opposite sides of the “was lams real” spectrum: “it was not real, shipping founding fathers is gross,” and, “they were gay!!! Laurens was gay for Hammy!!! Read the letters!!!!” Both sides’ beliefs are valid; you are allowed to think what you want about this topic. It is a somewhat controversial topic that has no clear answer, and therefore is always being discussed. However, just because your belief is valid, doesn’t mean that the way you chose to phrase it is necessarily okay. I get that most of the people who say the second opinion tend to be young girls who may not know better, but the way that something is phrased is very important.

Read these two different phrasings of the same opinion, and think to yourself, “Which one sounds more fetishize-y?” 

“I believe that Hamilton and Laurens were in a relationship based on evidence from the letters they sent each other.”

“Hammy and Laurens were gay! Read the letters! He says ‘I love you!’ They were super gay!”

Too many fangirls have called Laurens things like “gay boi” or “smol gay cinnamon roll.” I’ve also seen a very concerning amount of people call him their husband or hubby or dead boyfriend. I don’t think I need to explain how disgusting that is.

His Terrible Personality and Character

His entire character can be boiled down to “tyranny bad, alcohol good.” He’s loud and rowdy and a very boisterous person, shouting and running around and causing a ruckus. It is unlikely that the real Laurens was like this. Seeing as he came from a family of wealth and standing, he would have likely been taught to behave properly and be polite. He was rash at times, especially during battle, but other than that he seemed very professional. His rowdiness makes sense in some scenes when he’s in the war, but other than that part of the show, it doesn’t fit him.

Alcohol is a very big part of his personality for some reason. In his first (real) scene in Aaron Burr, sir, he’s talking about alcohol and drinking and even bragging about how much he drinks. At the very beginning of Satisfied, he’s offering drinks to other people and is very clearly drunk. As far as we know, the real Laurens was not a heavy drinker.

His lack of character can be explained, though. While writing the personalities of the characters, whoever was doing it took Laurens’ historical personality and gave it to Hamilton instead, leaving Laurens with almost nothing.

His Historical Personality Being Added to Hamilton’s Character

I’ve already talked about the Laurens-Lee duel, but I have yet to bring up what happened after it. In the show, Hamilton is brought into Washington’s office and Washington gets into an argument with him, which ends in Washington sending Hamilton home. Besides the fact that the timeline of these events is incredibly off, this is not at all what happened. After the duel, Hamilton wrote up a report on what happened to be given to Washington either the day of or after the duel. When Washington found out what happened, he was furious. Not at Hamilton, but at Laurens. Lin-Manuel Miranda took this from Laurens and changed the story so that it was Hamilton who got chewed out because Hamilton is the main character, not Laurens.

Conclusion

Lin-Manuel Miranda just tore up Laurens’ personality, leaving him as a rowdy alcoholic who eye-fucks Hamilton for the entirety of Act I. The fandom then took this empty shell of a character, combined it with random historical facts about him, and created a turtle-loving twink. Disgusting. Everything about this is so gross.

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo