#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.

[simpjaes]

HARD CASH, EASY MONEY (p.js)

Jay is rich-rich and likes to frequent the strip club you dance at. You know regulars tend to have their favorite dancers, but to become his favorite? Oh, well….you knew he’d rent out a private room sooner or later. 

Or the one where you tell jay that if breaks the rules, he’s going to have to fork up a very large sum of money and, well, he seems entirely ready to pay up. 

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT― 5.4k

PAIRING― jay x afab reader

CONTENT― pussy drunk and rich as hell jay, stripper reader, jay is taller than reader.

NOTE: if u read this before no u didn’t bc i reworked a lot of it!!! just to cover my bases, hi i am ncteez and if you feel like this fic sounds too close to another one, its because i wrote them both!!! thank you!!! 

nsfw tags under cut:

nsfw tags: lap dancing, shy-ish jay, unprotected sex, cream pie, doggy style on a couch, thick cock jay, reader doesn’t cum lmfaooooo

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having sex with a client is a big no-no in the industry you’ve grown to love. You are to be desired, eye-fucked, and paid to look sexy. The fact that you don’t have to give them any part of you outside of a show?  What’s not to love about it? 

There are men who try to get touchy, men who are too shy to make eye contact, and men who refuse to break eye contact. All three of these types of clients bring in the big bucks and tend to become regulars to either yourself or one of the other girls who make the men believe they are also an object of desire. 

It’s easy, really. After all, why not use the goods you were born with to make the big bucks?

Then you have those clients. The men with big-shot jobs, walking in and ordering the most expensive drink, quietly observing the women as if they aren’t even interested at all. The ones who have wives, children, and stresses that will weigh on them the moment they walk out of their homes for work. 

To them, you are their secret little stress relief and you often find yourself acting out towards them, letting them break a rule or two, perhaps. Dancing a little longer for them sometimes just to really rake in the dollars. Mostly because they’re the ones who pay your expensive rent. They’re the reason you can live on the high-end of the city and buy new, sexy, lingerie to wear each night you dance and bounce around on the stage. 

Jay was one of those men, so you assumed. A little young looking if you’re being honest, but who are you to pry when he’s throwing hundreds at you and the other dancers? 

 You remember the first time he walked through those doors. You thought he was going to be one of the shy men, avoiding eye contact and shuffling uncomfortably on his seat to hide the boner, presumably ashamed to know he could never have the women up on stage that are intentionally making him hard. 

He isn’t though, and you swear just last weekend he bought out the entire fucking club because he was the only one watching on a late saturday night, silently judging each dancer. You also remember when he made eye contact with you on that night. His eyes were sharp under the dimmed lighting and you swear he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat with the intimidation, mostly because the motherfucker smirked before throwing out five crisp hundred dollar bills.

Even on the first night he ever attended, the girls talked. You remember when your best friend ran back in her six inch pumps, jumping with glee and explaining that the new guy threw two hundred at her only a minute into her dance. 

Naturally, all the girls wanted to put on a show for him after that.

He appeared to be rich. And everyone was shocked, really, because even the richest of clients typically don’t give a bill over fifty to the dancers unless he pays for privacy. This man though? He was tipping with bills that showed his status. 

It was really only natural from that moment forward for each girl plus yourself to try and win him over. You’d stay near his side of the stage, directing the gyrating and pussy shots right at him just to see those bills flutter to the floor of the stage. 

In all honesty though, these types of clients never stay long. Usually they’re in the city on business and visit once, only to never come back. This one though? Oh, he keeps coming back. Every. Single. Saturday. 

Having no ring on his fingers only made it better because many of the married men do not feel the guilt of ogling women while married. Huge turn off. Like, hey, if they don’t touch, it’s not cheating right? Either way, eating fancy and living in your nice flat paid for by the lust of men is a perfect lifestyle for you. Even if you have to pretend to like the pigs pretending to love their wives.

You called dibs on this new man as quickly as you could, to the dismay of the other dancers. Calling dibs was never truly honored though, because who the man chooses is usually who ends up dancing for him and getting the most money. 

This guy never seemed to choose a girl though. He never pays for dances, never speaks, never so much as shivers in his seat at the image of a pussy sticking to panties in front of his face for his money. All he does is watch and throw bills.

You should be pleased. After all, he’s kind of a perfect client.

Weeks and months go by at this point and Jay keeps his regular Saturday night appearances. After what you and all the other dancers believe regarding him buying out the club last weekend, he’s a very welcome face to see. 

Tonight though, several dancers have come back into the lounge crying because this guy didn’t tip them a fucking dime. Given, a bouncer shows up not ten minutes after each crying face with a nice tray of drinks and an envelope with their stage names on it. 

It’s gotten to the point now that with how long he’s been visiting the club, some girls even roll their eyes at him. Wondering how desperate he must be, how privileged he must be to flaunt his money the way he does. 

Still, that doesn’t stop every single one of you from working your bodies for him in hopes of more, more, more money. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Same old, same old at the club half a year later. Saturday night, several regulars, several new faces, and of course, that young rich guy sitting front and center. 

You walked into work just as the sun began to set and there he was. At this point you can tell by the back of his head with that nice hair cut. So many other men show up disheveled, and half of them are already wasted by the time later shows even start. Still, you smile in knowing you’ll make rent again this month. After all, you just spent a bit too much money on some new shoes and outfits. 

Still, but this point regarding this rich ass guy, even you’re getting annoyed. Every saturday he tips you anywhere between five hundred to a thousand dollars. Given, you’re very aware that it’s much more than the other dancers get, and you kind of have been lying about the amount he tips you so they don’t feel bad. It’s the fact that he isn’t giving anyone a chance to really show him a good time. 

Private rooms and VIP services are highly sought after in this club and he can definitely afford it. It just appears that he doesn’t want to get personal with anyone.

Given, there’s no sex involved, of course. It’s just intimate lap dances, music of their choosing, sharing drinks, and occasionally just becoming a therapist for loser old men. Still, you wish he’d give you a chance to really get into your moves. 

And, well, would you look at that.

You’re in the back room settling into your seat to lace up your new shoes when one of the owners walks up to you. 

“You’ve got a dance.” He says to you, smiling. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, popping your lips with the pretty lipgloss before wiping some off that overlined your lips, and then shift your eyes to the owner through the glass. 

“Jake, again?” 

The owner shakes his head with a laugh. Surely Jake would be here soon to try and get you to dance for him again though. 

“Who, then?” You laugh, leaning back down to fix a strap on your shoe. 

“His name is Park Jongseong, goes by the name of Jay.”

“Okay?” You laugh, turning in your chair to face the man. “Is this his first time buying a dance?”

“Oh yeah.” The owner says brightly. “He bought you out for the entire night, head to room 11 when you’re dressed, he’s already made himself at home.” 

Nothing else is said by the owner as he turns and walks out. 

“The whole night?” One of the girls laughs at your situation. “You’d better hope he tips well.”

“Well, buying out the entire night sounds expensive, he must be one of the rich ones.” You laugh with a shrug, a little frustrated that your new shoes won’t be seen by the foot-fetish men. They’re always out and feral on Saturdays. 

“Maybe–” The other dancer laughs, looking at you with kind of a pitiful look. “Hope he’s not ugly.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve done so many private dances before, but none that had ever taken the entire shift. To be fair, you didn’t even know they could do that. You assume that the owner took the offer because he decided the money was worth it. Wondering how much was offered to pay for your presence, you feel kind of good. 

This isn’t exactly a cheap club, surely this is a great opportunity. 

Whoever Jay is though, he’d better make this wasted shift worth your time.

“Hi,” You whisper without looking up, sauntering into room 11 with a small voice. They always like when you’d act smaller in terms of personality, submissive even. 

The lights are dimmer than usual when you walk in and you’ve only used this room once or twice during your entire career at this club. It was the most expensive room, one with its own pole, a large velvet couch, and more space to move around compared to the others. 

The man doesn’t respond to you as your eyes adjust to him, but then–Oh.

Oh.

Jackpot.

“Jay?” You look at the man who had spent thousands on you and the other dancers since he’d become a regular. “That’s the name of the man who spoils us?” 

He just nods at you, staring you up and down with the same sharp eyes he had the night you’d first seen him. 

“Not a man of many words?” You question, walking over to him slowly, swinging your hips like the way you always do when you’re on the clock. “So, I take it you won’t tell me why you picked me, huh?” You laugh playfully, looking over to the pole but parking yourself in front of him. 

“Why wouldn’t I have picked you?” He lets out, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re my favorite to watch.”

Hearing his voice felt surreal, somehow setting him apart from any other client you’ve had seated in front of you. His voice is smooth, but you can’t tell if you think that because he’d held your curiosity for the longest time, or because he just said you’re his favorite to watch.

“Oh yeah?” You smile at him with a tilt of your head. “Lucky me.” 

With that, you see how he relaxes against the couch to watch you. Business as usual. You don’t even ask how much he shelled out for this, because you know it had to be a lot. His first offer was probably much more than what the owner would have accepted to begin with. 

You do your job for him though, twirling and sliding yourself against and on the pole. The music is a lovely choice, one that is chill enough to move slowly, but upbeat enough to bounce and wiggle for him. 

The pole is cold as usual, allowing your nipples to perk enough to where, now, because he is closer to you than he had ever been, he can see them. You definitely see him watching too, still with that same bored expression despite the money he lends out just to experience it. You continue your routine, spreading your cheeks, pressing your tits together, making eye contact with him, smirking, and licking your lips. 

Jay mouths the lyrics to the songs sometimes, but his eyes never leave you even when he dips his head for a drink. His eyes are less sharp now compared to before, being replaced with a hazy kind of look as he drags his gaze up and down your mostly-exposed body. 

Noting that you’ve never seen his face shift before out in the main area, you believe that you are experiencing Jay actually reacting to a woman now. No longer looking uninterested but tipping as if he had cum in his pants during each dance. You feel entirely desired by him, and you kind of like it. 

“I think you’re the most handsome client I’ve ever danced for.” You say in a soft voice, slowly backing away from the pole as the song changes. After all, you always sweet talk clients when it’s a one on one like this, though usually you’re lying. You actually mean it this time. “Do you know the rules?” 

Jay nods as his legs spread a bit when you walk towards him. He knows you’re taking your time because he did pay for the entire night. 

“No touching.” You whisper as the bass picks up on the speakers. It’s lap-dance time at the moment, and like always, you recite the most important rule. 

He nods again, eyes glued to you as you turn around in front of him and begin to ghost your ass over his lap. 

Watching you, he is well aware of the rules and perfectly comfortable with them. He would never violate a woman regardless of how sexy he finds her. He can buy her time, but he knows he can’t buy her intimacy on any level higher than he already has. 

You dance against him for what feels like an hour, but only three songs come and go. Jay is stoic beneath you but you can see his facade break every now and then. He will shake his head to himself sometimes, or flutter his eyes closed when your tits are less than an inch from his face. 

Usually, he is great at composing himself in this kind of situation. He knew when he became a regular here that having you would be impossible but that didn’t stop him from showing up. He knows it’s your job, and you act this way with everyone, so he can’t just break composure and show you just how fucking badly he wants you. Truly, he can’t embarrass himself by being so obvious.

“I imagine you’re struggling, Jay–” You break him out of his thoughts by calling him out instantly,  turning and now spreading your legs across his lap to sit on him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, mostly because you know he’s going to tip you big time. “Don’t you want to touch?” 

He stutters out a laugh, and maybe believing he was one of the shy clients isn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s against the rules.” He deadpans, keeping his hands at his sides and glancing away from you, trying not to imagine the fact that he’s got the prettiest stripper in the club grinding against his cock right now. Though you’re not entirely grinding against it, he can feel a soft sort of friction every few seconds as you dance on top of him. 

“Do you want to break the rules?” You tilt your head, knowing that you’re already touching him by wrapping your arms around him and kind of like, being incredibly attracted to him. You’d probably let him break more than a few rules if he wants it, not just for the tips either.

When he looks up to make eye contact with you, you nod at him and he follows, nodding himself.

“If you break a rule and touch me, you will have to pay me a hefty fine not to tell on you.” You laugh cheekily, batting your lashes and bouting your lips at him. 

He could pay your rent for the next several months if he wanted to  just for fucking fun? Like hell you’d report him for touching you when you’re struggling yourself not to touch him more.

“How much?” He instantly says, smirking as if you could name any price. For him though, hearing you suddenly offer some sort of deal in order to let him touch you has his mind doing flips.

Rules, rules, fucking rules.

Fuck the rules, he can afford to break them.

You’re a little taken aback by his playing along. You were mostly joking, but the suggestion is still there if he’s the type to... y’know, wanna fool around with a stripper. 

“Half a mil.” You joke again, pulling back from his lap to slap against his arm, knowing the price is too high but flirting anyway. “Touch me and you lose”

You didn’t expect him to nod back at you. 

“Five hundred thousand.” He confirms, keeping his hands at his sides. “Go on then, try and win your money.”

You’re fucking floored. Half a million is really on the line right now? There’s no fucking way he thinks he can lose. No way would a man really put that much on the line just to see if you can seduce them into breaking a rule that you’d allow him to break for free. 

The game is on now though, it seems,  as you do everything in your power to tease the ever-loving fuck out of the rich man in front of you. You ruffle his hair, you ghost your lips over his and everywhere else, you dance against him, on him, around him. You spread your legs out for him, slapping your own clothed pussy, you tease your nipples at him as if you’d pull your breasts out. 

You can see him start to falter about two hours into the game. You had whispered into his ear and noted how he leaned into it. When you walked around the couch so that you could stand in front of him again, you saw how painfully hard he had become. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as if you would be in a position to swallow his cock whole, you look up at him innocently. “Is that for me?”

Jay groans, nodding shortly. He’s definitely breaking, and he’s starting to not care. 

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now–” He admits when he drops his hand from his hair and looks at you with a crooked smile. 

You smile at him, that half a mil is yours. 

“Oh yeah?” You run your hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve wanted to fuck me before?” 

Jay nods, watching how dangerously close your hands get to his cock, lending a twitch and hoping you notice it. 

“You’ll lose if you touch me though–” You’re cut off by him, seething out words in a deeper voice.

“You act like I didn’t intend to lose.” He says, leaning forward and pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head to look at him. 

When he lifts your chin, he pulls your face a bit closer, shifting your body in a way that allows him to slot a leg between yours from the floor. He stares at you, almost like he knows that even after giving you the prize money, he’d still be the one to win. 

“D-did you?” You say, a bit intimidated by him and his rough hand holding your face, he forces you to look at him. 

“I did.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve never moved your body like this on stage, was I wrong to think you’d let me fuck you?” 

You shake your head, sticking your tongue out a bit to lick the tip of his thumb, unintentionally rubbing your pussy against his shin. 

“But I don’t fuck clients.” You try to argue for the sake of it, despite Jay definitely being a client you want to fuck.

“Oh yeah?” He says, turning your face to the side and skewing his neck to see your ass. “Is that why you’re practically fucking my leg right now?” 

You bashfully shake your head out of his grip, halting your hips and pulling back from how close his face is to yours. “No?” He laughs, leaning back and crossing his arms as he looks down at you. 

“I mean…“ You go back on your own word. “You already touched me and–” You shrug. ”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wet right now.”

Jay’s cock instantly twitches against his pants as he smirks at you with a confident nod.

“Stand up then.” He says, nodding his head more as if to motion you to do as he says. His legs spread as you rise to your feet and he instantly adjusts himself when he goes to stand up in front of you too.

Fuck, he’s taller than you and the way he looks down at you feels so much more intimating than before. You are entirely silent when he towers over you and you flinch a bit when his arm wraps around your waist.

You’re a little shocked by how rough he is when he moves you around, twisting you to where you’re facing the couch and being shoved down against it. “This is what you wanted, right?” He seethes out as you hear his belt being unbuckled.

Almost in a whine, you whisper out a ‘yes’. He’s floored by the sound of it, because it almost sounds like a fucking plead. Lucky me, he thinks. 

After all, he’s watched you for months moving your body like you need a cock to fill it. Not just dancing like the other girls, you would fuck the stage for him and his money. And now? Oh, you’re gonna get fucked. 

Jay doesn’t hesitate after hearing you, the money he’s lost in the bet is so far in the back of his mind because to be fair, he would have paid far more just to look at you. The only reason he’s pulling his cock out right now is because you fucking want it. 

The bet was to not touch you. It appears you’d be pleased with both his cock and his money.

Not because it’s your job either, quite frankly, he knows it isn’t your job to fuck clients. He feels special, and he knows he damn well should be special. 

You were seeing stars from the moment he touched your face, but this? God, this is more than you could have imagined. Such a fit, attractive man throwing his money at you and slipping your panties to the side just to see what no one else in this club sees. You wonder if his mouth is watering, if his hands are trembling, if his cock is twitching. 

Jay slips a finger into you with ease and without warning, just to test and see if you really do want him to fuck you into the next dimension, and thankfully, you’re more wet than he could have imagined. 

“Goddamn, baby, you want it?” He asks, confirming for himself that this is all for him. 

You nod your face against the couch, arching in a way that props your ass up a little higher for him. 

“Good good.” He says, fucking his finger into you a bit more before taking another step forward and resting his cock between your cheeks for a moment. 

“Letting your clients fuck you?” His hand wraps around your middle and pulls you up and against, grunting into your ear. “You always do this?”

You couldn’t even answer when you feel him press his cock down and between your legs. So fucking thick. 

“Go on, look.” He demands against your ear, holding you still against him with his arm as he slides between your folds. You look down to see the head of his cock peeking from between your legs and the image alone had you feeling gagged.

When you moan out at the image, you hear him chuckle against your ear and then you feel him pull his hips back, angling himself perfectly so that he can slide his cock into you. 

In one long, languid thrust, you feel the entirety of him. You can hear his sigh against you, and feel his hand tighten around your middle when he bottoms out. 

His cock is so thick, pulsing inside of you and weeping out thick pre-cum, only offering more to the wet you drench him in. 

“Ah, listen to that–” He says, releasing your middle and slamming his hips back and forward just a few times to let the sound of how wet you are echo under the music. “So wet for the money, hm?” He continues, now pressing you into the cushions of the couch, knowing you’ll soon be biting against the fabric. 

You hum against the cushions, rolling your eyes back at the delicious feeling of him paired with his voice. 

“Or is it for me?” He asks now, voice coming out in a low rumble as he slams his hips into you repeatedly with deep pushes and sharp drags. 

You nod again, almost frantically as you lift yourself to grip onto the back of the couch, and when you turn your head to look behind you, Jay is almost glaring at you with that same devilish smirk on his face. 

Almost as if, even if he’s losing all that money, he’s fucking winning right now. 

 You watch his neck tense when he throws his head back with a drawn-out moan shortly after, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips so quickly, and fucks into you so hard that all you can do is let out small whimpers each time the head of his cock hits a soft spot inside of you.

And when he doubles over you, using his other hand to stretch your panties impossibly far to the side, lying his head against your shoulder, you can tell he’s losing his composure too.

He’s so cocky, but goddamn is it nice to feel a man like this lose composure because of your pussy.

 His hips stutter in and out of you and his breathing is heavy, fingers gripping both of your ass cheeks and spreading them every few seconds only to release them and watch them bounce together before slapping hard against the flesh.

“Can’t believe you’re spread out for me right now,” He moans out as he reaches his hand up and swipes his hair out of his face, and then his hips snap back into you sharply. Almost pointed.

“Knew you would be too, I saw the way you looked at me baby– you wanted it too.” He breathes out with each thrust, as if he knew he would have you under him someday, you don’t argue. If you had met Jay on the street and he hit on you, you’d be far too easy for him to capture. 

“Don’t ever let another man do this for you–” He moans out now, amazed by how tight your cunt is around him. 

Truly, and not even trying to be rude, he genuinely didn’t think you’d feel this fucking strangled against his cock. It’s perfect. He wants to lay claim so fucking bad, and so, he fucks harder, quicker. 

“Don’t ever let another man pay for this pussy.” 

You nod with a strangled moan, struggling to keep your grip on the couch with his weight on you when he leans forward, pressing his chest to your back. 

“I’ll stop showing up.” He threatens. “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He continues to talk, hunched over you, fucking you just right while gripping both of your tips in that slutty bra you’re wearing. 

And before you can even answer in a whimper, a cry, or a moan, you feel his cock pulse inside of you. Seemingly fucking you until he’s empty only because you feel it happen. He releases himself inside of you, cumming spurts of thick white ropes against your quivering walls. 

Right then, he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back and against him and holding you so tightly in place. All you can do is sit still for him, cockwarming him through his orgasm as you try to speak. 

“You wouldn’t be able to stay away anyway–” You try to be snide through the pleasure of feeling his cum bubble out of you. “Look at how fast you came.”

He snarls first at your comment, only to chuckle as he orgasm comes to an end. Truly the sounds he made to your comment were so fucking erotic, you almost can’t imagine ever letting another man do this anyway. For some reason, having Jay act all possessive over you is much less offensive anyway, compared to the other men who would probably try this with you. 

You don’t see it as him assuming you’re a woman who would allow just any man to have sex with her for money, anyway. You think he knew he’d be able to pull it off. Though, if that weren’t the case, it wouldn’t be any of his fucking business anyway. 

If anything, you decide that he gets possessive when his cock is fucking, and you feel kinda glad that you were the one he picked. 

Not kinda. Actually, you’re fucking over the moon over it. 

The fact that the man cumming inside of you is the man all of the girls want to dance for makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world. His money is attractive, but god, the way he fucks is somehow more enticing. You wouldn’t mind doing it again, and again, and again. 

And when he finishes and pulls out of you, all he does is slide your panties back to their rightful place and gives your pussy a little tap, as if to comfort you into keeping his cum inside of you for safe keeping. 

And yeah, he knows you didn't cum but to be fair, as much as he would have loved giving you an orgasm, your pussy felt too good for him to stop. Perhaps you’ll call for him to return the favor? Who knows? (God, he hopes you do.)

By the time he’s sat back on the couch, allowing you to lounge against him as you catch your breath, he’s already pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He says, pulling out a card. “At least not half a million worth, so, just take this.” 

He hopes you take note of what he’s doing. After all, the club has an ATM, he could always just make a couple of transactions for this. 

You look at him wide-eyed, seeing the black card he holds out to you.  He's actually paying you? You didn’t think he’d really give you half a million, seeing as how much you enjoyed that? Being paid for sex isn’t actually something you do. 

Then again, he’s paying for breaking the rules, not for fucking you. 

“You’re just going to give me your card?” You laugh, raising a brow in confusion. “I could go way over the limit?”

“You wouldn’t.” He shrugs first, and laughs second. “You won’t.”

Taking the card into your hand, it feels much heavier than any credit card you’ve ever held. 

“No, really. You can’t just give me your card.” You laugh, tossing it back at him.

“Says who?” He looks at you seriously this time. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll just report you for fraud.”

He’s being fucking serious? Genuinely? 

“Jay–” You try to scold him, but he doesn't let you.

“Just take the damn card.” He demands, standing to his feet and ruffling his hair with a breath. “Don’t embarrass me more by not taking it.” 

“Embarrass you?” You ask, looking at the card and the way he just leaves it lying against the couch. 

Almost as if, if you don’t take it, someone else will.

“Listen, I don’t normally do this.” He trails off, feeling the post-nut guilt. “The least I can do is hold up my end of the deal.”

“This is your credit card.” You still try to argue with him, turning to watch him walk towards the door. 

“Don’t use it then. Just give it back to me when I see you again.”

You watch him reach for the doorknob. 

“Saturday?” You ask.

“Saturday.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re five hundred thousand dollars richer, somehow.

[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!!!!!

[maxdibert]

I also think that what contributes to the popular opinion among the fandom that Lily is a saint or an extraordinarily kind person is because Snape sacrificed so much for her, his past memories are mostly about her, his feelings and sacrifice are dramatic and romanticized, therefore people assume she was someone special, but they ignore the fact that Snape was an abused and socially deprived child and these children often create unhealthy attachment to the first person who show them genuine affection and friendship. His unhealthy attachment might have just made him ignore her major flaws and put her on a pedestal therefore the readers also put her on a pedestal. His memories create this saintly light around her, because that's how he viewed her, therefore the readers were forced to view her like that too. If he grew up in a loving home he might have just seen her like a normal person that can be sometimes a jerk like everyone else. The fact we don't know much about her doesn't help either because it creates a mystery we want to solve. And with all of what I mentioned it is easy to just perceive her in the same way Severus did.

Absolutely. I agree 100%. Completely. No doubts about what you’re saying. You’re absolutely right.

I’d just like to add that Rowling conveniently uses Lily to justify James. Lily doesn’t just have this saintly image because Severus idealized her, but because the narrative itself frames her as a kind of moral totem by which we’re supposed to judge whether a man (sic) is on the right or wrong path. The only proof we have that James changed is that Lily accepted him, which indirectly implies that she was so good, so ethical, so morally unassailable that if she chose someone as her partner, it was because that person had truly proven they were worth it. Even though the story never explicitly shows this supposed change—and there are even moments suggesting it wasn’t entirely genuine, like when Remus and Sirius admit that James just got better at hiding his awful personality rather than completely changing.

Rowling doesn’t just portray Lily as Severus’s best memory or the best thing that ever happened to him—already suggesting she must have been exceptional to have been so important to one of the most complex characters in the series, to the point that he risked so much for her. She also tells us Lily was so good, so incorruptible, that she could change men. This idea makes my stomach churn and fills me with frustration because the concept of the "healing woman" in fiction and the "woman as a catalyst for male redemption" trope disgusts me. I find it deeply misogynistic because it denies women the right to be imperfect, to be broken, flawed, morally questionable, or to commit immoral acts. It forces us to embody moral perfection to the highest degree. Honestly, it’s something I despise, and it infuriates me that Rowling portrays herself as a feminist because, if I were to do a gender analysis of her series, I could write another thesis for my degree.

Anyway, sorry for the rant. That said, we also have a third factor that ties a neat bow around Lily’s sanctification: she’s Harry’s mother. She’s the mother who gave her life for him, whom Harry always idealizes, and about whom he only ever hears that she was beautiful, popular, and the best person ever. It’s normal for Harry to idealize his parents because he never knew them, but James at least benefits from some depth in the narrative, thanks to the flaws Rowling gave him and the fact that she has the decency to give him friends who can talk about him. Lily doesn’t even get that. Lily has one known friend in the series—Severus—and he’s a mistreated boy for whom this girl was his emotional anchor throughout childhood and adolescence because she was the first person in his life to show him kindness. Everything Harry sees of Lily is filtered through an extremely subjective lens where she’s always the good one, and outside that lens, there’s nothing to contrast that image with because Rowling didn’t bother to create any of the supposed friends Lily had as a "super popular girl" who might still be alive to talk to Harry.

Lily is never given her own identity. Her identity is built around the men who orbit her; it’s constructed through the impact she has on them. But she herself has no personality because her entire existence in the series is shaped by the male gaze of the men around her.

Everything about her character is so problematic. People excuse Rowling by saying she started writing the books in the ’90s, but come on—there was plenty of literature in the ’90s about feminism, gender roles in fiction, and the issues with the male gaze in female characters. Rowling simply has a very archaic view of women that’s riddled with clichés, and with Lily, it completely got out of hand.

[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.

[29daffodils]

Bison being that young won't work because he is a hired assassin who is tired of the job so he should be a bit older for that role atleast 22. Kant being 29-30 is the only way too cause first looks only that age even the maximum he could play is 33 but since he's got a brother to look after he should be young too. If they had a big age gap they wouldn't have connected with the shared passion for freedom and love which is the reason they are falling in love. 24&29 was perfect. In the novel they are both the same age and i was relieved when I heard Kant is 29.

ask #20 : the bikant age gap

p.s. : this got long and since nani told me my posts are long, which they are, haha, i decided to put everything under a cut after writing it all out. cheers.

hellow, anon.

with all due respect, I'm suicidal and feeling like shit right now so I can't make sense of whether the tone in your ask is hostile and if i should be prepared to run/fight.

with that said, sometimes i think we should be able to kiss logic goodbye when consuming fiction. and that's really the perk of it being fiction. if you're so trapped in your head and consumed by logic, or it's lack thereof, i'd refer you something non-fiction. ultimately it all comes down to taste and if the 16-33 age gap doesn't float your boat, that's fine. it does for someone else.

let me now address some of the points you've raised, and how i think they can still fit in a romcom fictional novel about an assassin/tattooist falling in love :

1) bison being that young, won't work. he is tired of the job. he should be at least 22.

i think we have seen very little of what bison could be, both from the trailer and the first ep. can a 22-yo bison be a better assassin than a 16-yo bison? who knows, except nong bison. you don't get a lot of muscle when you are 16, so you can't kick down people while hanging from.... what.... a curtain rail? i admit that. you will physically not have that power. but we have already seen some of bison's MO : seducing creepy older men. and i think, if we are being realistic here, because clearly that is your aim, then a 16-yo bison is a perfect bait. so far we haven't seen him use a knife, but i assume he does later, from the fit pics we got. then he must have a gun, maybe not on him — not that easy to hide stuff when you're undressing, is it? but there's plenty of ways you can kill someone in a fictional world when you're a 16-yo bait.

except, that's why fadel is there. he plays a convincing older brother, he brings out the guns.

now, can a 16-yo be tired of a job? eh, i believe you can. a hired assassin? who is hiring them? their mother? makes me wonder about a lot of things and how long they've been doing this. i think, if you've been doing a job long enough - and it varies from person to person - you can still be wrung out at 16.

2) kant being 29-30 is the only way because first looks that age.

sure he does. but i think hair and make-up and his stellar acting can make sure that he can play a convincing 35-yo too.

3) but since he's got a brother, he should be young too.

anon, realistically i have seen people from our (millenials) generations having siblings who are 15 years younger. humans, you see, come in different shapes and sizes and with different.... feelings. sometimes you decide to fuck and give your 16-yo a sibling. 🤷🏽‍♀️

4) if they had a big age-gap, they wouldn't have connected because of the shared passion for freedom and love.

let me tell you something about ages, in real life, and human connections.

my bestie and i were 15 when she used to write poetry and found a friend in a divorced man aged-40-something. they talked about poems and life and shit. it was incredibly cringe to me at that time. i thought she was falling in love with him. fun fact is i used to snoop on her because i was afraid he was grooming her. never found anything and we had a huge fight about suspecting some dude because "i was jealous". over the years they lost touch because whatever platform they were both writing and chatting (good lord, via comments, must i say. their entire fucking conversation was through comments).

so, anon, i dunno what kinda people you've met, to think that people with big age gaps cannot have meaningful relationships with each other with the "shared passion for love and freedom", but i gave you an example. maybe you should think about that.

5) 24-29 is perfect. also the fact that you were relieved when they made kant 29.

do i agree with canon age-gap? hell yeah. i think 24-29 is a good one for the story jojo is trying to tell.

do i also think this could have been done with 19-29, also yes. but clearly jojo isn't looking to tell that story, yes? which is why we have fanfiction authors.

jojo's story about kant and bison does not involve the complicated dynamics of a large age-gap or finding a friend in a much older person or falling for someone who is probably your sibling's age. i think we have a lot of stories for that, and jojo's silly mafia romcom is definitely not it.

and also about you being relieved when they made kant 29.

anon. i think you need to take deep breaths and think on why you care so much about a non-existent character played by an excellent actor.

i also think, you should definitely reevaluate why you got that feeling. i will not put my words in your mouth, but there's this thing : love doesn't always involve a person immediately wanting to have sex with them. romantic attraction is real.

i think love comes in many forms. but lately what i've seen people in fandom do is reduce it down to a 1-dimensional feeling where you only have horny on your mind.

but even if you do have horny on your mind, and kantbison did jump into bed on day 1, what is the issue here, if kant had been older than 29? isn't bison 24? aren't they both adults? shouldn't we give our little cutie assassin boy more credit? that being an adult he knows what he is doing? bro has all sorts of bdsm tricks up his sleeve, i think we should trust this FICTIONAL CHARACTER enough to let him make his own decisions on whether he wants to fuck a 33-yo man.

and once again, please do not tell me you think you are uncomfortable because "older kant would be grooming a 24-yo bison" or something. i only have very few strands of hair on my head. please do not let me pull them out 🙏🏽🥹

and now, this is my take on this besides what we already went through in this ask.

as far as makeup and actors are concerned, i think we know that works. imo khaotung is a good actor with a baby-face. he once played a 16-yo when he was 22-23. i know he can do it now.

similarly, first is also a great actor and he gave us yok/akk/alan in quite literally the span of a year and little more. the fact that he bulked up for kant plays a huge role in him portraying the character so well, at least, aesthetically.

something to add about facial skin and aging is that it changes differently with people. i look the same as i did when i was 17-25-and now, 29. i still get mistaken for being a high schooler at best, when i don't have my makeup on, because i still do the 2016 make-up or something (i dunno, i've been told my style of make-up makes me look older, more mature, whatever). i don't think firstkhaotung look much different from when they were playing jimbae/joe in blacklist. it's all about the makeup and the acting, though yes, to some extent directors prefer not to cast someone too young/old for a role because, yes, extra cakey makeup does look kinda shitty. but there's an acceptable limit to actors portraying various characters and i think both firstkhaotung should get more opportunities to showcase their talent in this regard.

if you're concerned about firstkhaotung's ages being a roadblock to how they can act and what characters they are portraying, i think they have so far given us enough reasons to believe that they can do it. in my headcanon, bison is 16 and kant is 33 and that's my nong!bison/uncle!kant gap. and i love it. except, for your and the rest of the fandom's peace of mind, i wanted bison-19 and kant-27/29 because i think that fit well too, from the pilot trailer and fits and the official trailer. and i think even today, firstkhaotung could have very well portrayed it.

with all that said, your comment about first being that age and should be playing characters max-33 is... i dunno. sounds quite... insulting to me. to both the actor that he is, and to hair/make-up artists everywhere.

people can successfully portray characters of various ages. i think that is why they are called actors, you know?

and now, since this is super long. adieu.

if my blog isn't it for you, i suggest you block me so you don't see me under the thk tag. because while i am vehemently against spamming ship/fandom tags with ship/fandom hate, i am all in for spamming them with headcanons, theories, etc., no matter how uncomfortable or nasty they are to other people.

and most people just block you and move on so they don't have to see it.

you can open healthy discussions like this with me. i think it went much better for me than how i started off, but fair warning. I'm a fandom old at this point. it might not be your cup of tea, so best block me to prevent seeing uncle kant and nong bison agenda on TL.

thx.

[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…”

[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.

[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.”