#hoping i'm not posting this too late but i have zero patience so

[kingofthering]

[screeblees]

Haihaiaihaihi!!!! I reallllllllllllly like ur Angry Yan x comfort reader drabbles!!! I'm someone you'd call an absolute night owl, and maybe even someone with a big mouth. I'm always up for saying what I liek and fighting people I think are dumb. (Verbally. Most of the time.)

At night, (if the day hasn't beat my ass) I'm an insane lunatic who rambles to herself. think of me like a cat. very judgy one. (but if the day has beat my ass and I'm crying on the floor i'm just going to sleep in my tears) (jk no tears cowgirls don't cry/j)

TL;DR: I'm a bitch and I like to yapp, but I love going insane at night and talking and rambling like there's no tomorrow. That or I'm out cold like ice. There's no in-between. (btw kinda willing)

sorry i wrote this at 12:56 am and I am sick so I feel a bit silly nyahahah just a little nayahah

MEOWWWWW bounCES OFF YOUR walls very politely.

If you can't make sense of my gibberish please tell me and i'll rewrite it later when i feel more sane.

Hii!! Thanks so much for the ask (and for the very polite meows and wall-bouncing :3)!! I hope I managed to correctly translate your stream of thoughts <3

Angry ! Yandere Headcanons here !

Sorry it's been a bit since I've posted!! I get pretty busy this time of year so I've been writing where I can!

But please still send asks, I love receiving them!! :D

Find my Masterlist here !

Please enjoy!!<33

❥ Angry ! Yandere who cannot help but be in awe of you as he listens to your extensive ramblings of your topic of choice, the two of you have all the time in the world after all!

❥ Angry ! Yandere who was initially worried your talkative nature would be replaced with a shell of yourself when he first took you as his, but very quickly - as soon as you woke up, actually - that that would not be the case and found himself thrilled to hear your defiant words (he would soon teach you, but this was a great first step in your adjustment!)

❥ Angry ! Yandere who cannot find it within him to be made angry by your words, (almost) no matter what you say - at least towards you, other people on the other hand are an entirely different story - even with your extreme lack of filter, which makes him more lenient with you than he would in other areas (making back-talk your only real way to be defiant). Although this can change at the drop of a hat if his mood is already rough, that forgiving attitude being nowhere to be seen even with that usually tolerance.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who immensely enjoys not needing to punish you - it makes him proud that the two of you have come so far since he first brought you here - his moods are made even better by your chatterbox personality which supplies him a near-continuous source of peace, basking in it.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who takes great pleasure in the sound of your voice, especially when he’s falling asleep while you stay up for hours, long into the night. Your babble like white noise or pleasant rain sounds for him (and only him) to fall asleep to.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who doesn’t mind if you stay up late playing video games or working on a hobby - as long as you can sit on the bed with him whilst doing so as to let him sleep on or near you.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who minds immensely if you are the type to get up and move around a lot, needing to be up and moving not only takes the sounds of your voice move farther away from his ears but it stops him from being able to loop his arms around your waist or rest his head against you - this will only end in you being tied up and unable to leave him, which may be uncomfortable but he’s too busy cuddling you to sleep to notice.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who will put his foot down if he feels your staying up late is having negative effects. He’ll disallow caffeinated drinks and tie you to the bed at night but if you’re still unable to sleep then he��ll go straight to the sleeping pills to solve this issue, having zero patience to try any more methods which he feels will be unhelpful.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who loves the nights all energy escapes you (naturally, without the pills) and you are left practically passed out wherever you had decided to sit that evening, leaving you very pliable for cuddling without the rope or bindings in the way.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who feels pity for his Darling when the struggles of the day come crashing down a little too harshly, leaving you teary and unwelcome to the idea of moving from your chosen spot on the basement floor.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who either just scoops you up from the floor, depositing you on the bed and joining you for a cuddle-fest or joins you on the floor with some blankets and pillows, ready to get comfy where you are. He hopes to provide an ounce of the comfort you provide him by the hour just from being in your near-presence...

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Claire...may I request a lil' writing? I'm thinking of Javi maybe post Columbia and he builds up a routine. He goes to the same coffee shop every morning on his way to work and of course picks up the same order. You're a barista at the coffee shop and eventually, you can pin down his arrival to the minute so one day, you make his drink for the exact moment when he gets there, with your number written on the cup cause screw it, he's damn hot. What would happen? <3

Oh Maia, this was FUN to write for you!!! I hope you enjoy it! :D

Exciting update!!! GIF and media genius @nicolethered made an amazing video for me to go with this fic!! Go give her big love!!

Second exciting update! I was challenged by @quica-quica-quica to play the POV game for this piece (where someone Asks you to rewrite a piece from a different character's POV). So now there is a companion piece to this from Javier's POV, called: "Coffee Shop Girl". Enjoy!

For Now

Word count: 3900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (Austin coffee shop barista; cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow-burn; oral sex/F receiving; vaginal fingering; protected P/V sex; cigarette smoking

Ten days. It took ten days between the first arrival of the handsome stranger and you ending up in his bed. A new personal record for you, given how reserved you normally were. But it was nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you were careful. It was the 90s now after all, there was zero reason to have to keep your knees closed until marriage, as long as you used condoms and got tested regularly.

You liked the coffee shop well enough, situated on the southern end of downtown near the warehouses and a few clubs. It drew a full spectrum of Austinites: college kids closing out their club nights with breakfast tacos and pastries before going home to crash; early morning construction workers, employees from the big post office around the corner; and the usual boring lawyers and office staff who started streaming in around 7:30 every weekday morning. You could do the job well enough, even considering the odd hours: waking up early enough to open the doors at 5:30, serve the slow trickle of early morning customers with patience and ease until a co-worker joined at 7:00 for the morning rush. And the barista and food service parts of the job were physically but not mentally demanding. It was a job, and certainly less hassle than your bartending gig some weekends. At least here you only had to throw drunks out once a month.

And then one Tuesday in early June, at 7:47 a.m., he appeared. Tall, neatly groomed mustache, dark eyes, a sheaf of bangs swept to the side over his forehead. His navy blue blazer and tie said ‘accountant’ or maybe ‘state employee’ and his sideburns were just a little out of date. You pegged him at about 40, probably one of those men who visited the same barber their whole lives, not bothering to keep up with fashion trends as long as they looked neat and clean. When he reached to take his to-go cup of black coffee from you, you noticed that his ring finger was bare, and you liked that his fingernails were clean and trimmed. He offered you a nod in thanks, and you smiled at him a little more warmly than you had with your other customers so far. He held the door on his way out, pausing just a moment to let two women enter… and then he was gone, out into the bright sunlight and foot traffic and morning rush. You hoped you would see him again.

On Wednesday he came back again, a repeat of Tuesday except with a different tie, deep red today instead of navy. Black coffee to go, leather portfolio tucked under one arm, clean hands, eyes as dark as the coffee you handed him. This time rewarding you with a gruff and gravelly, “Thanks,” instead of just a nod. You relished the accidental brush of his fingers on yours as you handed the cup over, another flash of him imprinted on you, along with yesterday’s vision of him going golden as he stepped out into the morning sun. This time you watched him through the big glass window until he was out of sight, admiring his strong nose in profile, the curve of it perched over that mustache. Two extra seconds of handsomeness poured into your morning before you had to turn back to rinsing mugs and making change. You hoped that he’d come again on Thursday, making it three visits, a genuine pattern instead of a fluke.

On Thursday he reappeared, same time as the previous two days, waiting patiently in line behind two wake-and-bake potheads who were taking their sweet time staring up at the food menu. Today he was dark gray instead of navy, wearing a charcoal blazer and a sharp black tie. You waved him over with a smile, letting it melt all the way up to your eyes instead of flashing the tight, brief, closed-mouth thing you used on most customers.

“Black coffee, right?” You watched his face, taking in the dark eyes, the hair, the brief smile that made a surprise dimple appear in his cheek.

He nodded, “That’s right. Thank you.” He slid a rumpled bill across the counter. “Keep the change.”

You bit your lip as you turned away, preening at his thanks and seven whole words as if they were genuine praise. His voice was deep and rich, landing with a rumble in your own chest, like the remnants of thudding bass from a passing car. You poured the coffee and secured the lid, brain scrambling desperately for something clever to say. To make him come back, to talk to you more.

You turned and handed him the cup, and as he reached for it you again let your hand be in just the right spot to feel the brush of his fingers. Your eyes locked on one another, and for the briefest moment you forgot to let go of the cup. You wanted to swim in those brown eyes forever, get lost and let him drown you whole. He paused, and you thought you saw the briefest twitch of his mustache, a pinprick in his calm exterior before you drew your hand back. He inclined his head, a single nod, and then he turned to leave and your attention was swept back to the register and the next customers.

Friday he arrived “on time” and you met his eyes as soon as he opened the door. Today he was warm earth tones, a dark red shirt under a brown tweed blazer and no tie, a nod to casual Friday. You turned and prepared his coffee, tightening the lid and then holding it up to him across the room, smiling and tossing your chin up in a friendly greeting. He walked up and slid a few bills over the counter to you.

“Thanks.” He winked at you and something in your pelvis fluttered. “See you next week.”

You watched him go, stepping out again into a halo of golden sun, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on before striding away. You suddenly felt lost, facing the many hours between now and Monday.

Your weekend passed in a blur of extra bartending shifts and catching up on sleep. You were forever napping at odd hours, trying to reconcile the slightly staggered rhythms of early morning coffee shop hours and late-night bartending. It wasn’t the hardest you’d ever worked or the worst schedule, but it wasn’t fun. At least, it hadn’t been fun until now. Now you had something to look forward to.

Monday morning you opened the shop and kept an eye on the clock. At 7:46 you poured black coffee into a to-go cup. Thirty seconds later, he appeared on the other side of the plate glass window, the navy suit and tie again, blowing out a long stream of cigarette smoke before dropping the butt and giving it a quick twist under his foot. He took off his amber-lensed aviators and tucked them into the pocket of his blazer, then pulled out his wallet. At 7:47 on the dot, he opened the door, met your eyes, and saw you holding up his coffee. And there went that smile again, the dimple, the wink.

You smiled as he approached the counter. “You psychic or something? Or am I just that predictable?”

“Both, maybe.” You grinned and wiggled your eyebrows.

He opened his wallet and passed a bill across the counter, larger than what was strictly necessary for a to-go coffee and a reasonable tip. “Great service, keep the change.”

You thanked him, giving him the full-watt smile and wishing him a good day as you opened and closed the register, putting the change into the tip jar. Thankfully there was no one else in line right now, so you could give his handsome figure your full attention as he left, watching how the navy blazer hugged his shoulders.

He went out the door, turned right like he always did, and then he turned his head and his eyes met yours through the glass. You should have felt embarrassed that he caught you staring, but you didn’t. Mostly because you realized that he had stopped to look back, too, which meant you weren’t the only one hoping for more. He nodded and lifted his cup in a gesture of thanks. Then he was gone.

Tuesday was the same, only with the charcoal blazer and the dark red tie this time. The wink, the flutter in your gut, the over-tipping. The glance across the counter as his fingers brushed yours around the cup. The aviators slung on as soon as he stepped out the door.

Wednesday, again, the navy suit and tie, another brush of the fingers, a smaller tip but a bigger smile, gracing you with that dimple again. Another gravelly, “Thank you,” that sounded warmer than he had to date. The handsome profile and a quick meeting of the eyes through the glass as he left again.

Thursday was the same, only better. You used a permanent marker to write something on his paper cup before you poured it precisely at 7:46 a.m., watching, waiting. He did not disappoint. At 7:47, precisely on time, you caught a glimpse of his profile as he came into view through the plate glass window. Charcoal again. He turned and saw you inside, then opened the door, holding it again for a woman exiting. You pointed at his to-go cup on the counter and smiled.

“You trying to get rid of me? In and out so quickly?” He smiled and twitched an eyebrow at you.

You smiled back, “Depends on how long you were planning to stay. We close at 1:00 a.m. after open mic tonight. After that you gotta go somewhere else.”

The handsome man chuckled and pursed his lips. “And what time do you get off, after the morning shift?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” You winked and immediately regretted it, it felt too bold, it wasn’t your normal mode.

He met your eyes and said simply, “I am.”

You felt your face split into a wide smile. “I finish at 1:00, after the lunch rush.”

He nodded. “Good to know. I’m Javier, by the way.” He stuck his hand out and shook yours. You gave him your name and a warm shake of the hand.

He fished a few bills out of his wallet. “Can I maybe stop by after your shift, take you to lunch sometime?”

“You can do me one better than that.” You rotated the paper cup so that the writing was facing him. “My phone number’s on the cup.”

His eyebrows popped up, and then he gave you an appraising glance, like he was impressed. You saw his tongue shift up under his lip to suck a tooth and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to see how that tongue felt on you. You flushed hot, tingling with desire.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You do that for all your customers?”

“Just the best tippers.” You winked at him and laughed.

He stuck his hand out once more and you gave him yours. He lifted it and kissed the back of your hand, mustache sweeping ever so briefly over your knuckles before he gently released it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” his voice was low and something in it went straight to your groin, making your pelvic muscles clench. You watched him pick up the cup and go, smiling at you with that dimple through the glass as he left. You stood for just a moment, hoping, hoping, hoping. Maybe he would call you after work?

At 1:00 you finished your shift and handed the register off to Mike. You were just untying your apron and hanging it up when you saw a familiar profile sweep into view outside the window. Javier. Your stomach flipped over and a million little butterflies flew out.

He ducked inside the door and searched the shop for a moment, smiling when he saw you coming out from behind the counter with your bag slung over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you stood for a moment and hesitated, suddenly shy.

Javier slipped his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket. “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy, or can I take you to lunch today?”

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to go.” You smiled. “There’s a sandwich place around the corner, and a park we can go sit in.”

He smiled, wider than you’d seen him do so far. “That’s perfect.”

He let you lead, walking him across the street and around the corner to the sub shop. You made small-talk on the way there, finding out that he was from Laredo but new to Austin, a former DEA agent consulting for the state. You picked up your food and walked a block over to the small city park, where you told him about your roommates, your cat, your wish to go back to school and finish your degree. By the end of lunch you were both smiling, feeling that spark, the little magnetic pull that had started over his coffee orders. At 2:00 Javier said he had to get back to his office.

“... but I’d really like to see you again. Can I take you to dinner? Tonight if that’s okay, since you’re working tomorrow night.” He stood close to you, looking warmly into your eyes.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You felt that flutter again, that twitch of interest from looking into his warm brown eyes, seeing the way they crinkled when he smiled. You were so busy looking at his eyes that you didn’t see him reach his hand out, sweeping it around to circle your shoulders and pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, as urgently as was proper for the time of day and the public setting. When he pulled away to walk back up the few blocks to his office, you stood there dazed. Wow.

You went home and napped, then showered and changed into datewear. Javier picked you up at 7:30, and you were relieved that the little spark was still there. You had half-worried that it would wear off in the few hours between your lunch date and now, or that it was a localized feeling limited to a small radius around the coffee shop. But dinner was fun and warm, and by the end of dessert and coffee you didn’t want to leave him yet. You decided that you would be bolder than you normally were.

“Listen, my roommates are home, but do you want to go back to your place?”

Javier looked surprised for only a moment and then smiled, “Yes, let’s go.”

You kissed all the way back to the car, ran your hands lightly over the back of Javier’s neck as he drove, kissed all the way from the car to his apartment door, and tumbled inside together, feeling for buttons and zippers and helping each other out of your clothes. His erection felt warm and solid against your hip, and when he finally got naked you were nearly moaning at the expanse of his broad shoulders and golden skin. He was beautiful.

Javier walked you backwards to the bedroom and paused only to pull a wrapped condom out of a drawer and turn on the bedside lamp to chase away the dark. You lay back and watched him as he tossed the foil packet onto the quilt next to you and then knelt beside your legs. He looked at you as he ran his hands up and down your naked thighs. Then he butterflied your legs slowly apart and ran one warm hand up to your pussy, teasing you with his fingers, dipping them in and out between your labia and running them up to tickle your clit.

“Can I eat you out?” He asked almost shyly.

You nodded, a breathy “Yeah,” issuing from your lips. Javier dove down and licked into you with a rush. You gasped and threw your head back, clawing your fingers down into the blankets. Javier worked you open on three fingers and used the tip of his stiffened tongue to flick your clit rapidly from side to side while his fingers slipped slowly in and out. You moaned and fought the urge to close your legs while he curled and stroked inside of you, finding the spots you could never quite reach yourself. Within a few minutes you were cresting the wave of release.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come! Keep- keep going,” you gasped, “Just like that!” Javier kept his pace steady, working you along as you huffed and breathed faster. He curled his fingers just right and you sped off the edge into oblivion, gulping and grunting and making noises that were almost embarrassing, that didn’t sound like you, but you felt too good to even care. Javier stopped licking and slowed his fingers as you clenched around him, using the broad flat of his tongue to swipe a long, comforting stripe up the outside of your labia. When you were finished coming, he pulled his fingers out slowly and sat up on his haunches, smiling like a prizewinner.

He wiped one broad, flat hand down his mouth and chin, and then crawled up the bed to lay next to you, stroking you from hip to breast with his thick fingers. “Was that okay, cariño?”

You groaned out a chuckle, “Oh yeah, that was good.” You rolled onto your side to face him, and drew him in for a deep kiss. You loved the mix of how he smelled and tasted, your own salty musk blending with his spicy cologne and the smoky phantoms of cigarettes past and his after-dinner coffee. As you kissed, his hand came up to stroke a trail of goosebumps on your shoulder, and you reached yours down to stroke his cock to attention. The heft of him was thick and warm in your hand, and within seconds he was hard and throbbing. You ran the pad of your thumb up the bottom of his head and over his slit gently, and you giggled as he shuddered and reached down to pull your hand away.

“You keep going like that and I’m not going to last long.” His thick fingers wrapped around yours, and he pulled your hand up to place a long kiss to the inside of your wrist, blowing warm air out through his nose, the feel of it on your skin sending a thrill up your spine. He reached for the condom and opened it, rolling it down his proud length. He put his hand down and stroked your thigh before hooking one hand behind your knee to pull your leg up and over his hip. He held himself so that his tip was buried just at your entrance, then he thrust up and into you in one swift motion. You inhaled sharply and hooked your leg tighter around him, letting him set the pace. He nudged your jaw, nosing up into the crook of your neck and kissing you from ear to chin and back again.

His hot words sent chills down your neck and your nipples stiffened into sensitive buds. “Baby, you feel so fucking good, so hot and wet. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You kissed him and shushed him, then you pressed an open palm to his chest, “Wait. Roll over. I wanna get on top.”

Javier grinned in the dim light of his bedroom, then he wrapped his big hand around your lower back and pulled you over with him. You shifted and settled into place, and the feeling of being speared on him, of his cock hitting deep inside, of his coarse curls rubbing against your clit was almost to the point of overstimulation. You whined and fell face down into the crook of his neck, smelling his warm spiced fragrance and going limp at the ‘too much’ of it all. He planted his feet flat on the bed and kept his arms wrapped around you, thrusting up, up, up into you over and over. He made the most delicious noises, sounds that might have been words or not, but which conveyed all of his pleasure in little grunts and groans.

You decided you wanted to watch his face, so you sat back up and braced yourself on your knees, rolling your hips in rhythm with his and helping him chase his high.

“God, you look so fucking good on my cock, cariño. So beautiful.” He started to turn glossy with sweat, tiny golden beads reflecting the single lamp beside the bed and making him look surreal. You followed a drip of sweat as it appeared on his neck and then ran down to pool in the hollow at the base of his throat. You tipped forward once more to lick at it, to taste the salt and the smoke of him and nip one tiny bite into his neck before moving up to lick and nibble at his earlobe.

Javier suddenly tensed his legs, giving one big thrust and then hissing out a “Fffff-” between his lips as he came. He thrust again and then stilled, relaxing back into the bed, but keeping you close against him. You let him hold you, your breaths slowing together until you were back, calm again, heartbeats back to center. He released you and held the base of the condom as you lifted off and rolled onto your back. He went to the bathroom, and you heard him run water before he returned with a wrung-out washcloth. He offered it to you, and you declined with a weak wave. He turned and tossed it into the bathroom sink and then motioned for you to scoot off the bed so he could turn the covers down.

He picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, gesturing at you with a raised eyebrow. You put a hand up, “Not a whole one, but I’ll take a drag off yours if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing.” He lit one and passed it to you, and you took a deep drag before handing it back.

“Thanks.” You blew the smoke out in a blue stream.

He crawled into bed and patted the mattress next to him. “Stay,” he looked at you with a smile. “If you want to.” He parked the cigarette back between his plush lips.

You smiled warmly and crawled in next to him. “Okay, just for a little while.” You checked the digital clock beside the bed. “I gotta go home and change, and then get to the coffee shop at 5:00. Can you set the alarm for 4:00?”

He nodded and picked up the clock, pressed a few buttons and slid a switch into place. Then he raised his arm and settled it around your shoulders, and turned off the lamp. You watched the cherry of his cigarette glow and then turn faint, bobbing in the dark as he moved to flick ash into the ashtray on the nightstand.

He murmured low, into the quiet room, “You know, I’m only here for the summer. The consulting job ends in August.” He paused to take the final pull of his cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “After that, I gotta go back to D.C.”

You yawned and nodded. “No problem. We can have fun this summer. I’ll take you to Barton Springs and Mount Bonnell, give you the real Austin tour. We can just have fun for now.”

He kissed your forehead, moving down your nose to land soft kisses on your lips. “Okay, summer girl. I’m all yours… for now.”

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

The only tag list I have: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme

[luanna801]

Okay, I really hope I'm not overstepping my bounds here, but it's been nagging at me so I want to get it off my chest. I got tired of being salty and I try not to look at Discourse about Voltron anymore, but Shiro ships started bugging me ever since the writers said that Shiro was 25 and the paladins were minors, and I'm even having doubts about Allura. And I get that the debate can be rabid, but I felt kinda gross when you dismissed one side entirely.

I hope you don’t mind, I’m making my reply public because I probably haven’t been fair and I want to get my feelings properly on the record.

I should make it clear: It’s not that I don’t think worrying about age difference ships is a legitimate worry. I obviously don’t condone statutory rape and I think worrying about shippers glamorizing relationships that would be predatory IRL is a conversation worth having.

It’s that even before I became part of this fandom, the way I was seeing this discussed had absolutely zero nuance, complete hypocrisy, and was being taken to absolute extremes in a way that I have very little tolerance for.

So let’s start with this basic fact: The creators of the show have been inconsistent as hell about how old everyone is. The paladins (including Shiro) have been described as all being teenagers multiple times, sometimes they say Shiro is a bit older than the others, sometimes they say he’s an adult and they’re not. (This is a handy post on some of the contradictory statements.) And at one con, a fan asked if he was 25 and they said something like “That’s a safe zone” which… is not really the same as saying he is 25. Lance’s voice actor has said he thinks Lance is 16, and yet in other places they’ve been described as all being in their late teens. There’s a lot of contradiction going around.

You could probably find a way to reconcile most of these statements (for example, if Shiro is 19 and most of the others are 17, he’s technically an ‘adult’, by one definition, and they’re not, but they’re still all teenagers), but they obviously can’t all be true. So there’s a lot of unclarity here, and the fact of the matter is no one knows exactly how old any of these characters are. There have been way too many contradictions (and no statements of definite canon) for anyone to go around making concrete assumptions.

But, let’s leave all that aside for a minute. Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that Shiro is indeed 25 and the paladins are all in their late teens.

… Who says anyone who shipped them would be rooting for it to happen right away?

This is what gets me about the Voltron fandom: They just… don’t seem to see that as a possibility? At all? Either two people can get together right now, or else shipping them in any context ever is evil pedophilia, even if in someone’s mind it wouldn’t be happening until years down the line.

And this is where the hypocrisy comes in, because other ships are not held to this standard: There’s a reason I brought up Han and Leia. A 19-year-old getting together with a 29-year-old would, while certainly not pedophilia (side note: I could write a whole ‘nother post about how certain fandoms seem to have lost the concept that an age difference can be potentially problematic without being actual pedophilia), have the potential to have an unbalanced dynamic for sure. But that’s okay, because nothing happened between them in the first movie, and by the time they got together in the second one, it was years down the line and their ages were no issue.

There are tons of ships like this. Some that ended up becoming canon, some that didn’t. Want another example?

Guess how old Dick and Babs were in that scene? 18 and 25. Was everyone who shipped them back then condoning pedophilia? Is everyone who ships them now condoning pedophilia? 

And here’s an even more potentially problematic example:

Sansa and Margaery. Sansa is, canonically, 14 years old throughout her interactions with Margaery. Unlike the Voltron paladin ages, this is flat-out stated in canon. (On their wedding night Tyrion asks her how old she is and she says “Fourteen”, so there’s no room for ambiguity there.) Margaery’s age is never stated concretely, but Natalie Dormer was in her thirties when this was being filmed, so if we’re very generous and assume she’s playing over a decade younger (unlikely), she’s 20 at the very least.

Incredibly popular ship. Honestly one of the much sweeter and more wholesome ships on GoT. I have never, once, seen anyone argue that everyone who ships it is condoning pedophilia. Probably because they just assumed that, as with Dick and Babs, the shippers were only rooting for something to happen once the ages wouldn’t be an issue.

Want another one?

Rapunzel is 18. (It’s a plot point in the movie.) Eugene is in his twenties, possibly around 24-25. Cricket chirps from people calling it a pedophilic ship.

Note that all the examples I’ve just mentioned have age differences that are the same or (in Sansa and Margaery’s case) even more of a potential problem than Shiro and the other paladins, even assuming we’re talking about the worst-case scenario. Yet suddenly everyone’s decided it should never be allowed to ship a couple with an age difference ever, even if it’s an age difference that would be no problem in a couple of years. (Which, depending which statement about the ages you take as canon, could certainly be the case with Shiro and the other paladins.) But it only seems to apply to certain ships, in certain fandoms. Funny how that works.

And then you get into the whole mess of the creators (possibly: again, they’re never 100% clear in what they say) saying Allura is a teen too, and half of the Shiro/Allura fandom deciding that the arguments they’ve been throwing at other people for months magically don’t apply to them (although to give the other half credit, they’re just as willing to throw the book at themselves as at other people, so… kudos for consistency, I guess), and… you know what? I don’t think I need to say anything. I’m pretty sure the hypocrisy speaks for itself, there.

And here’s the thing: These people are not just saying that they’re worried, or that they think making the ages unclear could lead to problematic shipping, or that people should be cautious in how they ship age difference ships, or whatever. They make absolute statements about how no one should be allowed to ship this ever. In any context. They harass shippers. They call people pedophiles and pedophile apologists. They ignore actual survivors saying that this doesn’t speak for them and they wish everyone would just stop. (Although to be sure, there are also survivors who do feel that some policing is necessary, and those people need to be heard too.) They go to ridiculous, harmful extremes and then act like everyone else is in the wrong for objecting to it.

And all of this was so prevalent and so over-the-top that I was aware of it before I ever became part of the fandom. In fact, it’s what kept me from watching the show for this long. It’s nasty, it’s hypocritical, and it’s taken to absolutely ridiculous extremes which, if applied uniformly (but they never are) would make any number of hugely popular, unproblematic ships be considered anathema.

And that’s the last I’ll say on this because I really don’t want to join in an endless debate over this, but I hope I’ve helped you understand why I have so very little patience for this.