#With the way I act and talk about men it’s easy to assume. Sometimes I even think that way. But no.

[inkats]

Hiyori Tomoe + I was feeling weird about drawing and then saw a handsome woman and died a little bit.

[deanswhiskey]

don’t let me go - sam winchester

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; while researching alone, the nest of vampires you were hunting takes you

wc; 2,223

warnings; canon level violence, blood, pain relief pills, kissing, angst, kidnapping, vampires hurting reader

authors note; i never know how to end fics i’m sorry for the shitty ending 😭

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

vampire nests. sometimes they’re easy to kill, other times they’re not.

the bigger they are means more to kill. this nest was particularly large. not that you, sam, and dean weren’t equipped, it was just way larger than you’d expected.

it was only supposed to be a nest of 4 or 5 vamps. you guys had already taken out two.

but, during the time between the last vamp kill and now, you were taken. as leverage, of course.

there was still some research and investigation needed before storming the nest. you stuck behind do research more while sam and dean played fbi for a little while longer.

dean was loading the trunk while you fixed up sam’s tie for him. “be back quick, okay?” you said while pulling the tie up, securing it around his neck. you patted his chest, smoothing out the tuxedo.

sam grabbed your hands and rubbed the back of them with his thumbs. “of course. be safe.” giving a light kiss on your forehead. he headed out the door but not before he gave you one last smile. sam was always extra affectionate before going out for hunts or investigating. you never understood why. you liked the affection though.

you changed into something a bit more comfortable; jeans and a tight fighting top weren’t the best for constant sitting and research. one of sam’s t-shirts and sweatpants will do.

you grabbed one of the motels provided coffee cups and made yourself some coffee. you poured some cream and two sugars into the mug and made your way to the dining table.

your computer was open with about 8 different tabs, john’s notebook opened on a page about vampires, and your personal notebook open while you wrote down whatever thought came to mind while researching.

as you were writing something in your notebook, you heard a noise from across the room. if you were anybody else, you wouldn’t have reacted the same way you did. drawing the gun from the waist band of your pants, you carefully made your way across the room and into the adjoining room. dean made you guys get separated, but still adjacent, rooms when you and sam started dating.

upon further inspection, you made the assumption it was somebody next door. when you turned around there were two large guys standing right behind you. before you could act, they grabbed your arms and forced you back against the nearest wall.

they kept shouting “what do you know?” but you couldn’t hear much of it due to how hard they slammed your head against the wall. after they realized you weren't going to talk, they took out a blade and started cutting you to further force some answers. nothing deep, just shallow cuts; shallow enough to cause enough pain.

“i don’t know!” you repeatedly shouted as they kept making marks along your face, neck, and arms. tears started to run down your face at this point. the men put their blades down and smirked at one another. they could practically smell the winchesters in the adjoining room.

the man with the shaved head drew back his fist and knocked you out cold.

next thing you knew, your hands were tied to a chain from the ceiling. your head was pounding and you could feel your hands going numb. it was dark out from what you could see, so you only assumed it was after 9pm.

you prayed and prayed that sam and dean had found something that lead to wherever you were.

moments later, a group of people emerged from the shadows. they all had an open mouth smile bearing the pointy fangs coming from their mouths. the dots connected and you realized you were in the middle of the vamps nest; now on display as their next meal.

sam and dean returned to their hotel room and found you gone along with small droplets of blood on the carpet. anger and fear coursed through their veins. luckily, the vampire they encountered while investigating was the weakling of the nest, he gave up any and all information about the nest and places they might be in exchange for his life. of course, sam and dean didn’t listen and chopped his head right off.

they hauled ass back into the impala and went to the first of three locations they got. the burst into the abandoned factory and searched high and low and nothing. next was what was supposed to be another abandoned location but turned out to be a lively bar. they both hesitantly walked in, no one turned any heads. they talked to the bartender, nothing suspicious. they came to the conclusion no one in the bar was a vamp. the sighed and walked to the car. the hoped that this last location was it.

all while sam and dean were searching for you, you were fading in and out of consciousness as blood leaks from you all over. you were so tired.

these vamps were really adamant about whatever information they were trying to get out. you had no idea what they were talking about. you begged and pleaded saying you didn’t know what they were talking about. they’d simple say “shut up” and backhand you.

“please,” you all but whimpered out. your voice weakened after all the screaming you’ve done. “i don’t know anything.”

“well, that’s not what we heard, little girl.” the vamps fangs were protruding out of his mouth. and that stupid, stupid smirk just pissed you off enough more.

“well,” you breathed out. “whoever told you, is a stupid,” you spit out the blood that was in your mouth, “son of a bitch.”

that really pissed this guy off. he turned away angrily, but not before nodding to this one blonde girl. she had a hungry look in her eyes.

you shook your head repeatedly while muttering no over and over. “this ain’t gon’ hurt a bit, sweetheart.” her country twang would’ve been a bit comforting if she wasn’t about to bite into your neck.

her fangs were out and her hands force your head back so she could bite. your screams echoed in the empty house. your body filled with a hot sensation. it felt like no other. blood pooled out of your neck and further staining your clothes.

she pulled away with your blood all on her mouth. her eyes had this satisfied look as she backed away from you.

your body faltered, if it weren't for the cuffs, your body would've laid limp on the floor. your wrists on the cusp of dislocating from the way you were practically putting all your weight on them; your feet could barely hold you anymore

sam and dean pulled up to the house quietly with their headlights off. after turning off the engine they heard a loud scream, this had to be it. they immediately were on high alert. they forced open the door with their machetes and flashlights in hand.

they heard another scream rip from your throat and ran in that direction, careful not to make any sounds. there were two big buff vampires waiting right outside the door. sam and dean would've been a little intimidated if their wasn't adrenaline coursing through them. their blades swung through the air and eventually the two big bodyguards heads were on the floor, blood pooling at the winchesters feet.

seconds later, they burst through the door. they must've counted 7 or 8 more vampires inside. they noticed your bloody and bruised state hanging in the middle of the floor. they, somehow, become more angry when they notice bite marks on your neck.

you were on the verge of passing out until you noticed them. they fearlessly fought for you, slashing away at the vampires.

the blonde girl from earlier had an almost scared look in her eyes. she quickly unlocked your cuffs and dragged you out of the room. your vision was blurry, you could hardly make out anything.

she got outside of the house and leaned you up against a nearby tree, "you're all mine sweetheart. you're a tough one, delicious too." she all but licked her lips at the smell of your blood.

she opened her mouth, fangs jutted out, and was about to bite again when her head was sliced off, falling to the ground. her dead body going limp on the ground, which revealed your hero. sam winchester stood there with his bloody machete, breathing heavy after all that fighting.

"my hero," you weakly smiled.

"hey, don't talk right now, save your breath," he calmly whispered, kneeling down to pick you up.

"everything hurts," you groan.

"i know, i know," he carried you bridal style to the impala. "just try to save your breath."

"'m sorry sammy," you leaned against his chest.

"you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart." he gives you a sad smile, setting you into the back seat.

"tell dean i'm sorry about the blood in baby."

"i'm sure he'll understand," he held onto your hand from the front seat as dean drove back to the motel.

“don’t let me go,” you whispered, feeling soothed by the circles sam was rubbing with the pad of his thumb against your hand.

you passed out moment later only to find yourself laying on sam's motel bed. you look down, no longer bloody but still in a lot of pain.

stumbling over to the bathroom mirror, you see stitches along your neck from where the vampire bit you. you were also in new clothes, no longer in bloody torn ones. another one of sam's shirts adorned your body along with a pair of his shorts.

sam walked in not long after with a pharmacy bag in his hand, he hadn't noticed you up and out of bed until you walked out of the bathroom. "oh my god, you're awake," sam dropped his bags and ran to you, attacking you in a hug. your groaned a little, hugging back, your body still hurt. "oh, i'm so sorry," sam goes to pull away but you pull him back in.

"no, sam, its okay, please just stay here," you whisper out, hugging him tighter.

sam pulled away and looked at you with worry in his eyes, “i’m so sorry, truly. i wished i never even left you. dean could’ve gone by himself. i should’ve stayed, i’m-,”

“sam,” you held his shoulders, steadying him. “it’s okay, i forgive you. it’s not even your fault.” he just smiled weakly in response.

sam went to pick up the bag he dropped,”i got you some pain relief.” holding a box of ibuprofen and rattling it.

“thank you, sammy,” sams cheeks flush at the nickname. only you were allowed to call him that.

you downed a few pills with some water and sat back down on the bed; sam following you.

“listen,” he starts. “when i walked in here and you weren’t here, i panicked. more than i ever have. losing you would mean losing the sun in my life. i don’t know what i’d do if i had lost you.” sam keeps fidgeting with his fingers; unsure of what do to. he doesn’t know if he could look you in the eyes without crying, blurting out his undying love for you, or both. “i just—”

he stops mid sentence when he feels your hand on his hot cheek, guiding him to look at you. you now sat criss cross on the bed fully facing him. “sam, it’s okay. i’m safe, i’m here now,”

he leans into your touch, “i know, i don’t want to lose you again.”

“i’m right here sam, i’m right here,” you said softly, rubbing his face with your thumb.

you leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. your lips lingered as your face still right at his. your lips dangerously close to his.

with a quick breath of courage, sam gently placed his lips on yours; as if he was testing the waters. as soon as you leaned into the kiss, he kissed back with a little more force.

sam was pouring out his emotions and feelings into this kiss as his lips molded against yours perfectly and his nose smushed against your face.

your hand gently raked through your hair as you kissed sam. the feeling of sams hand on your waist felt like sparks against your skin.

sam was the first to pull away, “you have no idea how long i’ve waited to do that.” you just giggled in response. sams forehead rested against yours as his eyes screwed shut, “please don’t ever leave again.”

“i’ll try my hardest not to.”

“good, because i’d go crazy.”

“just shut up and kiss me again you fool,” you giggled.

sam smiled and attacked you in kisses. your contagious laughter made sam smile even harder.

sam and you spent the rest of the night laying in the comfort of each others arms. sam practically refused to let you go.

“i’ll never let you go again,” he jokingly said as his big arms wrapped around your waist.

“good, don’t let me go.” you smiled. “goodnight sammy,” you whispered up at him.

“goodnight love,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

sams arms squeezed you tighter in a gentle manner. he never wanted to let go.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

[transmascpetewentz]

I want to talk about the group of TERFs weaponizing the talking points that we use to bring attention to the severity of what we experience under transandrophobia, in order to be incredibly transmisogynistic (and actually transandrophobic too).

None of these radfems are actually trans men. Some of them identify as transmasc, and I do not want to erase that, but none of them identify as men in any way. These radfems show up every few days in the transandrophobia tag, and in related tags, and try to use as many buzz-words as possible to make themselves sound credible. Here are some talking points that you should be wary of, and explanations for why they are misleading and horribly misinterpreting what transandrophobia theory actually is.

The idea that the oppressor class is AMAB people, and/or that we need an "AFAB solidarity movement"; this is wrong. To act like transandrophobia is perpetuated by AMAB trans people more than it is perpetuated by cis women is based not in reality but instead in online discourse. In trans-heavy spaces, transfem voices can sometimes be very loud in silencing transmascs, but this is an exception, not the rule. Transfems silencing transmascs comes from a place of trauma and lateral transphobia, while cis women silencing transmascs comes from a place of weaponizing their status as our oppressors.

The idea that transfems are part of the oppressor class at all; this is an intentional misinterpretation of what transandrophobia theory actually is. Cis men and cis women have their own distinct roles in oppressing trans men, trans women do not. Honestly, if anyone who genuinely believes in transandrophobia theory who isn't baiting falls for this, I don't even know what to say anymore.

Pretending like our critiques of woman-centric feminism don't go far enough. More than likely, the person making this point is a supporter of woman-centric feminism, but they do not include trans women in their definition of "woman." Stay clear of any rhetoric like that.

Anyone who seems particularly unwilling to call out cis women's role in perpetuating transandrophobia. While this might be a transmasc who is too scared of speaking up for himself, an easy way to check is to see if they post more about trans women being laterally transphobic, or cis women oppressing trans men. If they post more about the former than the latter, they are most certainly a TERF.

Make sure to make it clear that none of these TERFs represent transandrophobia theory as a whole. This is a disgusting misinterpretation of what we have been saying, and none of these people have any sympathy for what trans men actually go through, especially gay trans men, who they assume have "straight privilege." TERFs are vile and have no place in our movement. Call it out when you see it.

[scepterno]

you've made the mistake of endorsing my josé redemption arc so i shall release the horrors within

because i like to think that josé, to some extent, in the back of his mind always felt bad about hurting alejandro. yeah, he thought it was necessary to get him to man up and for alejandro's own good in the long run, hell he even enjoyed taking his frustration out on someone else sometimes. but you don't press lit cigarettes into your little brother's skin and just not care. you don't have someone looking at you with hate and fear and exhaustion in their expression every day and not feel anything. you don't hurt someone day after day and remain oblivious to what it does to them

and maybe years down the line, after a lot of therapy and a long and ongoing process of healing, josé will look at the tiny circular scars on alejandro's arm and feel this... pit in his stomach. something heavy and cold that claws at his insides and makes him nauseous, it clogs up his throat and makes him want to look away. it's the same feeling he gets whenever he sees the relief on alejandro's face when josé doesn't turn something into a competition between them, or when he tenses up at being called "al", and so on

it's so different from the warmth he feels deep in his chest whenever alejandro laughs at something he says, loud and unburdened and giddy, whenever he lets josé see him weak and in pain without trying to cover everything up, whenever he shows the tiniest bit of trust in his older brother

being part of alejandro's life means he has to put up with that annoying twig boyfriend of his, who seems dead set on antagonizing josé with snarky comments and long, hard stares that seem to burn the side of his face. but the effect is lessened whenever alejandro comes to his defense with an easy smile and a "he's not so bad, come on, stop being mean". it also means he has to deal with the lovey-dovey looks exchange between the two of them, which, eugh. but fine, whatever, he can handle it

he still fucks up sometimes, of course he does, they both do. they step on toes and revert back to old habits and hurt each other and pull away. sometimes it feels like it's an uphill battle of three steps forward, two steps back. it's painful, it's messy and it's a long, long process. but they're burromuerto men, which means they're stubborn beyond reason and the very thought of giving up is appalling to them

one time josé goes over to alejandro's and noah's apartment when the little bastard is at work. they're supposed to hang out, just the two of them, watch some cheesy telenovelas and poke fun at the acting, predict the plot 30 minutes in, and get way too invested in the characters' relationships. which is why he's confused to find the apartment silent and empty, no sign of life in the living room or kitchen. he knows alejandro's home, his shoes are at there under the hangers and the door was unlocked, so where is he? he calls out his name as he makes his way towards his bedroom, knocking on the door and waiting for a reply. still nothing. he pushes the door open cautiously and feels his heart drop to his stomach

he recalls both carlos and alejandro mentioning something about "bad days" offhandedly, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in talking about it in more detail, and so josé never bothered asking either. and now he can only assume this is what they meant, because to him this seems pretty fucking bad. alejandro's in his bed, blanket pooled around his hips, a layer of sweat covering his entire body, hair messy. one of his hands is gripping the sheets next to his thigh, knuckles white from the effort, while the other one is pressed to his forehead, obscuring his eyes from sight. he's shaking, jaw clenched tight and in the silence josé can hear how ragged and uneven his breathing is.

he can only stand and stare for another moment, before he calls out alejandro's name again, quiet and more uncertain than he's felt in a long time. alejandro startles at josé's voice, tensing up, before lifting his hand away from his face enough to look at josé. his eyes are bloodshot and filled with tears, exhausted and pained and utterly miserable, and josé doesn't know what to do

later on he's sitting on the edge of alejandro's bed, one of his hands caught in a death grip so tight he swears he can hear his bones creaking, his other hand wound around alejandro's shoulder and buried in tangled, sweaty hair. alejandro has his forehead pressed to josé's shoulder, his entire frame trembling like a leaf, breathing a mix of sniffles and gasps under the weight of his sobs, his hand clutching at josé's back so hard josé can feel his nails digging in.

and it's sat like this, holding alejandro, lightly scratching at his scalp, desperately trying not to fuck this up, that he realizes he doesn't want to see his little brother in pain anymore. fuck what the doctors say, or what his father or the rest of the family will think. this is his hermanito, and josé cannot stand seeing him in pain, not anymore

holy fuck anon just send me to an early grave why dont you UROGUGHGT *psychic damage* *psychic damage* *psychic damage*

yeah so this is EXACTLY what i had in mind with their relationship. you nailed it. it's on the damn cross. i dont even know what to say other than holy shit, you get exactly what i was putting down. AND THEN YOU RAN WITH IT. you dropped this bomb ass mini fic into my inbox and just. HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO RESPOND?? my jaw is between my feet.

we stan the burromuerto brothers redemption and healing arc WE STAN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BURROMUERTO BROTHER SUPREMACY!!!!!

[1010ninetynine]

the worst thing to love about what did you eat yesterday but everything about shirou kakei is so delightfully consistent!

he's a conformist at heart, but can't do things half-heartedly. this shows in the fact he hides being gay, the fact he got insecure around gay people when he felt he wasn't acting gay enough. and it also shows in his preference for bottoming and how he was abused by most of his exes. it's so full circle. and yet most would never assume that by looking at this guy talk to his (basically) husband. or seeing him in the office. and that too is consistent with the fact that he's a) japanese and b) not a dumbass so ofc he's learned the art of hiding everything.

my second favorite thing is that is the only series i've read that describes the reality of what cheating means. i've never seen a single person understand the rationale of the cheater better than fumi yoshinaga.

it's not JUST a moral failing because u didn't love ur parter - it just means you spent too much time alone with other people who you knew you could end up liking.

and remaining loyal isn't about never being attracted to anyone else. it's about deciding to create distance because you take your partner seriously.

Both of the main characters have cheated before, as has most of the cast. But they're not all described as awful asshats because they've done it - it was attributed to them being young. Except the salon boss. He's just a pos to his wife.

I love seeing Shirou not cheat, not just because he's such a gOod pERsOn who finds Kenji to be this perfect man, but because he recognizes that he's risking something not worth risking. love that he'll never find anywhere else, that's not just built on attraction but years of care and commitment. It's such a human reason and idk i see cheating brought up as this like "don't do this it's just wrong" and rarely goes over the reality of being married for 10+ years and having a working pair of eyes and sex drive.

I also love how Shirou tried to date a masculine woman (which is consistent with his conformist nature! He rlly tried to find the easy way out of being attracted to men. the loophole). I still remember this one guy who tried to date me and then got icked out when I wanted to kiss him (it was a sad moment. i sometimes want to cry when i think about it) so it's the part that resonated with me the most. Because I understood it, rather, I was forced to.

[eddiegettingshot]

i just had a half-baked thought about why the dynamic is not working for me. i obviously don't think tommy is actually a villain and even though i'm finding it hard to root for the relationship, i actually do appreciate his character on its own so far (as we see it on screen). he's not actually that flat, i like that he's rude sometimes. i think the reason he doesn't feel so radically different from every other love interest isn't just because of the pattern of their introduction or whatever but because, at least from the little we've seen so far, it kind of feels to me like he's fallen into the trap of assuming he has buck somewhat figured out just because buck happens to wear his heart on his sleeve, and then he seems to be treating him accordingly.

like, we know that buck's a neurotic obnoxious perfectionist who can't be trusted with a clipboard for a reason. we know buck freaked out and overcorrected on that date when eddie showed up for a reason; we know that buck knows eddie can have other friends but was jealous and insecure anyway for a reason (and i'm not talking about his feelings about eddie, but his feelings about himself). we know that buck couldn't contextualize his attraction to men or understand why he was acting the way he was in 7x04-05 for a reason. we know buck was excited and eager and hero-worshipping this new guy and his helicopters for a reason, that he was thrilled about the cruise rescue for a reason, that he joked about how fun it was to get hit by lightning for a reason. tommy... does not.

BUT. i think this stuff together paints a particular picture of buck that makes it easy for someone to convince themselves that they completely understand who and what he is, and that person is not always easy to take seriously, and is very easy to dismiss. it happens to buck frequently. obviously things could change in this episode or later (which is why the thought is half-baked) but in their interactions thus far there's not a lot to suggest that tommy's making an effort to like... not make the assumption that this thirty-two year old man is just an overgrown child? which is not actually his fault, of course, they don't know anything about each other, of course he'd make that assumption. i think it's just difficult to get invested in this as something different when... like. we know that it doesn't have to be that way. so it's just not satisfying.

[coraniaid]

I don't know how it's possible to watch Season 3 of Buffy and not notice that Buffy Summers is  consistently the one character most willing to come to Faith's defense, both before and after Allan Finch dies.

I mean, yes, I understand how in-universe it's possible for Faith to not notice this.  It's very natural that she doesn’t: Faith's a traumatized teenager with literally no support system.  She isn’t used to anybody else believing in her or caring about her. 

She’s somebody who is always willing to believe the worst of others (“all men are beasts”, “nine times out of ten the face [a person] is showing you is not the real one”).  And her own sense of self-worth is very fragile and deeply intertwined with her relationship with Buffy, fluctuating wildly between "I am better than everyone else (because I am a Slayer like Buffy)" and "every parental figure I've ever had has told me I was stupid and worthless and they were right (I will never be as good as Buffy)".  

So it's easy for her to interpret Buffy's overtures of friendship as rejections of a deeper connection, to take her suggestions that they should work together as judgments that Faith isn't good enough on her own and that she needs to act more like Buffy.

(And ... okay, yes, it’s also true that sometimes Buffy does judge Faith, and she does think Faith would be better off being at least a little bit more like her.  I think it’s clear that Buffy does care about Faith, and wants to protect her, but I don't think Buffy's perfect.  She's often afraid to express herself clearly or talk about her feelings, especially after what happened with Angelus in Season 2, and she does have a definite inclination to assume she knows best and that other people should just listen to her without question. She's a traumatized teenager too, even if that's not always quite so obvious.)

And crucially, Faith doesn't get to see Buffy defending her when she isn't around.

But the audience?  We do get to see that.  We see how much Buffy believes in Faith and how her first instinct is almost always to stick up for her.

We see it at the end of the first episode Faith appears in, when Buffy is talking to Giles about their fight with Kakistos.

Buffy: "[Faith] really came through in the end.   She had a lot to deal with, but she did it.  She got it behind her."

-- S3E03 | Faith, Hope & Trick

(This is also, as the episode makes clear, an example of Buffy comparing herself to Faith and deciding that she needs to follow the other Slayer’s example.  Which is something that Faith is convinced never happens.  But it does: when Faith isn’t there to see it.)

And after their fight in Revelations, we see Buffy admitting to Xander and Willow that she worries about Faith and wants to include her in the group more:

Xander: "How come Faith was a no show?"

Buffy: "Couldn't reach her ... again.  She hasn't been hanging out much."

Xander: "I detect worry."

Buffy; "A little bit.  Slaying's a rough gig."

-- S3E09 | The Wish

After Finch dies, Buffy is the one to tell Angel that Faith wants to be helped, and urge him not to give up on her:

Buffy: "How's she doing? ... You'll keep trying, right? ... I'll just go to Faith's and I'll get some of her stuff.  That way she'll see that we're on her side."

Angel: "Look, I don't want to get your hopes up, Buffy.  She may not want us to help her."

Buffy: "She does.  She just doesn't know how to say it."

-- S3E15 | Consequences

And at the end of the same episode, Buffy is again the one to persuade Giles that Faith’s actions in saving her from Trick show she deserves a chance at rehabilitation:

Buffy: "She could have left me there to die, Giles, but she didn't. ... I'm not gonna give up on her."

-- S3E15 | Consequences

And in the following episode, we see Buffy defend Faith to Willow and again talk about how similar they are.

Buffy: "[Faith] had it rough.  Different circumstances, that could be me."

-- S3E16 | Doppelgangland

And a couple of episodes later, when Buffy's attempting to talk herself out of the fear that Angel might be cheating on her with Faith, it's Faith who she tells herself wouldn't betray her, not the vampire she's actually dating.

Buffy: I went to Angel's last night and Faith was there.  They looked sort of intimate.

Willow: No way.  I know what you're thinking and no way.

Buffy:  You're right.  Faith would never do that.

-- S3E17 | Enemies

Even later on in the same episode, when Faith's actual collusion with the Mayor is revealed, Buffy's first reaction is to make excuses for her and then to implore her to listen to her:

Buffy: You don't know what you're doing ... Faith, listen to me ... I never knew you had so much rage in you.

-- S3E17 | Enemies

It's only after all of that that Buffy seems prepared to give up on Faith, and only in Graduation Day when Angel's life is on the line that she's actually willing to hurt her (earlier, in Choices, she’s still talking about ‘capturing’ Faith).  And when she does stab Faith, and Faith falls from the roof, seemingly to her death, it’s obvious from her reaction that Buffy immediately regrets this.  Even if she didn’t think she had any other choice, it isn’t how she wanted things to happen.

So honestly it kind of baffles me when I see people agreeing with the take that Buffy’s focus on how Faith might be feeling, when she hears that she’s woken up in This Year’s Girl, and her apparent hope that Faith might regret her past actions and want to change, is somehow something new.  That it isn’t perfectly in keeping with how Buffy’s always felt about Faith.  Or even that the idea of being willing to give people a second chance is something Buffy had to learn from Angel.

Because no, sorry, that's just totally backwards: Angel himself learned all that from Buffy.  

(Also, just logistically ... how would Buffy have learned anything from Angel at this point in Season 4 that she didn't already know back in Season 3, when – from her point of view, at least – she's barely spoken to him since he broke up with her and left town last season?)

Not just in regards to Faith, either, but the whole idea of needing to keep fighting for people and not give up on them, and how you have to keep doing that every day? Angel's whole mission statement (both the character and the show)? That's literally all taken from a speech Buffy gives Angel in Amends.  The show is very clear on this: it's Buffy who teaches Angel to be a better person, not the other way around.

[brighteststar707]

Ooh Faye, your Valentines day prompt event is so cute!! Please could I steal a slot? 🥹

I'd like to choose ❥ Obsessively, with the lovely Zen. I've always thought Hyun was a touch possessive at times. I would love to see what you come up with 💗

Thank you for the request, Lola! Happy early Valentine’s day!

This was a really fun combination to write, definitely something I’ve never done before! I agree, there is definitely a more possessive side to Zen that I don’t think we see very often. I really like how this turned out, and I hope you enjoy <3

Zen loves obsessively

He can’t help it. You’re the most important person in the world to him.

He knows what people are like. All men are wolves, remember?

He grew up feeling like he belonged to everyone but himself. He might have gotten used to it, but he can still never escape the hungry eyes that follow him wherever he goes. Even as a child, he couldn’t go anywhere without people trying to touch him to make sure he wasn’t made of porcelain.

Knowing that you belong to each other brings him a new sense of security that he didn’t know he was missing. He wants the whole world to know that he’s yours and you’re his.

Deep down, he’s reluctant to share you at all, even though he knows that it’s irrational and impossible. He can’t help but want to keep you close to him at all times. What could be more beautiful, more worthy of your attention than him?

When you’re together, it’s easy for him to make sure nobody gets too close. Seven likes to make jokes about how the two of you are always touching, but the truth is not too far off. Having his arms wrapped around you, holding your hand, resting his palm on your thigh are all ways for him to remind everyone to whom you belong, just in case they get the wrong idea.

He has become very good at hiding his jealousy under a thick layer of his usual charm. Nobody could ever accuse him of being rude or cold, on the contrary. However, there’s something unsettling about the way he talks to the people who tick him off. They often don’t stick around for very long after he starts speaking to them, instead excusing themselves to go attend to something more important.

At RFA parties or work gatherings, he isn’t ever far away from you. You often dress in (at least subtly) matching outfits, so that everybody knows you’re half of a set even if you’re apart. He watches the people around you to make sure nobody oversteps. Someone acting too friendly, or perhaps someone’s eyes lingering where they shouldn’t are enough to bring him back to your side immediately. 

His feelings get a bit muddled up when you spend time together with the RFA. On one hand, he doesn’t like having to share you with them. On the other hand, the RFA is the closest thing he has to a family, and he’s thrilled that you all get along so well together. It’s just that he sometimes can’t shake the feeling that they wish you were with them instead of him. He often takes out his jealousy by nagging Yoosung if he gets too friendly, but Yoosung doesn’t often react. He’s more than used to Zen’s nagging.

Jumin is a whole other story. Zen doesn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. It isn’t often that he assumes the worst about people, but Jumin is his exception. Sometimes, he suspects that Jumin tries to wind him up on purpose, just to see him get mad. What does he mean, you’re welcome to visit Elizabeth whenever? You? Alone with Jumin in his penthouse, where he can’t reach? Zen could just burst.

He often manages to get you out of your conversations with Jumin pretty quickly, though. Surely, you have nothing meaningful to share with each other, so why waste your time? He can think of several other better ways to spend your time. All of them with him, most of them alone.

That being said, he’s not opposed to PDA. It’s a very effective way of getting his message across to everybody. He’s not shy about letting everyone see exactly how much he loves you. He is, first and foremost, a performer.

Having you by his side has pushed him to work even harder on his performances. He wants to make sure that you’re only watching him when he’s on stage. When you meet him afterwards backstage, he brings you back to his changing room with him so he can enjoy all your praise in private.

If the stage is his favourite place to be, then at home alone with you comes in a very close second. Especially on self-care nights, when you take the time to spoil each other. He likes to put on different face masks for you, his hand steady and sure. He gets goosebumps as you watch him work, you’re so attentive to his movements. You take this time to care for his hair, combing through it and going through his usual routine. Under your gentle touch, he feels like the luckiest person on earth. He wonders if you know the power you hold over him.

It’s all peaceful until your phone buzzes with a chatroom notification and he loses you again. Every smile that isn’t for him, every second you spend talking to the others frustrates him. It doesn’t take long for him to become pouty.

Babe, is your phone more interesting than me? Who are you talking to? Tell them you’re busy. They can wait. I’m right here.

He’s lucky that you humour him most of the time. It keeps the worst of his jealousy at bay when you remind him that you chose him, that you love him, and that nothing will change that.

He doesn’t like calling what he feels for you obsession. He prefers to call it all-encompassing love. His feelings tend to overwhelm him all at once, and to express them to you any differently would be dishonest.

[tomyo]

Hbomberguy has unfortunately taught me that if I find myself really not gelling with someone it's probably because they're a shitty person.

Like I'm no Cassandra but all this time I remember I would just watch his videos and think "hmmm yeah, I can place my finger on it but I don't like the way he talks about these things." And then I ignored it because I thought I was just going out of my comfort zone.

I can't remember everything I beefed on him with but I definitely hated when he started to take on anime or Asian media. Overall I just think a lot of times westerners tend to assume their values and ways issues are dealt with are universal and he was just another lukewarm dive into the medium. Like its personal to me but I still stand by that Yuri on Ice isn't gay in the sense it isn't made for gay people, it's voyeuristic and pairing stories of incestuous feelings within it's short run time was a horrible choice they could have skipped. It comes to mind because I think he brought it up in one of his recent videos (I've been bedridden all week so my watch later queque has been playing on in the bg between lucidity) and it ticked me off. I hate the way he was dismissive of Heart Stopper for being twee and the whole rant about how it's not just him but other gay men too who think this! Honestly! For real guys! And for minutes I was just there like Alice Oseman is aroace! When he finally gets there it became infuriating how he diminished it's importance. Authors are allowed to let their experience effect their writing! She's not responsible to cater to you. The beauty of Heartstopper is it's release has lived through a rapid change in lgbtq acceptance and is the perfect opportunity to show that romantic and sexual inclination also exist on a sliding scale because that's something we are now widely teaching!! To write modern teen characters, you have to empathize with modern teens. They're not you!! Which is mostly good given the history of our community. It's good to get to see queer teen boys take it maybe infuriatingly slow because they don't have to be pressured for more.

James to me was always just a bit pessimistic and not really good at empathizing which given how much he stole makes sense why what he said and how he acted just felt off. It makes sense when everyone else in "breadtube" started promoting each other's works how it never seemed to happen with him. I don't remember him saying he was the only person really doing this but that's fucking bizarre to hear when the list of people who does what he pretended to was endless. Before I even watched the whole video I already brought up Matt Baume who like Hbomberguy said feels the exact opposite to James. Matt talks forward about progress, genuinely made me realize how we were always here, and the path lead forward to us getting there. Maybe it's not great to admit but there's YouTubers I watch that I know I have to psych myself up to watch, sometimes I don't like their running joke, sometimes they talk too fast multitasking, sometimes they have a habit that gets to me and I just need mental prep. James was like, "sigh here we go" that you'd feel before you were about to talk with that one friend who makes every convo abrasive and combative, I'm coming out a little annoyed and tired by the end of it. With Matt I remember it being a case of getting ready to sit down to hear a part of obscure history knowledge from that one friend who reads a book every two days. Possibly the biggest difference between the two is how much you believe Matt is committed to the material he's making because 1. It also focuses on sitcoms and old Hollywood queerness hence an well carved niche 2. It isn't as easy to churn out material. I've heard a million videos on owl house's queerness or Sherlock queer baiting but fuck all did I ever know how Tab Hunter was. There were so many "weird little funny guy" actors that I could make assumptions were gay but Matt actually gave me their stories and has made my heart cry for how hard they had it even thought I always could have figured that. And maybe that's what sucked, James as a queer man just never seemed to emotionally resonate.

Fuck, man I'm just rambling with all of this but the sheer validation of feeling off all these years paying of is wonderful. I don't really want to celebrate his downfall to much, not worth the energy, and I don't want to put another YouTuber on a pedestal because we have a bad habit of doing that only to have things turn out wrong. The thing is I watched illuminauti and Internet historian too but in the same way where I knew I was getting junk food. I wasn't looking for anything fancy and their sections did not surprise me and if anything maybe just make me feel embarrassed how comfortable I am eating badly made media. But god maybe worse is how happy I am to have someone tell me that it's alright that I don't like one gay dudes well produced videos.

[yugotrash]

but really tho idk if it's a terminally online disorder but this weird position of reading and agreeing with so much of radfem theory but being a guy so thats not my community but also not belonging to even that tiny group known as "tehms" for a variety of reasons really alienates me lol.

No, it's not a terminally online disorder. Most humans need a sense of belonging to a group or community. This is straight up monkey brain feeling and it's completely understandable. I'm a het woman who wants a partner so i have no cards in radical feminism myself at least not entirely but I'm also not performing enough feminist acts to consider myself even just a feminist. Agreeing with the ideas and ideals of a group you can truly belong to does such and alienates.

i can predict the answer is "just dont seek community based on your politics/homosexuality" and id like that but that assumes that those things wont be an issue for any random group of people. and being a homosexual and agreeing with radfem ideas does shape the way i think the opinions i express a lot its not like i can hide either of those without a good measure of discomfort for very long. i have radfem friends of course but the sex distinction is understandably something that will permanently divide us and the gays tend to be retarded cumbrained or womanhating or all three so thats not gonna be "my people" either.

Yeah, sometimes it is impossibly to find a whole, ready-made group, but, and i know I'm the last one to preach as i don't practice it, you can try and start such a group, irl or online. It's gonna be difficult but I'm sure there are some other men here, maybe not necessarily homosexual, who might share the radical feminist views you have. It's not perfect, but at least they're not cumbrained, which is a low bar but it's more than nothing. And it doesn't require you to hide your homosexuality or how it affects you as homosexual because these guys are also empathetic towards lesbians. Again, not perfect, but a step in the right direction.

I know for a fact there are some "tehms" on this site who do not abide by the chronic brainrot others demonstrate. They're focused more on women's rights and while yeah, they will sometimes talk about how some guy is hot, or how trans-identified women and girls are awfully rape-y, they still put the risks to women higher up on the list, or, more precisely, women's rights before their own comfort, which i find to be charming and considerate.

maybe one or two guys out there but who knows where and who. and its not so easy to complete forswear the idea of finding friends or even god forbid a partner to relate to,,

Yes, there won't be many of them, and it will not ever form a large community (mostly became most men do not find anything worthwhile in feminist critique, and many men, gay or straight or bi, are just constantly thinking with their dicks, but, and i can't believe I'm gonna say these words, Not All Men. You're special, but you're not THAT special that there is only one edition of a person with such views and circumstances as yours. And that's perfectly okay, you are special in other ways. But the thing is, there surely are like-minded people, either online or offline, and I'm sure you can either find them or even reform some existing ones, to agree with you more, and maybe even find love.

~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~

Sorry for the long ask, i hope your birthday went well and that you had fun. Happy belated birthday and may you manage to find a sense of community and shared sentiments both irl and online as soon as possible 🩵

~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~·~

I'd reach out to you non anonymously but granted i do want to keep my main blog a secret and do not want to be seen as a pick-me or something.

thank you so very much for such a thoughtful message, i do feel much better about the whole thing now. it's good to be reminded that one is not really that special <3

[saraa-lancee]

Bro just respond or tag me next time 🫣 how embarrassing. The fact that you cannot comprehend there might be some nuance to this situation and immediately took my comments in extreme bath faith... but I guess this is Tumblr. I said something and you literally put whole ass sentiments in my mouth I never said while completely missing the point of what the tag was saying.

I'm not saying dude hasn't done questionable things/is perfect but calling him a "pet incel" when one of like. *the* biggest talking points for incels is violence-- rape, sexual ensalvement, and murder of women. Incels actively *degrade* women as fuck holes (sometimes you can even get them to admit women might be "useful incubators"!!) and toys. 30 minutes in their website and you (should) feel ill with their rhetoric of deep hatred and fantasy for violence against women. We're talking so far as fucking necrophilia. It is bad. It is fucking vile.-- someone who is weird is absolutely not a fucking incel you walnuthead. Tossing around the label of such a dangerous ideology is *bad*. I'm sorry you don't agree, but it's an important distinction, especially to people who are perceived as Dangerous just because they're Wierd.

Creep? Sure whatever. "Pet" and "incel"? Yeah, not quite.

Was he normal? No. Was that situation okay? absolutely not. He crossed a boundary. Can I tell you something you might not like? Autistic aren't UWU perfect babies. Many, MANY autistics (based on personal experience, many times men) will do that exact thing 💀 like. This Boundary thing is a pretty well known Issue for autistic people. (I think it might be in the diagnostic criteria, but either way-- its an incredibly common discussion). It would take you five seconds (or maybe a conversation with three people irl) to find a few anecdotes about grown autistic adults lacking the understanding of boundaries to the point where they will grab people, leave notes in people's work lockers, veritable shrines to crushes or obessions etc. Autism doesn't *cause* this, and this type of thing happens in a multitude of other mental disabilities and disorders, so maybe "autistic coded" wasn't the perfect word, but as an autistic person, I've always felt for the guy being shunned and made fun of by everyone. Autism *could* cause his inability to understand boundaries and complex human relationships, which is why I say it that way. And unless I am forgetting something, never once in that episode does he talk about a plot to rape his coworkers, or hurt them. *that* is what in incel is. People who cross those boundaries as an autistic (typically) are not acting with the intent to harm or any ill will. Calling anyone an Incel is assuming some of the most extreme ill will that it is possible to conceive.

these wierd things don't make him an incel. Incel is a specific ideology geared towards explicit violence towards women. The fact that you don't know the difference tells me you may have some more reading to do-- learn the things Incels actually think before tossing that word around.

He does weird things. But he is definitely outcast for them (and constantly treated like shit, including by Fandom) for literally so much as his *demeanor*. This feels like one of those attacks, OP. Lol pet incel-- aka guy who gives me a weird vibe appears in this episode and plays a role 💀 he (hypothetically, of course) exists as a whole ass person. He is, to an extent, a main character. I'm sorry a Character Arrived.

Sorry I didn't write a motherfucking dissertation in my tags but actually insisting a character who everyone earmarks as "Do Not Touch-- Wierdo" is an incel (and that Gene Roddenberry and other writers and showrunners would *ever* espouse that ideology) is wild. Again-- incel is an ideology with extreme violence (both sexual and not) at its core.

Barclay, like probably every other Star Trek Character in existence, is a commentary and representation-- I'm sorry that that thought was too difficult for you. It's easier to label wierd people as Incels rather than use some critical thought (including about the situation/episode you mention. There are a few great analysis blogs about that-- its quite interesting. I might suggest googling a few, but again, cant make you do anything) about the things they do and what the narrative is trying to show.

I hate to break it to you, but mental illness and disability is rarely comfortable and easy. People with various disabilities (like Autism) or illnesses *will* do things you do not like. This does not make them evil, woman haters with a secret desire to rape and murder people. Assuming the worst is definitely a choice you can make, but I've been in this fandom for 10+ years and I'm fucking sick and tired of the ostracization of characters like Barclay. We could have a real conversation about the character or you could call him an incel and respond like *that* when I suggest there might be some nuance. 🤷 whichever man. As an autistic person, I won't respond to you being nasty after this.

star trek writers are always trying to fit their pet incel into the story why's barclay the bus driver all of a sudden

[dwellordream]

“...A lone woman could, if she spun in almost every spare minute of her day, on her own keep a small family clothed in minimum comfort (and we know they did that). Adding a second spinner – even if they were less efficient (like a young girl just learning the craft or an older woman who has lost some dexterity in her hands) could push the household further into the ‘comfort’ margin, and we have to imagine that most of that added textile production would be consumed by the family (because people like having nice clothes!).

At the same time, that rate of production is high enough that a household which found itself bereft of (male) farmers (for instance due to a draft or military mortality) might well be able to patch the temporary hole in the family finances by dropping its textile consumption down to that minimum and selling or trading away the excess, for which there seems to have always been demand. ...Consequently, the line between women spinning for their own household and women spinning for the market often must have been merely a function of the financial situation of the family and the balance of clothing requirements to spinners in the household unit (much the same way agricultural surplus functioned).

Moreover, spinning absolutely dominates production time (again, around 85% of all of the labor-time, a ratio that the spinning wheel and the horizontal loom together don’t really change). This is actually quite handy, in a way, as we’ll see, because spinning (at least with a distaff) could be a mobile activity; a spinner could carry their spindle and distaff with them and set up almost anywhere, making use of small scraps of time here or there.

On the flip side, the labor demands here are high enough prior to the advent of better spinning and weaving technology in the Late Middle Ages (read: the spinning wheel, which is the truly revolutionary labor-saving device here) that most women would be spinning functionally all of the time, a constant background activity begun and carried out whenever they weren’t required to be actively moving around in order to fulfill a very real subsistence need for clothing in climates that humans are not particularly well adapted to naturally. The work of the spinner was every bit as important for maintaining the household as the work of the farmer and frankly students of history ought to see the two jobs as necessary and equal mirrors of each other.

At the same time, just as all farmers were not free, so all spinners were not free. It is abundantly clear that among the many tasks assigned to enslaved women within ancient households. Xenophon lists training the enslaved women of the household in wool-working as one of the duties of a good wife (Xen. Oik. 7.41). ...Columella also emphasizes that the vilica ought to be continually rotating between the spinners, weavers, cooks, cowsheds, pens and sickrooms, making use of the mobility that the distaff offered while her enslaved husband was out in the fields supervising the agricultural labor (of course, as with the bit of Xenophon above, the same sort of behavior would have been expected of the free wife as mistress of her own household).

...Consequently spinning and weaving were tasks that might be shared between both relatively elite women and far poorer and even enslaved women, though we should be sure not to take this too far. Doubtless it was a rather more pleasant experience to be the wealthy woman supervising enslaved or hired hands working wool in a large household than it was to be one of those enslaved women, or the wife of a very poor farmer desperately spinning to keep the farm afloat and the family fed. The poor woman spinner – who spins because she lacks a male wage-earner to support her – is a fixture of late medieval and early modern European society and (as J.S. Lee’s wage data makes clear; spinners were not paid well) must have also had quite a rough time of things.

It is difficult to overstate the importance of household textile production in the shaping of pre-modern gender roles. It infiltrates our language even today; a matrilineal line in a family is sometimes called a ‘distaff line,’ the female half of a male-female gendered pair is sometimes the ‘distaff counterpart’ for the same reason. Women who do not marry are sometimes still called ‘spinsters’ on the assumption that an unmarried woman would have to support herself by spinning and selling yarn (I’m not endorsing these usages, merely noting they exist).

E.W. Barber (Women’s Work, 29-41) suggests that this division of labor, which holds across a wide variety of societies was a product of the demands of the one necessarily gendered task in pre-modern societies: child-rearing. Barber notes that tasks compatible with the demands of keeping track of small children are those which do not require total attention (at least when full proficiency is reached; spinning is not exactly an easy task, but a skilled spinner can very easily spin while watching someone else and talking to a third person), can easily be interrupted, is not dangerous, can be easily moved, but do not require travel far from home; as Barber is quick to note, producing textiles (and spinning in particular) fill all of these requirements perfectly and that “the only other occupation that fits the criteria even half so well is that of preparing the daily food” which of course was also a female-gendered activity in most ancient societies. Barber thus essentially argues that it was the close coincidence of the demands of textile-production and child-rearing which led to the dominant paradigm where this work was ‘women’s work’ as per her title.

(There is some irony that while the men of patriarchal societies of antiquity – which is to say effectively all of the societies of antiquity – tended to see the gendered division of labor as a consequence of male superiority, it is in fact male incapability, particularly the male inability to nurse an infant, which structured the gendered division of labor in pre-modern societies, until the steady march of technology rendered the division itself obsolete. Also, and Barber points this out, citing Judith Brown, we should see this is a question about ability rather than reliance, just as some men did spin, weave and sew (again, often in a commercial capacity), so too did some women farm, gather or hunt. It is only the very rare and quite stupid person who will starve or freeze merely to adhere to gender roles and even then gender roles were often much more plastic in practice than stereotypes make them seem.)

Spinning became a central motif in many societies for ideal womanhood. Of course one foot of the fundament of Greek literature stands on the Odyssey, where Penelope’s defining act of arete is the clever weaving and unweaving of a burial shroud to deceive the suitors, but examples do not stop there. Lucretia, one of the key figures in the Roman legends concerning the foundation of the Republic, is marked out as outstanding among women because, when a group of aristocrats sneak home to try to settle a bet over who has the best wife, she is patiently spinning late into the night (with the enslaved women of her house working around her; often they get translated as ‘maids’ in a bit of bowdlerization. Any time you see ‘maids’ in the translation of a Greek or Roman text referring to household workers, it is usually quite safe to assume they are enslaved women) while the other women are out drinking (Liv. 1.57). This display of virtue causes the prince Sextus Tarquinius to form designs on Lucretia (which, being virtuous, she refuses), setting in motion the chain of crime and vengeance which will overthrow Rome’s monarchy. The purpose of Lucretia’s wool-working in the story is to establish her supreme virtue as the perfect aristocratic wife.

...For myself, I find that students can fairly readily understand the centrality of farming in everyday life in the pre-modern world, but are slower to grasp spinning and weaving (often tacitly assuming that women were effectively idle, or generically ‘homemaking’ in ways that precluded production). And students cannot be faulted for this – they generally aren’t confronted with this reality in classes or in popular culture. ...Even more than farming or blacksmithing, this is an economic and household activity that is rendered invisible in the popular imagination of the past, even as (as you can see from the artwork in this post) it was a dominant visual motif for representing the work of women for centuries.”

- Bret Devereaux, “Clothing, How Did They Make It? Part III: Spin Me Right Round…”

[babybluebex]

𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | it’s never a good idea to fall in love with a john, but there’s something about seth that keeps you coming back. anyway, it’s not love if it’s just fucking, right? 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | seth pryce (looper, 2012) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 | smut— fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex, light bondage, sex work/implied sex work, mentions of drug use, admissions of love, reader is stubborn and seth is too whipped for his own good 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | yes, i gave seth a last name, it was bothering me that he didn’t have one, thanks @earlgreydream for helping me come up with it hehe, also this isn't like FULL smut, it's a little bit of smut with a lot of angsty fluff so be prepared for that

He was right where you always found him, just like every night. You had lost count of the amount of times that you had found Seth backstage after a performance, hoping to see you for a second before you had to go work the floor, but you always gave him at least a kiss on the cheek as you passed by him, usually too rushed to allow for anything else. He was, after all, your favorite and most loyal customer. 

You could remember the night you met Seth clearly. It was after a performance, your skin still sparkling with sweat and glitter, and you had literally run into him, knocking your shoulder into him. By the state of his dress, a chic grey suit with smudged eyeliner, you assumed he had a good reason for being backstage, but it turned out his reason was fucking dumb. He explained it to you that night as you sat on his thigh: his friend Joe was dating another performer Suzie (you knew her well, and you laughed at the use of his word ‘dating’; “Dancers don’t date, honey,” you had said, and Seth had rolled his eyes and continued with his story) and, in Joe’s pursuit to find Suzie, he had left Seth in the dust. “And then,” Seth had said, his hands smoothing down your sides to your hips. “You.” 

La Belle Aurore wasn’t the prettiest club in Kansas City, but it was special to you. You had been working there for years, ever since they could possibly legally hire you, although Belle wasn’t known for often doing things the legal way. Nights dragged on, gat men buying your time and body for their enjoyment, but sometimes you’d get the occasional group of loopers who were typically up to no good, drops in their eyes and their fresh silver ready to blow. Loopers were easy; most times, they were idiots who saw a pair of tits and nothing past that, and you could get away with charging just a little extra for a dance. Your first night with Seth, he proudly told you he was a looper, and you had laughed. “Right,” you said. “Because I’m supposed to be comforted by the presence of someone who kills for cash.” Seth took your ribbing in stride, and it became a habit of yours: he would buy a dance, and you would insult him for a moment before indulging him in his dance. 

There was something about Seth that you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. He was a handsome guy, tall and thin at the risk of being lanky, long ginger hair that he always had pulled back away from his eyes. His eyes, a muddy green, always lined with smudged grey liner, were showstoppers for you, and you had told him once that you only ever gave him dances to look at his pretty face. He wasn’t just handsome, though; it was the way he acted that you loved. Around the other loopers, he was crass, cursing every other word and smacking your ass and boasting about his skills as a “stone-cold killer”, but his asshole nature was only bettered by the way he truly was. 

Only you saw the true Seth. During your time together, you had managed to fall into a routine of him taking you home with him and fucking, then falling asleep at his place and leaving for yours in the mid-morning. Those little talks right after sex, Seth laying next to you and smoking a cigarette, his hair fanned beautifully on the pillow, were what you looked forward to every night. Under the layer of asshole-ness, Seth Pryce was a kind man, loving and deep. He fretted about you, he pondered the morality of the job that he had chosen for himself, and he always, always apologized for the things he had done in front of the other loopers. “I don’t know why I feel like I need to put up a front,” he confessed one night. “It’s easier to act like I don’t really care than to… Y’know, admit that I do care. I’m trying to work on that.” 

Seth was exactly where you usually found him, in a far corner backstage, where the stage manager wouldn’t find him, and you grabbed his hand and smiled as you dragged him into a kiss. His hands went to your waist and dragged you into his body, his mouth open as he kissed you back. You couldn’t help the little satisfied moan you gave, and Seth chuckled. “Hi, baby,” he whispered lowly, his hands greedily skimming from your waist down to your ass. “God, you look pretty today.” 

“Thanks,” you told him. You took the lapel of his jacket and tugged him down to you, letting your red-painted lips touch his ear, and you whispered, “I haven’t been bought out tonight, if you want a dance.” 

“Really?” Seth asked. His eyes glittered at you as he took in the sight of your face, and you pulled him back into a hungry kiss. Your body was still thrumming from the energy of the stage, and Seth kissed back once more before pulling away, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Gat men usually snatch you up.”

“Not tonight,” you said. “C’mon, one dance. For old time’s sake.” 

“Right, ‘old times’,” Seth chuckled. “You give me a lap dance and hang me out to dry, yeah. Y’know, I never did like that.” 

“Bullshit,” you told him. “You loved it.”

“Bullshit?” Seth echoed. “You think I like being blue-balled more than actually getting to fuck you? In the privacy of my own home, too. You think I liked that shit more?” 

“You loved it,” you said, playfully narrowing your eyes. “Fine. I’ll see if I can kick off early tonight.” 

“Well, wait a second,” Seth began, a mischievous smile on his lips. “I never said I didn’t want a dance.” 

You rolled your eyes, and you tugged him back into a kiss. “You better not cum in your pants this time,” you said into his mouth, and Seth sighed as you giggled. 

“Fuck you, babe,” Seth said. “That was one time.” 

“One time you’ll never live down,” you replied. “C’mon, let’s go home and I’ll give you the dance there.” 

You saw the reaction that your words had on Seth, his eyes sparking and a smile growing.  Home. You didn’t know why you had said that instead of “your place”, like you usually would. You had a home— your own apartment, on the other side of the city from Seth’s place. True, you did spend many nights at Seth’s place, more than your own, but you weren’t sure why your tongue had slipped. Seth’s place was comforting, but it wasn’t home.  It made it sound too peaceful for you, too idyllic, like you were describing your boyfriend’s place. Seth was not your boyfriend. You did not love him. 

It was like you had told him, dancers don’t date. You had scoffed at the idea of Joe and Suzie and at yourself and Seth; monogamy wasn’t possible with this job. Even if Seth wanted that, even if he didn’t care about all of that, you couldn’t grant it to him. He was just a john, a man who looked lonely that you had offered a fix to. And sure, maybe you had all the hallmarks of love on the brain when you thought about him or when you were with him, but admitting that you had fallen in love with him opened up too many complications. 

In short, even though you knew you were in love with Seth, there was no way you could admit it. 

You somehow managed to convince your boss that you were sick, and you escaped with Seth out front. Riding on the back of his bike was a thrill for you, and Seth had told you that he loved the way your legs and arms wrapped around him. You mashed your cheek into his back as he drove, the roar of the slat bike almost deafening, and you couldn’t help but smile. Seth himself was such a thrill, and you couldn’t help the way that your heart danced at the simple sight of him. The night air was cold as you raced through the streets and, once you reached Seth’s place, he helped you off of his bike and kissed you. 

You stumbled into his place, and Seth instantly pressed you against the wall and kissed you. He was always so nasty with it, kissing you long and hard, his hands wandering everywhere, and he was quick to grab you by the backs of your thighs and lift you onto his hips. The place was dark, but he expertly carried you to the bed, never letting his mouth leave yours. He laid you down gently, his hands smoothing down your legs to secure the around his waist, and he broke the kiss to whisper, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered quickly, and he smiled. The silver moonlight coming through the big window by his bed cast him in a beautiful light, and you quickly freed his hair from its restraints. You carded your hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and you added, “How’re you so handsome?” 

“I just am,” Seth told you, and you smiled as he dove back in for another kiss. His mouth was hot on yours, his body vibrating against you, and your hands went to push off his jacket. You needed to feel his skin on yours as soon as possible, and he seemed to need the same, what with the speed that he undressed you. Before he could strip you of your underwear, though, you stopped him. 

“I promised you a dance, didn’t I?” you told him. “Sit down, honey, I’ll make it good for you.” 

“Fuck that,” Seth panted, grabbing at your tits. His mouth found its way to your neck, and he held you close and sucked at your skin for a moment. He was greedy, but you loved it. You would let him take whatever he wanted from you, no questions asked. “I need to get inside you as soon as I can.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the haste in which Seth finished undressing you, and, as he snapped your bra strap with his teeth, mumbled out, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“You’re just so desperate,” you chuckled. “It’s really cute.” 

“I’ll show you cute,” Seth said, and he nudged your legs open wider to fit himself between your thighs. You could feel his hard cock through his trousers, pressing right against your burning cunt, and you gasped. Every time, the feel of his cock shocked you. 

“Seth,” you whimpered, and his big hands went to his belt. “Baby, no teasing.”

“Who’s desperate and cute now?” he mumbled under his breath with a cheeky flick of his eyebrows, and he unbuckled his belt. “Gimme your hands.”

Dutifully, you extended your hands to Seth, and he quickly took them and pulled your hands above your head, close to the slatted headboard. He made quick work of securing your hands to the headboard, the leather of the belt cutting blissfully into your wrists, and he shoved two fingers between the leather and your hand, testing the tightness. “Is that alright, baby?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. 

“Good,” Seth replied, and he kissed you again, this time a little calmer and sweeter. “Open your legs, baby. Show me where you want me.” 

You couldn’t help but part your thighs, just the way he asked, and he kissed down your naked body, taking special care to suck at your tits as he passed by. You instinctively tried to reach down, to grab him by his hair and tug, but the belt did its job, keeping your hands up and out of the picture. Seth smiled like a devil at the sound of the metal buckle hitting his headboard slats, and you whined and wriggled underneath him. “Seth?” 

“I’m here, baby,” Seth told you. “Just watching you…  I think I’ll use my fingers first, d’ya like that idea?” The teasing bastard took two of his fingers, long and thin like the rest of him, and let them glide up your puffy lips, collecting the wetness that you had made for him in such a short time. There was something about him that turned you on like nothing else and, while you rationally knew that it was because you were in love with him, your irrational, I-won’t-say-I’m-in-love brain chalked it up to him being ridiculously attractive.

His other hand gently touched your hip as he pushed his middle finger into you first, and you groaned at the sudden intrusion. “Yeah?” Seth whispered, and you nodded before you let your head fall back. “Oh, good girl. Taking me so nicely. Have you been fucked yet today?” 

You hated the answer to the question, and you sighed heavier than you meant to. “Yeah,” you mumbled, and you expected Seth to cringe and fall away. Typically, men didn’t like to know that their for-hire toy wasn’t exclusive to them, especially recently, but Seth seemed to like it. “What, are you thinking of some other guy fucking me?”

“I am,” Seth nodded, curling his finger inside you. Your leg twitched as he barely caught that spongy nerve inside you, and you jutted your hips down, hoping to get more of him. “But that’s not a bad thing, baby. I actually like thinking about it.”

“Really?” you asked, wrinkling your nose. “Why?” 

“Well,” Seth started. His finger started to pick up speed inside you, fucking you as he spoke, and the feeling of his index finger lightly stroking your lips made it so you could hardly focus on Seth’s words. “I really like knowing that, out of all the poor bastards you could have chosen, you chose me. Makes me feel special, y’know? That, and I love knowing that I can and do fuck you better than they do.” 

“Chose you?” you repeated. “What do you mean?”

Seth wrinkled his eyebrows, and he pulled his fingers from you. “Alright,” he sighed. “I guess we’ll talk about this now.” 

“No, what?” you asked. “Talk about what?” 

Seth was quiet as he reached up and undid your hands, and he tugged you close, settling you in his lap, straddling his waist. He still wore his trousers, the button and zip yawning open to show the little thin happy trail that led to the hair peeking out of his pants. “I know it scares you to say it,” Seth whispered, pushing your hair out of your face. “It scares me too. Not because of what you do or anything, I just… I don’t let people in. I try not to, anyway. It’s easier… Remember what we talked about? It was a while ago, but I said that I needed to work on letting people in. And this is the first step… I love you. I love you, and… You chose me. You chose me to love you, a-and you chose to love me back.” 

“Seth,” you whispered. Your legs were shaking with anxiety, and Seth’s warm hand flat against your back did little to help calm you down. “I don’t—”

“You say that, though,” Seth interrupted you. “I know; you don’t love me, right? But everything you do totally contradicts that.”

“Like what?” you asked. 

“Like…” Seth started, shrugging heavily. “I don’t know. Little things, you making me dinner after we fuck, staying with me all night, letting me have the last cigarette. Shit like that, y’know?”

“It’s called being nice,” you said uneasily. 

“It’s called being in love,” Seth countered quickly. “Whatever, all I’m trying to say is that you chose me to fuck on the regular as opposed to, like, Joe or Kid Blue or someone, and I appreciate it, and I love you.” 

You sighed. “I just can’t say it,” you mumbled. You lightly played with the ends of Seth’s ginger hair as you thought about your next words, and you said, “Because if I say it, then it’s real. And it can’t be real, I-I don’t… I’m not made for love, Seth. I’m just not.” 

“Everyone’s made for love,” Seth told you. His grip became less tight, less of trying to keep you from escaping and more tender and reverent, and he added, “Everyone is made to be loved. Even you.” 

“But I can’t be loved,” you protested. “I-I’m, men pay to fuck me, that’s not—”

“You’re not worth any less,” Seth replied. His hands came up to cup your face, and he landed a soft kiss to your mouth. “Look at me, I’m a killer. Men pay me to kill people. And I’m not any less worthy of love or affection or anything, right?” You sniffled as the hot prick of tears hit your eyes, and you shook your head. 

“You’re amazing, Seth,” you sniffled. “You’re the most lovable person I know.” 

“And you are the most lovable person I know,” Seth said gently. “You don’t have to say that you love me, you really don’t, because I know you do.”

“But I can’t love you—”

“But you can,” Seth said quickly. “What’s stopping you?”

Your mouth felt dry, and you were sure that he could feel your heartbeat against his chest. “I just can’t say it out loud,” you told him. “I can show you all day long, but saying it means that we love each other and tell each other, and I’m pretty sure that means we’re dating.”

“Are we not?” Seth asked, his face scrunching in confusion. 

“I told you months ago,” you said. “Dancers don’t date.” 

“Shit,” Seth mumbled. “I told Joe that we were.”

“Why would you—!” you started, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Seth!”

“I thought we were!” Seth said quickly, and he smiled. “Listen. If you don’t feel like you can say it yet, that’s okay. For whatever reason’s stopping you, it's okay. But you do deserve to know how I feel, and I feel like I love you. Alright? Is that a good compromise?” 

“No,” you insisted. “I want to tell you because I do, but I feel like saying it makes it… Real. And I can’t do real. Not right now.”

“Then, don’t,” Seth said. “Don’t say it.”

“I want to,” you told him. “The fact I wanna tell you means something, right?” 

Seth nodded, and he smiled gently. “It does,” he said. 

“I won’t say it,” you told him. “I know you want me to, but I won’t… At least, I won’t say it.”

“What do you mean?” Seth asked. 

You grabbed his hand off of your back and threaded your fingers together, and you squeezed his hand hard three times. I love you. Squeeze squeeze squeeze. “But nothing changes,” you said quickly. “Alright? We go back to what we’ve been doing, picking me up at the club and bringing me home and all that, there’s no change in routine or anything.” 

“You did it again,” Seth said. “Called my place home.” 

You shrugged. “Your place feels like home,” you told him. “You feel like home.”

[edai-crplpnk]

Part 3: Thoughts and Feelings

I happen, as you may have guessed, to have many of those regarding tops and doms. This is a disorganised list of them made by me at 3am, I apologise in advance if it is a little messy maybe.

By default assume that I am always talking about mlm dynamics here because I am way to ignorant about wlw dynamics to say something interesting (outside of: i would really love to write a fic between my service top chara and a stone butch chara because i find it really touching when queer ppl of different communities bond over their own iteration of a common identity), and straight dynamics have common points but also a lot of different stake and for now I'm gonna leave it to them to figure out, I do not have the time for this lmao.

Also I have decided to give this list some pompous title to make it look like there's a plan so:

1 - Being a top makes you human

And being a bottom does, too.

Allow me to explain.

When I started being active in fandom, I was very wary of describing characters as tops or bottoms, and of anyone who did so. (Let's put it frankly: I was a little stupid.) I bought into the idea that it was objectifying and "fetishising" (and honestly now I try to avoid that word as much as possible because I've found that 9 times out of 10 the people involved in the discussion would be unable to define what they mean by that, and so would I). That people were people, not tops and bottoms, and that reducing someone to this was bound to be dehumanising.

Dear readers: it is not.

To me, this idea comes from the same place as stuff like, "I think everyone would be bi without social norms/is actually bi/should be bi." or, "If there were no patriarchy/social norms, no one would be trans."

First of all, we don't live in a patriarchy-free society and most likely won't, while it's not a good reason not to try to get there, it's absurd to base your reflection of what life would be like in that hypothetical words to talk about how we should act in the real one.

But what is more important for me here is that this also comes voluntarily or not, along with the idea that people would not have an identity in an ideal world. And I am not fond of that. My gender, my manhood, and my masculinity are not things that are sad collateral damage from a brutal society. They are a joyful part of what makes me human. My love and attraction for men is not a restricted view of humanity. It's genuine and rich and extensive.

People have tastes and preferences and that's good, that's what makes them people. To give my characters sexual preferences and feelings about the various position they could be put in or take on during sex is not reductive, on the contrary. It's rich and it makes them diverse and distinct and it gives them an individual essence that is not that of every single other around them.

I will try to not ramble too much about my own personal life here, but I will just say that being helped to understand all of this has also done tremendous things to my ability to accept and embrace the fact that I am a gay man, because it has allowed me to view it as the joy and rich and precious individuality and shared love that it is, rather than the previous framing of it that I had of it being somehow a fault because, I'm not gonna lie to you, living in primarily queer and feminist spaces does not always make it easy to be able to think "men are neat". (And while I absolutely understand why because it is true that the violence brought by men, in general, onto women, in general, is extreme and entirely disproportionate to how it goes the other way around, the way it's framed is still an issue if it makes gay and trans men hate themselves or gives the tool to white women to threaten and get black men killed, but I digress.)

2 - Clichés are okay sometimes, actually

I will nuance this, I promise.

Sometimes, when people say that having characters that are tops or bottoms is okay, they will put an addendum like "but it's important to not equate personality and top/bottom or dom/sub, you can have any looks and personality and be a top/bottom/dom/sub". And, of course, I agree with the sentiment, fem tops are cool, shy tops are cool, dominant bottoms are cool, you get the gist. Part of saying that tops and doms should be treated as humans and embraced in their diversity has to mean that you want characters of various looks and personalities to be tops and doms!

But I have some issues with that, or rather, with how some people frame and think it albeit really agreeing with the statement in itself.

First, as per point 1, I personally think that seeing sexual preferences and dynamics as part of the characters' personalities is important and humanising. So while, yes, tops can have various personalities, of course, I think that it's important that it doesn't mean "my character's preferences are entirely unrelated to their personality".

For example, in the second series I shared earlier, some of Kankurou's personality traits are that he likes to show affection to others by doing things for them and is quite domestic (he's shown loving to cook for his siblings for example), that he tends to catch on feelings very easily, but doesn't necessarily wants to act on them in a romantic/committed way, it's more that for him love and attraction are only very mildly separated, so while he doesn't want to date all of his hook ups (or any, really), he does tend to view those encounter as also a very emotionally charge things and that while not necessarily ashamed of that, he is someone who cherishes privacy and modesty a lot, and is not necessarily comfortable with exposing himself. These things transpire in him being primarily a top, or rather in the specific ways that he is. Part of the dynamic he likes is being able to put himself at the service of his partners because he is often quite emotionally invested in them and their pleasure, and finds joy and fulfilment in being able to provide this for them, while also often finding it a more comfortable position to be in because the focus is less on him and it allows him to be more private about how he feels and make it more about what his partner want and like and feel like.

It's not that someone with this personality has to be a top, a bottom could like all of that, mix and match works with almost any combination, but his identity as a top, how he does it and why he likes it are very directly tied to his personality, and it's cool.

The second thing is that often this will come alongside a suspicion for any character that will tick too many boxes of the same archetype. It's okay that a chara is a top, and maybe it's okay if their also the masculine, or tall, or dominant, or idk what other cliché associated with tops, but if he's all of that, then he will be seen as too cliché and therefore bad and unrealistic or objectifying. While I'm sure that's the case sometimes (many times even maybe, I genuinely don't know) and I understand where this suspicion comes from, I think that it's also important to recognise that some people just do fit certain stereotypes, and are still people.

There is intrinsic issues with clichés that are actively stigmatising (like, no, i will not answer "queers are groomers" by "it's a generalisation, but it's okay that some of us are" OF COURSE) but some are most problematic in that they make blanket statement and, more importantly, I think, in that they are viewed as a negative thing.

The main issue with "gays are effeminate and always friends with girls and they like shopping and not sports", for example, is that it's just plainly not true for a number of people, and it's dehumanising in that, once again, it negates the diversity of individuality within a given identity, but also it's that the sub-text (or sometimes full on text) is "and that's bad". Yes, I have a character that is gay and effeminate and always friends with girls and who likes shopping and not sports. The big difference between me and bigots is that I appreciate those are human traits that he has because he's a person, not categories made to other him without thinking about what they mean for him, and that I think he's neat and that it's cool he has things and people he likes and preferences that mark him as an individual.

The third thing is probably less important (or is it? I don't know anymore) but it's fair to say at this point I'm not trying to keep this short anyway so I will still say it. It's that another thing that can be heard is, "It's okay if you have stereotyped characters, as long as it's not All Of Your Characters. It means that it's just that, yes, some people to happen to fit stereotypes, but that they're just some within a larger diversity." and I think that I don't agree with the idea that characters have to be people.

I love to write characters that are people, as I think this whole post is making very clear, crafting characters that have complex personalities and personal tastes and strong individualities is something that is very dear and important and joyful to me. But I have also written things with characters that are no people, and I certainly have loved works that did the same.

What I mean by "characters that are not people" is that it's also an option to write characters as symbols, ideas, forms that are meant to represent complex or more general feelings or experiences, and not contain a human individuality and logic of a past and a set of traits and experiences building their present self. This is how an astronomical amount of art functions, paintings, poetry, tales and fables, myths, a lot of theatre, and I'm sure, even if maybe less, a lot of novel-type writing too.

This isn't an issue, and it's not an issue in porn either. I will use the word this time, it's okay to fetishise characters in porn. That's quite literally what porn and fetishes are for. Representation of erotic ideas, topoi, imaginary, figures, etc. within a human character that is not written like a person, is not bad, it's a lot of what porn is. (And it's not even what I write at all, I'm not defending my church here, I just think it's very valid and cool.)

I think that what is important is to be aware of it, both as writers and readers, when this is what we write or read, and that characters are created equal in this. If you have human and complex characters in your story but suddenly there's that one chara who is a symbol of an idea or a cliché and not meant to be treated as a person, especially if it's a marginalised character, we're getting into very iffy territories.

Of course, it's important to be mindful of the fact that stereotypical figures, symbols, fetishes and the rest are always soaked in harmful social norms and we have to think about that too, but that does mean we have to burn all and every symbolic figures and characters because, again, the harmful social norms will never be fully gone of anything you'll do. Better know that than do something that you think will free you of them but will only achieve to make you stop thinking about it.

3 - Hurting people is not easy nor inconsequential

We're entering more the dom side of this than the top side now. (And once again, although I wholeheartedly believe in and love sub tops and dom bottoms, I think it's dishonest to act like topping and dimming are not to things that are linked in our imaginaries whether we want it or not and that, therefore the issues regarding the representation of both of those are interconnected and interdependent, just as are, shall I say since I'm here, the way we think about men, and the way we think about masculinity, for example.)

I think there is an assumption that, of course, being a sub (especially in a context of more "intense" kink, like pain play or, idk, fisting or whatever) is challenging and vulnerable and potentially dangerous, so it's important to make sure the sub is really wanting and ready to receive that, but that since the dom is not the one in physical danger and isn't the one who is going to receive and suffer (albeit with pleasure) through this violence (albeit consented), it will be less challenging for them.

I don't think this is entirely wrong, just as I don't think that the same type of belief being held towards tops and bottom is, because there is often more intrinsic physical risk to bottoming and/or subbing than there is to topping and/or dimming. However, I think the depth of this disparity is really overestimated.

As someone who is both verse and switch, I will tell you that I find it immensely scarier to top and dom, and I say that even as bottoming is not exactly easy either lmao. (Another day we should talk about how sides don't get enough appreciation either. Writes sides! Over a fourth of my smut fics do not have anyone top or bottom. You don't even have to do any of this!)

Hurting people, even when they want and like it, is not easy. Being the one who is made to take all the decisions is not easy. Being the one mainly responsible for checking everyone's safety (which isn't always the dom's role, but often is) is not easy.

More generally this boils down to something that is very important and way more general than anything sex or BDSM-related to me that is: being in power is not intrinsically easy or comfortable. It is exactly what it says on the tin: more power. It will often come with more resources to protect yourself, and more autonomy so you can flee a situation of violence, so in that, yes, it is a protection, but it can still be a very violent situation to be put in. (For example if you can't see where I'm heading: men tend to have more resources to protect themselves or get away from situations of abuse, but male socialisation, in itself, is not intrinsically less traumatising than female socialisation is.)

All that to say, domming can be a very vulnerable and scary and draining position to be in, and it shouldn't be overlooked simply because it is often (and not even always) less physically dangerous.

What that means too is that you need to consent to sub, and you also really, really need to consent to dom.

I've rambled about this before I'm fairly certain but I feel like while (in people who do actually care about consent which I will admit is not a given) there is a general understanding that anything violent done to someone should be thoroughly consented by said someone, the acknowledge that it should be thoroughly consented by the person who hurts is a bit slipped under the rugs sometimes.

This is something that I wrote a lot about in The Smell of the Rain, but I fundamentally think that making someone do something to you without them being fully aware of and okay with the impact it will have on you, including "negative" (quotation mark for "pain in painplay isn't negative per see but it's still pain") is abusive and a breach of consent. Letting someone do something that hurts you without telling them, when it's someone who does not want to hurt you, is a breach of consent.

This is complicated because of course, I don't want to say that anyone who has struggles upholding their boundary is a vile abuser, and that being unable to say no or stop during a sexual activity is active sexual assault. I certainly have been there many time, this shit is HARD. (And it can be hard for tops and doms too, it's to be noted.) It's something that is messy and takes time and work, but it's important. And it's not important just because you owe to yourself to be able to do that (and you do) but because you owe that do the partner who do not want to hurt you or force you, too.

I think it makes sense to think of things like that, because ina situation of abuse that is how it work, you aren't abusing someone who wants to harm you by letting them do. And because we often discuss consent in regards to base (which again, makes sense) this is what we think of. Making people who might hurt others know to not do that. (Not sure we're succeeding but-) But if you are writing about a relationship that is meant to be healthy and where characters have good intentions towards each other, then this is not the right perspective to have on consent than to think of it as "making sure that the person to whom something is done wants it" and not "making sure that both parties involved are equally aware of the meaning of this act for both, and both want to go forth with it.

Unless there is a reason why one of the two character is a likely victim and the other a likely abuser (which can happen), I don't want to frame consent between my character as "person who might be abuse and person who might be abusing need to make sure that doesn't happen" which will go on to dehumanise one of them (again, if there is not a precedent that realistically causes that, and then it will likely fall on the top/dom) but really as "two people who are all in capacity of hurting the other in various ways, trying to not do that".

Well. It is now 5am, I've been at it for 3 hours, and I'm sure there is a lot more to say but this is probably way more than enough for today lmao. I will now sleep so tomorrow can be another day full of loving tops and doms and other men loving other men. I will also not proofread this post for evident reasons, so I hope it won't happen to be a nonsensical sleep deprave mess. Bye 👋

I wish more fanfic writers were empathetic to tops and doms. I think a lack of empathy there explains a lot of the fandom discourse around the idea that it’s racist to make characters with darker skin the top or seme or whatever.

Part of why it bothers people, I think, is that in fandom spaces—for a variety of reasons—people have somehow come to a consensus that it’s fine to have submissive and degradation oriented fantasies, but not fantasies about making someone submit or doing the degrading. SOME people don’t let themselves think about the interiority of those that could actually deliver them what they want, sexually. And I don’t even just mean actual sex! I can tell when a fic author actually gets off on topping or domming. Those people are kind of rare in fandom, but their fics really stand out if you know what you’re looking for. Side note—I think there’s a lot of untapped potential in whump writers, who could probably write really wonderful nasty smut, but who are ashamed of writing something sexual and worried about backlash (so they just stick to narrative torture for now).

If you instinctively think that writing a character as a top or dom means they’re incapable of having interiority or complexity because YOU can’t write a compelling top or dom character for shit, then you might also think that any writing of people of color as tops or doms is inherently bad or offensive writing. And this is sad for everyone, but it’s especially sad for the actual tops and doms of color in the real world who have to read people saying that they don’t exist, or that characters who feel like them are offensive and racist.

Ironically, the people who claim that writing a character of color as a top or dom automatically makes that character a racist or brutish stereotype are reenforcing that stereotype. I want to see more compellingly written top and dom characters who have actual wants and conflicts. Give me more woobie, extremely emotional doms. Give me self esteem issues, or the struggles of being mistreated by subs, or feeling reduced to what they can provide sexually but not seen as a good person outside of that, please.

tldr; I wish more people knew that it’s not an insult to write a character as a top or dom, and therefore that it’s not an insult to write a character of color as a top or dom.

--

[robininthelabyrinth]

Imagine if Meng Shi begged and bargained and collected favors till she was able to send her A-Yao to education with the Lan Sect, perhaps even become a cultivator with them. Would he take that change? Would he become a rogue cultivator? Would the strict rules help curb his inner muderimpuls or enrage him or teach him to hide better?

A Good Fit - ao3

“The…Lan sect?” Meng Yao said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” his mother said, her mouth tight. She looked upset, the way she always did these days when he referenced, intentionally or otherwise, the original plan that she had had to send him to join his father, sect leader of Lanling Jin. She’d raised Meng Yao on a steady diet of stories of what his life would be like when his father finally took him back the way he’d promised her he would, stories that had filled his days and nights for years and years and years, and then just last year she’d suddenly stopped talking about it entirely. It was as if the person who’d told those stories had nothing to do with her.

Meng Yao didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed it must have been pretty bad.

“It'll be a good fit,” she added.

“Then I’ll go to the Lan sect,” he said, and pretended not see the way his mother relaxed a little, relieved that he wasn’t asking too many questions. “I’ve heard they are gentlemen there, righteous but gentle; it will be the best match for my personality, I’m sure.”

A lie, of course. ‘Gentlemen’ were just as likely to come to the brothel as brutes, and they were all the same once they had a cup of wine and a beauty in their arms – Meng Yao tried not to have any illusions.

“Can we afford it?” he asked instead, since that was something he was sure his mother would have thought of, would have expected him to ask. “Gusu is so far away…”

“I have obtained a letter from the local sect recommending you to their sect leader, Lan Qiren,” she said. “He’s the one that teaches the classes – the one that sent out the summons asking the subsidiary sects to look for individuals with raw talent to join his classes and offering them an extra seat for their sects for each nameless orphan they find that lives up to Lan sect standards. Only the Heavens know why he’s doing something like that…I assume they’re trying to expand.”

That seemed like the most reasonable explanation. Meng Yao nodded. “So I’ll be traveling with the local sect?”

“That’s right,” his mother said, and raised her chin a little. “At least this much, your mother was able to do for you.”

She’d begged and bargained and traded favors for it, then, Meng Yao thought, and yet taking him along was to their own benefit: if they were looking for inherited cultivation talent sufficient for the Lan sect, then the bastard son of another Great Sect leader would be a better bet than some random nobody. She’d probably humiliated herself for nothing.

“Will you come with me?” he asked, more concerned with that – it was too easy for women of ill repute to disappear into the depths of the city if they didn’t have someone to watch out for them.

Even someone as young as he was. He wished he was older.

“You can come back to visit me during the Spring Festival,” she said, which meant no. “I’ll be all right, A-Yao.”

Meng Yao wasn’t so sure.

Still, not having him around would at least remove a visible reminder of his mother’s age – she’d been kicked out of the better brothels because of him, because no one wanted a woman who was a mother. Leaving would at least do that for her.

“I’ll write,” he finally said. “I’ll write as often as they let me.”

“And I’ll write back,” she promised him, kissing his cheek. “I promise.”

With that, Meng Yao supposed he had to be satisfied.

-

The Lan sect was both exactly like what Meng Yao expected and absolutely nothing at all like anything he could have dreamt.

For the first, his cynicism was almost immediately confirmed: the boys raised there were snobby as anything, looking down at the rest of them as little better than barbarians, and many of the adults were the same way. It was clear that this whole business of recruiting talented nobodies was a project of the sect leader’s – the interim sect leader, no less, not even the real thing – and nobody else’s; they were only just barely going along with it. Adding to that the fact that there were dozens if not hundreds of rules, and Meng Yao could glumly foresee a future of having his lack of knowledge held over his head as a fault, even with his marvelous memory to act as his backing.

For the second…

Well, there was Lan Xichen, who was – as unbelievable as it seemed – to actually embody all those things that people said about gentlemen, all kindness and gentleness and fierce upright pride, except only for real. There was Lan Wangji, who was basically perfect in every way and kinder than he gave the impression he was, willing to help tutor anyone who asked if only they dared disturb his solitude long enough to do so. There was the boy Meng Yao shared a room with, Su She, who’d punched the boy from the Yunping cultivator clan in the mouth for calling Meng Yao a son of a whore and pretended it was because they weren’t allowed to talk about that sort of thing, when actually it’d been because he hadn’t wanted rumors to get around that might make Meng Yao’s life harder in the future.

There was Lan Qiren, who was strict and a little boring but fair, painfully fair, handing out punishments with an equitable hand no matter that it meant that he was punishing the locals as often if not more often. It’d been his idea to bring people like Meng Yao into the Lan sect, and defending the idea was the only time he truly seemed moved to passion. Now that they’d passed the initial examination and been judged to match Lan sect standards, Lan Qiren announced, as far as he was concerned, they were Lan sect just as if they were born there, as if they’d been children of his own.

And he even seemed to really believe it, too.

Today, Meng Yao’s head was still warm from when the stern Teacher Lan had put his hand there, gentle and approving, and his ears still burning from the murmured “Well done, Meng Yao, as expected.”

“I think I would kill someone for him,” Meng Yao said dreamily to Su She, who snorted.

“You’ve got such father issues,” he said disdainfully, as if he didn’t have entire family issues. That was just Su She’s way, though – he bitched and moaned and complained without end, and he’d probably kill someone for Meng Yao if Meng Yao so much as hinted it was something he’d want. They’d made friends for a reason. “You know the bit about the poor kids being his own children is a lie, right?”

“I know which sect’s leader is my father, thanks,” Meng Yao said, rolling his eyes. “I’m well aware it’s not Teacher Lan. Like he’d ever have kids of his own, anyway.”

“That’d require noticing when someone’s flirting with him,” Su She agreed, all solemn for just a moment, and then he dissolved into sniggering giggles. Meng Yao couldn’t blame him: it was, in fact, extremely funny when women (and sometimes men) tried to flirt with Teacher Lan, mostly because of the way that he very genuinely and completely missed that that was what was happening each and every time.

“Laugh all you like,” Meng Yao said peaceably. “You’d kill for him, too.”

“Probably,” Su She agreed. “But only because of you.”

That was fair enough. After getting the lay of the land, Meng Yao had arranged for them to ‘accidentally’ be overheard by Teacher Lan while talking about the misconduct of one of the teachers who was the most biased against guest disciples, one of the ones that had been harassing Su She in particular for over a year before Meng Yao had arrived, and despite Su She’s initial nervousness about the plan, it had all gone splendidly. Sure, they’d been punished to do five copies of a treatise on upright conduct because they’d breached Talking behind the backs of others is prohibited, but the teacher in question had been sentenced to two hundred strikes with the discipline rod for abusing his position and three months of enforced seclusion to contemplate his misbehavior, and then, Teacher Lan had said, his expression dark and threatening, they could discuss what role would be the best fit in the future.

The other teachers had taken notice and shaped up very quickly, after that.

Comparatively, those five copies made in the nice cool Library Pavilion instead of having to do chores on the hottest days of summer? Practically a pat on the back for bringing it to his attention.

Su She would never have dared to raise anything if it was just him, Meng Yao thought; he had a strange fear of authority figures that combined envy and misery in an explosive combination – he would have just suffered and suffered and suffered until he’d been pushed too far and then it would have all burst out at once. He wasn’t like Meng Yao, who was unwilling to keep to his “proper” place and was more than willing to use his greater-than-average share of brains to get what he wanted, no matter what rules he broke in the process. He was the sort of person who was willing to do whatever it took to obtain his desires – no matter what it took.

Well, maybe not no matter what. He wouldn’t want to disappoint Lan Qiren too much.

(Okay, so maybe Su She was right and he had some unresolved father issues. So what if he did? Whose business was it but his?)

-

It’d taken Meng Yao a while to fully adjust to the Cloud Recesses.

Some parts he’d figured out right away – the way they all flattered themselves as gentlemen even if they were actually little more than hypocrites (Teacher Lan and his personally taught nephews exempted, of course), which of course meant that Meng Yao’s ability to act pitiful at the drop of a hat and cleverly turn black into white made him a teacher’s pet at once. The vegetarian meals were easy enough to adapt to, given that his mother hadn’t had the money for meat all that often, and the training and cultivation and all that wasn’t any challenge for his excellent powers of retention – he had ambitions of becoming one of Teacher Lan’s aides one day, and worked assiduously towards that goal. Even waking and sleeping early, which was practically the opposite of his schedule at home, was something he could adjust to, given time and incentive.

It was his mentality that took some time to adjust.

Meng Yao had perhaps grown up with too many of his mother’s stories, painting an image of a matchless paradise – at the start, he looked at everything around him, serene and elegant but not quite as rich and shining and thought that it would do, for now. When he’d first arrived, he had had every intention of making a good reputation for himself and using that reputation to get his real father’s attention – he’d liked Teacher Lan from the beginning, despite his best attempts to not let his heart be swayed, but he’d reasoned that if a teacher was like this, then a blood-related father would be even better.

And so, for the first half-year, he’d treated his time at the Cloud Recesses…not lightly, no. He was extremely serious about making sure to get the maximum benefit he could. And yet, at the same time, he still was not really committing himself to the place.

This wasn’t where he was going to live his whole life, he reasoned; it was just a stepping stone to a better future. That meant he would exert himself to point out things that made him look good, to eliminate obstacles in his path, to win himself allies, but not bother with those longer-term problems, the ones that really ought to be fixed but which would take a great deal of effort with little reward other than annoying people.

His feeling of superiority and emotional distance lasted right up until the first discussion conference.

From a distance, Jin Guangshan was everything Meng Yao could have imagined – perhaps a little too similar to the clients that his mother often saw, a little dissolute to pull off the air of a refined scholar he affected, but wearing more gold than Meng Yao had ever seen in his life, with a retinue of servants that dwarfed the other sect’s. Each of those servants were dressed more finely than even main clan cultivators in some of the smaller sects, and though Meng Yao’s Lan sect guest disciple clothing was of such quality that he didn’t need to fear their disdain, he couldn’t help but be secretly impressed.

He'd exerted himself more than usual to trade away all of his chores and duties, freeing himself up to take on patrol duty near the Jin sect. He’d perhaps daydreamed about some sort of encounter – nothing active on his part, of course, but he couldn’t quite resist playing through some fantasy of catching someone’s eye by chance, getting called over, a “You have a familiar set to your chin, who’s your father?”, a shy halting admission, recognition, a joyous reunion…

Instead, his father spent the entire night getting drunk and cursing the Lan sect’s hospitality for not providing him with girls to go with his liquor, calling Lan Qiren a miserable prude with a stick up his ass right in front of the Lan sect disciples that clenched their fists in barely concealed rage. He’d seen Meng Yao all right, ordered him to come forward, but it’d only been to mock him in front of all of his servants – and not even for being his bastard son, no, that would involve bothering to pick him out from the crowd or to ask who he was. No, he’d mocked him simply for being one of the poor disciples that Lan Qiren had taken in, all because his accent was marked with the distinct tones of Yunping rather than the sweetness of Gusu.

“Tell me, boy,” he said, breathing fumes into Meng Yao’s face and making him feel suddenly as if he’d never left the brothel – that the Cloud Recesses had all been a vague dream, and now he’d woken up and lost it all. “How does that old fart Qiren expect you to pay him back for all he’s done for you? I heard the Lan sect includes a pretty face as one of its standard requirements…”

Meng Yao put his gaze above his father’s head and pretended to be deaf.

“It seems like rather a lot of effort,” one of his father’s attendants remarked. “Even if Second Master Lan wanted a boy to warm his bed, couldn’t he just buy one like any normal person?”

“Bah, boys,” his father said, and leaned back, waving his hands in dismissal. “Why would anyone bother with a boy when you could have a soft woman instead? Just as long as they’re stupid enough – you know, there’s nothing worse than a woman who’s talented and knows it, too smart, always trying to get above their station…”

“You’re thinking about that whore in Yunping again, aren’t you? The one that interrupted your dinner and made a scene, claiming you’d promised to take in the son she bore you?” the attendant said, laughing. “I told you, you should’ve just killed her for her impudence rather than just having her beaten and thrown out. That way the matter wouldn’t still be bothering you…”

“Go away, boy,” another servant said to Meng Yao, who was frozen stiff in belated terror, nausea churning in his stomach as he realized his mother could’ve gone out one day and never come back, and he would never have known why – or maybe it was that he’d been spending his considerable time and brain on pleasing someone who would have done that, who nearly had done that. “Your accent’s brought back bad memories, don’t you see?”

Meng Yao left.

No, to be more blunt: he fled. He ran away, hot tears filling his eyes until he couldn’t see – belly full of regret and disappointment, crushed dreams feeling like broken shards of glass in his mouth and throat.

He tried to tell himself that it was better to find out now, when they were still distant, before he'd sold his soul for the futile chance to get that horrible man's affection, but he couldn't quite throw off the shame of knowing that if he hadn't heard such a thing up front, he probably would have done that. Would have humiliated himself like that, and for what? A man who regretted not murdering his mother?

He ran right into Lan Wangji, who was also on patrol.

Lan Wangji took one look at him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him away from the main pathway and all the way to his uncle’s rooms.

Lan Qiren was still awake despite the late hour, writing something at his desk, but he set aside his brush at once. “What’s going on?” he asked, frowning. “Wangji – Meng Yao – one of you report.”

“Meng Yao was on patrol by the Jin sect,” Lan Wangji explained as Meng Yao furiously tried to dash away his tears using his sleeve.

“Who permitted that? First year disciples aren’t permitted to patrol during discussion conferences,” Lan Qiren asked, his frown deepening. “It wouldn’t be proper – ah, but no, I recall now. I suppose it was inevitable. Wangji, well done, and thank you. You are dismissed.”

After Lan Wangji left, he turned his eyes on Meng Yao.

“You volunteered, didn’t you?” he asked.

Meng Yao felt his back go cold: Lan Qiren knew, then. It had never been said out loud by anyone as far as he knew, and yet it was clear that Lan Qiren knew who his father was – and probably his mother, too.

He knew that Meng Yao was – that he wasn’t anything more than –

“You are one of my most promising disciples, Meng Yao,” Lan Qiren told him, and poured him a cup of tea from his own pot, pressing it into his hands. It was finer tea than Meng Yao had ever had in his life, full of smoke and flavor. “The rules say Be loyal and filial, but they also praise reciprocity. You have not been recognized, and have not received your forefathers’ grace. You can fulfill your obligations to chivalry through your respect for the parent that raised you.”

Meng Yao stared down at the teacup. Lan Qiren had completely misunderstood the nature of Meng Yao’s concern – he was disappointed in what his father was, not worried about not living up to his obligations of being a filial child. And yet it was a little nice to hear that as far as Lan Qiren was concerned, the rules said that he could tell his father go hang for all he cared…

And that he ought to honor his mother, which was something no one who knew her had ever said to him.

“Even if she –” His voice stuttered. “Even if she’s a…”

He couldn’t say the word.

“Appreciate the good people is not qualified by class or profession,” Lan Qiren said, and his monotone voice was blissfully without emotion, as if this were just another lesson in class, and not the deepest hurt of Meng Yao’s life. “I have never met your mother, Meng Yao, but you are a good child – diligent, organized, sincere, with good judgment, and you clearly adore her. That tells me everything I need to know.”

Meng Yao burst into tears.

-

Meng Yao liked Lan Xichen a lot, but he also had to admit that sometimes, the older boy was, well…

“Dumb as a pile of rocks,” Su She announced.

“Do not criticize other people,” Meng Yao said piously, but then chuckled, shaking his head. “Say, rather, that he’s naïve and sheltered, and overly inclined to believe the best in people.”

“Like I said: dumb as rocks. How many times is going to get himself swindled into being someone’s sword or shield before he figures out that the problem is him?”

“Some people don’t have the capacity to understand the depths of humanity’s foulness –”

“Yeah, dumb ones.”

“Su She, please.” Su She held up his hands in surrendered. “At any rate, if Lan-gongzi is going to keep falling for people’s tricks, it’s beholden on us to help protect him.”

“You just don’t want Teacher Lan to be sad about something serious happening to his nephew,” Su She said knowingly, but he was already nodding. “All right, what are we going to do about it? He outranks us. We can’t exactly tell him to his face that he’s being…”

He paused.

Dumb as rocks went unsaid, but then, it didn’t need to be said out loud for the meaning to be clear.

Meng Yao sighed.

“You can only trick someone so many times,” he said. “If we want to keep him from getting tricked by other people, then we have to trick him first. And better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lan-gongzi likes to save people,” Meng Yao explained. “He really sees himself as a chivalrous gentleman – he puts chivalry first, even though Teacher Lan says Learning comes first. That’s why he always sides with whoever he perceives to be the underdog in a given situation, no matter how wrong that impression is. That’s how most of the people who’ve been tricking him have gone for it: playing the victim, appealing to his sense of righteousness, pulling the curtains over his eyes to obscure what’s actually happening.”

“Okay. So?”

“So, we’ve both got miserable backstories – you being taken from your family at a young age and then bullied, me with my mother and, even worse, father. If we get him on our side, early on, he’ll side with us over anyone else – that way we can keep him from getting roped into other people’s private grudges.”

Su She frowned. “That seems a little manipulative.”

“It’s for his own good, and that’s what’s important,” Meng Yao said, and smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Su She jumped, turning around just in time to see Lan Wangji, who had been standing in the shadow of a nearby tree, step out.

He had a serious expression, as always, but a thoughtful one.

Meng Yao waited patiently.

“You cannot take advantage,” Lan Wangji finally said, and Meng Yao knew he’d won the most important ally in the battle to save Lan Xichen from himself. “That would change it from a virtuous act to a selfish one.”

“Like we need anything from him,” Su She said haughtily. “Maintain your own discipline.”

“Arrogance is forbidden.”

“It’s not arrogance if it’s justified! It’s just self-confidence!”

“Do not argue with family,” Meng Yao quoted, and was pleased to see both of them drop it at once. “Listen, we all share the same goal, and we have to start somewhere, don’t we? We’re stronger together than apart. Together, we can do anything, even protect Lan-gongzi.”

That and more, he thought as the other boys nodded, following his lead. Lan Xichen is just the start.

-

“The Wen sect will make trouble sooner rather than later,” Meng Yao said thoughtfully, one day. His friends turned to look at him. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Lan Wangji nodded, serious as always, but Su She scoffed.

“You can’t even convince that Wei Wuxian boy to leave poor Lan-er-gongzi alone,” he said snidely. “How exactly are you expecting to bring down the Wen sect?”

“I don’t convince Wei Wuxian to leave Lan-er-gongzi alone because Lan-er-gongzi doesn’t want to be left alone,” Meng Yao said. “Obviously. Isn’t that right?”

“You should call me by name,” Lan Wangji said, which wasn’t answering the question and definitely wasn’t denying anything. “You were saying, about the Wen sect?”

Meng Yao smiled.

-

“What brings one of Teacher Lan’s most promising disciples to the Unclean Realm?” Nie Mingjue said, peering at him thoughtfully. “You’re at the wrong time to be one of the usual messengers.”

Meng Yao smiled at him.

“I think you’ll find that we have similar goals, Sect Leader Nie,” he said. “When it comes to making sure that certain people in our lives don’t get hurt by the bad decisions of others, I mean. In your case, it’s your younger brother, who’s a friend of mine –”

Friend, source of information, it was all about the same thing in the end. Meng Yao didn’t have real friends outside the Lan sect, but he’d been very careful to cultivate good relationships with all his most important peers.

“- and for me, well. A teacher for day, a father for a lifetime. I’m sure Sect Leader Nie can understand the importance of protecting one’s father – right?”

“You don’t need to use any sophistry on me,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. “If you have an idea on what we can do to stop the Wen sect before they go and burn someone’s house down, I’m all ears.”

By chance, Meng Yao did.

It was a good plan, too, daring and brave in equal measure. If it worked the way he hoped it would, he’d win enough fame to get Jin Guangshan to beg for him to join the Jin sect – not that he would, of course.

Meng Yao knew what he wanted, and he knew how he was going to get it, too.

-

“This is a lovely house, A-Yao,” Meng Shi said, running her hand along one of the soft tapestries on the wall. “Truly lovely. Whoever you rented it from has good taste.”

Meng Yao bowed. “Thank you for the compliment, Mother. I put a lot of thought into it.”

“You own it?” she asked, surprised. “But don’t you live up the mountain, with the sect?”

“I do. This is for you.”

“For – me? A-Yao! This is too much – how much must it have cost–”

“I saved the Lan sect’s core texts from being destroyed,” Meng Yao said. “I’m an inner sect disciple now – I could ask for a dozen houses like this, and they’d grant them to me without blinking twice. Teacher Lan would insist on it.”

“Teacher Lan,” his mother murmured. “That’s the one you’ve taken to treating as your own father, isn’t it? You’ve spoken so much of him, in your letters…”

“There’s no need to scheme,” he told her. “He wouldn’t notice your flirtations, anyway.”

His mother arched her eyebrows at him.

“He’s really oblivious.”

“Still…”

“Really no need,” Meng Yao said, and couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Lan Qiren pulling him into a hug when he realized that the books – and Lan Xichen – were all safe from the Wen sect’s attempt to burn down the Cloud Recesses, and, later, again, that Wen Ruohan was dead. He may have deliberately schemed for that second hug, and he might or might not have plans for more. “He already takes me as a son.”

His mother relaxed.

“Good,” she said, and smiled herself. “So, A-Yao, was I right, all those years ago? Was the Lan sect a good fit for you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Meng Yao said. “Yes, it was.”

[physicalturian]

[18+] Deranged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 1

[Probably contains spoilers from the anime and the manga] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone is +18]

Words: 9403

Archive of our own

Warnings : Explicit! / Blood / Injuries / Guns / Bruises / Choking / Blood / Graphic depiction of violence / Killing / Murder / Crying / Trauma /

Summary : Wrong place, wrong guy. Wrong in so many fucking ways it only made the attraction more sick and twisted...Yet I wanted more of him and would end up doing anything for him, with him.

If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask, I'd rather be safe than sorry

- - -

Routine.

This would be how I would describe my way of life, a routine. I liked it like that, it was safe, comfortable and I was sure of what would happen. Far from me the idea of only doing the same things over and over again, I would sometimes go out with my friends or see a movie—doing things on a whim was not off the table. But I liked knowing what I was signing up for. Surprises, however, never were a thing I enjoyed—seeing my friends in my house when all I wanted was to relax after work was something dreadful and annoying to no end. I would pull through and be a good host, nonetheless, making sure everything was enjoyable, but I would be drained by the end of their stay.

Perhaps that need for reassurance, for a safety net, was the reason why I never truly took an artistic path or even considered any artistic career. It was too free, too unpredictable, too risky. Never could I have imagined myself doing such a thing; those who did were in my eyes the boldest and I admired them greatly for following their dream, but I was not bold, I preferred the solace of a job I knew would always bring me money. A simple 9 to 5 job was fulfilling enough for me; for some it was not, but I enjoyed it. It was something I could do and found relaxing to do, even when there was more rush. It just made sense to me.

There was not much thrill in this job. The people were nice enough; the clients were a bit bitter from time to time, depending on whether the job we had done was in their favor or not. Some of my colleagues would tell me crazy stories about some firms they had worked on or with and I would have a hard time believing it, but perhaps it was because different departments would deal with different types of clients. I had simple people: homeowners, tax payers, easy stuff. I liked it.

Now, even if I was keen on this routine that I had of going to my job, using the same transports, the same paths, headphones in to ignore the people around, I knew when following that same path would bring me trouble. I knew when to break that routine even just a little bit.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions. As I walked back home from work after having had to stay one more hour to help my colleague Darren fix his mistake—I made sure to tell him he owed me for helping him this late—I saw a group of men surrounding someone on the street. With one glance around, the entire street was empty except for those seven men and their victim. The usually crowded place was completely deserted and as I wondered how it could have happened, I noticed bikes at the end of the road blocking any possible traffic. It did not take a genius to know this was something far above me, there was no way I would interfere with that. Turning around, I made sure my steps were less heavy, less determined and started walking back. I did not have time to think I was going to get out of there safely when I heard, “Miss! Call the police-“. A thud sound, followed by a pained moan reached my ear.

When I dared look over my shoulder, I saw the man on his knees, blood pouring from his nose. I recognized him, he was a creepy older man that would sometimes stay longer on the train to look at younger women. Glancing at the other people around him, I kept my face as neutral as possible. Should I call the police? The outfits they wore all had the same sigil on them, the same pattern, and since they did not look like high schoolers I hardly believed those were school uniforms. Which led to the conclusion that they were the ones the news talked about a lot. The city was filled with gangs fighting over territory, not hesitating one bit to kill anyone who would cross them. I was sure of myself, assertive, yes… but I did not possess a savior complex. Seeing that man on the floor made me realize how wrong the system was, but I could not risk taking part in the situation and helping him. There were too many and clearly a lot scarier and stronger than I was. Looking away, I kept walking and heard them laugh, “That’s the right thing to do missy, he deserved it-“ “I said I was going to pay as soon as I got the money!” The victim interrupted; he was speaking very fast, but the fist smashing his jaw was faster to tell him to shut up. “It ain’t about that, you know it!”

Playing my music again, louder this time, I walked away and let them deal with everything, taking a different route than the one I would usually take. It’s alright to not have helped, you wouldn’t have made a difference… But he deserved it… I can still call the police… A turmoil inside my head started as I kept walking. After a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police department’s number; they picked up quite fast, asking me what the emergency was. “There are gang members beating up a man in-“ “I’m sorry ma’am we can’t help with that, have a nice evening.” And just like that, the person on the other end of the phone hung up. Looking at my phone incredulously, I called again, all while taking a turn and walking by a warehouse, “Hello, you must have misunderstood me earlier—it is not a joke, there are gang members in the-“ This time, I was not interrupted by the person on the phone but by my arms being grabbed suddenly.

My heartbeat picked up, I suddenly felt sick and my head started spinning. When things like this happened, we’d always think it only happened to others, so when I realized it was happening to me, I did not feel well. Blood drained from my face, from my entire body. It all happened so fast: one moment I was walking past the warehouse, then suddenly my phone hit the ground and I joined it when I was thrown on it with force. My cheekbone took all the damage as someone pressed the side of my face onto the wet ground and made sure to put weight on my back to stop me from moving. I was shivering in fear already, but that fear only grew when my hair was pushed out of the way by a bloody hand, its knuckles painted red and brown from fresh and drying blood. The action did not feel one bit intimate, it was scary, intimidating. With the pressure on my back, I was pressed against the hard floor and could barely breathe, but in a situation like this I knew better than to talk.

I knew that. Yes.

So why did I talk? Why were my nerves acting up in moments like these?

“I am sure you got the wrong person—I’m just an accountant-“ A gun was now pressed against my cheek, I took it as a sign to shut up and did so. The man on my back twisted the gun a few times against my cheek, making me open my mouth from the weird movements against my teeth, like someone forcing a dog to open its jaws to get food out of it. “Aren’t we noisy? Tonight wasn’t the right night to feel heroic, girl.” The man asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes in discomfort, my breath hitching. Laughing sadistically, he continued talking, this time his tone lowered, “Rats shouldn’t snoop in businesses that aren’t theirs.” I felt the weight shift on my back, then heard him ask someone, “Keep beating him up, I’ll take care of her then we’ll continue having our fun,” His voice was stern but I still heard some tones of him being carefree, he was enjoying this. He then addressed someone else, “Sounds good to you?” The answer consisted of muffled cries, attempts at screams that were cut off by hits then a gun cocking. With a sigh, the man on me pulled the gun away from my face and tutted the man who was bound on his knees.

I felt the weight leave my back but did not dare move, I stayed right where I was. Steps on the humid ground were heard, getting away from me but clearly approaching the man who I assumed was being tortured. The gun fired soon after, startling me as I tensed up and closed my eyes a few seconds before opening them again. The crazy man that put me on the ground laughed loudly, “Come on, it’s just the thigh, you can still walk for now, yeah?” He had said. Turning my head to look at them, I saw the older man on his knees, hands tied behind his back and suit bloody. His tie was undone, and he had wounds all over his face and chest. “I said you can walk, yeah?” Recognizing the voice, I could put a face to my aggressor as I watched him remove his glove before grabbing the victim by his arm and making him stand up, only to force him to wobble a bit. “See! I am being nice! Talk and it’s all over, come on.” He cooed in something that could be seen as sweet if it wasn’t happening in a warehouse with violent people and a man bleeding on the ground.

“I told you! I don’t know anything I-“ The man with the long earring in his left ear did not think twice before punching the office worker in the face with enough force. I believe I heard his nose crack. I caught a glimpse of the tattoos adorning his hands but could not decipher, from how far I was, what was written on them. The crazy man laughed after the punch, “Wrong answer! Haha, you have one last chance, ok?” He said, leaning over so that his face was at the same level as the other man’s. From my place on the ground, I could only see the wicked smile on his face, and it made me feel uneasy. The tall violent man was clearly crazy, having such a man roaming the city did not seem safe at all and it scared me to think of what else was happening in the shadows. “Alright, alright, please Reaper-“ The man he called Reaper gripped his chin tight and chuckled, “Straight to point, I don’t have time to waste on vermin like you, you’re no fun.” He said as a matter of fact, as if they both believed this. His face had turned serious so quickly that I feared the moment I felt like I could escape, he would change his mind in half a second.

The bleeding man nodded quickly, tears streaming down his cheeks, “It’s Silas&Sons—That’s the name of the firm that discovered something was off-'' While I was left in shock at the mention of the firm I worked at, the Reaper grinned and brought the gun to the man’s forehead, “Wasn’t hard, was it?” the man tried to tell him not to shoot, adding that the violent one had promised he would stop. The latter shook his head, “I said it’ll all be over! Listen carefully next time,” He said the last part like a parent berating their child then winked and pressed the trigger, killing the man in less than a second as his body hit the ground, blood spattering behind him. The man with black and blond hair looked at the body on the ground and chuckled to himself, “There won’t be a next time, but you get the jest.” He huffed with a wave of his hand before handing back the gun he had been given earlier. Turning around, his eyes locked on mine. I widened my eyes in pure terror and turned my face to be in the position he had left me in; I was aware he had seen me, but I was hoping he would not mention it.

The other people that were in the room had gone silent and were probably all looking at me, the woman lying on the floor, shaking, dreading for her life. The odds of me coming out of this unscathed seemed to be decreasing the more I observed what was happening around me. A stinging pain reached my scalp making me hiss, as someone lifted my head from the ground to make me look at them. While turning my head their way, I saw two men sitting on a crate, one with two braids that were long enough to go down to his ribcage while the other had shorter purple hair and glasses. Boredom adorned both their features alongside blood stains on their outfits, and yet they were nonchalant about it. I saw a man leaning behind another crate but barely managed to catch a glimpse of his tattoo that the man called Reaper snapped his fingers in front of me. “Here, I’m your tormentor, not them, yeah?” He grinned. Meeting his gaze again, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and kept my eyes on him.

“You’re being courageous, not even crying yet! You’re a fun one, gotta love it.” He said happily, his hand patting the cheek that had taken most of the damage when he slammed me on the ground. I flinched when I saw his hand approach my face then winced at the rough touch against the bruising skin. “What will I do with you little rat? Eavesdropping ain’t nice, tattling ain’t it either.” The latter was said in a more serious tone as his expression turned somber, any humor that dripped from his words a moment ago was completely gone and he was now looking at me with caution. “Get up, come on.” I did not have a choice, the grip in my hair did not slacken and I had to follow his movement to avoid most of the pain. My clothes were dirty and damp from the humid ground; I felt my legs shake as I got to my feet and hissed at the pain when he yanked my hair for me to follow him quicker.

Pushing me forward, he threw me against the crate where the two other men were sitting. Hitting my shoulder against the wooden item, I swore under my breath and was about to fall to my knees again when the man with the long braids wrapped his legs around my neck and somewhat choked me. Caught off guard, I gripped his shins tight and tried to break free, but his hold only tightened. I heard him mock me while he dug his heels deeper in my biceps from the position he was in, “Stop moving and it’ll stop hurting, fuck you’re stupid.” He sighed with disdain, bringing me closer towards him but it only pressed my neck against the wood. Gritting my teeth, I stopped trying to get him to let go and let my arms fall to my side, when I felt the choke weaken and took a large intake of breath while focusing my eyes anywhere but on the man in front of me.

The manic laughter I had now heard many times in those few minutes I was on the floor reached my ears again, “I can see you wanna live, what are you willing to do to stay alive?” He asked in a light tone. It was a real question, but I did not want to do anything. I wanted to punch them and make a run for it, but they had guns and strength, none of which I could match in any way. I kept my mouth shut again.

The Reaper chuckled again, “I don’t know if you keeping your pretty mouth shut is a curse or a blessing-“ he stopped himself and slapped my now undamaged cheek with as much force as he could, making me yelp at the pain. I kept my face turned the direction his hand had turned it, but he gripped my chin forcefully and made me look at him. His expression had turned almost sour as he stared right into my eyes, “Fucking answer the question, what are you willing to do?” he spat, his face only breaths away from mine. Keeping a frown on, I uttered, “I wasn’t calling on you, there were people blocking another road-“ His mouth contorted into a smile once again as he pushed my face against the crate before letting go as he threw his hands in the air, and turned around on himself once, “She speaks! God it’s so entertaining to see you’re—Still. Not. Crying.” He gritted through his teeth the last three words before leaning over once again, his face very close to mine just like before.

“You’re telling me it’s a coincidence then?” He asked in a playful tone, clearly mocking me.

Fuck I wanted to make a run for it and get away from here. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest the longer I spent time here, the only thought running through my mind was: I am going to die here. How else would I end up? He had killed a man that had told him what he wanted to know, so no matter what I said he would kill me, right? Stammering a bit, I nodded the best I could with legs still around my neck, “Yes, I hadn’t seen you were here, I-“

“You’re funny! I’ll give you that! God you’re-“ He pulled back and made a rapid movement of his arms approaching me, as if putting me on display, “You’re fun! Ran, let her go.” The first part was said in excitement, the latter in the utmost seriousness. The moment he had spoken those words, the man let go of my neck and I was about to stumble when the Reaper grabbed me by the shoulders. He was tall, strangely tall, way above average, and it only added to all the traits that already made him scary. My whole body tensed, I thought this was it. He glared at me for a few moments before speaking to one of his friends, his gaze never leaving mine, “What do we know?”

An unknown voice reached my ear, it was close, so it must have been the other man on the crate, “Seems like a civilian, said she was an accountant. She also seemed surprised when the vermin said Silas&Son.” That perked the Reaper’s interest.

“Oh, so the little girl knows things. Have they sent you?” He asked, forcing me to look up by gripping my chin once more. He did not care the amount of strength he used, he couldn’t care less if I was uncomfortable, to him I was just a puppet that he could throw around and play with. Clearly he was right since I moved along and did not fight back. If I did, I would die, I was sure of it. “I was walking home from work—I saw my usual path was blocked and people were ganging up against a man so I-“ “You ran? The rat isn’t one for conflict, eh?” He patted my head and smiled almost reassuringly before letting go of me, making sure I fell on the floor. “Then? Make this quick, this ain’t the time for a bedtime story.”

“I called the police so that they could check—they said it was none of their business so I tried again and you-“ Fuck I was stuttering, the stress was too much and once I had fallen on my back, he was a lot more intimidating. He could just pull out his gun and shoot me, I could not get up with how I was shaking.

“You tried to do the right thing, right?” He asked, his back now turned to me. I could not gauge his emotion, so I replied sincerely, “Yes, it was all that I could do-“

Suddenly he turned around and pointed a gun at me, grinning, “Wrong! You could have helped the poor, poor man on the street, yeah? But you didn’t, why?” I did not reply right away, so he waved the gun around before crouching right in front of me and taking a good look at me. “They were too many-“ “That never stops a hero, does it? It’s all about charisma, determination, letting your body act faster than your brain, no?” He asked rhetorically, but while I waited for him to continue he sighed and looked down, his gun dropping lower as his arm fell limp. He started mumbling to himself a moment, using the gun to scratch his hair. Perhaps it was not the most adequate time to do so, but I looked at his outfit and saw he was wearing suit pants and a white business shirt. Quite the outfit for a murderer, but he had made sure to pull his sleeves up to not stain it. He was right in doing so since all the blood from earlier was on his black gloves and his forearms.

“Tell me, rat,” He slowly looked up and gave me a wicked smile, “Are you a hero?” He brought the gun to my forehead and all I did was close my eyes in fear. A sob escaped my lips as I tried to back away, but I was only met with the wooden crate, accidentally bumping my head against the shoes of one of the men sitting on it. “Do you believe there is good in this world? That it deserves to be saved? Hm? Would you die for this pathetic excuse of a world?” He pressed the gun even more against my skin. I heard the click as he disengaged the safety and tried to close my eyes even more than how I had already shut them, but found it impossible. My entire body was shaking, there was no helping the sobs escaping my mouth even by covering it.

I felt a gentle hand push my hand away and opened my eyes in confusion, only to see that the man who was holding a gun against me was grinning, “Answer the question.” He turned the gun horizontally and rested his arm on his knee as he placed his head on his free hand, completely relaxed. Getting lost in thoughts, I stared emptily at him while he started counting down, “Three…” Am I a hero? How would one describe a Hero? None of the mythological heroes could define me, none of those famous franchises either. “Two, think faster.” What answer did he want? Should I give him what he wants, or should I just be honest? “One-“

“I’m not a hero, I didn’t call right away because he deserved it, I-“ Taking a deep breath, I tried to take a hold of myself and calm down the best I could. “He harassed people, no one ever did anything about it-“

“See! Wasn’t hard, was it? Good girl,” He patted my head before moving the gun under my chin and raising it with the end of the gun, his finger never leaving the trigger, “You’re also a bad person then, you’re like us, right? Some people do deserve to die!”

Shuddering, I took a shaky breath and inhaled, “I’m nothing like you-“ “If he died it’s because ye didn’t act quick enough, don’t you agree?” He inquired with a pleading look, the mockery never leaving his tone. “I don’t, no.” My words were followed by the gun leaving my person as the man stood up quickly and barked out a laugh before asking his friends if they had heard that, they only grumbled in reply. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and I quickly let my head down in fear I had triggered him somehow, frightened it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I like you, accountant woman. I just wanna see one thing to know what I should do with you—well two, but I’ll start slow.” Bringing his arm behind his back, I tensed again but then felt the gun hit my ankle as he threw it at me.

“Shoot me,” He ordered as he crouched in front of me, his arms crossed over his knees while grinning broadly. “I killed a guy, right? I am bad, killing me should make you a hero.” His little speech was stupid, it only started a vicious cycle of death with no end. Killing a killer that killed one person? It’d make me a killer that killed one person, and so on. But he brought his hand to mine and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun before pressing it against his forehead. “Here, you can’t miss from this close, show me you got guts! Come on, do it.” That grin turned into something scary, manic, he was getting off on the thrill. But my hands were shaking, I had never held a gun before, never intended to, but tonight was nothing if not exceptional. When I tried to put my arm down, he grabbed my elbow and kept it up, “It’s you or me, come on, make this fun for both of us-“ “I’m not shooting you in the head! You’re insane-“

Hearing my words well, he barked a laugh then guided the gun to his heart, one of the men behind me sighed and told him to hurry up, but the Reaper only shushed him. “Here, then? Sounds better?” Nothing was right in his head; I couldn’t understand what he was doing. No matter how hard I tried, I did not know the point he was making, but taking all this time to think about it made me lose the position of power he had given me. Forcing my hand to let go of the gun, he took it and, at the speed of light, put it in my mouth, making a sob escape it as he did so. “That’s a missed opportunity, too bad.” He shrugged then as I saw him press the trigger. I closed my eyes, my hands gripping my thighs so tight, it must have left some marks under the fabric of my pants.

The click of the trigger echoed, and I felt myself jump on the spot at how loud the bang was—so this is it? That thought crossed my mind rapidly, but was shoved aside by the loud ringing in my ears. I then heard footsteps echoing around the warehouse. The gun was no longer in my mouth, there were no bullets, it was a blank; I felt my stomach churn and opened my eyes in panic before pushing my tormentor away. I was surprised when he let me do so, but it was better for him. Slamming my hands down, I was on the floor as I emptied my stomach on the concrete. Chuckles reached my ears along with the whispers of a few words, “Can’t even stomach a bit of gun play.” “Should have killed her, blood stench leaves easier than vomit.” The latter comment made one of them laugh.

When I was done, I thought for a second that death was quick, most of the time. And when it wasn’t, you expected it, you weren’t filled with stress. Hence why no one ever spoke of post-mortem vomit. It made me laugh only for a second until I was pushed back on my ass when the man with the earring pressed his foot against my chest, making me wince. “Your name, what is it?” he asked seriously.

Feeling some sort of confidence build up, I looked up at him and leaned over, using the hem of his pants to wipe my mouth, but did not answer. The seriousness on his face turned into the look of someone who had been challenged; he snapped his fingers, then I heard someone say my name, my birthdate and my birthplace. Looking at the person who kept reading out loud, I saw the man with a tiger tattoo on his neck approach before tossing my wallet at me. I did not know when they had found the time to pickpocket me, but they managed to. My cheeks were burning up from the sickness, the stress and the embarrassment this entire situation brought but I still tried to keep my head high, for what it was worth. Bringing my hands to my face, I only now felt the tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

“Okay little tattletale, I think I’ll let you go for now-“ “Are you not going to kill me? Isn’t this what you do?” I asked in a weak voice, not even attempting to get up after all the time you had been mishandled. Both the man with the earring and the tattooed one were standing in front of me. The former reached out for my hand to help me get up, I did not take it, so he sighed loudly and bent over to grab my bicep and forcefully get me up. “We only kill snitches and annoying fucks, are you one of those?” I was about to tell him no when he leaned over suddenly and pressed his index against my lips to shut me up. Startled, I tried to step back but he held the back of my head with his free hand and beamed, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna be useful, you’re just the right amount of malleable,” The finger that had left my mouth moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I shivered in disgust, “I can see it in your eyes that you’ll be a fun one to work with.”

I tried to pull away from him, but his hand gripped my hair tight and kept me in place, stopping me from leaning back when he approached closer, “Since you’re not a hero, we’ll make you a villain then—I mean, it’s not going to be hard considering your stance on killing.” He grimaced at that before turning it into a full laugh and letting go of me.

“Rindou, take her back to her place-“ “I’m not doing that, I got plans with Ran. Send the tiger boy, we’re done for tonight.” The one with purple hair and glasses said as he hopped off the crate, followed by the other man on it. It made the Reaper’s face turn sour as he gripped the one who had just spoken and tightened his hold on his shoulder, “I don’t do escorting, that’s your job.” He gritted through his teeth.

Seeing the tension, I put my wallet back in my bag and cleared my throat, “I’ll—I can walk home on my own, by now they must be gone-“ All of them looked at me with a threatening gaze, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. The man with the braids started walking off, Ran was his name I believe, along with the man with the tattoo on the neck, while the two others stayed right there and glared at me. When I took a step back, taking their silence for permission, the Reaper wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him, “Right, I’ll do it tonight. Just because she’s a fun one-“ “I can walk home alone, it’s no problem,” I tried to push him away, my hands were shaky and had a few scraps. Without the constant manhandling, not that I missed it, I could feel the dampness of my clothes and how cold it was getting.

Looking down at me without any expression on his face, the Reaper turned us around and waved everyone goodbye, his arm never leaving my shoulders. “We both know that’s not true, if we let you walk home alone you might get beaten up by—how did you put it? ‘Gang members’, yeah, that was what you said on the phone.” He hummed, shoving his free hand in his pocket as he guided us outside. I felt uneasy in his hold, I felt like he was walking me towards my execution. I did not want to lead him to my house, but what choice did I have? He would find it sooner or later; at least that’s what he said, but I did not know how much truth there was to it. In my eyes, it was but a small group of violent men that had killed someone.

“In the end you did get beaten up by a gang member, but it could’ve been worse.” He said lightheartedly as he stopped in front of a car. When I paused my steps and still did not look at him, simply waiting for his next move, I felt him grab my chin and turn my head towards him. My breath hitched in fear as I met his golden eyes. He seemed a bit bored now, but I couldn't care less how he felt, I wanted to bolt away from his touch. “You should disinfect that, and you’ll definitely bruise, but you probably have makeup or something to hide that.” He shrugged.

When he leaned over again, I brought my hands in front of me and closed my eyes to stop him from touching me, but I only heard him huffing a laugh next to my ear as he opened the door of the passenger seat. “Get in, I’ll drop you off.” Looking up at him, I blinked a few times then glanced at the inside of the car. I don’t know what I was expecting, something dirty, bloody, disgusting perhaps. But instead, it was perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. It looked like an expensive car, but perhaps it was just very clean, I did not know. Still unsure, I hesitantly got inside and was about to close the door but felt a certain strength holding it back. The man was leaning on the door and bent over to peek his head inside the car, thinking he needed something. I pressed myself more against the seat to let him grab what he wanted, but his hand reached for the belt and fastened it for me.

“Wouldn’t want you to escape—ah, I mean, safety first.” He said mockingly before winking and slamming the door shut. My hands found their way to the belt and held it tight as I watched him walk around the car. His steps were too big for me to make a run for it, he would catch up on me in no time, I was stuck with him. As he entered the vehicle and fastened his own seatbelt, he pointed at the glove box and handed me his gloves, “Put them back and hand me a wipe, tattletale.”

His craziness was a lot more toned down, for a second I wondered how many faces this man had. The one I was seeing right now was intimidating from how put together he seemed, the other one was scary from how unexpected his actions were. “Why aren’t you killing me?” I asked without looking at him, focused on pushing the gun out of the way inside the glove box and grabbing the little pack of wipes. Giving it to him, his brow was quirked, “Because you’re a good girl,” He grinned, wiping his hands as he continued, “No one would ever suspect you’re working with the likes of a gang. You’re gonna be useful and that’s all that matters, you should be thankful I didn’t kill you. I hate people who eavesdrop.” He said, as he shoved the wipe in the door compartment.

“I didn’t eavesdrop.” I muttered, looking outside the window when he started the car. The laugh that erupted out of nowhere scared me, making me tense again, I dared to look his way and saw his manic smile again. “So, you’re an accountant, pretty boring. You should be thrilled I chose you.” He said in a mix of pride and humor before increasing the volume of the music then drumming his fingers on the wheel. Thinking about his words some more, I glanced his way and lowered the volume, catching his attention as he looked me dead in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to work with you?” I asked, measuring my tone to not piss him off, it did not take a genius to understand this man was unstable and that I needed to tread lightly around him.

Even with as much care as I put in my voice, his reaction was sudden when he turned the wheel and stopped the car on the side of the road. Passing cars honked in annoyance but the man did not care one bit while I had slammed my hand on the dashboard to stop my head from hitting it. Insulting him under my breath, I looked up and saw he had placed his arms on the wheel, his left cheek resting on his forearm. “Then leave. Get out right now, nothing’s stopping you.”

“What’s stopping me is that you’ll kill me, or you’ll run me over, multiple times,” I could see the smile on his face was spreading, but he did not move. The condescendence in his lack of reaction, of action, annoyed me but at the same time frightened me, was he going to slam my head against the window? Against the dashboard? I did not know, but I continued, stammering this time from how nervous I was becoming, “My life is on the fucking line, that’s what’s holding me back.” I spat. My eyes had never left his, even as his smile turned into a grin and his slender fingers gripped the wheel tighter.

When he did not look away, I did. At the same time, I turned on the seat and fully looked ahead instead of facing him. A silence set for a moment then I heard the car start and the man sighed, content, “You’re smart to stay, you’re only alive because I can use you. If you had left, I’d have shot you and left you on the side of the road to die.” He said in a light tone. The words he had spoken had the same effect of a bullet; my guts took a hit without being truly hit. I did not have a choice at all, I was stuck working for a man I did not know without even knowing what I had to do.

His hand rose and I closed my eyes, flinching slightly, “Type in your address, tattletale.” With the little confidence that remained, I lifted my shaky hand and typed it in while telling him that I had a name. Then added, “You should use it. Maybe there is a name I can call you by?” I was not asking for his ID, nor anything specific, if he had a codename in his stupid gang or something like that I would go with it, but calling him Reaper in my head sounded idiotic. “Sorry doll, I think nark or snitch suits you a lot more.” He hummed a moment, throwing me a glance from the corner of his eyes as his hands moved on the wheel absent-mindedly. Huffing in annoyance, I placed my elbow against the window and rested my chin against my fist, thinking he was done. After all, why should I care what he called me? I should simply call him an asshole if he was so keen on calling me a snitch. Or perhaps I should live up to the title and do exactly that, tell the police.

A hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me out of my daydream with my head bumped against the window. Wincing in pain, I heard the man laugh loudly while being focused on the road, “That’s deserved for not paying attention.” He said through laughter. “Pay attention to what? The road? I’m not the one driving-“ “To me, you should keep your guard up, snitch. Who knows what I could do.” He said with a deadpan expression. Without looking at me, he brought his hand to tuck my hair out of the way, then glanced at me and smirked. His touch was light, almost gentle. It allowed me to get a proper look at his tattoo, but I could not focus on it at all, I only tensed up before feeling him grip my throat and bring me closer to him. I made a choking sound and complied to avoid as much pain as possible, “You can call me Hanma, as long as you don’t scream it from every fucking rooftop.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. This night was not going as planned at all and every time I found any respite, it would be ruined, and the man would turn violent again. I could not let my guard down, I knew it but when he would just stay put, I could not help myself but think he was done. Clearly he wasn’t. His hold lessened a bit, so I took the opportunity to claw his hand away and pull myself back, my own hand around my throat in protection. “They called you the Reaper.” I croaked, wanting him to talk more so that I wouldn’t have to.

“They did, yeah.” He shrugged.

That was it. He did not add anything else. The matter was closed. When I asked him why they did that, he pulled the car on the side of the road again, startling me in the process. With how on edge I was, I did not realize where we were and thought he would be mad again, but instead he looked over my shoulder and nodded, “That’s you, get out.” He told me as his left arm rested on the wheel while the right one was on the back of the seat, casually leaning on it while looking at me. Looking behind me, I saw my house and felt some hope at finally being able to get home and yet… I did not leave right away and instead prodded, “The news talks about your gang, how many people did you kill?” His eyes traveled from my head to my hands then up to my head again, the arrogance never leaving his face as he leaned back against the car door and waved a hand dismissively, “Take a guess, I think it should be fun.”

I was about to give him a number when he leaned forward quickly, his face right in front of mine as he whispered, “Don’t forget those in comas or those at the hospital, they might not be dead, but they might as well be,” He chuckled happily then approached even closer, his lips right next to my ear, “They’re only alive because I said they could be, like you are. One wrong move and,” leaning back quickly, he clapped his hands, “Bang, dead.” He said dead meaning those in the hospital, but I fully understood he was threatening me, I was not an idiot.

Taking this as my cue to go, I unbuckled my seatbelt and when I was about to open the door, I heard the mechanism of the car locking it. Turning around to look at Hanma, I wordlessly asked if he needed anything else. His hand reached out towards me, “Your phone.”

“I didn’t record this or anything, I was not on a call with the police either, I-“ snatching it from my hand while I was rambling, Hanma tried to unlock it but instead was met with a locked screen. Hesitantly, I took it from his hand, mine being a lot shakier than his seeing how steady his were and unlocked it before giving it back to him. A minute passed and he handed the phone back to me, “We’ll be in contact. Things are gonna change for you, doll. Hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

He was an unusual character, he was confusing, violent, and surely insane. All of those things added up in my mind, making me accidentally let it slip, “How can one be ready with you? Crazy man…” I said it all under my breath and huffed the last part as I pushed the door open. I let out a sigh when the door opened easily, part of me even thanked the man for not keeping me in any longer but I was still on my toes, certain he would say something else as I left the car, but he did not.

Grabbing my bag, I shuffled away from the car that still hadn’t moved and kept glancing over my shoulders until I reached the door where I struggled to put the key in the keyhole. At each failed attempt my frustration grew, the swears flooded out of my mouth easily and soon it turned into a stupid crying of frustration. “Fuck this, fucking shit-“ when the key finally fit, I hurried inside and locked the door behind me again but this time with the sliding lock, knowing full well I would struggle again too much to lock my door with the key seeing how tensed I still was.

The darkness of my home was what welcomed me. It was awful, it was cold and above everything it felt oppressive—my face was heating up, I was suffocating, my clothes were burning my skin, but I was also shaking. Fanning my face, I made my way to the bathroom with heavy steps, my breath was quickening, was it breathing or heaving? I needed to calm down, I needed to ground myself but I did not know how, this never happened but I felt like I was dying. I could not breathe, my lungs hurt at each intake of breath. “Fuck, fuck, shit, calm down“ I panted while taking off my clothes, I needed to take everything off, I wanted to burn them, it was filthy, disgusting and smelled wretched.

As I took off my top, I caught a whiff of the stench of the warehouse and let out a sob but did not let it stop me even if I could not breathe. I removed the rest of my clothes and knelt by the bath, leaning over to turn the shower on but did not wait for it to be warm to step inside and let it pour all over my dirtied body. The coldness made me take a deep breath that seemed to have helped with the panic attack I was having, but it did not help the crying, so I let it all out while I was washing up. What have I gotten myself into? What happens next? What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to ask me to kill someone? Am I going to have to use a gun? I didn’t want to do any of those, I only walked by something I had nothing to do with and—letting out a scream of frustration, I sat down in the bath and let the water rain on me. I ran my hands through my wet hair and placed my elbows on my knees, grunting again, “I don’t do gangs… I do numbers, I don’t have time to murder people…” I mumbled.

Letting my own words sink in, I let out a chuckle at first and focused my gaze on the wall in front of me then laughed again, shortly. I don’t have time to murder people, yeah… “Because if you had time you would?” I asked myself jokingly as I stood up, laughing again. Shaking my head, I shut the shower off and got out, almost slipping on the water that had splattered around the bath. I hadn’t taken time to put a towel on the floor or prepare anything, fortunately I managed to balance myself and took one from the closet. Once I was dry, I wrapped my robe around my form and stopped in front of the mirror, taking a proper look at the damage I had taken.

The scratch on my cheekbone was bruised, there was another bruise on my neck that I could probably hide with a turtleneck, the season allowed it, and if not with a turtleneck then a scarf would do the trick. Disrobing myself just to take a look at the rest of it, I had some bruises on my arms where I was grabbed to be moved roughly, without counting the pain on my ass but no one would see that. Passing my tongue over my teeth, I was glad as I still had all of them, but my jaw hurt, “Did I bite the inside of my cheek? At what moment could-“ A flashback of when the man slapped me with full force appeared in my mind, fueling me with a bad feeling of uneasiness as I put back my robe. “Bastard…” I huffed before opening the door of my bathroom and stepping inside the dark room again. Talking to myself, I continued, “Nothing’s stopping me from telling the police, who does he think he is? I could very well call them, yeah…” I paused in my steps and scoffed dryly, “Not that they’d listen.”

The news was always talking about the gangs in the city, telling us that the police were working on stopping them, but no one knew the people that were supposed to defend and help were a bunch of sellouts, bribed out idiots. The system we had put our trust in had decided to fuck us over and to leave us to ourselves, it was because of them that I was in this situation. It’s not like it had been hard to stumble upon one of their gang meetings. They might claim discretion, but if anyone could find them, it was anything but. “Who am I kidding? I am fucked,” I barked a laugh and turned on the light, “Guess I am a gang member-“ I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the man my thoughts were plagued with, sitting on my couch, his legs crossed with one ankle over a knee. “Not exactly, you still need to prove yourself. But I love the enthusiasm!” He said while placing an arm on the back of the couch and looking at me with a satisfied smile, not even fully facing me, only to look right ahead once he was done talking.

Usually, one would say don’t turn your back on your enemy, but he was the predator here, he had nothing to fear, I was the one shaking in my metaphorical boots. Deciding to not be useless, I was about to shuffle to the kitchen discretely when I saw him beckon me closer by bending his index finger. Thinking I could play it off as not having seen it, I took one step towards the kitchen when I heard him click his tongue over his teeth, “I said, come here.” Stopping dead in my tracks, I did not speak, and silently opened my bag to pull out my phone and start recording. His hand gripped the back of the couch and I heard him chuckle mockingly, “Ran said you were stupid, but we both know you’re not, now come.” Putting the phone properly on the furniture, I followed his order and walked up to him to stand right in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest to close my bathrobe up to my neck.

“How the fuck did you get in?” I spat. He was not driving, which meant he could not throw me out of a speeding car. He was not surrounded by other maniacs either, and if he had a gun and decided to shoot me, I would have proof of it. There was a semblance of safety, even amidst the fact that the man had broken in without caring. It led me to have some confidence.

The man grinned and leaned over, his elbows resting on his knees. His demeanor was one of a man in control, he knew he could do anything to me because I would bend, he said it himself, I was malleable. But not for lack of will, simply by fear. And if he kept bending me this much, I would not last long, I would break. As long as I feared him, he had the upper hand… but I was not feeling fearless yet. With a low chuckle, he simply said, “Broke in with pliers,” then showed me the pair of pliers lying on the couch. I glanced at my door and saw the chain of my lock was broken as he had said, but that loss of attention directed to him annoyed him. Snapping his fingers, he brought my attention back to him, “Here, you should make a double of your key-“ “I’m not doing that. First, you’ll pay me back for breaking my lock, then if you want to meet up for whatever you got planned for me, you pick a spot but not-“

My breath hitched when Hanma rapidly stood up, his form towering mine as he looked down at me with his hair falling randomly on his forehead. “We got a lotta confidence suddenly, don’t we? Go ahead, finish your sentence, I’m listening.” He cooed in a condescending tone, his face approaching mine as he hovered slightly over me. Looking up at him, I looked down to his chest feeling my confidence wane slightly. When I tried to step back, not liking how close he was to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Come on partner, let it all out, you seem to have a lot on your mind. Keeping it all bottled up ain’t gonna end up well. We should get along if we’re gonna work together, yeah?” He said in a fake listening attitude, we both knew he didn’t care but I was riled up and clenched my fists.

“I don’t want you in my house, you’re a piece of shit. I don’t want to get along, I want you to fuck off—Get out.” I managed to say everything without stuttering, but his grip tightened on my shoulder, making me tense up even if it was not painfully tight. Simply knowing that nothing was holding him back, not his mind, nor his ethics, nothing. His mood was the turning point of his actions, which means one change of emotion could make him go feral and hit me, it scared me. Hissing mockingly, he tilted my chin up to make me look at him, a smirk adorning his face, “Make me leave then, do something about it.” Grabbing both my shoulders, he pushed me back slightly then spread his arms wide, a huge smile on his face, “Go ahead, I won’t do anything—it’s free hits,” He taunted. When I did not move, he pointed at his face and licked his lips like an animal looking at its next meal.

“Do it, show me your guts, little rat! I hit you right? I put a gun to your head, that must be so annoying, right?” Biting the inside of my cheek, I could feel my frustration building up inside me again. He had done all those things, and no regret was written on his face, none. He had killed a man, broken inside my house, manhandled me and hit me. He had mocked me, humiliated me, mistreated me and while it all happened in a short time span, I already felt strongly about him. Reminding myself all that, I hadn’t realized the hit that flew from my person until it landed on his jaw, my fist feeling like it had hit a wall. His face turned to the side by the end of the action.

Using the heel of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth, he looked at me with hooded eyes and grinned, his teeth colored red, “That’s hot, but ye shouldn’t have done that.”

[Part 2]