#so imagine what it's like to not have disposable income

[reaperkaneki]

ex roommate bought my bf expensive gift that he didn’t ask for at all but nonetheless appreciated. now it’s his bday and he not only passive aggressively guilt tripped (“you guys must be busy and must have just forgotten but my bday was x day”) but is now asking my bf to buy him something also $$ “to be equal”. and its like. if you wanted to do something for your birthday you could just fucking say something!!!! in advance preferably so we can set aside the time!!!!! and second, that’s not how gifts work you fucking clown!!!!!! hhrgghgh

[running-with-kn1ves]

Hii ! I wanted to ask if you could do more yandere gangster.

A/N: here's a ramble that is similar to so many other fics/imagines but its ALL I CAN THINK OF RN...

CW: kidnapping, yandere themes, murder, illicit substances mentioned, weaponry, some suggestive thots, general dark content shtuff.

Gangster! Yan who’s the right hand man to one of your city’s oldest gangs, the bosses family operating it since the prohibition era. Their main source of income back then was smuggling alcohol to different speakeasies and clubs, now mostly dabbling in the occasional shipment of opioids or small arms that they can get their hands on. Your gangster! Yan doesn’t handle that side of business, though. He’s been tasked to oversee deals, and the protection of the boss and whatever sweet treat he has on his arm for the evening.

When a ‘project’ goes haywire, he’s there to settle things. When someone needs to be taken care of, he oversees it while his boys do what they need to. And when there’s a witness to a particularly unsavory part of business, he personally sees to shutting them up. 

That’s why he didn’t have a choice but to watch you, to learn your morning routine and stare intensely when you perused the grocery isles indecisively. The boss put him up to it, to dispose of every flaw in their seamless operations; countless times he entered your backdoor, breaking the lock you had just replaced due to his previous endeavor, watching you curl up in warm white sheets and smush your face against your pillow. Standing outside wasn’t an option anymore, his shadow from the window disturbed you, and it blocked the trickle of moonlight on your dewey skin. 

Even with the small pistol in his hidden coat pocket, the crowbar he ued to pry the door open, the compulsion to rid you of what you had seen to appease his leader could not overtake the complete desire to rub his face into your chest, to have your thighs wrapped around his head like a sea of warmth, needing that earthy scent of your skin that somehow calmed his screaming heart to completely surround him. 

What drew him to you was how alone you had been-- at home, at the scene of the crime, when you were out and about. Who would miss you? Who was there to take care of you? What would be the purpose to killing you? You hadn’t even gone to the police yet, despite the millions of questionable asks you submitted to reddit and looked up online for what to do after seeing a man’s murder. 

The roughly edged gangster found it endearingly cute, so foreign to the life he had led. You had no way of stopping him if he completed what he was supposed to, no one to turn to if you suddenly found yourselves at the hands of a shady group of men who used you as a drug mule. 

Gangster! Yan knew the kind of underlings his boss employed, easy men on probation or past druggies who wouldn’t think for a minute to stop from gobbling you up on the side of the street if you just so happened to walk down the wrong alley. Seeing as you had stupidly yet to make a distinct change your route after witnessing his gangs work, it could happen any day now. 

He couldn’t let you fall prey to the men he didn’t have a leash on, nor let you continue to live in such suffocating solitude with that neutral look on your face forever. Even if it was only filled with fear from now on, from him-- he’d give you a better life than what you lived.

It was too easy to take you, too easy to drag you to his car, too easy to put you in the decent condo he had been paying for the past decade and barely came home to. Now, he had just realized, he’d have a real reason to come back home. He couldn’t just sleep the night away in shitty bars just to wake up to the next day of work. He had to take care of you, feed you, make sure you bathed. 

Gangster! Yan was almost as surprised when he gave you the cold shoulder, heartlessly teasing you for your stupidity in walking down a known drug-trade neighborhood, for not having realized that he had stalked  you every. single. Day. as you were blind to his heavy, broad shadow of scars and grimaces.

You were so quietly willing to appease him, to scoot to his lap when he demanded it with a threatening hand over his pocket, pretending as if the empty space was a weapon. “Please don’t kill me” you asked neverendingly, every meek breath expecting a slap or a shove off. But the criminal held onto you tighter, hating the reminder that you weren’t a willing pet. 

Even when your eyes faded back with ecstasy, your arms thrown around his shoulders with a grip that only a lover could offer, he saw the flinch you gave when he bent down to kiss you. 

Even with his harsh spats that he throws at you for your mistakes, his belittlement, you are his comfort doll when he’s deal with hardships for the day. When the horrible things he’s done starts to get to him and the alcohol doesn’t drown it out,  or when one of his drop-offs go to shit, you’re the one he bee-lines for for to rant to, to make you stroke him and nod at how hard he’s worked. But his possessiveness is soul-crushing. His grip is painful when he holds you at night, his kisses rough against your mouth with his chain-smoker breath and chapped lips that haven’t been touched in ages.

But with you, he’s learned to take better care of himself. He already has you, wants you in every way, but he needs you to want him, to need him. So, coming home to shower, geling his hair back like he did as a young rookie, shaving his 5 o’clock shadow, he’s made himself into the perfect, respectable man-- or wannabe bad boy. But no amount of grooming could change your perception of the blood stained gangster that kept you in a cage before you were trustworthy enough to be chained to the bed. 

“I’ve killed for you, who else could say that?” 

“Been thinkin’ bout you all day, waiting here for me. Came home as fast as I could so you wouldn’t be lonely. A nobody like you can’t be left to your own devices for too long.”

“Won’t let no other fucker get a hold of you, you’re mine-- through and through. I’ll kill us both before something seperates us.

[sarcastic--metaphor]

Vampire!Simon AU

I'm not going to call this a Part 1 to an overarching fic or anything. This is more like a rough proof of concept to see if I'm really willing to devote more time to this AU over my toxic yuri butchblegum/Star!Marcy AU. (Bc i wanna write both but I have to start managing my time better)

Basically:

Simon found Marcy but got turned into a vampire before he went fully mad

Marcy is still the Star

Simon has been forced to act as the Vampire King's advisor for 1000 years

he finds and wants to save baby Finn

Word count: ~1700

+++

The Vampire King seldom hunted his own meals anymore. True, when he was a thousand years younger, he adored the hunt. He savored the screams and the pleading. Listening for the rush of spilled blood and the dwindling voices. But he was a true king now, he had a castle and a legion at his disposal. His ward. And nowadays, he quite enjoyed his food being delivered fresh at his feet. 

Perhaps it was because he could no longer enjoy the hunt with his court. Over the years, he lost his jester, his advisors. All of his inner circle save for his dearest Star. 

And his Temperance. 

As he heard the lesser vampire drones come in with that night’s catch, his daughter drifted in from one of the many tunnels overhead his throne. Her fangs glinted in the low light. 

“I wonder what’s for dinner.”

“I told them to bring you some women,” the King said. He knew his daughter was partial to the company and blood of females. 

The Star giggled in delight as the drones came in, pairs of them carrying their captured prey and dropping them before their masters.

Three men, two women. A fine enough meal. 

The Vampire King rose from his throne, stretching his maw wide to flex his jaw. The humans shook and cried in their fears. Some prayed, some closed their eyes. It made no difference in the end. They’d been exhausted or injured from the hunt and knew their fates were sealed. 

Then the most foul sound imaginable cut through the air. 

The King hissed, eyes narrowing. It seemed he was mistaken. There was a small lump on the ground among the humans, a dirtied blanket writhing in a slow, grotesque fashion. His attention shifted to the dozen or so minions who brought him dinner. 

“I told you you could eat those little things out there, but you can’t bring them in here! It’s already making such a ruckus.”

The drones quaked as much as the food, shivering as they hovered above the humans and pleaded for forgiveness. The King had half a mind to slay a few to set an example, but his shoulders stiffened at the sound of incoming footsteps. 

His feline ears flattened against his skull as he let out a sharp growl. 

“Dad?” Star asked. 

“Quickly, baby girl,” he said, pointing at the lump on the floor, “Eat that wretched thing, he’s coming!”

She understood without another word. The Star dashed for the humans, scattering them and making them scream. But they were not her targets yet. Instead, she grabbed the baby and peeled the blanket back, fangs bared. 

Too late. 

The King turned to spot Temperance appear at the base of the steps to his left. He seemed out of breath, clutching the entryway as he adjusted his glasses. Damn it all, he had heard the cries from a distance and came running. 

“Star!” he said. 

Her shoulders slumped as she retracted her fangs. “Temperance. Come on, let me have this one. It’s giving Dad a headache.”

Temperance approached The Star, smoothing over his pure white hair as he examined the bundle in her arms. She allowed him, as the King knew she would. 

Temperance took the infant from her and cradled it in his arms. He already had that look on his face, that expression of pure pity. He always had such a soft spot for human children. 

It was a blessing long ago, that compassion. It was what saved The Star from an early grave. But there was no place for it here, now. And they all knew it. 

Temperance looked to the King, lips parted. 

He held up a hand and his sole surviving advisor fell quiet. The baby still bellowed. The Vampire King pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He didn’t want to argue like the last time. Temperance was mostly a man of reason, so he tried to appeal to that part of him. 

“It won’t survive long, you know this,” he said quietly. As great and terrible as he was, it gave the King no pleasure to see the pinched expression on his advisor’s face. 

“They’ll fare better this time.” Temperance said. “I’ve learned from my past mistakes.”

That didn’t say much. Disease, malnutrition, and the stray, hungry minion had ended each and every one of Temperance’s past wards. They just didn’t have the protection that the king, the most absolute authority, had given to his own daughter, though Temperance was loath to admit this. 

The King regarded his advisor. “How long has it been since your last pet?”

Temperance said, averting his gaze, “About a hundred years.”

He was jostling the little thing now. Rocking it. At least it was growing a little more silent. 

And wasn’t that the thing about Temperance? 

His endless patience, his endless devotion?

The Vampire King had praised it so highly in the past. 

“Dad,” The Star said. She drifted over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, “Let him try again.”

He scoffed, surprising even himself. “You of all people want a human infant in the hive?”

She grimaced. “Not really. But it’d mean a lot to him.”

“Please,” Temperance said. He was holding that little thing so close to his chest, his heart. As if he were already fond of it. He asked, “Haven’t I served you well all these years?”

The King sighed. Temperance was a good caretaker. He taught The Star to read and write, and helped take care of her for the past thousand years. 

It was true that while Temperance has always been painfully sentimental, he had been good to them.

“Very well,” the Vampire King said. He pointed at Temperance. “Keep the child. But I don’t want to hear it cry.”

Relief flooded Temperance’s face, making him seem much younger than he was. He exhaled softly and bowed. 

“Thank you, my lord.”

“However,” the King said. 

In half a second, he’d crossed the gap between himself and Temperance. His advisor hardly flinched. 

The Vampire King said, “I am not scared of some little blood bag. But humans are savage things. It’ll grow up to be a nuisance without proper discipline. And the moment it so much as threatens The Star,” he took Temperance’s chin in his clawed hand and forced him to meet his King’s eye, “the moment it ever threatens you, I will rip its throat out. Do you understand, Temperance?”

“Yes, I do,” Temperance said, a resigned look in his eyes. “Thank you.”

He began to leave, that child almost quiet now. 

“You won’t stay for dinner?” Star asked. 

He paused at the bottom of the steps and smiled over his shoulder. “I’m not really hungry.”

Typical. He never ate from live meals, only the bottled stuff. Well, not that it mattered much to the King. More for him and his baby girl. 

+++

Temperance fled up the stairs before he could hear the crush of bones and the ripping sound of flesh being cleaved. After a millennium, it still made him sick. 

The baby in his arms began to warble a fresh bout of cries. 

“No, no. Hush, now,” Temperance whispered. He knew what he needed to do. 

He stopped by his library only briefly, just to pick up a tattered red scarf from a box beneath his desk. Away from the eyes of the vampire drones and the rest of the court, he sated his hunger by sucking the red from the fabric. 

A small hand pawed at the air before landing on the now-white scarf, bunching it up in one little fist. 

“Oh, you want it?” Temperance asked. He let the baby hold it as he continued on his way. His wing of the vampiric castle consisted of a sprawling, multistory library, his private baths, his bedchambers, and one small adjoining room that hadn’t been used in a hundred years. 

But everything was as he left it. The minions kept it clean of dust for him as per his request, but they didn’t move or touch anything. 

Temperance sat in the rocking chair by the crib, undoing the baby’s dirtied blanket to reveal the little body within. 

“Oh!”

The baby’s face was ruddy from his bout of crying. But he was chubby and healthy. No motley coloring to the skin, no signs of injury or infection. What was even more fascinating, however, was his white hat. Despite the lack of distinct eyes or a nose, the little ears were emblematic of an animal. Perhaps a dog or a bear. 

It’d been a while since he’d seen a human with an animal hat, he thought this tradition died out a century or two ago. Many vampires nowadays, even the most simple-minded and animalistic ones, knew how to circumvent an animal hat.  Temperance took off the baby’s hat and turned it inside out. 

And yes, there on the inner brim was a handsewn name. 

“Finn,” he said aloud. “Is that you, baby Finn?”

He smiled, replacing the child’s hat and watching his curious eyes wander the room. 

Then it dawned upon him. He felt a terrible weight upon his chest, a crippling guilt. 

“Oh… you poor thing.”

If Finn had a name sewn into his hat, it must have meant he came from someone who remembered the old ways of humans. Someone still in tune with human culture. 

His culture. Temperance’s chest ached. 

None of the adults that were brought in with the child tried to fight for him. Perhaps he didn’t belong to any of them, that he was taken from his true parents. If they were even alive, that was.  

“I’m sorry,” Temperance said, “I’m so sorry.”

He wrapped Finn in the white scarf and held him close. 

“Listen to me, Finn.” he said gently, “I’m going to take good care of you, I promise.”

Finn cooed and popped his lips. Simon laughed softly despite himself. He knew he was weak in comparison to the other vampiric royals. But he was even more so when it came to children. 

“My name is Temperance, but you can call me Simon.” 

[harry-sussex]

The media has branded Harry and Meghan a “flop” - there’s no coming back from that reputation.

That WSJ article just made my stomach drop. I have no idea how it’s possible that things have gotten this bad. The worst part is that there’s no way up from here - only further down. Rock bottom is a challenge at this point, and it feels like they’re shooting for it every single day.

This is what they wanted? This is better? They’re happy? No fucking way, man. No fucking way. If I know anything about Harry at all - and at this point, we all know Harry a bit too well - he must be outright miserable. There’s no way this whole thing has been worth it. None whatsoever. To someone like me, this is nauseating. I hate it. I hate this. I have always hated this, I always knew that they weren’t going to live the life they thought they would after they left, I’ve been saying for three years until I’m blue in the face - and the reception I’ve gotten from Sussex fans around the world has been horrific (you guys should see some of the shit that’s come through my inbox courtesy of the squad - so much for mental health, Harry and Meghan would be ashamed of them, but I digress).

If you give even a sliver of a shit about Harry, you’ll be able to get your head out of the sand and recognize that leaving was the absolute worst thing he could have done for himself. Look at him! Directionless! Lost! Misguided! Unproductive! Not to mention paranoid, tired, isolated, and he fact that he always looks miserable.

I will say it again and again and again - it. did. not. have. to. be. this. way. 3 years in - what do they have to show for it?:

A successful commercial venture? Nope - almost nothing has come out of Archetypes or anything else, as in the article. Bill Simmons called them “fucking grifters!” If he’s willing to say it loud and proud for the media to pounce on, how many are saying it behind closed doors?

More money? Their income hinges upon content they haven’t created yet. Clearly, these companies have no trouble pulling the plug on their deals and therefore cutting off the income. (Not for nothing - the more this happens, the less money they’ll be able to say they grossed by leaving the royal family. Since this looks like a trend, at what point do they stop and say ‘I probably would have more money at my disposal if I just stuck with the Duchy of Cornwall?’)

More exposure? Yeah, I guess, but look how shitty it is all the time. This is not the kind of exposure they were looking for.

More privacy? Totally goes against everything above, but they’ve never been more vulnerable to intrusive speculation. They invite it! Encourage it! Hand their personal lives over to the media and the public on a silver platter! The only thing keeping them ‘private’ is living in a gated community - imagine how private their personal life would be if they were in a palace instead?

Better treatment from the press? The American media are vultures too. The world media has made a fortune off of their bullshit. Even the gently critical ones that tell the hard truth - like the WSJ - show that the media does not care who you are if you deserve the criticism or if your bullshit is so completely out of this world that the story writes itself. Nothing is sacred, and it’s even worse now that there’s nothing standing in between them and the press.

The opportunity to provide universal service? What the hell have they done? One single Invictus Games? The occasional event? The occasional donation? They spend more time accepting awards for doing something rather than actually doing something!

Being happier? Bullshit, man. Look at Prince Harry. He hasn’t had a genuine smile on his face in public since 2021. I could go down a rabbit hole here, but you’re blinded by adoration if you can’t recognize he’s outright miserable and a complete shell of the person he used to be. That spark is completely gone.

I could go on, but these articles are starting to pop up in legitimate news sources. We’re not talking about the National Enquirer here - this is the Wall Street Journal. A legitimate news source is reporting on the way they’re failing to meet their own standards and the standards of those who control the purse strings - and how they’re nothing without their titles. If the money is the bottom line, then they need the star power behind their HRHs to make it. They don’t have anything else worth marketing. That star power is dwindling more and more as they get closer and closer to rock bottom and as they continue to bite the hand that has always fed them. Look at this from Vanity Fair:

So much for “service is universal.” They don’t get traction for any of their charity work because they spend so much time BITCHING. The world can’t focus on their service and help support those causes because they spend so much FUCKING TIME milking their only cash cow that nobody has any idea what kinds of causes they support! In fact - I’d bet that the only causes recognized by the general public are those they SUPPORTED BY WORKING FOR THE FAMILY. This isn’t about service - it’s about clout, star power, mystique, and the aura associated with the blurred lines between royal and celebrity. The service hasn’t been part of it for a long time. They’ve wronged their ship and there’s no way to right it anymore. That ship, for lack of better term, has sailed. The world doesn’t see them as charitable - the way they were seen when they were working for the family. The world sees them as washed up crybabies who don’t have anything to offer. It’s not just a “hater” thing anymore. They’ve lost their allure and that was the only thing they had going for them. Without that allure, they’re nothing compared to the Hollywood lights.

They’ve completely fucked up. I know it, you know it, Hollywood knows it, the Royal Family knows it. Harry and Meghan are the only people on earth who haven’t figured it out. They haven’t done a single thing they planned since leaving. They’re not happier, they don’t live a more private life, they don’t have more bandwidth to do charity work, they’re not making money hand over fist, they’re not successful in their new endeavors… they’ve completely fucked up.

Harry, in particular, has completely fucked up. He gave up a life of structure, service, wealth, luxury, success, protection, guidance, family, friendship for… this? And he’s pretending that it was the best decision he ever made? Please. He fucked up, and it will continue to come back to bite him day in and day out until he learns to sit down, shut up, get some help, and hire some competent people to make shit happen for him, because clearly he cannot direct the ship on his own.

This is not how it was supposed to be - not for us as fans, nor for them after leaving. It did not have to be this way. I’d bet anything that the part of Harry who wanted this is dwindling more and more each day. Someday, he’s going to regret the whole thing. The more I see him and hear him, the more I think he’s already there. He fucked up, and I think he’s finally on his way to realizing that they have to do something to make the world interested in them beyond their association with the family. That will diminish, and then they’ll really be shit out of luck.

What a complete and utter disaster, Henry. What a mess. With all due respect, Your Royal Highness - you fucked up.

[sirfrogsworth]

Someone was having trouble getting decent sound in his living room and instead of recommending a room treatment or better speakers this person just casually suggests PUTTING AN ADDITION ONTO THE HOUSE.

Trying to get advice on audio forums is often a challenge because a lot of these dudes just have *so much* disposable income. And they just assume everyone else is wealthy too. You can even tell them you have a budget and they'll be like, "You should save up longer and buy this thing that is three times your budget."

And it's not like there aren't wonderful options that are more affordable. I think I may have about $3000 worth of home theater equipment that I have collected over the last 20 years. They will spend that on a single speaker and suggest you do the same.

The people in these forums would have a fit if they knew I had a single subwoofer. Apparently, the cardinal audio sin is having only ONE subwoofer.

Your room could have NULLS!

NULLLLLLS!!!

Seriously, they will lecture you anytime you mention having a single subwoofer. "Your seat-to-seat response is going to be inconsistent!"

I also saw a guy say that a 15" subwoofer was "tiny" and "pointless."

My 70-pound, 12" subwoofer is currently vibrating items off the shelf in my house ever since I moved it upstairs and don't have concrete floors like in the basement. I'm going to have to buy special subwoofer feet to decouple it from the floor. I can't imagine what a 15" sub would do to my house. It might collapse on top of me.

So you can only get a sub that is at least 18" and you need a minimum of 2... but 4 is much better. Actually, 4 is the minimum. 2 is garbage. 2 in front and 2 in back.

And, of course, you have to get a Rythmik or PSA subwoofer. Don't cheap out on the brand!

You have to build an addition to the house AND buy $8000 worth of subwoofers and then MAYBE your sound will be somewhat listenable.

But only if you calibrate the subs with a MiniDSP and the proper UMIK calibration microphone.

Wait, do you have a regular AVR with built in amplification? That won't do. What you need is an audio processor with individual external amplification.

You'll need a 9.4.6 configuration for the proper surround sound experience. That is 9 ear-level speakers, 4 subwoofers, and 6 atmos ceiling speakers.

So 2 of these.

1 of these.

3 pairs of these.

6 of these... plus professional ceiling installation.

And an individual amplifier for each speaker.

Do you really need a 600 watt amp for the ceiling speakers too?

OF COURSE YOU DO!

DO YOU WANT A LOW NOISE FLOOR AND NO DISTORTION OR DO YOU WANT GARBAGE?

Comfort is important too. So you'll want a Valencia leather power recliner with LED cup holder.

And... by far... the most important home theater component...

The power cable.

This will assure that only the highest quality electrons are delivered to your audio equipment.

Don't think about it too much.

Don't think about all of the janky powerlines that deliver electricity to your house.

Or all of the generic power cables inside your wall.

This cable magically negates all of that and turns the last few feet of electricity into pure, audio-grade power.

Guaranteed to drastically improve your sound quality... somehow.

It can't be nonsense, otherwise someone would have never written such beautiful prose about a power cable in a review...

"I was smitten by the piano’s extra depth in its nether regions. I’m not talking about what some audiophiles like to refer to as testicular bass, but rather, a rich and absorbing presentation."

$14,000 for rich and absorbing testicular bass? WORTH IT!

So that's roughly $65,870 for all of that and between $50,000 and $100,000 for a 500 square foot room addition.

A small price to pay for a room that is not junk for listening to music.

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Kinda occurred to me while I was writing fanfics the other day, I feel like money would be an argumentative topic for Blackheart and Ambrosius.

Like yes it's fun to explore all the. You know. Horrible angst they'd probably argue about but they would also be like, a regular adult couple that would argue about regular adult couple things, like money. And like-

Ambrosius grew up homeless in abject poverty, Ballister (if we're going off his Lord title) likely grew up with wealth, but his father's reckless spending and gambling caused their family to lose everything. In their young adult lives Ambrosius was a celebrity who probably had tons of disposable income, while Ballister lived pretty modestly and any ill-begotten funds he got his hands on went to his research.

So I can see a situation where like, Ballister obviously wants to save money and not spend on frivolous things in part due to practicality and in part due to childhood trauma, and he has a partner who is used to spending as much as he pleased without consequence, and who is reacting against his own childhood trauma of lacking comfort and nice things.

I imagine it wouldn't be terribly uncommon for Ballister to become frustrated when he feels like Ambrosius is being too cavalier with their money (and probably triggering a latent fear of losing what they have), and Ambrosius feeling misunderstood and deprived by Ballister not wanting him to spend money (and probably also triggering a latent fear of not having any control over his standard of living)

I think they'd reach a compromise about it eventually but it's interesting to think about

[septembersums]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 9 | 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

| MINORS DNI | taglist | masterlist | wc: 2.9k | part 1 |

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader

summary: you've never met your mysterious sugar daddy, but you know that you're lucky to have found one who's so fucking hot. he's dangerous, but you like dangerous-- you like him.

or...

toji decides it's the perfect day to pay his pretty baby a visit. he's waited more than long enough to fuck her.

content: | gun play | smut | public sex | rough sex | facefucking | blowjob | vaginal sex | mirror sex | afab reader | accidental creampie | sloppy sex | sex worker reader | sugar daddy toji | guns as sex toys | toji fucks you in a lingerie store |

an:: there's a part 1 to this fic, but feel free to read it as a standalone ;)

| ao3 | discord | twitter | main | kofi |

Things got more serious with your anonymous subscriber after that night, more personal, more intimate. Whereas before, he'd drop into your stream once a week to give you some cash and some compliments, it was impersonal and distant.

Now, you're talking throughout the day every day, and more at night.

Giving him your phone number might've been a mistake, given your line of work and the amount of money that he has, but he has this irresistible charm about him that you can't seem to shake yourself from thinking about.

There's also this sense of danger that you get from him that's equal parts terrifying and exciting all at once. He doesn't tell you what he does for a living, and you're afraid to ask.

That's not to mention... The money. You're not naive enough to think that someone has that much disposable income without doing some shady shit to get it.

It's enough that you're looking at new apartments, enough that you're buying yourself expensive jewelry on a regular basis, enough that you're carrying a versace handbag now, and you don't even have to worry about the price.

You find yourself getting so comfortable with him that you almost don't worry about being frugal anymore.

And he doesn't ask for much in return for being your glorified sugar daddy, all he wants is the ability to see your body whenever he asks. If he asks to see your tits at work, by all means you run off into the dressing room and show off for him.

Even though he's seen every part of your body already on your streams, he still wants more from you. You accused him of being greedy once or twice as a tease, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

He is greedy, he wants it all.

A couple months pass, and you learn things about him that you never thought you would. For instance, he's thirty-five, a bit older than you (a little over ten years older, to be precise).

Sometimes he sends you pictures of himself, but only from the lower half of his face down. He's usually smoking a cigarette, showing off his scarred chest and abdominal muscles.

There's a scar that runs perpendicular with his face, through the right side of his pretty lips, moving down his chin. You subconsciously find yourself looking for people who have that matching scar when you're walking down the street, but to no avail.

His abs are so well defined that you can imagine how they'd feel under your tongue. He's muscular and tall, vascular everywhere, but especially right around his happy trail.

Your sixth sense was so right, he's hot, hotter than he could've been in your wildest dreams.

He's got veins and ridges that lead toward his cock that you'd love nothing more than to run the flat side of your tongue along, before moving lower and sucking his--

The bell at the front door rings, letting you know that someone's walked into the shop. You shake the unholy thoughts away, straightening out your shirt before you greet them.

"Hi, welcome in to..." your voice trails off, your eyes widen, you shake your head and finish your greeting quickly, telling him your name and asking if he's looking for anything in particular.

He's tall with black hair and thin, green eyes. He's wearing a black face mask, but his eyes crinkle up like he's smiling when he sees you. He's wearing a black sweater, black pants, and combat boots. The only colorful thing in his ensemble are those mesmerizing emerald eyes of his.

You must've been hit with a random wave of deja vu when you saw him, because you could swear that he's familiar...

"Nah, I'm just looking around. Thanks, baby," he says with a friendly gaze, or at least you think it is...?

The mask hides the majority of his features-- most importantly, it hides his mouth, which is the part of him that you're most interested in seeing right now.

But it can't be him. If it were, that would either be one hell of a coincidence, or a terrifying breech of boundaries that you'd rather not think about.

"Alright," you answer, trying to sound chipper, "just let me know if you need help finding anything."

He looks around for a minute, and you realize how incredibly alone you are in this store right now. You're the only one working today, after all. It's a small boutique, it's not rare for you to be the only person here.

But now it's just you, and this mysterious, large man who's wandering through the aisles and sneaking cheeky glances at you when he notices you're staring at him.

He catches you staring for the third time since he's walked in, you mutter a "shit," to yourself, as you turn around and try to make yourself look busy.

In reality, you're just pretending to fold thongs that don't need to be folded and biting your cheek like it's going to be your last meal.

"Actually, I might need your help after all," he purrs, now standing behind you and startling you.

"Shit-- I mean, sure! Of course. What-- uh-- what are you looking for?"

You curse yourself for stammering, but dear god he's so large and intimidating. When he's standing right in front of you, you can clearly see that your head is about level with his pectoral muscle. He must be a foot taller than you, and so broad that he blocks the warm, sensual overhead lighting.

He looks around at the aisles and displays that are filled with nothing other than bras, panties, bodysuits, and thongs, and he comes to his decision.

"Lingerie, I guess."

You mentally slap yourself. Well, duh, of course he's looking for lingerie in a lingerie shop.

"Sure, yeah, of course," you mutter, coming around the counter to help him out, "is there a style or a color you're looking for?"

As you move through the different sections sort of hastily and nervously, he leisurely strides behind you, seeming to take pleasure in how nervous you are.

"What do you like?" He asks. His voice is sweet and smooth like molasses on your tongue.

"I... like all of it," you answer diplomatically, "because I work here, of course. These in particular have been popular this month," you state, guiding him towards the newest and most expensive bodysuits.

"Black lace with intricate patterns to accentuate your curves. They're elegant, sexy, and... crotchless," the last word comes out accidentally, but the man chuckles regardless.

"Hmm," he hums, leaning over your shoulder to look at the fabric in your hands, "and why would they be crotchless?"

He smells like dior, you think, but there's a hint of cigarette smoke overtop of it.

Oh, fuck.

"You... can't think of a reason?" You ask, testing the waters a little playfully.

"I can think of several," he replies, "but I wanna hear you say it."

His arm slips around you, and you watch with baited breath as his larger hand encloses yours. And you know these hands-- you know the vein that pops out on this thumb, you know these deeply scarred knuckles.

"For fucking," you reply softly, as his other hand wraps around your waist, pulling your back tightly against his chest, "it's made like this so that you can get fucked when you're wearing it, without having to take it off."

There's a rumble in his chest sort of like a growl, as he runs his nose along the junction where your shoulder and neck meet, inhaling your scent deeply.

"You shouldn't have come here, Toji," you mutter quietly, as his hot breath sends shivers crawling up the length of your spine, settling on the back of your neck.

"Mm, you're right," he hums against the side of your neck, having pulled his mask down at some point while you weren't paying attention, "and I shouldn't have locked the door behind me when I walked in, either."

"You did that?"

You hadn't even noticed-- too busy trying to figure out if he was who you were hoping him to be, but he locked the door and turned the sign around to closed.

"Mhm," he purrs, pressing a featherlight kiss to your pulse, "go try this on for me, baby."

"What if I don't want to?" You ask indignantly, trying to hold onto some semblance of self-respect before you inevitably fuck this man at your workplace.

"Oh, you don't want to?" He laughs against your earlobe.

A scarred hand moves lower, thrusting itself into your panties. You gasp, your knees threaten to buckle, as he toys with the wetness that's pooling in your underwear.

"You say that," he mutters huskily, "but your body tells me you're lying. Look at you, creaming all over my fingers like a whore."

"Fuck, Toji," you moan, pressing your face against his neck, "don't stop."

He's a bad listener, because he stops right as you say that, retracting his fingers from inside of you. He turns you around, thrusting his slick-covered fingers into your mouth.

You suck on them diligently, running your tongue along his fingers and between them, giving him lovestruck, wide-eyed stare as you do so.

"Fuck, you're hot," he hisses impatiently, as he grabs your waist and crushes his lips to yours.

His kiss is deep and fierce, your tongue laves over the scar on his lips, he moans when you do so. He licks your tongue and explores your mouth, sharing the taste of your cum between the two of you.

When he pulls back, there's a string of spit between your kiss-swollen lips, and his hands are gripping both of your asscheeks aggressively.

"Go put on something sexy for me," he demands, slapping your ass hard with one of his big hands before pushing you away from him and towards the dressing room.

You resist the urge to giggle at the absurdity of it all, as you finish fastening the straps of the lace bodysuit you chose for yourself, crotchless of course.

When you step out from behind the curtain wearing nothing but lingerie, thigh-high stockings, and the heels you just so happened to choose today, Toji practically growls at the sight of you. The sound that escapes him is nothing less than animalistic.

"Fuck, I've wanted you for so long now," he rasps, as you approach him, "get on your fuckin' knees for me."

He's sitting on a seat right in front of the big mirrors at the end of the hallway, waiting for you with his legs spread and a salacious grin on his face. You listen to his command, lowering yourself down to your knees in front of him.

"May I?" You ask, running your hands along the tops of his thighs, moving towards his belt.

He puts his hand on your wrist right before you reach his belt-buckle, grinning at you somewhat mischievously. You scrunch your brows up in question, as he reaches down and removes a fucking gun from his waistband.

"Were you expecting things to go badly today?" You ask, trying to lighten your own momentary panic with a joke.

"Not with you, baby,” he purrs, watching your eyes follow the gun with intrigue as he holds it in his big hands, "wanna touch it?"

"What's it for?" You ask, running your fingertip along the smooth metal barrel luxuriously.

Toji smirks down at you, "What do you think?"

It's the danger about him-- that's what gets you every fucking time. The feeling in your stomach where you know that you should run in the opposite direction, far, far away from this man, but you don't want to.

“Is it loaded?”

“Always.”

You watch his movements, making sure his finger stays away from the trigger, as you turn the barrel towards yourself. You're dripping slick onto the stone flooring beneath you, as you run your tongue along the side of the gun seductively, holding eye contact with him.

"God, baby," he groans, "you're fucking crazy, huh?"

Instead of answering, you kiss the tip, before sucking it into your mouth. Your lipstick smears along the barrel, just like it does on those sex toys you suck for him.

"So fucking hot," he breathes, "you trust me that much, baby? I could kill you right now."

You groan along the barrel, before slipping it out of your mouth, watching the string of saliva link your lips to the glistening metal.

"You won't kill me," you reply, reaching underneath his arms to unzip his pants, "I trust you... At least enough to let me suck you off first.”

"Mm, fuck, you might be right about that," he groans, as you free his cock from his briefs.

It’s bigger than even the pictures made it seem. Thick and pretty with a few prominent veins running along either side.

You slide your tongue along his length, moving from the tip to the balls in wet strokes, before sucking the head into your mouth. You bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks so that your mouth suctions around his cock perfectly.

He moans, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to take it deeper, all the way down to the base. He's groaning with every bob of your head, all the saliva that's dripping down his length.

"Fuck, that's it," the growls, "that's it-- deeper-- relax your fuckin' throat, just like that. Just like that."

Tears stream down your cheeks, as you take his as deep as he can possibly go, and he fucks up into your mouth like he'll die if he doesn't fit as much cock as he can into you at once.

"Goddamn, baby, fuck that's good," he growls, before using his grip in your hair to pull you off of him entirely. His hand grips the base of his cock, holding it tight so he doesn't cum on your face.

He's panting now, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his cock is leaking precum.

"Ride me right fucking now," he orders, pulling you up onto his lap, "as much as I wanna cum on your pretty face, I need to feel this pussy for myself."

You're already dripping when he reaches between your thighs to massage your cunt, shoving two fingers inside of you a little aggressively. You bounce up and down on top of them, bracing your hands on his shoulders.

"Look," he grunts, grasping your jawline with two fingers, forcing you to turn your head around and look at your reflection, "watch."

In the mirrors, you can see his thick cock pulsing against your entrance, you can see yourself straddling his lap, your asscheeks spread apart by his hands. You can see the cum dripping from your hole down onto the tip of his cock, so wet and ready for him to fuck you.

And then he grabs your waist, impaling your smaller body onto the thick length of him. You watch it enter you, inch by inch, thicker and wider than any toy you have. He hits your cervix when he's fully sheathed inside-- you can feel it.

"Your pussy is so tight," he groans, bouncing you up and down on his wet cock, "so fucking tight-- so fucking good-- even better than I imagined it when I was fucking my fist to those videos of you."

"Fuck, Toji-- Fuck-- Fuck--" You're moaning and falling apart already. The tears on your cheeks haven't even dried yet, and he's breaking you in half with this monstrous third leg of his.

He touches you everywhere, but he gropes your ass the most, holding your asscheeks apart so that he watch himself impaling your cunt with every bounce of your body.

He likes seeing how much he stretches your pussy out when he drives himself into you, he likes watching your face contort with pleasure like it does every other night, he likes watching your tits bounce and inevitably fall out of that bodysuit.

When you cum on him, it's a gush and a cry of his name, and he fucks you through it like a man fresh out of prison, a man fresh out of hell. He kisses you deeply, searching the inside of your mouth like there's gold inside of you that he'll fuck out if he tries hard enough.

He massages your clit, he bounces you along the length of his cock until your legs shake, and you're gushing and creaming around him again, and again.

He won't last much longer, he's soaked in you and biting down on your neck while you wrap your arms around his, boneless and just taking whatever he gives you. He's panting and growling against your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

"Gonna cum, baby-- fuck, i'm gonna cum," he moans, "where do you want it? Hm?"

But no, it doesn't matter where you want it. It matters where he wants it, and he's already pulling you off of his cock, back down to your knees again, shoving himself into your mouth.

You take him willingly, desperately, staring up at him with hollowed cheeks while he bucks into your mouth only three times before gripping your head with both hands and cumming down your throat. You gulp and swallow, as he fucks his release onto your tongue.

"That's it, fucking swallow it for me-- yes, yes, yes, take it-- take it-- fuck--" he growls, watching some of it dribble out of your nose when you pull away.

Panting for air, he takes a look at you in the mirror, on your knees before him. The lighting in the dressing room is immaculate, so maybe that's why he sees a little bit of his own cum leaking out of your pussy onto the black floor beneath you.

You're cleaning him up with your mouth, as he gazes down at you affectionately.

Oh, well, doesn't really matter if he didn't pull out in time. He was always going to make you his. If something happens... well, that's just more incentive for you to say yes.

taglist: @septembersummer | @violetsaffron5 | @lilithlunas | @blackdxggr | @mimizsworld | @km7474 | @lemonlover1110 | @levixbby | @nobody289x |

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Guys... I have a new dragon/platonic yandere/(kinda?) otome au idea...

Imagine in a Wings of Fire/Platonic Yandere X-Men/Otome AU, Reader is a royal from a tribe that is looked down on and generally disliked by the other tribes...

Yet in recent times their tribe has become weakened, having issues with treasure and income and surviving amongst other tribes and dragon cities... And due to their last wicked queen bring disposed of, and the queen's family being disbanded/killed/disappearing, Reader is the last heir to the royal family... They never got to act like a dragonet or have a childhood, as they were raised to be the perfect and always-poised future monarch... They grow to feel burdened, which furthers when they're told they will have to "partner with" or be "adopted by" other tribes' nobles and/or royals, who would then have to help their tribe, as they'd be more-or-less agreeing to the that the moment they allign themselves with Reader...

Reader ends up having to go a school for nobles and royals, where they're met with dragons who initially look down on them, who view them as unworthy or as bad as their ancestor... But Reader is diligent, unswerving, in doing all of their work and appearing only as the picture of perfection. It weighs on them, heavily, but it keeps them in a good-enough position that no one sends them away or views them as stupid...

Reader never wanted this, never wanted to be a monarch, or have the fate of an entire tribe in their claws, or have to put up with the verbal abuse of the tribes (even hybrids of their own tribe!), yet they've been destined to it since their hatching. They feel suffocated, lonely, at the edge of their rope... Then for some reason, other dragons start to notice them. Start to pay closer attention to their work, their (few) hobbies, they even start to try and talk to them, or be in the same room as them. Which makes Reader annoyed and nervous...

The platonic yanderes slowly start to realize that Reader isn't as bad as what they thought. They notice how hard they work, the way they never seem happy, how they go hours without stopping just to perfect any homework or art or hobbies they have... And they start seeing Reader as what they are, a dragonet who hasn't had a childhood, and who is curt and poised not because they want to be, but because they more-or-less have had to be that way all their life... A few feel guilty over it, and want to try and get Reader to act their age, to have a little fun... But are met with a cold, stoic dragon who expects every word to be a double-edged sword, each phrase a carefully crafted insult, and suddenly they realize that it's going to take a lot of work and time to open up this poor dragonet...

And Reader does have one secret, one they don't even know of fully... They were told by their late parent to never take off a necklace they have. That it is life and death for them to do so. If anything happens to it, they are to take it back and to keep the pendant/pouch/charm on it on their person, and to never, ever, tell anyone about it. Reader never knew why it was so important, or why their parent one day disappeared, never to return...

(Can y'all tell I want some dragons and elegant rooms and fun foods and fancy drama? Or that I want to see more Villainex! Reader, and the platonic yans starting out a bit mean but turning into better people?) (Because people can change, and while yes, they are yandere, they can still become nicer people while still being a little obsessed and protective over Reader, okay?)

(Any ideas which of the ten tribes should Reader be? And any ideas which dragons the platonic yans are?)

It will be called...

🍷The Heir of Evil🐉 AU

[therealvinelle]

Say something happened in London!Tom wasn’t invited to hogwarts by accident (or whatever reason you prefer) and then all of a sudden he meets wizards. what would he do? Would he similarly latch on to this new world as his hope for life? Would he be angry at being excluded and go down a similar path as in canon?

(Anon is referring to A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London, a fic written by @thecarnivorousmuffinmeta and I.)

Is this before or after he meets Carlisle?

If it's before, then yes, and we get shenanigans as wizards have very set ideas on how magic works. Tom, who's not using a wand or any spells and who doesn't know what anything is called, would be dismissed. Besides, if he didn't get into Hogwarts, he must be a squib.

Tom is not allowed entrance to Hogwarts, he's already seventeen and it's not like he received a letter. Tough luck. I imagine once they learn he exists, the Ministry comes down hard on him with the way he's been advertising what he can do to Muggles, and threaten him with Azkaban if he doesn't desist.

Tom, who has no connections in the wizarding world and no idea how a wand works or what a potion is, has no chance of getting employed or apprenticed in the Wizarding World either, and with the Ministry shutting down his source of income he's got nothing.

Becoming a traveling agent won't help him, he depends on a network that knows he's good for it for his "I perform miracles for money" business to work and when he doesn't know the capacities and limitations of the Ministry, there's no way to tell if they'd simply follow him, and if going abroad would make it any better.

I imagine Tom gets a Muggle job to get by, as becoming a gangster when he's got nothing to bring to the table would mean becoming a disposable thug, and becoming a criminal in his own right would be a fast way to get arrested when he can't use his magic.

In time, he discovers that the Ministry doesn't actually know when he's using magic, which... opens up for a few possibilities.

Per A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London, his own lack of legacy and purpose bothered Tom greatly, and it would be infinitely worse for him if he was forced to stop using magic.

If there is a society that could have prevented the Blitz, the entire war, without difficulty but chose not to because they are so convinced of their own genetic superiority that non-magic users have no worth to them, and they'll ruin Tom's life without a thought because he dared to help...

Tom hated the magical world in canon too, but this version will be feral. He will see very little difference between the magical world and Nazis, one is merely lying about what it is.

Tom devotes himself to destroying the magical world, it'll be his purpose in life or so help him God.

Which... is going to mean the creation of an alter ego that knows how to use a wand and totally is One Of Them, one who pits them against each other and offsets a terrorist campaign, with the end goal of total destruction. Hm.

[commsroom]

a few days ago i saw this post, thought about how similar it was to writing advice given by gabriel urbina, and had pretty immediate answers to all of those questions for eiffel. so i'm using this as an excuse to talk about eiffel.

• go-to drink order? (assuming café) i'm a big fan of his canon appreciation for triple white chocolate mochas with whipped cream, but i think it's 50/50 on whether that's a usual order for him or just a craving he had. it tells you enough about his preferences though. he would drink starbucks dessert coffee all the time if he could justify it, but he can't, so his most common order is actually just plain coffee that he pours an ungodly amount of creamer + sugar into. he drinks a lot of flavored coffee, but from, like. 7-eleven. (assuming restaurant) i feel in my heart that he's a dr pepper guy, but he's fine with coke.

• grooming routine? he doesn't have one. ... okay, it's like: 3 in 1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash; stands under blistering hot water while half asleep and spacing out; shaves haphazardly and whatever he misses he just leaves like that. his hair takes forever to dry and he gives up partway through and ties it up instead.

• most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? his most expensive purchases have probably been necessities more than like, for fun, but he does have personal radio equipment and that can add up to a lot, so... if i had to guess. and his disposable income is like 75% takeout food 25% physical media.

• any scars or tattoos? a lot of minor scars from a lot of really stupid things, all over his hands in particular, but surprisingly few major ones. it's something that feeds into his guilt complex, that he walks away unscarred from things he feels he shouldn't. i think he's probably broken his nose before, though. he's got a low pain tolerance so he wouldn't subject himself to the process of being tattooed if he was of sound mind about it, but i also wouldn't be that surprised if he had an embarrassing one he only half-remembers getting. (once zach answered that question with "eiffel's got a tramp stamp that just says 'tramp stamp'" and that got exactly the mix of disgust and resignation as a reaction that you might imagine.)

• the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? depending on when this question is being asked, uh... yesterday? an hour ago? he's pretty regularly crying tears of frustration and general oh-god-why-me, but he doesn't really break down and cry very often. and despite the emotional openness he encourages in others, i don't think he's keen to cry in front of people. he broke down soon after getting back the hephaestus post-mayday, but only when he was alone in his quarters and everyone else was asleep.

• oldest, middle, youngest or only child? only child. there's no doubt in my mind.

• describe the shoes they’re wearing. on the hephaestus? mostly, he isn't. he doesn't really wear shoes on earth either, if he can help it. he'll check the mail in bare feet and get glass in his foot and he won't learn anything. he's got an almost inhuman ability to wear holes in his socks. he has three pairs of shoes total: sandals; sneakers he's had for a decade where one of the soles is falling off; and semi-practical workboots that are structurally fine but otherwise just disgusting. he sees nothing wrong with this.

• describe the place where they sleep. (on the hephaestus) maybe has a few things taped to the wall, maybe torn out of some of his magazines. canonically keeps one of his tool bags under his bed. (on earth) mattress on the floor in the corner of his room. he actually does have shelves for the stuff he values enough to not want to risk stepping on, but there's junk everywhere all of the time. he's never made his bed in his life.

• favorite/least favorite holiday? canon answer: least favorite holiday is easily christmas, at least one of his favorites is thanksgiving. i think he's also partial to a good 4th of july barbeque. he's obnoxiously american.

• what objects do they always carry around with them? (on the hephaestus) usually has one of his portable comms transmitters on him, but otherwise only whatever he needs at any given time. he used to always have a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but minkowski confiscated so many of them he stopped taking them too far from his comms room stash. (on earth) some combination of: keys, wallet (contains, among other things: a picture of his daughter, his old blockbuster card, and a lot of unsorted receipts that are overflowing into his pocket), cheapest smart phone he could acquire (would still probably be using a flip phone if it hadn't become inconvenient), at least two pairs of ear buds that only work in one ear each, cigarettes, lighter, gum, gift shop swiss army knife he's surprisingly resourceful with, whatever other junk he has crammed in his pockets. every time he leaves the house, he forgets at least one of the things he actually needs.

[yepthatsacowalright]

In a platonic and intellectual way I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure right now. The Danels (Daniel Kwan & Daniel Scheinert, creators of Everything Everywhere All At Once) just did a talk at SXSW. It's called 'How We Pulled Off Everything Everywhere All at Once.' Except as soon as they got on stage, they announced that they've already given that talk several times elsewhere, showed QR codes to watch those on YouTube if you're interested, and then pivoted to talking about so much real shit about humanity, inequity, climate change, the past, the future, now, storytelling, art, paradoxes, self-care, religion, addiction, AI, etc. instead that I still feel my brain vibrating about it. Some highlights (that I probably transcribed poorly but tried my best): "The earliest cultures, a lot of them, all around the world, believed in animism. And for those who don't know, [animism] is this belief, this story that they told themselves, that every living creature, rock, tree, river, had a soul, had a life. And a lot of modern people...kinda laugh at that, and think it's a little silly. But regardless of what you believe, that story was actually really beautiful, because it kept things in balance, right? There was this really beautiful relationship with the world around them. When we invented agriculture, we couldn't just force an oxen to drag a plow, because that oxen had a soul. And so we changed the story of the oxen and said, 'Oh, actually we're not all beautiful, soulful things. We're gonna lower the value of this one thing.' And you see this happening slowly throughout history, every new achievement. We've done it to the trees. The trees are incredible, beautiful things that provide food, water, shelter, cooling the Earth, giving us the oxygen we breathe, and we've reduced their story to $70 of lumber at Home Depot. And, like I said, some of this is necessary. Even the oldest cultures who believed in animism would kill, would chop down trees, but there was a narrative where there was grieving, and there was respect, and there was gratitude, and that has been lost. And we have slowly created an entire world where everything is disposable. Our shoes, our cars, our phones...we're all culpable, we're all responsible for this. But the worst part is we've done it to the people. And these devaluing stories, they become normalized and compounded through generational amnesia. And we slowly move the threshold of who is valuable and who isn't.

For instance, modern capitalism and the capitalist workforce only works if we are able to compel people to work, because we can't force them to work. And so we had to change the story we told ourselves, and say that your value is your job. You are only worth what you can do. And we are no longer beings with an inherent worth.

And this is why it is so hard to find fulfillment in this current system. The system works best when you're not fulfilled.

Which brings me back to AI.

There's gonna be a lot of people who are saying how amazing AI is, and it is. It's magic. It's probably going to solve cancers, probably gonna give us a lot of climate solutions. This is a powerful thing. But I'm really terrified of this new story we're gonna have to tell ourself in order to accept this new convenience, this new progress. ...to imagine what [AI] will do within this current system, within this current incentive structure...this is the same system that brought us climate change, income inequality, and the general lack of gratitude and understanding of our worth and the worth of those around us. And so one of the things I'm realizing we all have to be doing...is we have to really rewrite the system story, and center what is truly valuable." "We are addicted to a system. We know how to solve our problems, we understand what a lot of the solutions are, we just don't know how to actually have the will to do it. And so if you look at us, collectively, we are on step one. We are finally, after decades, admitting that there is a problem, specifically climate change amongst other things. And now we need to be actively thinking about, okay, what kind of stories are we gonna be telling to bring us into that second step?" HIGHLY RECOMMEND watching the entire 1-hour talk. I promise it does not feel like an hour, and it is 8000% worth your time:

[bethanydelleman]

This is a hard question and I want to apologize in advance:

John Dashwood's first plan of honouring his father's wishes and helping his sisters is giving each of them £1,000 in addition to the £1,000 they recieved when their uncle died. The estate gives him £4,000 a year on top of what he already made. So, was his first plan actually generous or did he start out stingy even before he ended at "call me if you need anything xoxo"?

Firstly, lol on that last line.

Now to your question. There are three different ways to look at if John's original plan was generous or not. 1. Was it a lot of John's money? 2. Would it have made a difference to the girls? and 3. Would it be considered generous by others? Because it would be very generous for Fanny Price to give you a shilling but not generous for Mrs. Norris to give you a pound, if you know what I mean.

For #1, John's income is far higher than the £4000/year from the Norland estate. We know his mother had an "ample" fortune that is now in his possession (Ch 1). We also find out that Fanny had a dowry of £10,000 (Ch 61). If we suppose that John's fortune from his mother is at least equal to Fanny's dowry, he has an income of at least £5000/year.

He also has a good deal of ready money. He says this about buying a farm adjacent to his estate:

"...but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low, that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker’s hands, I must have sold out to very great loss.”

John Dashwood is loaded.

So, is giving his sisters £1000 each generous in comparison to his income? I would say no. He probably could have easily afforded to give them more.

But now for #2, it totally would have made a huge difference to the girls!

Even on a very basic level, £1000 each for the girls doubles their dowry. Now their portion is small either way, but I am sure having an income of £100/year is a lot better than £50.

It also helps them just with their daily expenses. The biggest thing that the Dashwood women could have done with an extra £150 per year is maintain their carriage. Not their horses, that would probably be too expensive, but a carriage itself cost between £15-40/year to maintain. Mrs. Dashwood wanted to keep it but it wasn't in their budget:

The horses which were left her by her husband had been sold soon after his death, and an opportunity now offering of disposing of her carriage, she agreed to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her eldest daughter. For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her own wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor prevailed. 

Owning a carriage, even if you need to rent horses, would allow the Dashwoods to visit further and with greater ease. It would allow them to build a larger social network not wholly dependant on the Middletons. I imagine it would also just be nice to have easier transportation.

So in the way that it would have meaningfully raised their standard of living and improved their marriage prospects, yes, it would have been generous.

Lastly #3, I think it's fair to consider what other people would have thought of John's actions at the time. When John considers the gift of £1000 each, he thinks to himself, "it would be liberal and handsome!" which means in his mind at least, it would be a generous gift. And he does seem to be a fair judge of how others would view him. For example, he feels a social obligation to invite his sisters to stay with him in town mostly for appearances.

The fact that the eldest son gets everything would be pretty normal in this era and while men were expected to provide for their family, it doesn't seem like they suffered much if they didn't. Just look at Jane Austen herself and her rich brother! This leads me to suspect that because John was fulfilling a moral but not a legal obligation, his gift would be considered generous.

To sum up, was his original gift generous? No and yes and yes. Hope I cleared everything up! (Maybe bring in a moral philosopher?)

[sticksbatnix]

I know its super late, but on your Batman Beyond thoughts, I always wonder where all these powerful and weird looking misfit teenagers become Jokerz?

Or like does Bonk have parents, if so did they care about his death?

You make a very good point here, anon.

The show, as great as it is, fails to elaborate much on The Jokerz's past as a whole. Sure, there are tidbits here and there but more should have been added to properly explain how and why they joined The Jokerz in the first place.

Sure, make the point they were dumb teens who didn't know better, but there's more than that, there always is.

So let's explain it further by the five W’s.

Who, What, Where, When, and Why.

Who?

Who are the characters presented to us?

Ghoul, DeeDee, Chucko, Wolf, and Bonk.

And whoever other teenager dressing up is similar to either The Joker or Harley Quinn herself.

What?

What is happening to these characters and the people around them?

Simple, a group of misfit teenagers go out of their way to cause chaos and mischief wherever they go. Of course, lacking general empathy, causing property damage, and directly or indirectly murdering people whether they were innocent or not. And to be stopped by either law enforcement or by The Batman.

Where?

Gotham City, more specifically Neo-Gotham City.

The various old and decrepit buildings of what Gotham City was like before were long forgotten. Likely, used for the citizens of Gotham who couldn't afford the luxurious apartments and homes near and within Neo-Gotham.

When?

The future.

A time beyond Batman’s prime in time for a new Batman to take place. Just in time to handle the new and chaotic criminals that run or fly freely across the city. New technology, new law enforcement, new drugs, and new opportunities to cause havoc upon the citizens of the futuristic city.

Why?

Many reasons, few predictable, others reasonable, and the rest unexplainable.

Throughout the show, it's shown that various teenagers who go into a life of crime have rough backgrounds. Abusive or neglectful parents, low income, bullying, or even the corruption of authorities.

Bonk’s death, while brief, shows the cruel reality that many of these young criminal teenagers would face. Yes, they may be having fun, but over time they’ll be able to face life-threatening situations that may end their life. It could be painful, it could be painless, or it could have long-lasting effects if they survived. In Bonk’s case, he made the fatal mistake of going up against The Joker, paying dearly for it, and dying with a permanent smile on his face.

His body might as well be disposed of near or in a trashcan. I doubt DeeDee would go the extra mile to deliver his body to his parents, but if they did I can't imagine the horror his parents would have finding his corpse laid out on their front porch. Now, whether or not they cared for Bonk is unknown, but judging his brutish personality I could only speculate he cared for himself and likely hated being seen as lesser than everyone else. Especially his parents.

The other Jokerz can be speculated as well.

Ghoul came from a rich family, likely running off to live a life without rules and regulations. I've written a few scenarios about this on this blog about this. His family likely disowned him because of his involvement with The Jokerz as I never see them visit him when he's captured.

DeeDee are related to Harley Quinn, now whether they know about that is up in the air. But it's obvious they were inspired despite how much their ‘Nana Harley’ despised them for it. They seem to enjoy the limelight of joining forces to cause havoc and chaos all at once despite everyone telling them not to.

Chucko is a bully who loves inflicting misery on others. Likely joined The Jokerz to bully others without consequences and cause mass amounts of destruction. Whether or not he came from a bad family, it's clear that Chucko enjoys bullying others he sees as lesser than him.

Wolf was human before being spliced with hyena DNA and became the rabid creature we all know. It's possible that he felt a clear connection with animals, specifically dogs, rather than with his own family. Maybe he felt like being a dog/hyena made him feel more complete rather than living his life out like a human.

And we already talked about Bonk.

God knows about the other Jokerz members.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen in the next ten years for these characters and where they’ll be then.

Would they be dead? Would they get proper help and move on? Would they still be in jail? Would they change their whole gimmick and become like the villains from the past?

This reminds me, I found an artist on Devianart who specifically drew The Jokerz gang if they took part in the inspirations of past villains. Ghoul as Scarecrow, Wolf as Killer Croc, and Bonk as Bane. It's very creative and I feel like it should get more attention for how creative they all were.

Nonetheless, The Jokerz gang should be talked more about not only for their missed potential but for their capability to do so much more.

[jordan-the-pious]

~ @poorsadorphanposting

I promise I'm not here about Esmee again. She uh... She wasn't very happy when she noticed I was talking about her behind her back. Which I guess is understandable in retrospect ahahahaha.

Uhhhhh this is about something I did!

So. As you may have heard, money is uhhh... Tight at the orphanage. I don't think I can go into much detail, but Esmee and I direly needed money. Usually she insists on getting it herself so I don't have to endanger myself (I can't say I love the arrangement, though I was already a kind of scared to go outside and most traditional jobs I try I just end up breaking down, so... I'm not really in a spot to argue about it.)

So there is this businessman with a lot of disposable income. I think Esmee has been with him before, but their personalities clashed (and now, seemingly out of some sort of misguided protectiveness she straight up despises him.) He seems to prefer me and well... We need the money, like I said.

Before, it was enough to go to a nice place with him, try not to be so jumpy as to make it look as though he beats (me as he said), look cute (as he also said) and tolerate a kiss at the end! I can just about deal with that and he knows I have vows that are important to uphold.

The issue is, he's been asking more and more of me lately. (I'll say he's seen the chastity belt and leave it at that...) culminating in, uh... Well. Goodness, I think I'm stalling a bit, here. Um. Ilethimdefilemymouth. It was awful and I feel gross. I still feel it, even three days later. I wanted to confess this, but um, I think moreso I wanted to ask about being some form of purification? I don't know. I'm aware the temple doesn't usually check for or punish this. I just want this feeling to go away and to be normal and pure again ahaha...

Goodness gracious Edin, I am so so sorry to hear about all of this. It must be quite difficult carrying this weight around on your back, let alone keeping it bottled up inside of yourself for so long. I can hardly imagine what tumultuous emotions you must have been experiencing recently. Why on earth did it take you so long to bring this up with me? You should know that I am always here for you in any way that you need me.

I am going to set every issue with your sister and her behavior aside for now. You need focus and attention, and so my focus and attention you shall have. I am here to help you, I promise.

You have done well so far, young Edin. It takes much bravery to make up for our own mistakes, let alone the mistakes of those we care about. You are an excellent older brother, and a testament to our faith. Never forget that, and never let anyone tell you otherwise.

You are correct that this is something that the temple does not check for, and does not punish. You are still, in the mind of our religion, pure. Having said that, I do understand your wish for purity, for cleanliness after being defiled this way.

Come with me. The temple does not have a way to deal with this, but I may have found myself in a similar situation to you in the past and wanted to cleanse myself as best I could following that incident. It is a bit different, as I will admit that I acted voluntarily for someone I loved, but it should work for you nonetheless.

Jordan leads Edin from the main confessional area down several long winding paths, before eventually stopping in front of the door to their main residence. They enter, swiftly grabbing a red glass bottle from the back of their bookshelf, where it appears to have been hidden. The lid of the bottle has a rose motif on it, and the body has a label that simply says "For B" on it. Jordans eyes seem to try to avoid these details, as they grab a cup and pour a small amount of the liquid out into the cup and hand it to Edin. It smells like liquid roses.

Apologies if the scent is strong, I wished to cleanse myself rather thoroughly the last time I made and used this. Swish this around in your mouth for a few seconds, and then swallow. It should help you feel better.

[goodhorse413]

Obligations, basilisks, and empathy

My last longpost about ethics was a big hit (lie), and I want to write another one to discuss another idea in ethics that bothers me, the concept of obligation.

Peter Singer's most famous essay is the one that argues that we all have an obligation to donate all of our money to help people in the third world except for the bare minimum. I read this essay in a philosophy class (which was at a college but I was in high school at the time, it's a long story and it doesn't matter), and the ensuing discussion about it was very interesting to me. I'm not sure what an "obligation" really is in the objective sense. Singer argues for the obligation through an example that provokes your intuition, that of a drowning child in front of you. As I said last post, I don't really like to rely on intuition for ethical philosophy. Intuition can be very misleading, as I'll argue later on in this post. A lot of people in the class argued whether or not donating all your disposable income to charity was actually morally superior to not doing so (it obviously is, you have to use incredibly motivated reasoning to argue otherwise), and a lot of people argued that obligations only existed up until a certain point, that point usually placed around exactly where they happened to want it to be.

I really do think that certain states of affairs are objectively better than others, and that it follows from that that certain actions are objectively more ethical than others, and in this sense I'm a moral realist. But I'm not sure where obligations come into play in any objective sense. Obviously you don't HAVE to do the right thing. The fact that people ever do the wrong thing proves this to be the case. But there's an extent to where this idea does in fact make sense, and that's in the fact that when people have information about a situation, they're a lot more likely to do the right thing.

Moral facts aren't really binding obligations, they're more like infohazards, or basilisks. They're pieces of information that, when you learn them, affect your decision making. Basilisks are very common. Suffering itself is a basilisk. It's a piece of information (in the form of qualia) that alters your behavior in a negatively reinforcing way. Joy is the reverse. What Singer is really trying to do is to introduce you to a basilisk (there are many people suffering in the third world whom you can help) in order to influence your behavior in a more ethical direction. Ethics can be seen as the study of true basilisks, basilisks made of true information rather than false information.

David Hume described empathy as the origin of morality. This is in my opinion not digging deeply enough. Sure, empathy is a process that causes humans to act ethically, but it isn't the bottom of ethics. The bottom of ethics is good-and-bad. Rules, rights, and obligations are second-order. They're social constructs built in service to good and in opposition to bad. Empathy is a natural, instinctive way of gathering relevant information about the emotional valencies of others. Feeling that someone else is suffering is a basilisk that causes you to act in a way that works to lessen that suffering. But this feeling isn't arbitrary. That feeling can be correct or incorrect, depending on whether or not that person is actually suffering.

Imagine that two men are looking at a tree. One thinks the tree is beautiful, the other thinks it is not. Neither of them is wrong. Beauty is something that exists within the conscious representation of objects, not within objects themselves. A tree can't be beautiful if nobody's looking at it. The image of the tree in the first person's head has the quality of beauty, and the image of the tree in the second person's head does not. Beauty is in this sense relative.

Now imagine that two men are looking at a sad little girl. One of them looks at the girl and feels empathetic towards her, feeling sad. The other one looks at the girl and feels gratified. She deserves it, he feels. He sees her sad face and feels happy. One of these impressions is correct and the other is not. She really is having a bad experience, even if you sense otherwise. Empathy is in this case transmitting true information to the first man. Her situation is bad, not good. The quality of her experience exists within her, not only within images of her. It still exists even if you can't see it. In this sense, morality is not relative. One of the basilisks is a piece of true information (something painful is happening over there) and the other is a piece of false information (something pleasurable is happening over there). Not all basilisks are equal, and reason is needed to distinguish moral truths from moral falsehoods, even though they might function in the same way.

Here's another example of why emotional intuition isn't sufficient for rational ethical behavior. Imagine that a man is walking down the street and encounters someone being raped. When he sees the rape occur, his empathy is activated, and he is horrified. His brain tells him something very awful is happening. He steps in and heroically stops the rapist and saves the victim. Now imagine that the same man walked into an art gallery and saw a painting of someone being raped. The image sets off his empathy, and his brain tells him something awful is happening. Outraged, he destroys the painting and tries to start a protest to get the art gallery shut down for hosting such an evil painting.

In both of these situations, he may come up with some post-hoc reason for his decision-making. His stated reasoning isn't very important. The real reason he made these decisions is because of his emotions. However, in one situation, his emotions told him the truth (that girl is suffering), and in the other, they lied to him (that painting is suffering). Ethical emotivism, sentimentalism, and other feels-based theories of morality can't draw a distinction between these two scenarios. They mix up the cause and effect of morality and empathy. It's important to step outside your own feelings and examine whether or not your intuitive assessment of a situation is correct or not, because intuitions mislead us in both directions all the time.

An important question to ask when discussing any moral question is whether or not you're saving a girl or an image, whether a moral injustice exists in the real world or just in your head. It means acknowledging the map-territory distinction, that things aren't always how they appear. Something that comes up a lot in discussions of morality is the difference in how society treats dogs and pigs. Why is it considered okay to be cruel to pigs, but monstrous to be cruel to dogs? Because people have different emotional responses to the incidents. You might see a plate of bacon and your brain will send positive signals, and you might see a dog getting beaten and your brain will send negative signals. Don't just try to post-hoc justify your brain's signals. Consider the reality of the situation. Think about the extent to which pigs and dogs can suffer. Think about what's best for them, and what's bad for them.

This is important in abortion too. A lot of abortion debate is trying to throw basilisks at people to try and alter their emotional reaction to abortion. But the important thing is the question of what the consequences are for the mother and the fetus. Maybe the death of a fetus is really shocking and appalling to you, but what is it like for the fetus? How does it feel? Does it even feel much of anything? How does the mother feel? What's gonna happen to her? What are the actual effects going to be? These are the actual relevant questions. Throwing around insults and shame-on-you's has never been a convincing strategy to me.

This is all to say that empathy is a means to an end, not an end in itself, and it sometimes might be better to shock and horrify yourself if your intuitions are misleading you. Also to say that obligation is a silly idea. You can do whatever you want, but there will be consequences, even if you can't see them.

[jadagul]

@tanadrin (from here)

iirc about 75% of your household income in Germany goes towards your expenses, but in the US that’s more like 85%. if you take the median incomes of both countries (~46k in USD in Germany, around 70k in the US), it is very nearly a wash, with Germany slightly edging out the US in terms of the disposable income/money left over to spend on other things

this doesn’t contradict the point that the US is obviously a developed country (on which we agree), but i know you and i have talked about in the past the extent to which median income figures represent actually greater wealth vs just differences in cost of living in Germany and the US, and my subjective sense that because of subsidized healthcare, childcare, education, etc., smaller household incomes go as far or further in germany than they do in the US, and i wrote down this statistic when i ran across it in case it came up again

This actually mirrors an argument I had in Discord last week: I think that we should care more about the income than the disposable income, and apparently not everyone agrees.

So like first, yes, costs of living are different between the US and Germany.  That’s why I’m using PPP, which adjusts for that: that puts the US at 69k and Germany at 57k.  (Nominal has the Us at 70 and the Germany at 51; so doing the cost of living adjustment does close a big chunk of the gap, but not all of it.)  Now PPP adjustment is highly imperfect, but let’s stipulate for the moment that this adjustment basically works.

But your figure points to another factor as well: “expenses” are bigger in the US.  So what does that mean if it’s not just cost of living?  I assume it means that Americans spend more on, like, housing and food and transportation.  But importantly, they still get all that stuff.

Like it’s a real social problem that America basically imposes minimum house sizes, so you can’t free up some cash by downsizing your house.  You have to buy the nicer, bigger house.  But you do, in fact, still get the nicer bigger house.  We eat out more, which is partly because lifestyle drives that but also eating out is nice.  Etc.

(Or like, imagine your job gives you a huge housing allowance.  That’s not as good as getting that as actual income, but it’s much better than not getting it!)

So my impression here is that we eat more food, live in bigger and nicer houses, drive newer and bigger cars, and still have as much cash left over as the Germans do.  (And like the houses thing is definitely true: German houses appear to average like 1500 square feet, with an American average at like 1900.  When I look for numbers I find wildly different estimates, but this is the closest-together estimate I can find.)

---

Now I think I said last time around that I’m guessing Germany has basically equivalent, maybe higher, quality of life.  Germans are somewhat materially poorer, but they have more security in various ways, a smoother-functioning bureaucracy, less violence, and shorter working hours. Those are all valuable things to “spend” the excess money on!  I think a lot of people would take that trade.  But there is a trade there.