#this has been a very productive shift I am much more motivated to do things when they are set up a certain way in my living space

[meowdei]

switching from having a dresser AND a desk to just only having a vanity is nice I can get ready and do my makeup and store all my things here AND I can use this as a desk where I write and use my laptop without horrible posture from being on my bed I am not sure why I did not do this ages ago

[museofzia]

♡ things i incorporate into every attempt

to lock in guaranteed productivity & results !!

how to stop feeling unmotivated and lazy and begin finding your own methods for productivity

i've had many moments of questioning if i'm being productive enough in my shifting attempts. i think the one thing i told myself that helped with these kinds of doubts is: i have so much time. i don't have a time limit to how long i have until i HAVE to shift. though i'm eager, i need to take my time to explore my own boundaries and know what works best for me.

yes, there are some moments more than others where i miss how productive i was in my past days. however, with time comes improvement.

i think it's harder to willingly begin to fail. being productive with my own research and attempts is one of the most crucial things i did. but i didn't just try to depend on research-- i frequently logged my journey and kept up with my own boundaries and preferences. i made my own methods, i thought of my own affirmations, and i shifted on my own time. i have trouble with memorizing methods, so i made my methods short and sweet. 3 steps yet all of them include such important factors for me. that way i can ensure productivity without straining my own memory.

♡ focus.

it's difficult for me to get into a state of mind where i'm shifting my consciousness to another reality if i'm still hung on this one. this is why, i get off of my phone 1 hour-30 minutes before my attempt. i spend that time beginning to connect to my drself and my dr. thinking of my life, my relations, how my day will go, and how i am there. these are my moments of reflecting what the experience will be like, the pros and cons equally.

e.g. let's say i go to a boarding school in my dr. what do my classes look like? which one is my favorite and least favorite? what about my dorm? how frequently do i visit home? who do i room with? how packed is my schedule? that's the kind of stuff i reflect on-- especially because i don't go to a boarding school in my cr. this lets me disconnect from my cr and be able to visualize and ground myself in a much easier way. this is one of the most productive things i can advise someone to do.

productivity comes from the mind- the mind that's traveling. have some consideration for just how much information you can retain. journal! journaling and logging my progress and boundaries did so much for me. i've never been so at peace and organized with my shifting journey until i began keeping track of things like what works for me, what days i'm least stressed, etc. writing everything down helps you reflect on yourself and your progress. this gives such incredible results, especially if you struggle with focusing and finding the right methods and time for you. you must sort yourself out in order to achieve peace and organization.

♡ support

finding a support system that shares productivity and motivates you each day can do an incredible amount of good for you. being around people who share your struggles and build you up can help a lot. it can also be very intimate-- reality shifting is a journey that's meant to be walked through, and if you know you have a bunch of people who are achieving the things you want to, you'll know it's all possible. getting to know those people as well helps you find yourself, especially knowing there are people that are so similar to you achieving anything you want to achieve. not only that, but be your own support system. no one will shift FOR you. shifting is a journey you walk through with yourself primarily. no one can find you your own preferences or make you a method that'll work for you, no one has seen the world through your eyes. no one has seen you through yourself. this is all a journey of self reflection and building yourself. looking at realities where you're someone you've always wanted to be. looking at new environments, and appreciating everything you have.

make the journey fun

no one else will do it for you ♡

love, zia.

[tallerthantale]

It seems to be confirmed that Season 3 is now going to be a 90 minute finale with Gaiman no longer having an active role in any element of the ongoing production work. We still don't know if Gaiman was removed via the enforcement of a morality clause, or if he leveraged a behind the scenes deal to be paid off to leave voluntarily without monkey wrenching the IP. We still don't know if Amazon is going to publicly acknowledge the allegations.

I think it is important to separate the distinct decisions involved. Amazon hypothetically could have done a full 3rd Season without Gaiman, assuming the shift wasn't a component of a legalistic compromise negotiation with him. The decision to shorten it was not made as a form of accountability against him, nor does it particularly accomplish that. Amazon's ongoing lack of comment is probably because they still believe it is in their best business interest to keep the allegations as quiet as they can.

My current read on Amazon's behaviour is that they are 'splitting the baby' in an incredibly frustrating way. When things go off the rails this close to the start of filming a huge amount of money has already been invested into production that can't get clawed back. It looks to me like Amazon is trying to make as much of the show as they can while operating almost exclusively off of sunk costs and scrapping the remainder, with little regard to quality, on the assumption that it will flop either way. I'd rather see them publicly denounce Gaiman and make a full 3rd Season without him. If they did so and it was successful, that could demonstrate that it is a financially viable option for them to expose abusers in the industry and show them the door.

It looks like instead of either a summary canceling or a public salvaging, we have a mangled finale with the allegations half under a rug because Amazon is trying to have it both ways. They aren't taking a stand on the allegations, they aren't trying to make a successful post Gaiman resolution of the show, they are quietly liquidating their assets. I am optimistic that the shift to a 90 minute finale will draw more coverage of the allegations, but I'm not going to give Amazon credit for that.

My current inclination is to personally stay in 'not promoting the show' mode until Amazon meaningfully comments, or until after the show is finished and no longer a new release. I want to work towards a world where shows that remove people can be shown to be successful after doing so, but Amazon appears to be setting itself up to learn the wrong lesson. If the finale is being set up to fail, that won't stop them from deciding that it failed due to the allegations, and continuing to decide maintaining silence is good business. If the finale is a success they can still tell themselves their silence was part of why.

I'm not sabre rattling about it though. And to anyone reading this who still has a lot of motivation to try to suppress fandom engagement, please consider instead directing that energy towards spreading IRL awareness of the allegations, which is still very low. Streaming residuals are miniscule compared to book sales and publishing deals. Getting the word out in offline communities will make far more of a difference than marginally reducing the amount of fan works created for a show Gaiman is no longer working on by arguing with people who already know and already care. Let people be disappointed the show is truncated. That disappointment is not an endorsement of Gaiman.

[jungkoode]

okay sorry but now i aam so curious, can you miss kiki give us a rundown of every detail you’ve added to chapter 12? 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Alright. I wanted to say no because this is going to make me insane—but I needed to respond to this one for my own peace of mind before going to sleep.

Because if there’s one thing I want you all to take away from FMU, it’s that nothing is random. Nothing is just there for the sake of being there. Every detail—every glance, every reaction, every subconscious decision—is deliberate. I don’t write things just to fill space; I write things to mean something.

So now that we have established that… You guys really want to see how unhinged I am? You really want to understand what I mean when I say analyze everything?

Okay. Hold your fucking purses.

Also, let this serve as a warning. SPOILERS AHEAD. I’m going to be listing every single thread I wove into Chapter 12 while trying to remain as spoiler-free as possible for future events. This is mostly going to focus on linking things that have already been implied or set up. But this will change your perspective and likely influence your reading, so proceed with caution.

That being said. Here we go:

The very first thing Nix notices when she gets home is the vanilla scent. And her immediate reaction? Jungkook must have let the other girl use my stuff. This tells us two things: first, that her instinct is always to assume her boundaries have been violated (because that is what she's used to—she grew up in an environment where people controlled and took from her). And second, that she equates her scent, her space, her things with ownership. She doesn't just use vanilla body wash. It's hers. And the idea of someone else using it? She doesn't even know why it bothers her, but it does.

Jungkook immediately clarifies that he told the other girl Nix's stuff was off-limits. That means that while he was actively sleeping with someone else, he still had the awareness to enforce Nix's boundaries. And not only that—this is a man who loves the vanilla scent on Nix. But he didn't want it on someone else. He is already subconsciously rejecting the idea of another girl smelling like her.

He went to sleep right after the other girl left. Because he was tired, sure. But also? Because he was waiting for Nix to come back. And he doesn't even realize it. They said 40 minutes. She took two hours. His brain registeredthat time lapse, even if he won't consciously acknowledge it. And he went to sleep because, well—men are dumb and sleeping makes time pass faster.

They keep doing things for each other without realizing it, but in ways that piss each other off. In Chapter 11, she made him coffee—but she made it wrong. In Chapter 12, he aired out the house for her and lit her candle—but that pissed her off. And that's where the push-pull of their relationship lives. They are already shifting for each other, adjusting to each other's preferences, but they refuse to acknowledge that that's what's happening.

Nix has a hard time recognizing when Jungkook does something nice for her. She assumes there are ulterior motives. So when she realizes he genuinely didn't have any, she deflects. That's why she just brushes it off like, whatever, don't use my candles. Because accepting that he actually considered her comfort means accepting that maybe she doesn't hate him as much as she claims.

Jungkook has been noticing her things. Not just the candles, but how much they cost. Her soap. The small details. He is being drawn to her world in ways he isn't even aware of.

The way he clarifies he "didn't eat her pussy, just fucked it"? WHEW. Tell me you think oral is more intimate than penetration without telling me. He's literally creating a hierarchy of intimacy and keeping certain acts just for Nix.

Notice how he never even mentions the other girl's name? She's literally forgettable to him. A placeholder. Meanwhile, he knows every detail about Nix—her candles, her coffee, her shower products, her boundaries.

His coffee machine is sacred. He does not let people mess with it. But instead of just making his own coffee and ignoring her, he went out of his way to teach her how to make it properly. And then? He made her one himself. A vanilla latte. Again with the vanilla.

Him stealing her vanilla coffee pods is symbolic af. He takes something of hers, breaks a boundary, but transforms it into something she actually enjoys. It's literally what he's doing with her emotional walls—pushing past them and making her like it.

He wanted her approval. He wanted to hear her say it was good.

The way Nix refuses to admit she likes the coffee? PEAK emotional constipation. Girl can't accept pleasure without guilt. Her parents really did a number on her—she enjoys things and immediately has to shit on them. The coffee. His touch. The dirty talk. She's literally fighting her own happiness.

The fact that she actually enjoyed it? That turned him on. Her pleasure, her approval—those things reassure him in ways he doesn't even recognize yet.

Him drinking from her mug? That's practically a love confession in Jungkook-speak. Sharing a drink is weirdly more intimate than the actual sex they're having. It's the casual intimacy for me.

She keeps noticing how WARM he is. And it's not random. She's emotionally cold. She has cold hands. She puts up cold barriers. And he's this walking furnace, radiating heat, melting her defenses without even trying.

He has been thinking about her since the morning. Saw her in those shorts. Got horny. Didn't act on it because they were running late. Then the day went on. It left his conscious mind—but it lingered in his subconscious. Because then he hooked up with someone else. And even though that was satisfying, the craving? The initial source of it? That was Nix.

And what happens the second she walks through the door in those shorts again? Immediate. Physical. Reaction. This is not just about attraction. This is fixation. He is drawn to her in ways he does not understand, in ways he will not let himself acknowledge.

The vanilla thing comes up so many times it's basically becoming their whole personality. But it's perfect because vanilla is supposed to be "basic," but between them, it's this complex, layered thing—just like their so-called "just physical" relationship.

Her complaining about his "sweaty balls" and manspreading? Classic deflection. It's not about his balls—it's about the fact that he's taking up space. In the apartment. In her life. In her HEAD. And she's freaking out.

"Make me" is literally their mating call at this point. It's how they give permission without actually having to say "yes, I want this." It's a challenge that's really an invitation, and they both know exactly what it means.

His hand lingering on her thigh during conversation? He's finding excuses to maintain contact even when they're not being sexual. He CRAVES the connection.

The dirty talk. He uses it with her constantly. Because it flusters her. Because she tells him to shut up. Because she fights it—and he loves that. Because even as she's trying to resist it, she reacts to him. And then? In Chapter 12? She finally slips. Finally gives a little back. And he loves it.

His favorite position is cowgirl. And he has been thinking about her in that position. Not just once, but for a while. This is something he has already considered, already wanted.

He keeps condoms in the living room. He never fucks in the living room. He always brings people to his room.But with Nix? He is prepared to fuck her anywhere. And he doesn't even recognize the significance of that.

She asks about the condoms. She needs control. Again, reinforcing this point.

He asks about the pill, but not in a pushy way. Doesn't even hesitate when she says she isn't on it. Just accepts it. No whining, no complaints. Condoms it is. (Reminder: most guys his age are not this mature about it.)

When he asks her to "grab those titties"? He wants her to PARTICIPATE. To be an active player. To show him she wants this as much as he does. He needs that reassurance.

Jungkook's obsession with watching her get wet? It's not just a kink. He needs PROOF. Tangible, undeniable evidence that yes, she wants him, yes, this is real. Her wetness is his reality check.

The moment when he stops staring at where they're connected and looks at her FACE instead? SO TELLING.

He calls her "Phee" during sex and it's like his special vulnerability nickname. He has all these variations of Phoenix, but THAT one comes out when his guard is down, when he's not performing. Same with ‘Ro’.

He likes hearing her moan. Not just because it's hot—but because it gives him validation. Reassurance. Her pleasure is his pleasure.

He fixates on her scent again. Literally mumbles about it without thinking.

He doesn't even rest after he finishes. Doesn't take a breather. Doesn't fully live in his own orgasm. He immediately flips her over and fingers her until she comes. Because he needs to see it. He needs proof.

The contrast between his sexual confidence and his emotional consideration? We've got a man who knows exactly what he's doing in bed but still cares deeply about consent, protection, and her enjoyment. The bar is in hell but he's in the stratosphere.

Mr. 'I Hate Emotional Intimacy' immediately collapses onto her. Just flops down, resting on top of her. He is literally hugging her without thinking about it. Literally breathing her in, about to fall asleep on her.

Notice how she says "get off" but doesn't actually push him away? That's their whole dynamic in a nutshell. Her mouth says no but her body says yes, and he's learning to trust her body more than her words.

How they go from fucking to immediately bickering about sex toys with zero awkwardness? That's comfortable intimacy. No post-sex weirdness, no rushing to separate, just natural interaction.

And what wakes him up? Her pleasure. The thought of toys for her. He wanted to try things with her. Wanted to experience something new with her specifically.

"You deserve to cum even when I'm not here"? This man is transcending his own ego. It's not just about him being the source of her pleasure anymore—he genuinely wants her to feel good, period.

Nix has never had sex toys before. She doesn't have to say why. But it's clear—it's because of her controlled, monitored upbringing.

Her saying her parents would "kill her" for having sex toys is so telling. Even miles away, they're still controlling her sexuality. And Jungkook immediately positioning himself as the antidote to that control? GROWTH.

And Jungkook's reaction? Nope. We are going sex toy shopping. He immediately wants her to explore, to enjoy herself, to experience more. He is actively thinking about her, choosing to prioritize her pleasure.

Him planning for sex toys means he's thinking LONG TERM. This isn't a one-time hookup in his mind. He's already planning for future encounters, future exploration, future pleasure—together.

Her insisting they're "fuck buddies, not friends"? Girl is DESPERATELY trying to categorize their relationship to keep everything under control. Control. Control. Control.

That final playful swat she gives him? That's affection disguised as annoyance. Her body language is already betraying her words. She's playing, she's engaging, she's comfortable.

The whole scene is a circle—starts with boundary issues, ends with boundary discussions. They're literally working through their trust and intimacy issues in real time, even if they don't realize it.

I could probably keep going.

And that, my friends, is just one chapter.

Do you see it now? Do you understand why I beg you to analyze? Every moment, every line, every subconscious detail is building toward something. It is happening slowly. Organically. Unconsciously.

And we are only just beginning.

[silkling]

Not to be that person, but you've been quiet and haven't posted anything here or ao3 for some time now, is everything alright?

Hi! Don't worry, you're not being "that person"! I'm sorry to have worried you! I've just been really busy with university! This semester has been especially busy for me! But the good news is that I am working on some updates! "Of Finding Family" is my current project, and I'm struggling with how to make the thing I want to happen actually happen. But! I have the outline of the rest of the story mapped out, it's just figuring out the fiddly bits of how to get from point A to point B, so to speak. After "Of Finding Family", I'm hoping that the inspiration from that will carry me to "Watermarked by Your Ancestry"! I hit a major roadblock with that project just after I last updated and have been struggling since, but my hope is that the success of finishing "Of Finding Family" will give me the boost I need to get over that particular hurdle.

As for Tumblr....yeah. I stopped posting my fics here because they never get much engagement. Now don't get me wrong, I don't write just for the engagement of the audience, but that interaction with readers is what motivates me to actually post, y'know? Sure, I daydream the ideas and write them for fun mostly for myself, but when I post them it's a lot of work to take it from messy daydream brain-vomited onto a page, to the actual finished product. And the interaction and feedback from my audience is what makes me want to put in that extra effort. I get a lot more of that on Ao3 (And I promise, even if I don't respond to most comments out of me just straight up overthinking myself into stress, every single one makes me super happy)

To that effect, I've honestly been considering just. Shifting the focus of my Tumblr. Maybe using it to post general TF thoughts, headcanons, blot bunnies, theories, fic updates....that sort of thing. But idk. Just a thing for me to consider.

Also, more good news I've joined this year's Reverse Mini Bang, and if this year is anything like last year's Big Bang, I'll probably overshoot the minimun word requirement again. So, that's one more big(ish) project you can look forward to! (Even if the posting period is a bit of a ways off)

All in all, I have a handful of projects planned! I will do my best to update "Of Finding Family" soon, but I can't promise anything. At the very least, I'll have a lot more free time as summer hits, so at least there's that.

And finally...I want to say thank you. Real life's been keeping me busy, but I felt like I had to respond to your message. It's honestly super touching to know that people like me and what I do enough to notice that I disappeared for a little. So...thank you. :D

[rowanthestrange]

Actually, finding out the Doctor's friendship has been a lie manufactured by the Division would have been a stronger motivation to make the Master kill all of Gallifrey.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think they'd need much more of a motivation - being them plus the drums would have been easily enough probably - and I think it is fascinating to study the angle that they kinda killed their own kind for the Doctor, because some of them abused the Doctor. But I think it would have made the decision even easier for them.

There is nothing more important to the Master than that friendship. They love nothing more, they loathe nothing more. To find out it was engineered as well - as was their entire life - that the only thing sacred to them isn't real, to realise that all that hurt all that attachement was manufactured from the outside, that potentially once the Doctor finds out they might want to finally turn the back on the Master, to realise that they should want to turn their back on the Doctor -

It would break them.

The Doctor at least has their strays, they have a life without the Master. The Master only has the Doctor. If that's not real - what is left for them?

Oh I assure you, if it wouldn’t straight up take out a huge chunk of extended universe (and several non-extended universe things like Simm!Master’s stories) out like canon’s own flux event, I would 100% be down with ‘the Academy was just a story to bind you, Clockwork Orange’d into your brains by the Division between force regenerating both of you and dumping your very much adult selves back on Gallifrey.’

Imagine the Master like, “Remember Borusa? No you don’t. You just think you do. We never ran through these hallways. We never tried to catch Vortisaurs on the roof. We never were friends.”

Like I would have eaten that up with a goddamn spoon. The idea of it makes me vibrate on previously unknown frequencies. Unfortunately I am pretty resolute that killing of sections of extended (or plain) canon that are solely removals, not simply additions to or variations upon, should be done extremely sparingly. Doctor Who thrives on being expansive and a constantly growing blob monster of a world. Outright loss rather than just shifting should be minimised. There’s a responsibility in the stewardship here that’s been taken seriously and I don’t want to get rid of that precedent. At least if it can’t be immediately replaced with an equivalent potential volume of TV canon with capacity to glue frayed edges together to recreate a similar product if you squint, then eh, I think it’s probably too far.

But it would also have kicked us all straight in the stomach. And I yearn for it. Gallifrey nuked as a metaphor, the Chibs specialty - now you feel what this character must have felt, the pain, the loss, looking over that wasteland that is gone and will never ever come back.

I’m still totally down to play with it though cus ooooh it’s so good.

[mushiemellows]

Okay SO I've been thinking a ton lately about the post-monoculture american franchise vacuum and how american art is in this really weird stage. It's happening in all levels, too, like I left working in contemporary art spaces last year because they're struggling to figure out how to present american identity in an outward facing way (rn big name contemporary art spaces are still very much stuck in that 2010s neoliberal palatable acceptability politics rut and they refuse to get interesting with it anyways).

So like, a few different things are coinciding with the way american mainstream media is structured that make it so right now, we are producing literally nothing on a mass cultural level. In some ways, I think that this is a good thing, america needs to step the FUCK back and reanalyze QUITE a lot of things. But regardless, culture is a byproduct of existence and therefore will be created regardless. There's two sides of mass scale art production, internal propaganda (art made by and for the people of the same culture) and external propaganda (art designed to advertise/project the image of/signify/idealize etc for those who are of a different culture). The way art production in america woks (namely: film, tv, AAA video games, a particular caliber of pop record label music) has been so stratified under the creator class of capitalism that the blood flow of culture is being cut off. The way global exporting also works, the mass marketability of a thing outweighs its cultral connections (think like, what's going on with Disney/Pixar movies atm).

It's easy to associate propaganda, particularly internal propaganda, as having strictly a nationalistic context, but keep in mind that I'm using a much broader definition. All art is propaganda because all produced art is an artist trying to establish or normalize a particular worldview. And I am two minds about this (as one should be when engaging with ALL art) but it boils down to like, for example, Captain America TWS. I can both like that film as a film, enjoy the ideas that it plays with, AND maintain a critical eye about how a nationalized protagonist icon is being fed to me (a post-modern aryan buff super hero symbol of america is still an aryan buff super hero symbol at the end of the day. The russians are still the bad guys. the black man still plays support. the tropes are still old. I'm getting off topic)

Anyways, so in terms of how america makes art right now, I think the three things we make quite effectively are youtube videos, indie music, and steam games that go for $15 and under. Everything else is a fucking headless chicken because shareholders and those with the MEANS to make art are only motivated by the PROFIT of making art, and therefore generally do not fund things that feel culturally resonant. But at the same time, America in the 20th century made A LOT of it's money in global art export, so there's this sense of like, lost glory almost. Like the profits are still being made or whatever so this shit's still getting produced but like. I feel more culturally connected to Stardew Valley than I do to the Rise of Skywalker does that make ANY SENSE?!

This is only getting worse because in america, the production of essentially everything gets shifted into in import. We don't make many things (except fucking WEAPONS jfc), we don't grow as many crops as we once did (the majority of crops I believe are for feeding livestock, and the only reason we don't import meat is because it would go bad lol) and the big shift of the last 25 years has been to start importing essentially all of our art (hey! I'm posting this on my blog devoted to the biggest global export comic in the world! What a coincidence!).

This process has only been amplified by the writers/actors strike. We still havent felt the effects of it because of how the pipeline works, that'll catch up in about 6-10 months from now. Last time we played this game, the void was filled by low budget trashy reality tv, but they can't really play that card a second time in a row so it looks like the next move is eastern imported media (kdramas and shounen manga tbh) (Netflix isn't investing their whole pussy into one piece because they think Luffy's brand of leftism is cool, they're doing it because infinite tv generating box prints money) (one of the reasons i like studying this fucking show and fandom is that it has so much potential to be bastardized by ai and bullshit and then the people keep putting the heart back into it and I just think that's neat, but it still is valid to criticize the infinite money printing box is what I'm saying)

There's this really fascinating void that is being filled by export because the means of art production under capitalism prioritize what's cheap over how communities have naturally created culture over the years. I moved 3,000 miles a few years ago and I ate at the same restaurants and bought the same groceries and watch the same movies at the same amc's. If we were living just like 150 years ago that would not be the case, that big of a distance should take you to a culture wildly different from your own in most other contexts (or like. Europe.)

What I'm saying is that I don't want a new face of propaganda, I don't want art assigned to me. I want to live in community and make shit with my hands and i want that to be enough.

Anyways, in summation, Franky's one of the best post-modern caricature the american man ever penned to paper because he processes the external projected propaganda while also acknowledging that the real fun shit that is kinda commendable is when we're dirty angry kinky fuckin rock and roll queers and true freedom comes from relinquishing positions of power in this essay I will...

[spaghetti-steven93]

Ppl often think working as a Dollar Store like employee is easy bc the stores are often messy and bad and the employees apathetic or rude.

I work at a…General sort of Dollar store. In a very small town 4-5 hours from Chicago and an hour and a half from any major cities.

So, this What I do for 14.75 an hour as a part time keyholder (just above cashier):

As a keyholder I an open and close the store, handle and create deposits, balance registers, do pick ups, void transactions, tell the cashier what needs done, and do refunds. Most of what I do is mandated to me from the 2 managers.

Other stuff:

Freight rolltainers (huge metal carts full of boxes of product) and organize it into their homes or label it for overstock and stack it in a certain way on an empty rolltainer.

Corporate also mandates that we finish 1 for every hour of our shift(these are boxes that vary from 1lb to 20lb to 50lb). Eight hours shift = 7 Rt, no less than 6.

Thankfully, my store manager and assistant manager are not insane and instead expect 2-3 done from whoever isn’t on register depending on the day, and they also do everything I do plus a lot of paperwork shit, so they are in the same boat.

Assistant manager gets paid 18 an hour, SM is salaried and I think she had it worse despite making more technically.

Anyways, I’m also Rotating and recovering the stock in several aisles from 5pm till an hour till close (9pm for us) to check for expired foods and make the products look good on the shelves and be in their proper place.

We are also getting ready for upcoming Inventory which means recovery has to be done extra well.

I also have to make time to do proper pick ups(if a register is over 260 it’s a dangerous life for robbery) at the registers.

I’m also cleaning incident messes and helping customers find things and if it’s just me in the store, checking them out

(we don't have a self checkout. Too much shrink, according to corporate).

Then I do things like clear sky shelves, damages (recording everything that has expired or been damaged with a little computer scanner and then throwing it away) and culling produce.

Keep in mind It’s only 2 ppl in the store (3 at most which is always a relief) except Fridays after truck delivery Thursday morning.

Not to mention if it's fresh truck day and we have to unload all the frozen and cold goods within 2 hours or they will go bad. Thankfully now that the crew is larger, we’ve been able to bring ppl in for part of the day for that.

We also check in vendors, scan fed ex packages drop off and pick up, break down boxes and stack them in empty rolktainers, fold up rolltainers we aren’t using and take them outside to be collected on truck day.

Then there's totes which is like boxes of filler stuff that doesn't come in boxes, like medicine and toothpaste and what not that doesn't have enough volume per shipment to be efficiently transported in a box.

Get at least 15 every Thursday shipment.

So, Every truck day we get like 10-13 rolltainers and at least a dozen totes. All of them are mandated to be done by the end of Saturday.

It used to be way worse when I started. only 1 person in store most of the time (2 at night bc it's legally required)

doing all of the above

And I’m sure I missed a few things

I almost quit a few times, but I literally have no job alternative at the moment since I can’t transport mysekg. (I can’t even work from home, internet here is terrible)

thank god we got some very competent team members on board (shout out to my AM ur a real one) and now things are much much much smoother.

Anyways all that to say, that store is bad and the employees apathetic bc they are each expected to do the work of at least 2-3 people.

It’s almost impossible to catch up if you don’t have a superhuman manager or two who can figure out how to positively motivate everyone despite the low pay.

I think my motive is:

1. I need money.

2. We are the only grocery store in town and very important for our poor, disabled, and elderly in the community.

3. I am absurdly obsessed with being perceived as useful, responsible, and having a strong work ethic.

4. I feel awful if I make a mistake or slack off bc it always means a coworker has to fix it or do what I was supposed to do. Especially with such a small crew.

And honest to god?

I don’t even dislike what I do! In fact I have found myself enjoying the challenges that come with being a shift leader and working out how to get things done and prioritizing things.

Plus it’s all very in the moment, makes me think on my feet, but with a lot of rules and guidelines to fall back on and extrapolate from.

I even like all the manual labor! I like having a reason to move around, I like organizing things and making them look neat!

Plus? I am an extroverted freak who loves helping customers and chatting with them and getting to know the ppl in the community! I really do care how they are doing! It’s a privilege to be in a small town and get to talk to people all day!!!

It’s just the understaffing and the low pay that gets me! I can’t even be mad about other stores bc it’s hard doing all that work.

I’m also single and childless. If I had kids to think about and a partner to consider and more bills to worry about on top of being overworked for low pay? All my enjoyment I do have would be sucked away.

So…I can’t be mad about other similar stores having apathetic employees and messy stores. Behind the scenes they are peony constantly scrambling to keep the doors open and paychecks secure.

[uncle-ak]

My PRODUCTIVITY After Becoming a DAD.

Firstly, Happy Father’s Day 2023 to all the Dads! #DadGang

I don’t know, maybe a better title would have been “My Quick Thoughts After Two Months as a Dad” ? See my previous post and you tell me :)

Anyway, I would definitely put myself in the “having kids helped me get my act together” group. Even though it aches me to admit it, before having children I was drifting. My life was comfortable, but I was reaching a professional and personal plateau. Even though I definitely have less time now, I am more efficient and able to say no to people and things with ease.

I should also add that my wife is an awesome mother and is very supportive partner.

As you may or may not know, we welcomed our first child a little over two months ago. In addition, I run a YouTube channel, have a full-time job, some side businesses, and I’m a husband. So its easy to see how I'm up to my eye balls with responsibilities because, yes, I’d absolutely argue each of those items individually can be a full time job on its own.

I can definitely understand the fear of having to pause pursuing all your passions because having kids put you in that corner of all responsibility for them and nothing else. You go to work to earn a living to provide for them and come home to begin taking care of their needs with no extra time to pursue side hustles like your Etsy shop business, for example.

The idea of ambition after having kids is a fascinating discourse. I don’t believe my ambition or productivity has diminished. As a matter of fact it has been amplified. I suppose that's a good thing, I'm not entirely sure. I place a higher value on time. My goals for life are much more distinct now. For me, having children caused a significant shift in risk tolerance.

One thing I’ve observed is that some people prioritize other things above their work to the point that it suffers. One of the issues is having too many children or simply not distributing tasks between spouses adequately. You might not see it from the outside looking in, but everyone you work with does.

Somebody might argue, “I am driven to get my life steady by becoming an accountant, for example, at the age of 25, and having children is not something I am considering at the moment.” They might think “after I turn 32, I want to have children then if I so choose.”

They are motivated to grow personally in hopes that becoming older won’t make it difficult is certainly plausible but hope is not a strategy. And while I am not here to advocate for being a dad at all cost or by force, I think its a blessing and does not impair life in any shape or form. In fact it clears a lot of things up.

Don’t wait — try now. If you want to have children, then go ahead and do it; don’t allow lack of funds be an excuse (having several children is another story). But if you do, think of a strategy to obtain additional funding to support it. But don’t sacrifice your quality of life to advance your career.

So how have I managed to stay productive while being a father to a newborn? Firstly, I have learned to just make time for it.

I find myself putting my cell phone down and outside of my office for one to two hour chunks of time to get stuff done. This is mostly when my kid is asleep or hanging out with mom. This works only when scheduled and communicated with your partner. That way you can then be more present when you are with your kids and doing parental activities or spending quality time. If its important to you, then there is time.

Secondly, I have learned to just give up some stuff. The power of saying ‘No’ is very effective. Listen, I love watching sports and right around this time is the thick of one of the most exiting games ever invented, NBA playoffs. If I have time to be productive on my YouTube channel or side business and on the other hand I could have just been watching a Game one in the Eastern Conference first round playoffs between two teams I don’t really care about, then The TV is not getting turned on. In the same regard, even though I didn't quite hand out much with friends without a family, I have learned to just say no and pick the most important of functions to show my face. Its just that simple. I’ll definitely come to your birthday or engagement party but I'm not going to brunch with you 3 Sundays in a month!

Thirdly, I have learned to get some sleep. If you know me you know I already love taking naps and going to bed as early as 9:30pm. But because sleep and productivity are closely related, it’s crucial to take advantage of any chance to get some shut-eye that does present itself. Chronic sleep deprivation makes it more difficult to focus, make decisions wisely, think creatively, and maintain overall work performance. So maintaining the bedroom as a sleep sanctuary, developing a wind-down time for bed, and minding the caffeine intake have been a good practice.

Lastly, I'll just say without a supportive spouse none of this works as intended and all the time. Shout out to my wife.

Having kids might discourage ambition, I hate to admit it. I’ve always been someone who is ambitious. That phrase hurts my heart to read in writing. I try to escape from it. But if there was nothing substantial there, why would I flinch? Once you have children, it is inevitable that you will care more about them than you do about yourself. Additionally, it’s a zero-sum game with attention. You can only focus your attention on one thought at a time. Once you have kids, it will usually be your kids, so your current endeavor won’t be as regularly in the news.

However, I think i can confidently say when you have children, life is just getting started.

[susandsnell]

You're so right about Katniss! Her feelings for Peeta always felt like obligation - because he was kind, because he loved her and he deserved to be loved back, because he was what she was supposed to want and she'd be crazy not to - and she had mad vibes with Joanna. (The Katniss thing is also why I hated all of the MCU Natasha ships with guys. She's my second pick after Nina for character I am convinced is a lesbian.)

Thank you so much for articulating all this and sending it my way because I've felt nuts for years reading it this way (+ it's a pleasure to hear from you)! And that's with Joniss as a relatively popular ship, lolol.

I won't deny that him saving her from starving and later all they did for one another during the Games isn't meaningful, but you put it perfectly; the text keeps telling us he deserved to be loved back, he's what she ought to want. It makes a point about why she doesn't owe Gale, but wholly kind of sells us on her owing Peeta. The text makes a point of how Katniss, very realistically, has hang-ups about debt, and how the nature of Panem's totalitarianism is such that all kind acts are viewed as transactional rather than genuine, but then completely undermines this by providing little to no meat to how Katniss' real feelings developed from the ones staged for the Games. It's one of those cases where even if the guy isn't a Nice Guy, there's textual Nice Guying going on lolol. (I do also acknowledge that these books were products of the aughts and queer characters in YA were almost nonexistent, but having recently read Moth Diaries from 2002 which actively engages with comphet, I'm feeling spoiled lol.)

Likewise, the having children thing is like -- I get it, people can change their minds and her not wanting to be a mother was a product of the dystopian society they subsequently rebuilt as well as her own experience of maternal neglect, but given what the real world has always been wrt reproductive rights and just in general treating female queerness/nonconformity as a "phase you'll outgrow"/"you'll find the right guy and want kids eventually", I don't think I'll ever not feel gross about a character who does not want kids eventually ~embracing motherhood~ lmao. It could happen, but when the characters are fictional and hence in the author's control...it feels like propaganda, especially coupled with her repeatedly stating she didn't want a husband. And the quote from the epilogue is literally "It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly." Which. Ew.

Contrast with Johanna, where things felt a lot more organic, less based on a sense of debt and more on some classic rivalry tropes that evolved into a sweet balance between an organic camaraderie and Stupid Sexy Flanders (I mean, the elevator scene? Straight girls do not react like that! "Johanna's motivational insults" and the relationship shift?)

Anyhow, thanks again for the message and sorry for the mini-essay/rant this turned into, haha. I'd be mega interested to hear your MCU Natasha thoughts, though, since your Nina tags were so accurate! (Equally biased because she was an early sapphic crush for me, haha.)

[hotwings0203]

Decided to do a part 2 (due courtesy of @an-ambivalent and @definitetrashlord for motivating me to even continue this series HEHE💖)

Pt. 1

Tw: manipulation, dubcon, language

It isn’t the cum that slides down your legs continuously, nor the black and blue marks that so obviously covers the expanse of your neck at all times, no.

It’s the constant surveillance you’re under, it’s the lack of conversation you get from your comrades, it’s the way you mold and shift for however he wants you to be that solidifies his hold on you.

The attack from three weeks ago feels like yesterday, the way he held your head up by your hair after he was done ruining you and crooned in your ear that you were his now, and you’d be suicidal if you continued to lash out on his godsent decision plays like a broken record in your head.

You can’t look him in the eyes now, only meekly staring at his feet when he orders you to stand in front of him. Sometimes he’ll circle you and invade in your personal space, standing behind you and leaning in close behind your ear, simply inhaling you and saying nothing. Other times when no one’s around he’ll lounge back on the couch with a beer in his hand, spreading his knees wide while he lazily orders you to dance for him, slowly stripping away your self esteem and clothes simultaneously.

He doesn’t seem to outwardly mind the silence that seeps from you anymore, now that he has your body and attention focused solely on him.

Even Tomura has stopped talking to you just for fun. He’ll try and make a snipe at you, fruitlessly expecting your once-usual comebacks, but all you can do is blearily smile at him.

It makes everyone uneasy how quickly you’ve been reduced to nothing.

You couldn’t leave even if you tried to. Your medical skills were too valuable to be rejected, and Dabi’s scrutinizing tabs on you wouldn’t allow for even a foot stepped outside if not for Shigaraki’s missions.

Even your meals are meager at best, mainly consisting of copious amounts of alcohol and shitty ambiguous burnt food that pops up on the counters randomly.

You feel dirty, like a disease-infested rat. No amount is showering from the dingy stalls, no amount of cheap soap bars wittled down on your body erases the feeling of being used.

Dabi has never been in more love than he has now.

He hopes you like the food he makes, secretly placing it on the bar counter seconds before you sit down. Sure, the food might be a little burnt, but it’s still your favorite right?

It doesn’t matter how expensive the shower products are, he thinks they smell nice and that they’d smell even better on you. Shigaraki can fuck off, he’s not spending too much revenue on his girl, it’s the bare minimum he can do to show you how much he appreciates you playing by his rules...even if he can never say it out loud.

And his favorite part at the end of every day is putting his surely-misplaced words of affection into action, where he can scream with his body against yours how long he’s wanted you for, how thankful he is to any deity that exists that you’ve been placed in his care.

Dabi might be in love, but he’s not stupid though.

He sees the way your body becomes more and more deteriorated, notices the small change of you hesitation to answer him, the way you can never truly look at him, how you retreat to his room more and more(your room has just become a guest room now after he burned all your belongings, rendering you completely dependent on him to supply you with scratchy clothes and feminine products, no matter how embarrassing it is for you). It’s so frustrating to him- you’re not actually doing anything wrong, but you’re not doing it right either. How long does he have to keep threatening you for? Why can’t you just be happy with him? At least pretend like he’s not the villain for once.

He just feels so passionately for you, a word he never thought would be used in his vocabulary. It all bottles up, and sometimes he feels like he isn’t expressing his feelings of love, jealousy at you not giving him enough attention at times, concern over your quiet demeanor, and wanting of you enough.

You’ve never been more broken than you are now.

If it wasn’t bad enough that you bend at his every beck and call, he expects you to understand his body language and cravings without him even saying anything, which is more so often than not. He just stares at you for so, so long. You originally tried to get up and leave after he dragged you over to the couch and plopped you down, but immediately stilled after smoke began curling from his wrists.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

You look at him incredulously, but his lids are lowered at you as he smokes a blunt. And so you exhale in annoyance and run a hand through your hair, closing your eyes to avoid looking into his unnerving glacial eyes.

It’s too bad you don’t see the big red hearts in them that break when you turn away from him.

You’re just so pretty, how can you expect him not to stare?

He tries to get you to do weird things too when you guys are alone and he’s not plowing you into the mattress.

Once on a cool winter night a majority of the League was out hunting for recruits. Dabi, you, and Spinner had done your quotas already-or,rather, Dabi had yanked you by your wrist alongside him through the dark alleyways, growling at you to “Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. If I see you looking at any one of these trash kindlings I’ll burn the whole alley up and force you to watch”.

And so while the rest of the party was out, Spinner had mumbled something about needing to take a piss with a pointed glare from Dabi and you were left alone again with your...boyfriend?

He sits down on the crumbling leather and gives you a once over, not saying anything.

You fidget in place, thinking he was going to make you give him another slutty show.

Moments pass, and he snaps, “Well?”

“W-well what?”

“Are you just gonna stand there like some braindead bitch? Sit down.” He leers at you.

You drop into the loveseat at the other end, looking down at your lap. You can’t see his expression, but he scoffs in disbelief.

“Are you actually slow? Get the fuck over here, it’s cold as shit.”

And so you scooch over to him regrettably, knees touching with his as you squirm.

He leans forward and turns to face you, reaching out a hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He notices you trembling and squeezing your eyes shut, so he stops midway.

He sits back again and as soon as you feel his presence retreat you let out our breath.

It hurts his heart to hear it.

You solely turn to face him when he doesn’t say anything, and he points to one of the grimy blankets strewn over the side of the tv. He grunts, and you catch his drift.

You get up to retrieve it, and hear his gravelly voice. “Get the remote too.”

When both items are brought back, Dabi snatches the blanket from you and drapes it over himself contentedly.

What am I, an errand girl?

He tosses the remote at you to your surprise, and you look at him with raised eyebrows.

He props his cheek against a fist and stares briefly at the tv.

You take your chances and press the on button on the remote.

The ancient monitor comes to life, and it takes a few minutes of scrolling through the channels and glancing at Dabi’s face to decide the appropriate one to watch. You settle on some old slasher finally after seeing the scowl on his face lessen at the sight of a rusted blade chopping through some guy’s shoulders.

It’s weird to be sitting there with your bully-turned-beau, watching a horror flick as if your relationship with him was normal. You’re surprised he hasn’t jumped your bones yet, it’s what he always wants to do these days as if you’re planning on leaving and it’s his last dying wish to fuck you.

But he does nothing except for sit there, gazing at the screen with unblinking eyes, bouncing his knee.

He wants you near him.

What, does he have to spell it out for you? Why do you think he even sat you next to him with a blanket and a shitty movie?

Dabi expected you to snuggle up to him the moment you say back down. It’s rather insulting that you haven’t so far, if he’s being honest. Why would a fire user like him need a blanket to keep warm? That was for you.

And the horror movie? The only reason he allowed you to put it on is because he wanted you to jump, scream, flinch-hell, do something so he can put an arm around you and tease you for being scared!

But you just sit there. Stock-still, like a deer caught in headlights. Hands in your lap, back straight up, it bothers him that you’re not relaxing around him.

“Aren’t you cold?” You jump at the break in silence.

Indeed it is cold, the chilly winter draft seeping through the crumbling foundations of the old bar. But you’d resist, not wanting to know where he was going with this.

“Uh, no, I’m good thanks.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “You’re literally shaking cold, doll. Come here.”

You turn to him beseechingly, very much not wanting to prolong this. “Dabi...”

You’re met with an icy glare.

And so you begrudgingly scoot closer to him, barely a few inches away. Gingerly picking up the corner of the blanket, you place it over your lap in a faux effort to warm yourself.

Dabi rolls his eyes when he sees this, and pulls you by your arms to fall against his chest.

You gasp lightly at how warm his torso is, and can’t help the shiver that passes over you.

Unable to stop yourself from chasing the warmth amidst the cold night, you huddle closer to him, pressing your palms against his chest to feel more of his heat.

He looks down at your head and gives the slightest twitch of his lips.

His heart swells, and he hopes you don’t hear how embarrassingly loud it’s pounding against your hands.

You slowly start melting in his hold, shifting your leg up adjoining his to seek out more heat, and it makes his cock twitch slightly. He likes you like this: pliant, easy, comfortable. He just wishes you’d talk more, and with less of that apprehension and fear in your eyes

Some minutes pass, the slasher fic having been ended and changing to a rom-com. Dabi doesn’t remember the last time he saw one of those. It must have been back when he was Touya, back when his mom would bake his favorite cookies and him and Fuyumi-chan and Natsu would chase each other around-

You stir in his arms, mumbling a bit from dozing off. Dabi gazes at you, wondering when the day would be when you bake him his favorite meals, when he gets to chase you around and make you giggle instead of chasing you like prey and making you scream.

He rubs up and down you arms soothingly with hot palms as you murmur and begin to wake up. You sit up from his chest and rub your eyes, yawning widely all the while.

It’s only when you focus on him smirking down at you that you jump back as if you’ve been electrocuted.

His smile drops at that.

You scowl at his proximity, mentally face-palming at how you could’ve been lulled to sleep so easily by this dickhead. It wasn’t even that cold, how could you have warmed up so easily to him?

A blast of icy air seemingly coming from nowhere settled over your bones and you shivered violently, rubbing your arms that were warm a minute ago.

Okay, maybe it was a bit cold. But you’d be damned if you willingly became vulnerable for him any more than you had to.

“Is someone tired?” He teased, his white teeth gleaming with his sickening grin.

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you mutter and avert your eyes, getting up to go upstairs.

“Good idea, I think I’ll come too.” You don’t need to turn around to hear the smug laughter in his voice, knowing full well that he was making fun of you.

You grumble and stalk upstairs with him right at your heels. At one point he lifts his gaze just to see your cute ass sashaying side-to-side with every step you took up.

He can’t help himself when he reaches a hand out and squeezes the flesh there, causing you to yelp and shoot up the stairs even faster.

Dabi shakes his head and snickers to himself, beelining after you to his quarters.

It’s a medium size-room, not meant for two people but that doesn’t stop him from cramming you in here every night.

You’re already glowering at his sheets, yanking them back and getting ready to dive in when a sudden thought strikes him.

“Have you eaten yet?” He leans against the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Comes your muddled answer from beneath the comforter.

You did not, in fact, eat anything for almost a day and a half. You couldn’t do it, your stomach was constantly in knots from his presence.

“Don’t lie to me,” his nostrils flare and he glares at you.

“I said I ate already.”

“Yeah? When exactly? ‘Cause if I remember right, i haven’t seen you leave my sight for almost 36 hours now, and none of that time includes when you ate.”

You stay silent, fuming underneath the covers. Why the hell was he so concerned about you? It pisses you off that he’s putting up a fake act of caring about you, just so that he feels less guilty about raping you.

He sighs and shifts to open the door. “Stop being such a bratty little shit. You were doing so well earlier, so keep it that way unless you wanna piss me off.”

Dabi turns the knob and takes a step out of the room. “I’ll ask you one last time before I choose myself- what do you wanna eat?”

“Eat shit.”

It’s so faint and muffled, but he hears it. His eyes widen marginally, his jaw clenches and the brass knob under his inflamed palm starts to steam and bubble.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said eat shit!” You throw the covers off and glare at him full on. “Stop pretending like you actually like me, or that you care about me. You’re a crazy fucking rapist, you’re not my father for gods’ sake, so stop trying to be this fake good person!”

The only sound around the room is your soft panting and the squeaking of bubbling metal. Then, it stop.

He steps forward, and speaks softly. “You want me to be the villain so bad?”

Another step forward, and you instinctively retract your legs from the edge of the bed.

“Fine. We’ll play your little game. You’re not leaving this room until I say so, or eating until I give you permission, since that’s what you wanted anyways. Wanna act like a stone cold bitch? Be my guest.”

His posture immediately relaxes, and his smug smile returns as he crosses the room to flip onto the bed.

You look at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

He turns over and scrolls through his phone.

There’s no way he’s serious. Is he actually planning on keeping you in this room? You’re already limited to the base as it is with him breathing down your back, no way in hell you’d tolerate even more confinement.

Just to check his bluff, you slowly slip off the bed and pad towards the door, one eye over your shoulder to check that he hadn’t turned around. But the second your hand outreaches for the disfigured blob of cooling metal on the door, a massive wave of blue flames lash out mere inches from your hand and between the knob.

You scream and clutch your hand, leaping backwards.

“What the fuck, Dabi?!”

He says nothing, but continues to smirk at his phone.

You take a deep breath and are about to try to open it again his his raspy voice calls out, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My nursing skills aren’t as good as yours. And even if you do manage to sever your hand and try again, if you leave then I’ll personally make sure Shigaraki withdraws all your missions here on out.”

You pause at that, cursing under your breath. As much as you knew he’d never admit it to your face, your leader needed Dabi for long distance combat. He was the second most powerful member in the group, so his word was scripture after Shigaraki’s himself. He would do anything Dabi would say if it meant keeping him in the League. You, however, were expendable at the end of the day.

Sighing, you trudge your way back to the rickety bed, grumbling under your breath. He says nothing, simply continuing to scroll through his phone as if he didn’t blast hellfire at you seconds before.

Sleep did not come easily. Even after Dabi put his phone away, he didn’t press up against you like he usually did at night. The empty space behind you was growing colder and harder to ignore.

You tossed and turned for a couple minutes, contemplating what to do. Apparently he was serious when he said he wouldn’t let you leave the room until he said so. So when was he gonna give you the all-clear?

Your stomach rumbled loudly, and you winced clutching it. Damn it. If only you had taken up his offer instead of throwing a tantrum.

Finally, after an excruciating 10 minutes more of deafening silence save for your weeping stomach, you cave in.

“Dabi.”

Silence.

“Dabi, you awake?” You prop yourself up on an elbow and peek over his shoulder. His eyes are closed, but his chest is moving too fast for a slumber.

“Look, I’m...I’m sorry I didn’t listen, okay? I should’ve eaten when you told me to.”

Nothing again.

“Hey.” You lightly shake his shoulder, but no response comes from him.

You sigh in frustration, tapping your fingers on the pillowcase. Suddenly, an idea comes to you, but it makes your stomach recoil in disgust and quiet down its grumbling. Desperation is a bitch.

“Can I make it up to you...?”

And finally, he turns around to face you, one cheek propped against his palm, a lazy grin complimenting his salacious gaze.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so earlier doll?”

You grimace in disgust, mixed emotions at your plan working.

“So what exactly did you have in mind, hmm?” He pouts condescendingly down at you, and you grit your teeth before letting him in on it.

“Um, well..I thought maybe I could...um, y’know, like..I wanna, um...” Oh god. This was more embarrassing than you thought. How are you supposed to ask your captor if you can suck his dick? Usually he just took you fighting tooth and nail, you never fully submitted like this before.

And he knows it too, based on the way his eyes gleam in the silver moonlight and shadows of lust cross his face while looking at your wide eyes and bitten bottom lip, your fidgeting fingers showing nothing but needing pure guidance.

But this isn’t supposed to be easy, he doesn’t want you to feel comfortable, he wants you to feel bad and make it up to him.

To give you a little push, however, he gives toga slight hint as he sits up and leans back against the rickety bedrest, folding his arms behind his head.

“So, what’s it gonna be sweetheart? ‘Gonna stare at me like that all night or are you gonna tell me how you’re gonna make this up to me?”

You look up at him, conflicted for a moment before solidifying your resolve. You shyly reach out a hand and touch the outside of his thigh, slowly rubbing and moving it closer up to the tent in his pelvis.

Oh, this is precious.

“What?” He sneers. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You were pushing me away earlier, but now you wanna suck my dick? Make up your mind, babe.”

You wince and continue, not backing down from his mean comment. You knew he wanted this, he expected this from you. That’s why even though he’s spitting venom from his lips, his hips are bucking up into your hand as you stroke over his member.

Your fingers move nimbly up and down, around and under his thighs and dick, with him softly cursing in the background as he grows harder and harder.

“Stop being a tease and get to sucking. It’s what you were made for, anyways,” Dabi’s low voice comes out from in between little moans.

Your hand shakes a little bit as you fumble with the drawstrings on his pj’s, and he snickers at your inexperience. When you finally free his length, it bounces out like its on fucking hydraulics, precum beading up at the tip, his shaft coated with an intimidation Jacob’s Ladder.

He watches you lick your lips and he groans under his breath. You’re nervous and scared, but he’s wondering whose heart is beating faster right now. The hand which you use to hesitantly start pumping him is so much softer than his own, and even though he’s gotten fairly accustomed to your body and the feel of it, the sensations multiply tenfold when you do it willingly for him.

Dabi has half a mind to shove your head down onto his shaft when he feels like you’re stalling with your hands, however good they feel. He wants to see you sloppy with saliva dribbling down your chin like a baby.

But he waits. As excruciatingly painful as it is, he wants to see what you’re like when you do things at your own pace, and at your own...comfort? If you can even call it that.

Finally, finally after caving in from his silent flower you get the idea to put it in your mouth.

Your face contorts in disgust as you slowly lower your head and latch your lips onto the slippery bulb, hollowing your cheeks out and sucking hard at the tip.

Dabi hisses and juts his hips up into your mouth, furiously chewing at his burnt lower lip as he holds back a pornographic moan. He knows you’d be startled and embarrassed by it, so he refrains...for now.

That doesn’t mean he’s not gonna tell you what to do, though.

“Yeah, just like that. Suck it like an ice-pop. No, don’t use your teeth idiot. And fondle my balls while you’re at it, too.”

Instructions pour into your ears, one after another as you fumble around trying to satiate his needs. You’re clumsy, which makes it even messier and hotter for him. Various fluids coat your hand and the lower half of your face as you work on him, doing exactly what he says. Sucking and kitten-licking the tip, even going so far as to dip your tongue into the crevice of his tiny hole and rapidly lick up the massive amounts of pre bubbling up after doing so, spiraling your tongue down the piercings and on his shaft until you circle around his balls. Your spit helps as lube to slick up his dick as you pump your hand while nursing on his plush balls.

Dabi, of course, has a hand woven through your hair and randomly jerks down on your head when you hit a good spot. You can tell he’s trying his best to hold back from his way his body and arms shake in self restraint, so you know it’s time to finish things up before his control snaps.

You start stroking him even faster, squeezing a little harder when you move up on his tip and massaging his balls. The soft schlick schlick sounds echo throughout the quiet room, the rustling of his sheets as his legs move to their own accord mute the thudding of both your hearts.

You can tell his orgasm is about to come from the way his cheeks puff up and his chest heaves. Pulling away is futile, as the second he sees recognition in your eyes he finally does what he’s been wanting to do, and slams your head all the way down his length.

He starts actually face-fucking you now, all 7 1/2 inches tightly cramming in your throat. You retch and cry out around his dick, trying to pull your head back but he’s not having it; he pounds the back of your canal and you swear you’ll wake up with a bruised esophagus in the morning.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck yes doll, fuck, just a little more, you’re doing so good, my little cumdump huh? You love me, yeah? Of course you do, of course you love your daddy, you’re never gonna leave me you’re gonna stay right here under me like the good little girl you are-“

Filth pours from his mouth as white ropes leave his cock, your already-filled throat flooding with his seed and leaking out of your strained mouth.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he waits for a moment or two, calming his breath down by taking deep inhales in place of his rapid panting. His breath deepens after a minute or two, but he still has an iron grip on the back of your head sealed so tight that the cum is trapped on the inside of your stretched lips.

“Mmmfh!” You cry out and beat at his knee. He finally looks down at focuses on you, squinting and laughing at your predicament.

“Aww what’s wrong, don’t wanna gargle my kids? Would you rather have them someplace else?” He shakes your head back and forth on his softening cock and more seed spills out over your mouth and around his groin.

You painfully pull your head up, and Dabi revels in how you look.

Teary-eyed, your hair a mess, cum and spit coating your mouth like a fucking whore.

You’ve never looked more beautiful to him than you have at that moment.

“Come on, clean me up,” he gestures to the mess on his body, and you grimace.

“Do I have to? I just did what you wanted me to-“

“I thought you were trying to make it up to me?” He raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down.

You sigh and try to do it quickly, ingesting the vile contents and avoiding his cruel grin.

After what seemed like a lifetime, you finish him off and flop down in bed, catching your breath.

“So, was that good enough? Can I go outside now?”

“It’s the middle of the night, where the hell would you go right now?” He fluffs up his pillow and pulls his pants back up, getting ready to actually sleep this time.

“Well, I mean yeah, but...you know what I mean, in the morning you’ll let me go out, right?”

He rolls over to face you, and you can’t decipher what emotion crosses his face as his position blocks out the moonlight. From his body rolled over, the light reflecting off the side of his head would almost make it seem like he had white hair.

“Who said anything about letting you go out?”

You gape at him for a moment, then chuckle nervously. “Come on, don’t freak me out like that. You said that if I made it up to you-“

“I said make it up to me, as in apologize for your bitchy attitude. I didn’t say anything about you leaving. You’re gonna have to do more than a shitty blowjob if you wanna leave this room.”

“Dabi!”

“What? I’m just complying with what you wanted. You didn’t wanna go with me, right? So, I’m playing by your rules.” He says simply, shrugging as if it’s no big deal.

Tears brim up in your eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

“Exactly. Which is why you’re not leaving until I say so.”

You turn over and scoot away from him, ignoring his scoff. But you suppose you couldn’t be too mad, after all.

You don’t know what you were expecting from a villain anyways.

[snifflesthemouse]

Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

         Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

         I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

         Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies. 

         Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy. 

          Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood! 

         Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

         So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

          In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

         Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

         Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

         You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus. 

         While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

         They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

         Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

          The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa. 

         Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle. 

         I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

         I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

         And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

[ariadne-does-her-best]

Love in G Major

Dick Grayson x Reader One-Shot; Soulmate!Au

Word Count: 2,500+

Warnings: Kidnapping but nothing graphic happens

Author’s Note: Hey guys! This is my first time posting a fic so characters may be a little OOC. Please let me know if you guys liked this and if you want to, feel free to send a request! Also, I might make a series of Soulmate! Aus since I have a good idea for Jasons thought out. xo, Ariadne

Summary: In a world where everyone has a soulmate, you’re one of the lucky ones to receive a physical sign of your soulmate in the form of a timer counting down to when you’ll meet. But after being kidnapped by the Riddler, hours before you’re supposed to meet them, you can only pray that the Riddler of all people isn’t your soulmate.

Five hours.

You swayed to the rich sound of your cello, eyes closed, as you shifted your hand down into fourth position. You rested for a beat before going down bow, still doing vibrato even after the piece was done. The audience waited for a sign that you were done with the piece, be it that your hand stopped moving or you physically stood up and told them to clap. Instead, you opened your eyes and smiled as the diners took their cue to start clapping before inclining your head in thanks as you waited for the applause to die down.

It was a normal Saturday at the small but expensive Italian restaurant you performed at. You weren’t supposed to be there since you had requested to take today off but the owner had still put you down to play during half of the two-hour live performance time slot. At the end of the day, money was money and who were you to ever say no to the thousands you always received in tips. After all, you could only think about the new bow you could buy with the money. Which would lead to you sounding better, getting more gigs, and making more money. The process was like a cycle, really.

After the applause stopped and those who were up putting money in your jar had sat down in their seats, you sat back down and started playing Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, Prelude. You could hear the pianist who was supposed to take over for the rest of the night setting up, his hands flipping through his many copies of sheet music.

Aside from the sounds of cutlery and the wisps of conversation, there was not much noise other than the smooth sound of your cello. But even if there were no noises, something still bothered you.

At first, it wasn’t that bad. You could feel someone staring at you, which was normal since you were performing on a stage with your whole being on display, but it was longer and more intense than normal. Letting your eyes wander around the crowded restaurant, your eyes locked onto a pair of green eyes. You smiled slightly at the young girl before wincing as the slight burning of your wrist got worse. You continued playing, closing your eyes as you tried to ignore the burning of your timer. Your soulmate timer.

You were one of the lucky individuals who had a visible connection to their soulmate. Instead of feeling a spark whenever you touch your soulmate, like your neighbors do, or being able to finally see color when you touch your soulmate, like your parents, you were one of the few lucky ones who could count down to the precise moment when you would meet your soulmate. And that was exactly what you did. When you were thirteen and your parents had explained your soulmate mark to you, the first thing you did was calculate when you would meet your soulmate according to your timer and write it down in your diary.

It was impossible for you to ignore the burning on your wrist, impossible for you to not grin as you played. But your grin was wiped off when you heard glass shatter and a scream.

Four hours.

You had no idea where you were but judging by the smell of the place and the fact that two men wearing green suits with question marks were staring at you, you were not at the restaurant.

‘At least I still have my cello,’ you thought as you pulled against the ropes that tied you against a pillar. The henchmen were talking between themselves as they approached the pillar where you were tied. They started untying you from the pillar and you took this opportunity to suddenly stand up and run.

You heard one of the henchmen curse but you ran in random zigzag lines towards where the door was. It was weird that the henchmen didn’t shoot at you or even attempt to stop you. But you ignored the niggling in the back of your mind. Wrenching the door open, you looked back at where your cello lay and turned back around to walk towards your freedom.

Except it wasn’t your freedom, it was the Riddler in his forest green suit and bowler combo. A rather tacky-looking combo in your opinion but hey, you weren’t going to be the one to break the news to a murderous criminal. He looked up at your sudden entrance and smiled.

“Here she is,” he said, yanking you into the room where the guests of the restaurant were tied onto the seats of an auditorium. You shivered as the cold air hit you and you looked around the room, taking in the TV production set up and the large stage that covered up more than half of the room there.

The Riddler dragged you up onto the stage, and you couldn’t help but wince as the harsh lights burned your eyes.

“What am I doing on stage,” you asked the Riddler as you covered your eyes with your hands. The Riddler’s smile became somehow larger, looking rather comical for a second before becoming more uncomfortable to look at. “Riddle me this,” the Riddler started as he pushed you down onto a chair, “what is it that cannot open any locks and yet has 24 keys?”

Your eyes furrowed in confusion as you rubbed at your wrist, the burning sensation somehow getting worse.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled as a minute passed.

“Well, if you don’t know, why don’t we give you a little motivation to figure out the right answer?”

And with that, the Riddler drew out a gun and pointed it at the closest person seated at the stage, the pianist. At this point, you could hear the sobs wracking through his body and you thought about his elderly parents who depended on him to pay for their surgeries. You don’t know how you could live with his blood on your hands.

“Wait, I have the answer,” you cried out, reaching out to grab the Riddler’s elbow but stopping. Something told you that that wouldn’t be a good idea and he might take that opportunity to shoot you.

“Well, do go on.”

“It’s music,” you said, staring at the deranged man’s face. He broke into peals of laughter, clapping his hands, as he tried to settle himself. It was unnerving how he could flip the switch easily from being a man ready to kill another to laughing as if you were the funniest person on Earth.

“That’s correct. And with that, let us start the games.”

Three hours.

After asking you his initial riddle, the Riddler had quickly set up a broadcast to be shown to all of Gotham, using the footage that one of his henchmen had taken of him questioning you as the intro.

“Batman, I have two riddles for you,” he said, addressing the camera. If you weren’t stuck on stage with two guns pointed at you as you tuned a somewhat cheap cello, you would have sighed. Why couldn’t he also include picture puzzles or something else for once? But you were stuck on stage so you just carefully tuned the instrument, hoping that none of the guards took your movement as you tuned as a sign of your sad attempt at running away.

“There are as many constellations in the sky as there are keys in a piano. What number am I? There you will find the answer to, ‘What is it that makes songs but you will never hear it sing?’ You have an hour to find them before I start playing my little game.”

As if that's your cue, one of the gunmen poked your back and you tensed, surprised by how cold the metal was through your sweater. You quickly quit your tuning and started playing the op. 88, hoping that maybe Batman or Robin would recognize it. It would probably be difficult for them to recognize since they probably weren’t as necessarily as interested in music as you were. And if they were, it’d probably be a little difficult to hear and piece together the piece since you were playing more stiffly than your usual languid movements.

You just hoped that they could understand the Riddler’s riddle and show up to save the night.

Two hours.

An hour has passed of you sitting in your seat playing your cello. Your butt was stiff from the hard chair, your back hurt from your stiff posture, and your wrist was burning pretty badly. At the thought of your wrist, your mind recoiled slightly. What if your soulmate was one of the Riddler’s henchmen? Or the Riddler himself? The thought of it made you want to puke.

“Well Gotham,” the Riddler said, standing in front of the mic as he paused to look dramatically at the camera. “Batman still hasn’t arrived yet so I will be starting my game. And today we have a very special guest that will be playing with me.”

At this, the goons started applauding and you heard a child in the audience cry even louder.

“Our special guest is the one and only (Y/N) (L/N) who has been playing such lovely music for us during our broadcast.”

You sat in your chair, music forgotten as another stage light shone on you.

“Now come on (Y/N), don’t be shy. I know that I’m somewhat of a local celebrity but I don’t bite.”

You shivered under the Riddler’s gaze and got up, trying your best not to stumble as you walked towards him. Your breathing was labored now and the closer you got to the Riddler, the more you felt like you were going to faint.

“(Y/N) here is going to play a simple game. She’s going to play a song that shows up in the cards,” he held up a large stack of index cards and fanned them out on the podium. The crying from the audience became even louder, with ‘Please, no’s mixed in. You turned to watch the small girl from the restaurant being dragged onto the stage, the bright lights highlighting the tears running down her face.

“And if (Y/N) here cannot play the song or if she plays even a single note or rhythm incorrectly, little Bella here will be dunked into this vat of water. For each mistake, she will be kept there for thirty seconds longer.”

You watched in horror as the girl was dragged towards what looked like a giant hole in the ground filled with water. She struggled against her restraints as she cried, her bleary eyes focused on something over your shoulder. You looked over in the corner of your eye and saw the familiar red and yellow of Robin.

As you turned around to shake the Riddler’s hand in acceptance of the rules, you curled your hand in a fist.

“Let the game begin,” he shouted, smiling at the camera before he went to choose a card.

“I’m sorry but we’re going to have to change the rules,” you said before pulling back your fist and punching him in the jaw.

One hour.

You were hiding in the corner of the stage, hidden by the curtains as you tried to untie Bella. The poor girl was trying to hold her sobs in but some still escaped, sounding misplaced in the sounds of Batman and Robin beating the Riddler & co. into oblivion.

You shushed her and tried to twist the rope and push it through the knot when a birdarang flew through the gap of the curtains and sliced your cheek along with the stray strands of hair nearby before hitting the wood paneling behind you. You ignored the blood that was slowly dripping down your face before grabbing the birdarang. You probably grabbed it wrong since it cut the palm of your hand, making you curse under your breath as you started sawing through the multiple knots in the ropes around Bella’s hands and feet.

Once she was free, the little girl tried to get up and run but you grabbed her, putting a finger up to your mouth and cupping a hand behind your ear, whispering “listen.”

You both sat there, listening to the sounds of Robin giggling as he punched someone. You furrowed your brow at that, wondering who exactly was the boy crazy enough to dress up as a traffic signal and fight crime with an equally weird man dressed as a bat.

You slowly started standing up once the sounds of Robin’s laughter had receded before holding a hand out to Bella. The young girl grabbed your hand and you both started edging your way off of the stage area where the fighting was taking place and towards her parents. Batman and Robin were tying people up when you finally found Bella’s father, the sound of the GCPD’s sirens in the background becoming louder and louder as they came closer.

As you and the other hostages made your way out, making sure to jump across the dock to the other side so you don’t fall into the disgusting water down below, you felt someone grab your wrist. You turned and smiled at Bella’s father.

“Why don’t you go and seek some medical assistance?”

“I will sir,” you replied before making your way to the paramedics, letting them fuss over your cuts. You could see Batman speaking to Commissioner Gordon but you couldn’t see Robin near them.

“I think you have something of mine,” Robin said with a grin as he held his hand towards you. You were surprised to see him in front of you but you smiled at him confused.

“I don’t know what you’re…,” you trailed off when you looked down to where he was pointing to see that you were still holding his birdarang.

“Oh. Well, I don’t know… maybe I should keep it. Something to remind me of this day,” you teased as you held up the birdarang so it was eye-level.

“Alright, you can keep it. Just don’t tell Batsie,” he said with a wink, causing you to giggle. “I’m sorry for cutting you.”

“It’s fine,” you said, wincing as the burning on your wrist became worse. Robin also gave out a hiss of pain at the same time as you, causing you to both stare at each other. You reached your hand out towards him slowly, letting your hands ghost over his cheekbones slightly when you felt the telltale cooling sensation of your wrist.

“Let’s go talk somewhere else,” he said, and you nodded, following behind him to an empty alleyway.

“Let me introduce myself again,” he started taking off his mask, “I’m Dick Grayson.”

You were met with the most beautiful pair of lilac-blue eyes, causing you to catch your breath in the back of your throat.

“And I’m (Y/N).”

“Why don’t we get out of here and get to know each other better, princess?”

“I would like that, love bird.”

[myevilmouse]

It does say “Ask Me Anything”, after all.

This particular query has been burning a hole in my insanely curious 4-year-old psyche for quite a spell. Problem is: which of my favourite “Ask” victims candidates was I going to lay it on? Who would be least likely to kick me back into my corner 😀??

You’re up, Mouse!

When I used to write masochistic-themed plays for the late, late night crowd, I had the pleasure of seeing my work brought to life. Whilst I was under contract to satisfy the kinks of my patrons, I would not have been able to perform the task if there was not more than tangential pleasure with my finished product. However, I was still producing material for paid purposes based on their requirements.

When a fic writer sits down at the keyboard, it’s your world, your rules…your kink, your smut. No checklist, no requirements. So, the first thing that comes my mind is: you must be writing for yourself. Okay — pause — does this mean that the fic writer is putting to paper what turns them on? If so, this would mean that one would be revealing their own particular kinks to the world.(that’s why we have nom de plumes, fool) Is there any kind of, um, anxiety of being *found out*?

The final query is actually the first one I had, but I didn’t want break the deck at first pass 🤣 Does your own work bring you pleasure when you read it? (like it does your readers, otherwise why would some of us sit in the middle of nowhere with a headlamp reading this stuff) or does it become an objective, a task, at some point?

Feel free to kick me back into my corner on this one. There are no responsible adults around to shush me or give me the stink eye, so it’s all up to you what you want to address.

As always, I thank you for your time and consideration.

Thank you so much for the ask @beebee-76! I do definitely want people to ask me anything!  I can always ignore, delete, or reply privately to something that isn’t for the world’s eyes 😊 And I’m flattered that you esteem me thusly, to know I am definitely not going to “kick you back in your corner” for asking these questions.  I’m more than happy to respond.

I remember in an earlier ask you had mentioned your previous gig as a kinky playwright (which sounds AMAZING).  I’m glad (and unsurprised!) you were able to enjoy that work 😈 As you point out, the difference with fic, we’re not being paid and the only motivation I personally have as a fic writer is to amuse myself and my readers.  And in that order—me first!  If fanfic becomes an objective, task, or god help us, work, then I don’t want to do it.  Hobbies shouldn’t be a source of stress or a “I have to write this ugh” sort of vibe.  That’s how I think, anyway.  Unfortunately, for better or for worse, there -is- a tendency to start taking readership into consideration as we write more.  Especially when you have a following or fan base, but that’s a pretty nice thing, really.  As long as you don’t let it change your writing, it’s very motivating to know people are waiting for the next installment of a story.

So your first question/comment/assumption, that I must be writing for myself, is absolutely correct.

Second, you ask does that mean I’m writing what turns me on?  And that answer is also abso-fuckin-lutely.  My kinks are all over my fic, which is really why they are so fun to write and (for me, at least) read (which ties into your last question).  Among them are the ever-present language kink, name kink (significant name shift, if you want official trope names), body weight kink (I like my men on top), rough sex, dubcon, and much much more.  I’m sure anyone who reads my oeuvre will have no trouble compiling a list of those that repeat and pervade my smut.

So yes, I am happily revealing my own particular kinks to the world, as you say.  And as to your next question, is there any kind of anxiety of being “found out”…

It’s a more complicated question than it may appear.  Plenty of people in my real life, as I have mentioned before, read my smut.  I once told someone you can only be blackmailed by something you’re ashamed of, and I am pretty much without shame.  I don’t have any guilt attached to my fic—sort of the opposite; I’m pretty proud of it.  I do understand that not everyone is comfortable with the existence of erotica and smut, or enlightened/liberated enough to understand its value and feel unthreatened by it.  I’d rather not have to deal with the judgement of people like that. Please note I'm not saying everyone has to LIKE smut, to each their own, I'm just saying don't tell me I shouldn't, that's all.

Apart from the smut/kinks, I value my privacy and keeping my online life separate from my real life, not for only fic reasons but for security and personal comfort.  It’s why I don’t give much personally identifiable information online (plenty of personal info, as my kinks are splashed all over, but you see the difference) and am careful to avoid situations where that would be difficult or inadvisable.

In general, I think the healthiest way to approach the topic is to have a “yeah, so what?” attitude.  Someone comes to me and says “OMFG you write fanfic about Luke Skywalker?!” I’m like, “yeah, so what?”  It’s fun, and let’s be real, fanfic has lost a LOT of its stigma over the past five/ten years.  It’s no longer considered cringe as a hobby, and Hollywood and publishing are full of examples of successful fanfic commercialized for the world. 

The final question you had, does my work bring me pleasure, is also an easy ask.  Another abso-fuckin-lutely.  As I write for me, I reread my own fics ALL the time.  Before I post, the ultimate test of a fic is whether or not I get butterflies at that ONE part.  If I as the author can consistently get an emotional or physical reaction from reading the work, then I am satisfied.

I don’t know how other authors are—sometimes I am really baffled by people who say they can’t read their own stuff or they find their own writing awful or whatever.  I tend to attribute it to false modesty most of the time, but I will happily admit I think my fics are pretty great and I derive enormous pleasure from putting a story into the world that didn’t exist before.  I love making characters do things I want, I love when they resist and make me do their bidding, I love the process and the joy of discovery when writing, the insistence of the muse which overcomes reason and plot, I love it all.  So naturally I love the fruits of my own labor as well.

I guess it’s a bit like cooking…If you cook something, putting lots of time and effort into making an amazing dish, why wouldn’t you want to eat it?  Why would you cook something if you didn’t like the taste?  Writing, like cooking, gives us an opportunity to consume our own output, savor the flavors and appreciate the result.

As always, thank you for the lovely ask.  I hope I addressed everything!  I’m so happy you’re reading my stuff and care about my thoughts on these things.  Have a custom Imperial hunk gif in gratitude:

[olderthannetfic]

Ah, I do see your points, anon. I'm not going to post all your asks publicly because if you really feel that unsafe, it's probably best not to have a bigass chunk of your text for people to analyze and try to guess your identity from. I think one of the best points you made is about how close to home it hits when the non-fave is not only your fave but is similar to you in some way like demographic. You're not wrong for having those emotions. I do wonder if they make it hard to see how some other people feel similarly embattled on other axes.

TBH, I think one of the big problems here is that the large aggregate patterns you're talking about are racist, but most individual fics and fans are not really the problem. It's hard to know how to talk about this or who to tell to "fix" it when we're looking at free, hobbyist art.

A lot of people's tastes are certainly formed by shitty society, but once they're formed, they don't change fast if at all. Asking someone to rewrite their libido is a big ask, yet tumblr does it all the time as though it's as simple as snapping your fingers.

This leaves me with the sense that a lot of tumblr is... like... the political lesbians of porn fic or something: desire is not real, only choosing based on logic and politics. Or maybe people are so asexual that they just don't understand the lizard brain's "YES!" at some porn things and complete indifference to others?

I don't think it's great if great swaths of people feel like bottom!Nicky is super hot and top!Nicky fundamentally isn't, but I also don't think they can necessarily just turn it off like flipping a switch.

(If someone reading this doesn't like their current tastes and wants to attempt to alter them, I do think it's possible. What you should do is line up a large slate of media that prominently features characters of the ethnicity or whatever that you don't find hot/interesting. These should be leads whose emotional development drives the plot and is supposed to be central to the audience's enjoyment of the media. Watch/read/etc. this media all the time. All. The. Time. Try out many pieces because you won't like every character or every show, and we're looking for genuine enjoyment, not the fandom equivalent of a pity fuck. Spend enough time on this, and your unconscious sense of who's hot and interesting will eventually shift somewhat. This is a project you should expect to take a few years.)

But I digress.

The one tweet thing is a very toxic pattern. If TOG fandom is doing that, guys, please try to be more conscious of holding the actors of color to a higher standard (or the women or whomever). I know this often comes from a place of paying more attention to our own and wanting to set a good standard, but the effect is that minorities can't fuck up ever while white dudes get infinite passes.

Okay, on to the fic thing... Gotta say, my instant reaction to that description is "Ooh!"--as it would be for the same scenario with the characters reversed. (Ships who start out trying to kill each other are my favorite! x1000 if they're resurrecting style immortals and they literally do.) I can see how it would feel like slamming into a brick wall if you aren't kinky in just the right way and you didn't know it was coming though.

Part of why I react so strongly to a lot of discourse that runs along these lines is that I am a naturally extremely kinky person. It's not so much about what I do (which as a deeply lazy person in a long distance relationship is essentially nothing), but it's absolutely how I'm wired.

And I can tell you that my quotidian experience in fandom is sharing something I don't even realize is a big deal only to have someone I like, respect, and trust react in horror and tell me that it's triggering and awful and should not be allowed in fandom spaces because it makes "people" unsafe. It's such an instant, kneejerk reaction they don't even realize I was sharing it because it spoke to the very core of me. Lesson learned, friend. Lesson learned.

That sounds a bit off topic, I know, but bear with me: The point of that anecdote is that it's pretty common for me to get people trying to raise my awareness of things I have already thought deeply about while denying my essential humanity and not even realizing. As a kinky person who likes to make my fave the top (and generally a conflicted sadist), this constant request to explain and justify is exhausting.

I doubt most of the top!Joe fans have this precise problem simply because people who make their fave the top are much less common in fandom than people who make their fave the bottom, but I see a similar pattern with fans who are just fundamentally wired for rape fantasies (one of the most common fantasies that exists) vs. fans who just don't get rape fantasies at all. Or substitute your BDSM/kinky/messed up fantasy trope of choice. Covertly radical feminist attitudes towards kink and power are on the rise in fandom, and as a naturally kinky person, boy do I notice it!

I know that it feels like crucial activism to share these insights about why the ratio of top!Joe is hurtful, and the pain you feel is real. But it's also the case that it's a big ask to want people to listen. (Not me. Obviously, I routinely choose to engage with discourse. I mean overall.) The reason for that is that you're only seeing a fraction of what they do or who they are, and you don't know how many previous people they've listened to how many previous times. It's a very different situation from someone whose job is making some major TV series or movie or something. That person does, in my opinion, owe you some amount of listening.

Now, I'm not saying no top Joe fan was ever a jerk. I'll bet they were. There's a tendency to be rude and to publicly air your schadenfreude when you feel like everyone has been yelling at you. What I am saying is that a lot of the problem here boils down to conflicting needs, and that means there isn't a good solution. It's a situation where people are genuinely hurt, but I don't necessarily agree that other people have harmed them.

I like that you did an actual count of the explicit fics, btw. It's good to look at the real numbers. I see too little of that in these situations. My off the cuff reaction is that 2/3 to 1/3 is not a bad ratio at all compared to many fandoms, but yeah, it definitely shows a strong trend, and that can be painful. (I have a fandom where I think there's maybe like 1 bottom so-and-so fic in the entire zine era fandom. One. It's pretty extreme.)

I guess my thinking here overall is: What is the practical solution? What are we hoping to gain? What is reasonable to ask of people?

And it can't be "Well, if they would just listen..." That's just a sneaky way of saying "If you haven't done it my way, it's because you haven't listened to me yet."

So the question I would ask of people is this:

What does a non-racist fic where Joe tops look like?

What does a non-racist sex pollen, dubcon, or even noncon fic where Joe tops look like?

And if you say the latter is impossible... well... sadists exist everywhere in the world. So do doms. So do people who prefer to top in a purely physical sense. People with rape fantasies where they're the rapist exist (people who are not actually rapists, I mean). None of this is restricted to any one group. We can't categorically say fic like that about Joe is coming from a place of racism without denying the fundamental humanity of kinky MENA people who'd want to make Joe like themselves or like their ideal partner. (Yes, I agree this won't be the majority of fic writers writing top!Joe, but this is a place to start for figuring out what the better version would look like.)

IDK, maybe you're that kinkster yourself, but your asks gave me the vibe that you don't really get the drive towards those darker kinds of fics and what might be motivating it besides stereotypes and shittiness.

If we can answer these kinds of questions, we can better critique the way people write what they write without telling them all of their taste is bad and they should just stop writing. Even if we think the latter is true, it isn't going to get us anywhere. Figuring out how to make Joe more multidimensional in the fic they already want to write or finding very specific wording that should be avoided might actually work.

Beyond that, the actions I think are productive would be running prompt fests, exchanges, or other events for bottom!Joe or for top!Joe where he's the main character and the fics are required to be from his POV. Themed collections and recs lists are great. (I've seen a bit of this going around in TOG fandom in the past, and that's an excellent approach! Keep it up!) Positive actions tend to work better here. Make more of what you want. Promote what you want to see.

I don't mean this in some fluffy magical thinking way: you aren't going to change that ratio radically just by the power of positivity. But I've seen this kind of thing play out in many, many fandoms, and going after the people who write what you don't like, even in a well-intentioned effort to educate and even in a polite, kind way doesn't do much. A few people feel guilty. A few feel defensive. A lot ignore you. The overall fic doesn't change. It's not a good use of your limited time and energy.

I'm off to look up that fic to see what I think of it in practice, but I'm going to post this before tumblr manages to eat it.

[heyheyloki]

Single

Summary: The reader starts to unravel as their feelings for Mammon grow more intense.

Mammon x M!Reader

Inspired by the song Single by The Neighbourhood.

As the weeks turned into months here in Devildom on your exchange program, you knew that something was wrong. It wasn’t always but just whenever you were around the second eldest brother, Mammon, avatar of greed. Everything he said, did, it was different than normal. You weren’t dense. It was obvious to you the crush you developed on the demon. While you knew for the most part that you could compose yourself around him, but lately that hasn’t been the case.

So, you’ve been avoiding him. You knew he noticed, and you knew everyone else noticed. However, the only person you told about your feelings, your true feelings about Mammon was Asmodeus. The two of you were close, closer than you were to any of the other brothers. You had a friendship with all of them, and yes you were close to them but to you, Asmo was like your best friend in Devildom.

Currently, you were hiding from Mammon. You knew you made a huge fool out of yourself when you saw him approaching you with this goofy yet charming smile on his face and immediately ran in the opposite direction before locking yourself with Asmo in his room.

Your eyes stared up at his ceiling from his bed, your body laid flat against it as Asmo did his nightly facial treatment. He asked if you wanted him to do yours, but you declined. 

“I can’t even be in the same room as him, and then when he’s not around I just can’t help but think about him,” you ranted. “It’s sad, and pathetic.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” You heard a voice suddenly say quickly after you finished your sentence. Without hesitation, you grabbed a pillow from behind your head and chucked it at the back of Asmo’s head. 

“Hey!” He shouted, “you almost made me mess up here!” 

You knew he was talking about his skin care routine, but you didn’t care much. This dude was an immortal demon, he has plenty of time in the world to take care of it. You, however, would die in a manner or 50 years and thought you problems were more urgent.

“You have eternity,” you huffed out. “Help out your best friend!”

Amos let out a huff as well, his hands slamming down the products on his nightstand before stomping over to his bed and sitting in front of you. He raised his hand, four fingers up before saying, “You have to remember these four things, okay?”

You nodded your head as your hands gripped your pants. “Okay.”

“One, Mammon is an idiot.” He started off. “Two, Mammon is dense, three, he’s dumb, and four, he’s just an idiot.”

Your small smile fell into a straight line, your eyes deadpanned as you stared at the Avatar of Lust. “You just called him stupid over and over again.”

“That’s my point!” Asmara shouted. “My brother is the most idiotic moron you’ll ever meet, and that’s why you have to make your point very, very clear to him.”

Your head tilted a bit. “What?”

“When you make hints, they’re interrupted as nothing more then friendly batter in his dumb mind. For someone like me, I get them, and so does Lucifer and Satan. The rest of them, especially Mammon, think you’re just being friendly. They think it’s just human behavior.” Asmo explained, your lips parting in understanding.

“I think I get it.” You said softly with your head down at the pink sheets of Asmo’s bed. “So, what, directly tell him I like him romantically and that I wanna spend all my time with him?”

“Yes.” Asmo cheered with a smile before promptly shooing you off his bed and out his room into the hall. His hand was steady on the door while he stared at you. “Don’t come back until you settled this.”

With that, he slammed the door in your face. You could hear a faint click soon afterwards. Yep, he locked the door too.

A deep sigh exit past your lips as you looked around the hall. There wasn’t anyone but you standing, if you had to guess, everyone was in their rooms. Though, without realizing it, your eyes shifted over to Mammon’s door that was a bit down the hall from Asmo.

You didn’t allow yourself to think, but just move and keep Asmo’s words the only thing in your mind. You couldn’t think about consequences, or if he would reject you. Who knows, maybe his light flirting was just for fun or maybe that was on you for thinking it was that. Perhaps you weren’t his type, maybe he’d rather be with a demon like him that he could have a future with.

At this point, your motivation in the beginning died. It was just as you stood in front of his door too, damn thoughts. You knew you were banned from Asmo’s room, but maybe he’d let you back in if you just told him you did it. There wouldn’t be anyway for him to truly know. Besides, if you just say that Mammon doesn’t want to bring it up with the others, maybe Asmo could keep a secret for once in his life.

You moved your body a bit to head back, though, as you took your first step you heard the knob on Mammon’s door twist before his figure was shown to you on the other side. You could see his calm look turn into a bit of confusion before he asked, “Whatcha doin’ here? Asmo kick you out?”

Yes, he did. But you’d never say that aloud.

“No, he didn’t.” You said as calmly as you could. “I came to hang out with you, actually.”

You watched as faint blush placed itself on Mammon’s cheeks that made your throat dry. It was so cute that you could barely contain your smile, thankfully you did.

“Sure,” he muttered lowly as he stepped aside for you to enter.

You walked into his room as causally as you could, your eyes gazing at the mess he had made. Clothes were strewn about and old, used plastic cups laid all over the place. You didn’t mind though, it usually looked like this.

You heard the door shut behind you as you made your way over to the couch he had in the middle of his room. A relaxing sigh making way from your lips as you felt yourself melt into it. Though, you were stripped from your fantasy when you felt the weight shift and see a very stiff looking body that belonged to your crush.

“So, whatcha wanna do?” He asked in a manner that made him seem cool.

You thought for a moment before letting your emotions take over in an instant. “I just wanna hang out with you, it doesn’t matter what.”

You saw the demon turn his head the other way in the corner of your eyes, the ends of your lips being tugged up gently by strings.

“Of course you do!” He shouted with a small stutter in the beginning. “I am the Great Mammon after all, of course a human like you would want to hang out with such a powerful demon.”

You laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”

It didn’t take long for a odd atmosphere to turn friendly and loving. Laughter filled the room, jokes being thrown back and forth until tears started to pop up in the corner of each other’s eyes. Though, when it was Mammon laughing alone, you couldn’t help but go crazy. Without knowing until it was too late, Mammon had caught all of your attention.

“Mammon.” You sternly put, watching as the demon calm down and stare at you with something behind his gaze that made your heart beat faster.

“Yeah?” He questioned with a stupidly cute smile still prompted on his face.

“I like you.”

You watched him carefully. Everyone muscle, everyone small change in his expression. You watched all of it. Worry behind to take over your soul when his first reaction was surprise. However, that blush you adored returned and easied your mind.

“Idiot,” he uttered out. “You can’t go saying stuff like that outta nowhere.”

You nodded your head, your body inching closer to his. You pressed your hand into the couch to hold up your body weight and lean in more. You watched his body back up an inch out of pure instinct reaction.

“I really like you, Mammon.” You repeated, your voice never fluctuating. “I like you, romantically.”

Mammon’s eyes closed as he leaned his head down. “Damnit, you idiot, I-I was supposed to say it first.”

It was your turn to blush a bit, but you tried to keep it down and remain calm as you said, “Be mine.”

That was it, the trigger. You literally thought you broke the second strongest demon for a moment, but he recovered eventually when you pressed your lips to his cheek. You made it soft, comforting even. You knew you were hot in the face, but you didn’t mind him knowing so much anymore after his reaction.

“Be mine?” You asked his time with some hope in your eyes and even though you knew his answer.

“Idiot, you’re mine! Got that?” He yelled as he tried to regain some control in the situation. Though, that failed when you happily laughed and wrapped your arms around him in pure bliss.