#People are always such assholes about the way people talk

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 5

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.

pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader

word count: 4k or something like that?

(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.

“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium. 

Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?” 

Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen. 

Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating. 

“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite. 

Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago. 

“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.” 

Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now. 

“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do. 

Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms. 

And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you. 

Fucking Max Verstappen. 

The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice. 

“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend. 

“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs. 

“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him. 

“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. 

After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him. 

I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…

As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…

On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?

You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today. 

Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him. 

“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo. 

You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”

Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him. 

Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches. 

You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before. 

Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen. 

“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.” 

You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame. 

Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out. 

So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments. 

Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. 

“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?” 

The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of. 

“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.” 

You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy. 

missleclerc posted

24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it

“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips. 

After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer. 

“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.

 Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes. 

You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra. 

“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel. 

Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life. 

“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him. 

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short. 

“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again. 

Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?” 

If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando. 

But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando. 

While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it. 

“Of course, baby.” 

You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary. 

 “I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you. 

“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.” 

But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral. 

Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart. 

“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?

Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.” 

His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him. 

“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”

“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.” 

The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that. 

Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there. 

By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off. 

“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.” 

Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?” 

Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.” 

It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?” 

Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.” 

It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck. 

“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.” 

Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver. 

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[space929]

I need to mask constantly because I need to be very careful not to offend the allistics because they're not sensitive - I'm sensitive, not them - but they hate their precious nonsensical social norms being broken.

TW: ableism and SA mentions

But I can't learn not to hurt people. That'd mean that I didn't need to be coddled, and I am capable of empathy and average intelligence. It'd also mean that bigotry and SA aren't something you naturally do. Bigotry is learned. SA isn't done by any decent person. It has nothing to do with being born and everything to do with your mindset and environment.

Autistic people, in my experience, are more likely to be more accepting. Our community has massive overlap with minorities and counter cultures because we don't understand or subscribe to meaningless norms. You may while masking, but that doesn't mean you always will. I subscribe to the norm of conversation while masking, but I rarely talk when I'm not because I'm semi-verbal and it can take a lot out of me.

In my experience, we also may be more likely to understand personal space because we've had ours invaded our entire lives. I've dealt with the forced hugs that make my skin burn like I've been lit on fire, the way so many people don't think to ask before touching because they don't mind [x] and their allistic friends (allegedly) don't mind [x] so they don't consider that you might.

And I've dealt with the upset that comes along with telling people not to touch you without permission. The annoyance. The confusion and sadness that will often be used against you.

The issue lies in normalcy. The first two things have been normalized by society, whether we want to admit it or not. The last three are socially unacceptable.

It lies in what society considers a normal thing to be. Something that it considers natural. It's not seen as learned behavior but inherent. It's a combination of excusing oppression and the belief that autistic people are less capable. Less developed.

If they coddle us while we do heinous shit, it allows them to continue the cycle of bigotry and oppression. If they coddle us while we break their norms, it's saying that it's okay to be deviant (in the neutral sociological sense, not in the insult way that people have adopted it as. Deviance in sociology is literally just going against the norm, whether good or bad).

Basically, this is just a lot of ableism and bigotry. It's also an excuse for me to ramble about something far deeper than the original post because deviance and norms were my favorite sociology lessons when I took the class, and my parents are tired of hearing about it.

In my opinion, we should abolish social norms. It'd make my life easier. We should also acknowledge that autism is not synonymous with being an asshole. They are very, very different.

Things that society considers autism an excuse for

Nazi salutes

sexual assault

Things that society considers autism not an excuse for and things that people think children who do should be met with violence

using the wrong tone

showing too much or too little emotion

asking questions and having an authority figure take it as "arguing"

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Anger - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E (is there anything else with him?????) Truly this is the least crazy thing I've written in days. Unprotected p in v. Word Count: 1155 a/n: Sometimes I spend all afternoon trying to write Joel and get nothing and other times I write 1000 words in less than 30 minutes. There is no in-between. Written for TLOU Sundays!

"You've really gotta do something about him," Ellie tells you from where she's sitting at the kitchen table.

You're barely through the door, coat still covered in a layer of snow from outside. "Well hello to you, too, Ellie," you respond, pulling off your boots before you track any more water into the house. It's strange, how something like keeping the floors dry didn't matter for twenty years and now suddenly again it does. "You're the fourth person to say that to me today though, so I assume you also are talking about Joel?"

She's flipping through the pages of a comic, barely paying you any attention. "Yes, Joel," she emphasizes, not that you need any further confirmation. Maria had cornered you at the saloon, the other half of your patrol had been on your case, and you had a run-in with Jackson's resident grandma first thing in the morning, who gave you an earful about how you needed to learn how to satisfy your man so he would stop torturing the entire town with his bad mood.

You sigh, shucking your coat and flexing your toes in your thick socks as you make your way into the kitchen. "Any idea what's wrong with him? He seemed fine this morning."

Ellie shrugs, still engrossed in the pages in front of her. "I don't know, Dina just told me he was being a real fucking asshole. You know how he gets."

That you do. You're well aware of the way Joel Miller can make or break an entire day based on his mood, especially since you've been at his side to witness it longer than anyone else.

Before you can contemplate further, the man in question storms through the door, a grumble on his lips before it's even closed behind him. Ellie meets your gaze, glancing over at him before turning back to you and then quickly rising. "I've gotta get going," she says quickly, sneaking past Joel to grab her jacket.

She's out the door before he can even say a word.

"Where the fuck is she going?" he questions, ignoring the way his boots squeak on the floorboards as he makes his way to the couch, collapsing into it. A part of you wants to scold him for the wet spots now littered all over the floor, but based on the furrow in his brow, there's no use, and you simply follow him instead, swinging a leg over his thigh to climb into his lap and settle there.

Only he has the audacity to grumble. Again.

"Joel," you say sternly, "don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he fires back, and now you know exactly what everyone had been warning you about. "I didn't do anything."

"What's up with you today?" It's a simple question, an inquiry that he should have no problem answering, but he doesn't, so you continue with a follow-up request, "Just tell me why I had four separate people tell me that I needed to figure out who you're so angry today."

"I'm not angry."

You frown. "Bullshit, Miller. Tell me what the fuck is wrong."

His answer is to seal his lips to yours, his rough grip dragging your hips against his so you can feel the hard press of him between your thighs. This felt familiar, especially since he'd been in an equally shit mood the day you first met, something you'd promptly fucked out of him later that night. And usually, that did the trick, but there was always something else lingering beneath the surface.

Not that you have time to contemplate what it might be because he pushes any thought of his mental well-being from your head when he rips your shirt from your body and latches onto one of your breasts. Likewise, any train of thought is gone just as quickly as the remainder of your clothing.

It's a good thing Ellie left quickly, because within minutes he has you spread out on the couch beneath him, one of your legs hitched around his hip as he pounds into you. There's little space left between you, the moment feeling intimate even with the intensity of the way he's pressing you down, grunting with each thrust until he has you clenching around him.

His fingers are on your clit before you come down from your climax, already drawing you higher a second time. "Joel, fuck, I can't," you whine, gripping at his hand.

"You can," he emphasizes, "you're gonna take every fucking inch of me."

And then you can see it. The rage behind his gaze, the emotion that has his eyes glassed over. The anger he has to unleash somehow. It scared you when you first met him, the first time he had you like this back in Boston, pressed up against the door, the first time you watched his fist collide with a FEDRA officer who tried to touch you, and the first time you saw him have to kill someone who definitely wasn't infected.

But now, you know better. You know that he won't hurt you, but he still needs a way to release the pent-up emotion that boils beneath the surface. You don't know what happened to get him here today, but you do know how to fix it.

Joel groans when you shift to wrap your legs fully around his waist, pulling him down so the soft expanse of his stomach presses against your own, increasing the pressure of your walls wrapped around him. It's all he can do to rut into you, your back slowly snaking up the arm of the couch as he fucks you. The angle changes the higher you move, guiding his lips to yours so he can catch the scream that rips from your throat when you clench around him a second time.

He follows you into the abyss, pulling out seconds before he spills against your center, jerking himself off until the last drops drip down onto the fabric.

When he regains his breath he stands, cock softening as he moves to grab a cloth to wipe his spend from your core. And then he's pressing you into the couch again, settled in the safety of your thighs as his head rests on your chest.

"Do you wanna know what Mrs. Davis told me today?" you ask softly, fingers curling through his hair.

Joel rests his chin on your breast as he looks at you, eyes softer now, more playful. "Fuck, what did she say?"

You smile. "She saw me at the store and pulled me into the corner to tell me that I needed to get you home and ride your cock because she was sick of your shit."

His laugh is rough, but he says nothing else as he settles back against you.

"Was she right?" you ask, your own laughter threatening to bubble up.

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't deny it either.

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.7): the cut - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

part 6- part 7 - part 8

unlike common belief, the four never hated the pogues. well not all of them at least, only if they had a reason to. people just assumed they hated pogues because people assumed they were the asshole type of kook, and sure they weren’t the type to always have their nice face on, but they weren’t mean; not with intention. they knew not to make enemies unless they had a reason to.

so even if people called it “weird” when sarah started talking to john b, none of them really minded.

the next day;

rafe pulls up outside your house, headlights cutting through the dim evening glow. you climb into the backseat, kicking your feet up onto the console as sarah turns around in the passenger seat, already smirking.

“you took forever.”

“cry about it,” you shoot back.

rafe doesn’t react like usual. just exhales through his nose, tapping his fingers against the wheel before reversing out of the driveway. the ride to the cut is mostly sarah filling the silence, rambling about john b’s latest scheme. you half-listen, half-watch rafe through the mirror. he’s not brooding exactly, just off.

by the time you pull up, the pogues are already there. john b’s messing with something on the hms pogue, kiara, cleo and pope sit on the dock talking, and jj—jj is the first to notice you. he tips his beer slightly, a slow grin creeping onto his face.

“well, look what the tide dragged in,” he drawls, eyes flicking between the three of you before landing on you.

you nod your head as an acknowledgement,

“yn” you say simply, stepping onto the dock.

jj cocks his eyebrow in confusion. "yn? thought it was roni."

you chuckle, "looks like someone did their research," looking at him.

jj smirks, "couldn't help my self," shrugging. "you drink?” he asks, handing you a open bottle.

you take the beer he hands you without breaking eye contact. “obviously.”

jj lets out a low whistle, clearly entertained. “alright then. let’s see if you can keep up.”

at first, you aren’t sure how the night will go, but somehow, you keep finding yourself next to jj. it’s not intentional—at least, not at first—but it just works. he’s sarcastic, reckless, always running his mouth, and somehow, it’s like talking to a male version of yourself.

at one point, jj leans in, grinning. “you’re actually kinda perfect.”

you raise an eyebrow. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he nods. “like, if i wasn’t me, i’d be you. which is honestly kinda terrifying.”

you smirk, taking a sip of your drink. “so what i’m hearing is—you’re obsessed with me.”

jj laughs, shaking his head. “might be.” then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, he hands you his phone. “here. before i forget.”

you take it, glancing at the screen. he already has a new contact pulled up.

“oh, so you just assume i want your number?”

jj smirks. “you don’t?”

you roll your eyes but type it in anyway, handing the phone back. he glances at the screen, then back at you. “snap too?”

“god, you’re relentless,” you mutter, grabbing the phone again.

meanwhile, rafe lingers on the outskirts of the group. he’s there, but not really. drinking, laughing when necessary, but never fully sinking in. you notice. you clock the way he stands apart, how he never fully relaxes. but you don’t press it.

not yet.

later, after everything has settled, you get a noitification from being added to a group chat full of unknown numbers except jj and sarah. assuming its the members of today, you send a text.

you toss your phone onto the bed, something unsettled lingering in your chest. your mind kept jumping back to rafe's words, 'not used to hanging out with other people.'

the fuck was that supposed to mean?

tags under the cut!!

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecamerobswifeyy

[natalievoncatte]

Alex rolled onto her side, and was a little surprised to see Kelly Olsen laying next to her, turned away and curled up the Egyptian cotton of her bed

(their bed)

snoozing softly in the morning light. Alex took the time, as one does, to admire the vulpine curves of Kelly’s back and the elegant sweep of her shoulders. She wanted nothing more but to lean in and plant a soft kiss on the back of her neck and wake her, which would hopefully lead into a glorious Saturday morning of sun-kissed, gentle lovemaking that would result in an forgotten breakfast and breathy declarations seared into hot skin with caressing fingers and tasting lips.

Unfortunately her fucking phone was going off.

Alex rolled out of bed and snatched it, relieved that she hadn’t disturbed her girlfriend. She threw on a button-down as a makeshift robe and plodded out into the kitchen.

She wasn’t expecting a call from…

“Lena?”

“Alex?”

“Yeah, what’s up? You don’t call me often.”

“I need help. It’s an emergency. Sort of.”

Alex glanced back at Kelly’s languid form and one long leg slipping out from under the sheets.

“Where’s Kara?”

“I can’t talk to Kara about this. It has to be you, Alex.”

“Okay, sure,” Alex said, warily. “We can grab a coffee later at-���

“Alex, it has to be now and at my place. This is serious.”

Alex bit her lip. There was a compelling urgency to Lena’s voice. Alex didn’t have Kara’s super senses but she could pick up the nervous energy and hint of feed behind the words.

“Okay,” said Alex. “I’m on my way.”

Alex pulled on her cleanest pants and most readily available tank top and scribbled a note for Kelly (encouraging her to either stay in or be back in bed by the time Alex returned, as their business was unfinished) and grabbed her car keys.

Rising her bike would have been… a sore subject, as it were.

Morning traffic was surprisingly light and she made good time. Lena buzzed her up and she walked into Lena’s weirdly cold penthouse, and found her sister’s best friend pacing rapidly back and forth, dressed in a hoodie and hugging herself.

“Okay,” said Alex. “I’m here, Lena. What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant,” Lena blurted out, before Alex had finished speaking.

Alex stared at her.

“Funny, I always thought you were a virgin.”

Lena glared at her. Alex knew why Kara was so fascinated by her- she had those big pretty eyes that radiated sadness and set off Kara’s protective instincts. Alex had figured out a long time ago that these two dipshits should just bang it out, but it wasn’t really her place to tell them, especially if it meant outing Lena, or dealing with Kara’s baggage from her weirdly fascist home planet and its bizarre ideas about sex.

(One example of said baggage being her sister’s heart breaking over the alien fuckboi from the asshole planet. If only Kara had realized that her gorgeous kind billionaire best friend was in love with her… you know, before the whole world domination Kryptonite laser thing)

(People who aim orbital fusion cannons at their friends should not cast stones, Alex had decided)

“Alex?”

Oh. Lena was talking. Alex pretty much blue screened there.

“Right, you’re pregnant. Are you sure?”

“I’ve taken two tests, and I’m late.”

Alex rubbed at her chin. Lena looked like a drowned rat, more than a little terrified.

Alex swallowed hard.

“Okay, first question. Did someone hurt you?”

Lena looked up sharply. “What? No.”

Standing to pace the room again, Lena rubbed at her arms as if she were cold.

“So um,” said Alex. “Do you need my help with…”

“I just need someone I can talk to that isn’t Kara. I can’t tell her yet.”

Alex swallowed. Hard. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

Lena sighed and stared out her balcony window.

“Do you remember that game night where we all got sloshed, last month?”

“Yeah,” said Alex. “You hosted. As I recall, Kara was the last to leave.

“She didn’t leave. I… I did something stupid. I tried to seduce her, clumsily. I was drunk off my ass.”

Alex tensed, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

“Oh,” said Alex. “She brushed you off and you went out for a hookup? I’ve done worse. Are things okay between you?”

Lena stared at Alex as if she’d just grown a second head.

“No, Alex. Kara spent the night. She insisted we not do anything intimate until we both sobered up, but I talked her into staying in bed with me.”

Alex sighed. “You got any of that expensive single malt? Your dad’s brand?”

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“Well, it’s not like you can drink it. You can have juice.”

Lena glared at her. “Cabinet by the fridge.”

Alex ended up pouring two glasses of cranberry juice and sat down at the kitchen island, pushing one over to Lena.

Lena sighed. “I don’t want to get into the details but we were definitely sober when we woke up.”

“And?” said Alex.

“We, um, we had sex,” said Lena.

“And then she got weird and brushed you off and you went out for a hookup?”

“What? No! Just let me finish telling the story.”

Alex sipped her juice, enjoying the bite on her tongue. “Okay.”

“We’ve been sort of seeing each other ever since. Quietly, keeping it to ourselves. Kara is…” Lena sighed, “she’s very protective and she’s afraid that you’ll get upset if you find out we’re together.”

Alex’s fist closed tightly around her glass.

“Lena,” Alex explained, “I’ve forgiven and forgotten a lot from you, but I’m having a hard time understanding how this happened if you’re with my sister. Did you cheat on her?”

Lena looked up sharply from her glass. “What the fuck, Alex? How could you even ask me that? God, am I ever going to be good enough for your sister? I know I fucked up. I know what I did was wrong. Hurting her was the worst thing I have ever done and I would trade anything to take it back, but we are in…”

“Okay,” Alex cut her off. “Fine. Our lives are fucking weird, so I’ll give you the benefit of tbe doubt. But usually you being pregnant would imply that a man was involved somehow.”

Lena blinked. “What?”

“You’re pregnant. There has to be a father.”

Lena stared at her in abject confusion.

Then she said, “Alex, Kara is the father.”

Alex looked at her for too long a moment.

“I’m sorry but what the fuck, Lena? What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Lena demanded. “It’s not my fault! I mean it is as much my fault as it is hers, but we weren’t worrying about protection the first morning and after that neither of us brought it up. I know, I’ve been stupid, I just…”

Alex’s mouth fell open.

“Protection? You and her? What the fuck?”

Lena took a long pull of cranberry juice and winced at the tartness.

“You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Apparently, under a yellow sun, Kryptonians can, um, adapt to a sexual partner’s body.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Alex snapped, “okay fine my little sister… with you… and you’re pregnant. Fine, we’re on the same page. What now?”

Lena stared at her, biting her lip as she sought answers.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“Keep it?” said Lena. “It’s Kara’s. Of course I will. That’s not even a question. I’m just… I’m scared, Alex. What does this mean? How is she going to react? What if… Jesus, I’m carrying a half-Kryptonian baby. Is that even safe?”

“It worked out fine for Lois and Clark. Twice. You’ll be okay, if having the baby is what you want.”

“It is,” said Lena. “Kara makes me deliriously happy, Alex. She was like a knight in shining armor that night and she was so kind and gentle the next morning and it’s like… like this was natural. We both fell into it so easily that it was like it had always been this way. I love her. I love her so much.”

Lena was red faced, looking embarrassed as she cast her eyes down. Alex reached across the table and took her hands.

“Well, I’m glad you dipshits figured it out. Watching you two blush and stammer at each other for another five years would’ve killed me.”

“ALEX!”

“If you want my blessing, you have it. I’m sorry I doubted you, but in my defense, I didn’t know she could… do… that.”

“Uh, right,” said Lena. “I want to call her and ask her to come over now so I can tell her. I know this should be a private moment but… can you stay? It just feels like you belong here for this.”

“Yeah, Lena. I’ll stay.”

Lena smiled.

[thebreakfastgenie]

In retrospect, should the Dems have held onto more Joe Manchin-types instead of letting AOC types basically take the party hostage?

I don't think it's a zero-sum game! I look at the Democratic Party as a big tent coalition party. You run your AOC types in districts/states where they match the electorate and your Joe Manchin types in districts/states where they match the electorate. Most of your districts/states will be somewhere in between; choose your candidates accordingly. Joe Manchin was a pain in the ass and sometimes he was an asshole about it, but I never had the hatred for him that a lot of Dems did because relative to Dem senators yeah he was the worst but relative to West Virginia? He was the best we were going to get. I think there's room in the party for both, as long as both ends are willing to work together and behave as good faith coalition partners. That's the part that's hard to do, because a lot of people really don't understand how different constituencies are, and even the ones who do have their own stakes involved. Republicans are so extreme right now that in theory you can build a pretty broad coalition just on the basis of "we're all closer to each other than we are to those lunatics." In the long run if we actually manage to replace the current GOP with a functional, sane conservative party that may change, but we'll cross that bridge then, parties always adapt to the political circumstances.

I don't think it's fair to say "AOC types took the party hostage," although I understand why some people feel that way about the progressive wing. Obviously the progressive wing's demands were part of it, but I don't think the Biden-Harris administration's progressive policies or the progressive parts of the party platform were created to placate hostage takers. A lot of Democrats believe in that stuff, I think the progressive wing worked very hard to convince Biden and other establishment leaders that those policies were politically viable. There's plenty of fair criticism of the progressive wing as coalition partners, and part of that is that they did not deliver a reliable base. I've been skeptical of the base they promised since Bernie Sanders first started talking about in 2016, so I would be willing to say I think it was a mistake for Democrats to believe that base would materialize.

However, I can kind of understand why the Dems did it, because Joe Manchin types are going extinct. It's happening for a lot of structural reasons that are beyond the Dems' control. Knowing type of Dem and the base that came with them are rapidly disappearing, they had to find another source of support, and the progressive wing made their case. It would have been nice if it worked out, I'm not really shocked that it didn't, and the consequences of that gamble not paying off are, you know, severe.

I am glad we hardly have any anti-choice Dems anymore. I'm glad LGBT rights are here to stay as part of the platform. I'm fairly progressive myself, so I'm happy with where the party has moved over the last twenty years. Strategy is a tougher question and I have my thoughts but I also know that's somebody's job and I hope they know more about this than I do.

[taelophone]

Frat Boys & Parties ˙⟡ — A tutorial. ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ "How do I write a Frat Party?"

Ok, so as a luigi girlie, I want you guys to understand how to write our frat boy correctly !! Heres a lil walkthru of a frat party! The good, bad, and the gross lol

!DISCLAIMER! Not every frat is the same, but these are some common themes ive seen after about 4-5 crashes at diff brotherhoods lol

1. The Party

Ok, so this is a p self explanatory part. What is a frat party like, and what are some common misconceptions.

The most common one i see is that there’s some sort of “guest list” or that in order to get into a frat, you have to come with a brother. This isn’t true…at all. You will be LET IN for being a woman, as long as they find you “attractive” (I did say the bad would be included). Frat parties are usually not invite only, and if they are it’s usually a brother thing. It’s actually harder to get into a frat as a man, as their main goal is as many chicks in the house AS POSSIBLE. If you come with ONE dude as ONE chick, you will separated if he’s not a brother lol. They won’t let him in.

If you do go with a man, please bring at least 3-4 friends. There needs to be a ratio lol.

Now how do you even get into a frat? Simple! Word of mouth, socializing, etc. if you have even one friend that’s a social butterfly, you will more than likely be aware of when different frats are hosting. There is usually NO invite system.

You can make a character that’s known to be social, you can be the social friend, etc etc. But honestly its not difficult if you have even a slightly small friend group.

2. What It’s like

You can always tell when someone hasn’t been to a frat by the way they talk about them. They are very VERY gross😭 You will be uncomfortable, the music is painfully loud and shitty, the tables are sticky, everyone smells sweaty, and you will get hit on and very potentially harassed. This is why it’s wiser to come with a male friend and 4-5 girlfriends. It’s not wise to be at a frat alone or just with one girl. Remember, the goal is ALWAYS going to be getting you drunk.

Write about the stickiness of the floor, how humid the room feels, the constant jostling of bodies, and the people around you. The party will feel less realistic and flat if there’s no small dialogue. For example, bumping into people.

“Excuse me, sorry!” A random girl squeaked, a drunken smile on her face as she squeezed past, her pupils the size of dinner plates.

Or if you’re feeling a little more frat-boy motivated, write a brief interaction with a brother.

“Hey…you havin’ fun? Yeah, my dude Jacob put this party together. He’s kind of an asshole, cuz he made me do all the planning, but it’s whatever.”

If your character is more reserved and tends not to drink, the night will be uncomfortable for them. One way I like to show discomfort or emphasize the grotesque is use “gross” imagery. Compare the actions and surroundings of your character to formally uncomfortable topics and ideas. Remember, imagery is a GREAT tool! Use it to make your advantage and make your readers skin crawl!!

“The crowd around you wiggled and thrashed like a hoard of hungry maggots attacking at a piece of rotten fruit, the bitter and stale taste of the cheap beer serving as their stimulant in the ghostly night.”

And on the topic of beer, it’s ALWAYS cheap. It’s free, so why are you complaining? Complaining about the drinks is usually a no no lmfao😭 make sure to include that in as well! I can’t give you any brands to go off of cuz it’s different at every party I’ve been to, but it’s usually NEVER any high quality shit. No Heineken, no Bud Lite, no Miller.

Cheap beer tastes literally like scorching expired fruit. It has the stalest taste ever. It’s DISGUSTING. I need to emphasize this so YOU can emphasize it in your writing. Alcohol burns! It hurts to chug, it hurts to sip, it’s “spicy”. This is another opportunity to use allusion and imagery in your writing. Talk about how it feels like flames going down, or how it bites at the flat part of your tongue and stings your nose.

Now, if your character is a little bit more open to drinking, slowly begin to go from “gross” imagery or themes of discomfort into fantasy and “wonderland-esque” imagery.

You’ll have more fun at a frat if you’re not sober, and that’s the tea. Monitor how much your character is drinking, and how she should be reacting in this state! I break it up into a couple of levels.

Buzzed.

Tipsy

Sloppy

Blackout

At buzzed, your character should slowly begin to get more social. She’s giggly, happy, and a little more relaxed but still very in tune with her surroundings. Spend more time in the party than you will in her mind. At this point, she’s thinking a little bit less, so try to cut a little bit of monologue.

At tipsy, she’s getting loose-lipped and courageous. Talking to strangers, dancing with a brother she’s never met, pursuing the goal she had originally come to the party for (if she has one), and a little bit less aware. She may lose her friends in the sea of people, but she’s overall still fine.

At SLOPPY, she’s becoming a bit of a nuisance. She’s getting loud, bumping into people a bit harder than usual, has no concept of personal space, and is a yap machine. She’s talking so much, and is stumbling and laughing at anything. Or, quite the contrary, she’s crying and sitting on the floor. Depends on who she is.

At Blackout, she’s slowing down. Her words are drastically slurred, so be prepared to ignore your grammarly. She’s stumbling through people, likely trying to find a place to sit down, the lights are way brighter than they actually are, and she might even throw up.

THISSS is how you write being drunk! It varies from person to person, because I am unfortunately a flirty and energetic drunk, but this is a baseline to work with.

The more your character drinks, the more their headspace should reflect this feeling. Some words like floaty, tingly, euphoric, giddy, etc should suffice. I even like to compare it to space because sometimes it do be feeling like zero gravity😔

do we want a part 2 with how to write actual Frat boys? Cuz it seems not many of us have encountered them irl…(it’s better that way trust.)

[queenie-ofthe-void]

WIP Weekend WIP Snip Share!

Didn't have time to do any WIP games this weekend, but here's a bit I've written for my Steddie (-Jonathan) fic. Because I thought, "huh, you know what this steddie angst fic needs? A Stobin fight."

Enjoy (or... you know)

~~~

Context: As Robin finally convinced Steve to tell Eddie how he feels, they're shocked when they go back to the party and find Jonathan and Eddie making out on the couch.

“Everyone’s gone home,” Robin consoles, tone grating against his skin. He doesn’t need her pity, or anyone else’s. Besides, Steve wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Meddling in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesn’t understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin.

Because why would anyone, let alone someone like Eddie, be interested in dating Steve Harrington, King of Assholes and Jocks. Compared to someone like Jonathan, someone who is so clearly a better match for Eddie, Steve brings nothing to the table.

He laments himself for believing anything she ever said about how Eddie apparently looks at him when his head’s turned, or how he always goes out of his way to make Steve laugh. None of it was real. It was all just lies. Bullshit.

“Then why are you still here?” It’s colder than he meant. Steve can already feel the crown sliding back into place. It’s sickening how much he misses it, an old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again. 

If only it wasn’t Robin.

Heavy silence weighs against him. It’s not the response he expected. People always have a reaction when they meet King Steve– whether it’s disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy. 

Steve still hasn’t turned around, his back to the door Robin had come through to find him. The inability to read her eats at his nerves. He denies the sharp urge to look at her– to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyes– to know what she’s thinking right now. But that would mean giving her the same opportunity which is something Steve can absolutely not allow her.

The crown is a cold comfort if yet still a bit ill fitting. It’s been too long since Steve’s had to wield it as a sword and shield to fend off the people closest to him. He’s forgotten how. It wobbles on his head no matter how hard he clings to it. The heat of shame still stings behind his eyes. Steve hates it. So he clings to the anger, if he can’t cling to anything else.

He’s ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder. Robin’s next to him now, appearing almost out of nowhere. Steve wonders how long the silence lingered, if she said anything to him as he was stuck in the swirl of ruminating thoughts.

“Steve, look at me.”

Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She can’t look at him, she can’t see him. He can’t talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. It’s all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he can’t name or pin down long enough to examine, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. Robin needs to leave before it bursts from him like a monster crawling through a hole in the ceiling, ready to hurt anyone in its path. Like a stupid, bigoted boy willing to throw a punch in an alleyway.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

[crab-people-overlord]

Understanding Stan Marsh: A Character Analysis and Response to Fandom Mischaracterization (Writing Depression/Addiction Responsibly):

I’m sure a similar analysis exists - but I haven’t found it so I wanted to make it. I’ve seen similar analyses about Wendy with her intelligence/tendency to serve as a villain in things like Style fics and Kenny with his own addiction as well as lower-class designations, which absolutely should exist. But I haven’t seen any about Stan in the same sense despite issues I’ve seen in fandom about his characterization and either blatantly disregarding and misunderstanding what depression is/or/trying to further their specific shipping agenda such as Kyman. And I think it’s finally time we fucking talk about it. This is due to me noticing a prolific increase in the ‘Stan Marsh is an asshole’ tag on AO3.

The Problem of Character Flanderization

Character flanderization (the tendency to focus only on a character's weaknesses) has always existed in fanworks, but the current treatment of Stan Marsh reveals a particularly troubling trend in how mental health and addiction are portrayed. This isn't about calling out specific creators - many (even most) write Stan beautifully, even in ships like Kyman. Rather, this analysis addresses a broader pattern of mischaracterization that does a disservice not only to his character but to real people struggling with similar issues.

Please note this analysis is not directed at any particular creator at all! I see SO many good characterizations of Stan, even in Kyman fics (I’d argue a lot of them do!). But I also see very unfair portrayals of him in some fics which at the end of the day show a complete disregard to addiction/depression and ignore his good traits in favor of furthering their own agenda. I’M NOT OKAY with this, and I think it’s time we talk about this as a fandom. 

 This trend often manifests in two primary ways:

Depression Mischaracterization:

Some of fandom's handling of Stan's depression reveals a profound misunderstanding of clinical depression that goes beyond simple character misinterpretation. The "You're Getting Old/Ass Burgers" arc isn't just about Stan being "negative" or "selfish" - it's one of television's most authentic portrayals of how depression manifests in young people. Stan doesn't CHOOSE to see everything as shit; his brain chemistry literally alters his perception of reality. This isn't character weakness - it's a medical condition that he fights against while still trying to maintain his relationships and sense of self.

What many fanworks miss is that depression often coexists with deep empathy and care for others. In fact, Stan's depression might partly stem from how deeply he feels things - his awareness of environmental destruction, animal cruelty, and societal hypocrisies. He continues to fight for causes he believes in and protect those he loves even while struggling to find meaning in his own life. That's not selfishness - it's remarkable resilience. The show demonstrates this complexity brilliantly: even at his very  lowest points, Stan still:

Tries to maintain his friendship with Kyle despite literally seeing him as shit

Continues to stand up for what he believes in when he realistically thinks it can make an impact

Attempts to understand and help others, even when he can barely help himself

Fights desperately to stay present in a world that has lost its color and meaning

When fanworks reduce Stan's depression to mere selfishness or use it as a convenient plot device to make him the villain, they not only mischaracterize Stan but potentially harm readers struggling with similar issues. They send the message that depression makes someone unworthy of friendship or love - exactly the opposite of what people with depression need to hear.

Alcoholism Mischaracterization:

Stan's relationship with alcohol deserves particular attention because it's portrayed with a nuance rarely seen in either animation or fanworks. The show presents a complex web of factors that contribute to Stan's relationship with alcohol:

First, there's the genetic component - Stan comes from a family with clear predisposition to addiction, particularly through Randy. But crucially, Stan never sought out alcohol on his own. He was introduced to it by adults who should have protected him, making his initial exposure a betrayal of trust rather than a character flaw.

What makes Stan's arc so powerful is how it captures the insidious nature of functional alcoholism. He discovers that alcohol makes an unbearable world bearable - it literally changes how he sees things from "shit" back to normal. STAN HAS NEVER EVER BEEN ABOUT getting drunk for fun; it's always been about self-medication to seem 'normal' to others in response to genuine mental health struggles. The show demonstrates how someone can be both struggling with addiction and highly competent - a reality many fanworks seem unable to grasp.

Even in the "bad timeline" of the Post-Covid episodes, Stan maintains his fundamental characteristics and ability to function. He becomes what's known as a "functional alcoholic" - not because this is healthy, but because it reflects a tragic reality that those who seem most adjusted often hide the deepest struggles. He learns exactly how much alcohol makes him functional versus dysfunctional, developing the kind of careful management that allows many real-life individuals with addiction to hide in plain sight.

When fanworks reduce this complex portrayal to "pathetic or asshole drunk Stan," they miss the point entirely. They ignore:

The environmental factors that led to his alcohol use

The relationship between his depression and self-medication

The reality that addiction often coexists with high functionality

And especially, and something I think a lot of you need to fucking understand - the way addiction can stem from trying to feel normal rather than trying to get high. Stan never ever tries to feel ‘high’ or even drunk. He ALWAYS is just trying to feel fucking NORMAL. 

This oversimplification doesn't just do a disservice to Stan's character - it perpetuates harmful stereotypes about addiction that make it harder for real people to seek help.

Stan's Core Character Traits

Stan consistently demonstrates practical morality alongside emotional depth. His quiet leadership often goes unnoticed - he's frequently the instigator of group plans alongside Cartman, but without the manipulation or need for credit. His relationship with Wendy shows realistic pre-teen awkwardness while maintaining genuine care and respect. These aren't the traits of a "simp" or an "asshole" - they're the complex characteristics of a well-written character dealing with real challenges.

Just rewatch the show for evidence of this - Stan at the same level of Cartman instigates things. And at the same level of Kyle, he tends to do it for the greater good of society. He’s just not as attributed to his actions because he’s naturally more quiet about it than both Kyle and Cartman are. 

TLDR- /Mental Health and Responsiblity in Writing:

The show's handling of Stan's mental health offers a masterclass in nuanced characterization that many fanworks ignore. His depression and struggles with alcohol aren't plot devices - they're part of a larger narrative about growing up in a world that often doesn't make sense. Writing Stan as a "pathetic drunk" or "selfish depressive" isn't just bad characterization - it's potentially harmful to readers who share these struggles

His depression on the actual show is shown as a legitimate struggle, not a character flaw

His relationship with alcohol is portrayed as functional and carefully managed - something maybe some of you would be surprised to learn that some of the most functional folks in your life actually are pretty good at hiding. Stan in his depression arc is ultimately meant to be shown as someone who is a ‘functional’ alcoholic rather than a ‘dysfunctional’ one. That’s not to say it’s healthier to be functional. But it’s ultimately the whole point of that goddamn arc - that even those who seem the most well-adjusted may be hiding a more sinister addiction. So I don’t really see the fucking point of writing Stan as someone who is so alcoholic to the point that it fucks up his entire life. 

The Shipping Problem

The rise of ships like Kyman often comes with an unnecessary cost: the villainization of Stan. This ignores the show's complex web of relationships - Stan's deep friendship with Kyle doesn't need to be erased or twisted to explore other relationships. The best Kyman fics prove this by maintaining Stan's character integrity while exploring new dynamics. Additionally, Stan's relationships with other characters, particularly his often-overlooked friendship with Kenny, deserve more attention and respect in fanworks.

Complex relationships can be written without villainizing other characters like Stan

Good Kyman fics prove you can write the ship while maintaining Stan's character integrity. 

Both Kyle and Stan canonically view each other as super best friends and equals- and this is because they literally ARE equals, even in a moral sense. Neither of them is better than the other. They have a deep connection to each other. Any fic written about either of them HAS to accurately represent this without making Stan to be a primarily weak selfish villain. This is so incredibly unfair to Stan’s character, and a massive representation of him. Same if it’s vice versa for a fic for Stan misrepresenting Kyle (though I’ll be honest - I far more often see Stan as misrepresented in recent works as a selfish asshole over Kyle). 

When writing Stan, consider:

His actions, even negative ones, should stem from established character traits

His struggles with mental health and substance use should be treated with nuance and care. Writing him as an asshole or complete loser (he can be a lil bit of a lovingly designated loser lol) is a slap in the face to those who do function quite well in the real world but with this particular struggle of depression and addiction. Don’t ignore Stan's many strengths, such as adjusting well to things in the moment both physically and intellectually. (He absolutely can be dumb about some things to the extent that it's humorous, but he is not actually dumb - he consistently shows some of the most complex critical thinking in the entire show, even compared to Kyle. And it makes no sense to disregard this aspect of his character.) 

His relationships with other characters should reflect their canonical complexity.

If writing him as antagonistic, ensure it serves character development rather than plot convenience.

Stan deserves better than reductive characterization. His struggles with mental health and addiction make him more relatable, not less worthy of respect. Writers who reduce him to his lowest moments not only do a disservice to a complex character but potentially harm readers who see their own battles reflected in his story. We can and should do better - both for Stan and for each other. He is literally meant to be written as the person most relatable to general society, after all.

[ttodorokiii]

idk if requests are open or not...or if you do bakugo requests but imagine a yandere bakugo who’s possessive and all that with an ALSO somewhat yandere s/o who’s obsessive and see’s him as some kind of god?? i just keep imagining at the sports festival when he’s like ‘i’m gonna win’ and everyone’s booing him and then you have y/n cheering her heart out bc yes you are gonna win you’re so perfect wow i can’t believe the god/dess’s blessed our planet with you, you are superior in every way sir- both of them getting jealous over others being near their darling and whenever bakugo gives his divine attention to y/n she’s like ‘oh my god i’m blessed’ and her attention on him (which is..always on him- and vice versa) has him blushing and acting annoyed when rly he loves it like ugh 😔 i need this

warnings: ôbsèssïve yn, yândèrè, fúnny, íntènsè, dárk.

note. I literally loved writing this. I love it. Thank you so much for this request.

•••

At the sports festival, Bakugo stands at the starting line, looking like he’s about to blow up the entire arena…

literally and figuratively.

His eyes burn with the intensity of a thousand suns as he gets ready to race, hands clenched in determination.

The crowd boos, but it’s like white noise to him. He’s going to win. Of course, he is. He’s Bakugo Katsuki. Nothing else matters.

But you?

Oh, you’re practically vibrating with excitement on the sidelines, practically frothing at the mouth.

Your cheer is so loud and filled with worship, it’s borderline terrifying.

“HE’S GONNA WIN! OF COURSE, HE IS! YOU’RE A GOD, KATSUKI! A GOD! LOOK AT HIM, PEOPLE, THIS IS THE MOST PERFECT BEING TO EVER EXIST! WE’RE NOT WORTHY!”

You wave a sign with his face on it, glowing with pride and a ridiculous amount of adoration.

Bakugo glances over at you, and his breath catches for a split second.

Your eyes are sparkling with what can only be described as sheer, undying devotion. It’s like you’ve blessed him with your attention, and no one else exists.

His jaw tightens, but then the corner of his mouth twitches. “Ugh, stop looking at me like that,” he growls, as if his heart isn’t doing flips in his chest.

He loves it.

•••

Meanwhile, your eyes are glued to him. You don’t even notice when someone else tries to talk to you, too busy basking in his glory. You’re like a shrine worshipper.

“Oh my God, how did we get so lucky? I’m literally in the presence of a God. I can’t believe I get to watch this legend race. I’m going to tell my grandchildren about this moment.”

You say it with the seriousness of someone giving a eulogy, because honestly? This moment could be the the highlight of your life.

Bakugo, trying to ignore the fact that you just called him a God, again, barks at the crowd.

“I’m gonna win! And if any of you doubt me, I’ll—;” but he doesn’t get to finish his threat because someone else has the audacity to look at you.

That’s it.

That’s the last straw. Bakugo’s fists curl, and his eyes turn into fiery lasers aimed straight at the innocent bystander who dared get too close to his possession—you.

His face scrunches up like he just tasted something gross.

“Get the hell away from my girl, asshole,” he snaps, voice dripping with territorial possessiveness. You, however, are too busy watching him in awe to even notice what’s happening.

“Bakugo,” you whisper under your breath, your voice reverent.

“You’re so perfect. I can’t even look at anyone else. You’re my entire world. How did I get so blessed? You’re so strong, so capable, just… ugh. My heart can’t handle it. I’m about to burst.”

Bakugo looks over at you, his usual scowl melting just a little. He hates to admit it, but he loves that you’re obsessed with him. Really loves it.

The way you practically glow with admiration? It’s like a drug he can’t get enough of. His chest puffs up in pride, he is the best… and it’s clear he’s getting a huge kick out of the fact that you can’t look at anyone else. Not even for a second.

And then, as the race starts, Bakugo takes off like a rocket. The crowd boos again, but you’re too busy screaming his name like you’ve seen a miracle.

“THAT’S MY GOD! THAT’S MY GOD, LOOK AT HIM GO! HE’S GOING TO DESTROY EVERYONE! HE’S THE ONLY ONE WHO MATTERS!”

You’re a little unhinged, but Bakugo doesn’t mind it. He might even like it a little more than he’s willing to admit.

When he crosses the finish line in first place, you practically fall over yourself rushing to him. Your arms fling around him like he’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic, and you’re about to drown without him.

“YOU DID IT! I KNEW YOU COULD! YOU’RE A GOD, KATSUKI! A GOD! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!”

You are so embarrassing, but he’s having so much fun.

Bakugo stands there, smirking, trying to act like he doesn’t have the faintest blush on his cheeks from your endless worship. “Yeah, of course I did. What did you expect? I’m the best.”

But there’s a small, almost shy glance from him as he ruffles your hair. “Just don’t go overboard with the whole ‘god’ thing, alright? It’s not like I’m invincible or anything.”

“You are, though,” you respond, dead serious.

“You can do no wrong. You just don’t understand, Katsuki. We’re all lucky to breathe the same air as you.”

Bakugo looks away, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Shut up.” But the blush creeping up his neck is undeniable.

[m-to-z-andbackto-m]

No you don't understand, it's not just a hyperfixation, IT'S LITERALLY THE REASON I'M FUNCTIONING 😭

I don't like staying hungry or eating when I'm not sure if I'm hungry or bored because Horror exists, he's been through a famine, tf am I doing???

I get upset about my hypersomnia and I try really hard to not to let it happen because many skeles are associated with narcolepsy

I'm pretty sure consuming skeleton content cured my depression over a few years???

God, I'm literally so dependent on them, I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THO!!!

I try to avoid toxic behaviors when I can identify them, and it's easier to because Nightmare is a toxic guy canonically, I've consumed enough content to know what's right and wrong in the long run

On the other end, seeing content where one or more of them gets comfort helps me navigate some situations because generally I'm not amazing at giving comfort

They also have me think about my philosophy and general beliefs, a lot of them have been done wrong so they do wrong, therefore I believe we should always try to understand each other because communication can avoid huge issues (DreamTale), and I think it's okay for people to take revenge, even to the extent of killing an abuser if the circumstance just happens to be that way (I'm not gonna specify what irl situation I'm thinking of but I do not advocate for murdering people in general guys, but it's only fair to see the motive, people aren't born criminals and sometimes the extreme feels like the only way out one way or another. Essentially, see people for more than their crimes. Of course some people are just disgusting assholes, but you get the idea.)

Having to memorize the lore and world building, along with creators, characters, interpretations, AND variations, doing all this helps me practice organizing thoughts and articulating difficult information

They actually boost my creativity and keep me happy, when I'm stressed, opening Tumblr to my favorite sillies literally takes my mind off whatever was bothering me, like I actually need them to lower any anxiety levels and keep me regulated

However on the downside they can make me very hyper, sometimes so emotionally so that I shut down for a bit because I physically cannot express my adoration for them and it's overwhelming but I never shut down for too long, I love them, they keep me going y'know!

They help me explore diversity and character writing, putting depth and thought into a being, helps me with my own creations <3

Actually, I'm too shy to look at × reader/self insert/(Y/N) content most of the time unless it's platonic (Might just be me being aromantic honestly) BUT I Have seen stuff where they affirm body types and "Flaws" and stuff like that and I think if I was less of a prude I could look at that stuff and it'd make me feel better about my insecurities, but for now my partners are doing a good job at keeping me normal

Essentially I just need all my sillies to work properly!!! 💕 (I'm so sane, and normal, and not senile about them :3)

(CW For Next Bit: Mental Health, Paranoia, Panic Attack Discussed)

Actually about that, my obsession with the skeletons used to be SO bad that I felt like they were always watching me and my brain would involuntarily make me feel paranoid and bad about myself (Possible ODC symptom where you're afraid of being judged for your thoughts/actions?) and I can't tell if it was a panic attack I had a couple years ago where I couldn't keep caring what they "Think" and I just had to scream and sob because you literally can't hold it in during one (If it was this, I guess I sorta pushed them away D:), OR my partners replaced my brain sillies so I feel them to a lesser extent

(Insecurity, Self Care Issues, And Gay Talk 😭 Oh and also mention of paranoia again but not so bad)

Like it used to be so bad I couldn't get up because I felt yucky, but I couldn't take a shower because they were "There", but now it's like, if my partners are my brain sillies, they like me, we'd probably take showers together when we live together and shit like that, it's okay if they're "Watching" me, actually, they're actual people somewhere else, doing something else, they don't just exist because I think of them the way the silly skeles do, they're actually defined and aren't actually around, it's just me thinking about them, it's okay, I don't have to feel so bad or weird about it, of course I still do a bit because insecurity is hard to scrape off, but I think I'm getting a little better and that's all that matters

Anyways point is, I need my wives, both skeletons and real, to function properly or I'm literally DOOMED

[genderqueerdykes]

no hate to you or the 'socialisation' anon, but i don't think y'all are correct. gender socialisation is not a thing, and is an incredibly reductive way to look at the world. the presence of society's preferred genetalia cannot explain the entirey of how one was treated for their childhood, because that person would have to jump through so many other hoops to truly get the privileges of being a cishet man. society does not raise transfems to have 'toxic masculinity' because it was too busy beating them into submission for not adhering to the gender socially imposed on them. it doesn't matter if they possess penises, because they are doing gender wrong and need to be punished. if a trans woman is speaking over her trans brothers and being stubborn and close-minded, it's not because she's 'mansplaining' to them, as the dynamics of cisnormative gender roles can't carry over to a community of gender deviants. she's just being an asshole.

there is a transandrophobia problem in the online trans community and a lot of it is coming from a certain subset of transfems. but we can talk about them without resorting to blatant terf rhetoric (such as, y'know, contracting trans woman into 'transwoman'. a few trans-positive folks online do it as but paired with the rest of anon's message it doesn't strike me as such.)

tysm for the feedback & criticism!

i don't see it as hate when people provide criticism!

thank you for giving me another perspective on this and other talking points! i appreciate you & everyone else who reached out! i'm NOT always right on things and i need to also be told when i make a mistake. i appreciate you so much. i need to be told when i'm wrong, too. thank you for the corrections! i see now where my line of thinking was totally off base! i've unfortunately heard so much of those kinds of things parroted inside of our own community that i adopted it, too, and it's not okay. it's not okay when i adopt a dangerous line of thinking.

genuinely, thank y'all so much for the feedback, and for doing so in a polite and informative manner! y'all are awesome. i seriously appreciate every single person who reaches out with criticism in an informative manner. i have seen nothing but 100% constructive criticism on that ask and i wanted to thank y'all for being amazing and giving me new perspectives and information so i can correct my own dangerous thinking. i am not always inherently right on everything, so thank you so much for providing extra info!

this might sound stupid af but i genuinely makes me feel more at ease knowing that my followers are willing to step in and tell me when i've been out of line. that gives me a sense of confidence knowing that people aren't just going to support me when i step out of line because they feel obligated to. that's huge to me. i don't want people to just pat me on the ass and ignore when i've said something incorrect. apologies for the bad take, but genuinely thank you so much for letting me know that when i step out of line, i won't be coddled for it.

[cassandralexxx]

Bro just remembered why are so much of my friends opps.

today at lunch UNPROMPTED my friend was like “why don’t you have an accent like your mom” and it’s like it was so out of nowhere for no reason. And I was like wdym so she was like your mom has a Spanish accent and when I was like I don’t really notice it I don’t think it’s that strong she was like “that’s because you live with her”. that honestly had me pressed bc like first of all my moms English is amazing she is like completely fluent and has not had any problems in the OVER 20 years she has lived in this country. But also like English is my first language wdym why don’t I have an accent of someone who’s esl.

[mamawasatesttube]

coming out as boring or whatever but i must admit. i don't actually find boomer-sitcom-esque "i hate my wife"/"my partner is annoying and naggy"/"its cute and quirky to shit on my partner" jokes funny even if you make them gay. sorry. but its my truth.

[bean-spring]

People complaining about Mel not liking Viktor and being "mean" to him as if this guy didn't hate her guts too and wasn't constantly rolling his eyes every time she opened her mouth.

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.