#the ones i do post are just the tip of the iceberg | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taintandviolent · 4 months ago

Text

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: You live in Gotham City and are a waitress at a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Oz is a regular and you've developed quite the crush on him.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.4K | older man/younger woman, semi-established history, making out, cockwarming, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving, dirty talk, smut with a teensy bit of plot (but not really).

a/n: to the 99.9999% of my followers... I'm so sorry but I am begging you guys to hear me out about him!!!! I thoroughly expect this to flop, but I needed to write it for my own sanity. absolutely massive thank you to @redravenblogs for beta-reading! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Ah, Tuesday night.

In Gotham City, every night is a good night for an Italian restaurant. Especially one that’s been in business since 1964 and acquired a hefty lot of aging locals that know the food is good, and a possibly even longer list of trendy, younger foodies that have heard that food is good because of the aging locals.

There’s also the… criminal side of the patrons. Have a place with delicious food and wine, and Gotham’s elite underground is sure to follow. You’ve seen your fair share of men who look like they’re here to discuss a deal over a good meal, and a number of elected officials with them. You know better than to meddle, though. You just do your job, and hope for a good tip. Usually, you get one.

Tonight, it’s raining. Heavily. Surprise, surprise. People flock in from the street as an escape from the deluge outside and the restaurant is filling up quickly. Your section is about three quarters of the way full, and you’re busy. You hear the door open again, followed by the momentary rush of the sound of tires on wet pavement outside. You straighten up, throwing your glance in the way of the entrance.

There he is. A warm smile spreads across your face as you watch him amble in, shaking the rain from his leather coat. Though his appearances aren’t regular, his habits are. He always sits at the same table in your section, towards the back and next to the corner window. Once he figured out it was in an area you attended to, he never sat anywhere else.

You only know him as Oz, the big sweetheart of a man who comes in and always orders the chicken parmigiana. Says it’s the best in town. After seeing him a few times, and sneakily taking note of his last name, you took it upon yourself to do a little digging and found out that he’s known for running with Falcone’s gang and that he’s also the owner of the elite Iceberg Lounge. You never bring those things up to him in fear of starting a conversation he doesn’t want to finish. It’s really none of your business, anyway. You give him a moment to settle into the booth, but once he does – you’re immediately headed that way.

“There she is,” he starts with a smile, watching you as you make your way over to the table, pulling your order notebook from your apron pocket. “There’s my girl.”

A blush hits your cheek – it does every time. From day one, he flirted with you, harmlessly and has continued it ever since. You’re used to patrons being a little flirtatious, but something about the way Oz does it makes your stomach tighten.

“Buonasera, Oz…” you say, your lips curling into a warm smile. In the year you’ve worked here, you’ve picked up a little Italian, but the appropriate greetings are mandated by management. “How you doin’?”

“Better now.”

You smile again and dip your chin to your chest shyly. He’s always so affectionate, so warm. For being a guy who meddles in Gotham’s seedy underbelly, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met.

“The usual?”

He nods. “The usual, sweetheart. But gimme’ a side of fettuccine tonight, huh?”

You scribble the order down, and snap your book shut. “You got it.”

“What time you off tonight, doll?”

“Same as every night, Oz. In about an hour.”

“They keepin’ you late every night, huh?”

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.”

He scoffs, shaking his head and shifts in the booth before looking up at you. “I keep tellin’ ya, I could take care uh ya, baby.”

The running joke, but sometimes you wonder if he’s serious. He always tips you generously, alarmingly so, and it’s always put directly in your hand, as though he doesn’t want anyone else knowing that he takes care of your groceries for the week.

“And I keep sayin’ I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Ahh–!” He jerks his head to the side, dismissing those words.

You reach forward to touch his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Let me put your order in, honey. I’ll be right back with your wine.”

With that, you walk proudly off towards the back, swaying your hips. You can feel Oz’s eyes on you as you go and maybe the way you move is intentional, because you know he’s watching. So, what if it was? Can you really blame a girl for liking the attention?

As you round the corner to the kitchen, you clear your throat and call out to the cooks. Angelo is working tonight, and he’s one of the few guys who knows about your little affinity for Oz. As soon as you pin the ticket, Angelo spins the wheel around, looking at the order. He recognizes it, and gives you a knowing smile.

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?”

“Quiet,” you hush, looking back towards the table. You can’t see it from this angle, but you know he’s there, sitting, probably on his phone, or tapping his big knuckles on the wood of the table.

He looks at the sheet again, noticing the addition, and raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend’s hungry tonight.”

“Angelo, will you quit it? He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sugar daddy then, eh?”

You scoff, giving him the finger before reaching for one of the bottles of wine – Oz’s favorite.

You return to his table with a skip in your step. It’s been about a week since you’ve seen him, and you can’t help the giddiness in your gait. As you bump your plush hip into the corner of the table, Oz grins crookedly at you, his gold teeth glinting in the low lighting of the restaurant. You reach into your apron, pulling out a corkscrew.

“So, whatcha’ been up to, Oz?” You say, as you twist the prong into the cork. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

He usually gives you an answer like that – something that doesn’t reveal too much about what he does. You wonder if he knows that you’ve looked into him. You suddenly furrow your brow at the cork – it’s being stubborn – and quickly situate the bottle between your legs, squeezing it tight between your thighs. This action isn’t lost on Oz, who watches you with a deeply interested grin, watching how your skirt rides up just slightly at the front, not enough to reveal anything aside from some of your creamy soft thigh flesh. Everything you do is done with such innocence, but there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing to him, he thinks. After a moment of yanking, the cork finally gives way with a hollow POP and you grip the bottle, bringing it up to the table. You mutter a quiet apology and fill the glass, pulling the bottle back to wipe the edge on your apron.

“Well, it’s good to see you. Always is.”

Someone calls your name from behind you, and it’s one of the other tables, looking for refills. You offer Oz an apologetic smile, and head in that direction. Sadly, you don’t return until his food is ready. He’s extra present tonight; your eyes meet every time you look in his direction, giving him a timid smile and going about your tasks, but your heart flutters with an adoration for the older man. You’re attentive too, and go over to his table a million and a half times to ask how the food is, if he needs anything else.

“Only you, doll.”

You swat playfully at his shoulder, though the little quip has heat pooling in your core. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him taking you over the table a handful of times; lustfully imagining what his hips would feel like rutting against your ass as he sunk himself inside of you. You constantly wondered what his cock looked like. He was a big man, and you assumed that rang true for all parts of him – but the hunger to find out was terrible.

He’s one of the last ones to leave, lingering as long as he can before it’s considered rude. Tonight, something’s different about him, like something is on his mind, something he wants to say. Each time you’re at his table, he looks like he’s about to ask, but never does. Finally, as you return to clear his table, reaching for the empty plates on his table, he downs the rest of his wine and clears his throat.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, pivoting slightly in the booth with some effort. “You uh, you busy after work?”

“N-no.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You straighten up, holding the stacked plates with one flattened palm.

“Why don’t you come down to the Iceberg Lounge? Unwind a little.”

“Oh, Oz, I’m not much of a clubbing girl.”

There’s a glimmer of disappointment in those dark eyes of his, but he sets his jaw, and gets to his feet. This puts him in your proximity, and you can feel the heat rolling off his large body. Your stomach aches to lean into him, press yourself into his gut, and lace your arms around his neck.

“Just think ‘bout it.” He reaches in his pocket.

The tip he gives you tonight almost makes your knees give way. It feels thicker than usual in your left hand and when your fingers close around the bills, you swallow down the protests. You don’t dare count it, not in front of him or anyone else. You’ve stopped telling him no, or that he doesn’t have to, because it’s almost like it offends him. He always hushes you, and acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You tuck it in the pocket of your apron, and swallow hard again.

He smiles and steps around you. Your eyes are glued to the visual of him leaving, watching him through the windows as he limps down the sidewalk. God, you want him. It’s a lethal hunger, something that claws and rips at your insides.

Once the restaurant is empty, you and the rest of the crew make quick work of cleaning up and closing up shop. It’s about forty-five minutes later when you’re slipping your arms into the sleeves of your black, wool overcoat and heading through the door. The rain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You heave a sigh. You’ve got a walk ahead of you, but it’s something you’re used to.

“Doll!”

You stop walking, poised just at the end of the sidewalk. You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and pull your jacket right around your neck, squinting into the rain.

“Oz? That you?” You take a step in that direction, knowing full well it is. Your casual act is embarrassing to you, but you persist, pretending you’re surprised to see him getting out of his car. It’s a nice one, too… a Maserati. Was he… waiting for you?

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You ain’t walkin’ home in this, are ya?”

“Just to the station,” You defend.

“Nah. C’mon.” He limps around the front of his car, rain splattering against his leather coat. “Lemme’ give ya’ a ride.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Really. The rain is brutal and you’re cold, a chill settling into your bones. You hurry towards the plum-coloured car, your high heels clacking against the wet pavement as you do. Oz opens and holds the door for you, waiting patiently for you to make your way over. You get in the car gracefully, making sure not to flash him, though, you doubt he’d mind if you did. It’s warm inside, the heat is on, and the leather interior has absorbed some of that heat. You snuggle into the seat, watching in the rearview as Oz makes his way back around the car, and for a moment you’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of rain on the roof and the shlick of the wiper blades as they whisk the droplets off the windshield. The driver’s side door opens, and he tucks himself in. Droplets of rain decorate his shoulders, and he smears his hand over his hair.

“Where to, sweetheart?” He asks, a familiarity in his voice. He’s used to driving people around, but he’d drive you around the whole city if you asked.

“The complex on the corner of 7th and Onyx…” you say, almost sheepishly. Sure, it’s not the best part of town, but your little apartment is cozy, overlooking the city. You imagine he’s used to much nicer, and is probably silently judging the location.

“Oz,” you start, looking at the girth of his fingers as they wrap around the steering wheel. Your mind starts to wander, but you quickly reign it in with a hard blink and an inhalation of breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.”

“Were you waiting for me to get off work?”

“Gotta’ look out for my favorite girl, y’know?”

It’s an indirect answer, but an answer all the same. You smile to yourself as he eases his foot into the gas pedal, the car moving forward. His right hand departs from the steering wheel to turn on the radio. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the inside, and for the rest of the drive, you’re silent, occasionally stealing looks at Oz as he drives. He handles the car beautifully, and you wonder if he handles a woman as well.

Oz is sweet. You know this. Despite his constant heavy flirting at the restaurant, he’s sweet, charming and at times, awkward. Endearingly so. But you aren’t taking pity on him. Your interest in him is purely selfish, driven by your lust for older, dangerous men. You inhale a deep breath and turn your attention to the road. You’re close to home. A few minutes later, he pulls up next to your building and puts the car in park.

You reposition yourself to face him, shifting your feet underneath you. He’s watching you, those smoldering, dark eyes following your every move. Carefully, you lean over the center console, enough to close in the distance between you two and press your lips against his warm, scarred cheek. His aftershave wafts into your nose, and you take a deep breath of it, remembering it. You think you hear his breath hitching.

“That’s for the ride, Oz.”

“Shit, I oughta’ drive you ‘round more often if that’s what it gets me, huh?”

You hesitate a moment, looking into his eyes. There’s that look again – like he wants to ask something. You fill the void with another question.

“Is our chicken parm really the best, or do you just come for me?”

Oz’s thick brows flick up on his forehead and he lets out a throaty chuckle. “Sweetheart...”

“Do you come for me?”

Now he’s really looking at you, squinting at you. Hearing that question repeated has him twitching in his goddamn slacks. He looks out to the rain, then back to you and you’re still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“If you only fuckin’ knew,” he chokes out.

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?”

“Doll,” he grins and laughs, almost nervously. It’s loveable and you can’t help but smile, your gaze fixated on his scarred mouth as he speaks. You aren’t staring negatively, quite the contrary. Like everything else unusual about him, you find his scars sexy.

“You don’t gotta’... y’know, do that.”

You smile again, letting your lids close slightly. He thinks you’re doing this because you’re what? Paying him back for all the tips? Treating him like a charity case? Hysterical. If he only knew.

“Answer my question, Oz. What if I wanna’ know?”

He shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable? You can’t tell.

“Then uh… I ain’t gonna’ deny you that. Find out.”

You lean back over, and instead of kissing his cheek, you tilt your head and go for his mouth, your soft, plush lips pressing against his. He doesn’t respond… not right away, at least. He’s stunned, but also trying not to devour you like some goddamned hungry animal. Finally, his lips twitch to life, pressing back against yours.

He ain’t used to this. But, fuck, it feels good.

As his mouth opens, his large hand comes up to the side of your face, holding you where you’re at. The cool chill of the band of his ring is a stark contrast against the warmth of his digits. His fingertips graze the edge of your hairline, massaging gently. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating, the wine lingering on his breath mingles with his own personal notes. You let an open-mouthed moan fall from your throat, into his, and he reciprocates, moving his body slightly towards you. Your tongue slips along his bottom lip, pausing to nibble at it softly. He groans deep, his eyes rolling back in his head. You’re getting him stiff, worked up and all you’re fuckin’ doin’ is kissin’ him.

This is getting heavy. You feel your own arousal burning between your legs, a fiery, throbbing heartbeat that gets more incessant the longer his tongue is in your mouth, tasting you. Oz is practically taking you in mouthfuls, and your hand crawls over the center console, just far enough that your fingernails scrape against the fabric of his slacks, over his thigh. A desperate attempt to get closer to him without just straddling him in his front seat.

A deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning pulls you two from each other. You lurch away, panting, and look out through the front windshield. The rain comes down harder, and you can hardly make out the outlines of the buildings in front of you.

“I should… probably go inside before this gets any worse.”

You aren’t sure if you’re talking about the rain or the mutual arousal. Maybe both. He clears his throat in response; he wants to tell you that you’re a cruel woman, leaving him like this, but with the taste of you still on his tongue, he ain’t about to push his luck and get greedy. He unlocks the doors from the panel on his left. You open the door and get out, dragging your bag with you. You lean back inside, looking at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes.

“I’ll see you, Oz. Thanks for the ride.”

But not the kiss? You cringe at your words. There’s that look again – but this time, you know he wants to ask you if you’re coming down to the Lounge later. You know it, and you’ve already made up your mind.

Instead, he shrugs with both of his shoulders. “Sure, sweetheart. Any time. I mean that.”

With butterflies in your stomach, you exit the car, and shut the door, careful not to slam it. You hold your purse above your head as you run to the front door and you hear the roar of Oz’s engine as he speeds off. The second you’re inside, you kick off your heels at the door and hurry to the back of the apartment. You flip the lightswitch, illuminating the modest bedroom. You pull the dress from the back of your closet, half expecting a cloud of dust to come with it.

Thank god it still fits.

You catch a cab downtown, which is much less luxurious than your previous ride. It drops you off in front, and the line to get in stretches down the length of the building. You knew it was a popular place, but you hadn’t expected this. The rain, nor the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening, deters these patrons – whatever’s inside must really be something. You pull your dress down your thighs, and walk carefully up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to try your luck with the bouncers, you bypass the line, trying not to look at anyone to your right. If you stand in line, you won’t be inside for hours.

Two men – identical twins – stand in front of the door.

“Can we help you?” One of them asks, sternly. You don’t take offense, they’re only doing their job.

“Um…” You blurt out your name, adding, “Oz asked me to come.”

One of the men speaks into a small mic attached to the lapel of his jacket, covering it with his hand. It’s only a moment before one of them opens the door and the music goes from muffled to booming, vibrating your bones. You mutter a quick thanks, and step inside, feeling like you’ve just cheated the system. The visual that meets you truly overwhelms you at first, and you hesitate.

It’s a staggeringly massive venue, filled with undulating bodies. The building itself is industrial in nature, all steel and flashing red lights. The dance floor stretches as far as your eyes can see, a literal sea of human beings, all grinding against each other, feeling the music in their veins. You stand, stunned at the start of the crowd, unsure of where to go.

After a moment, you lift your gaze and your eyes meet for the hundredth time that night. Oz stands on the second floor, on almost a catwalk above the crowds. He looks like he did at the restaurant, save for the leather jacket which was replaced by a white suit jacket; he’s wearing the same purple shirt and black slacks. Your shoulders relax, knowing that whatever happens next will be something you remember for the rest of your life.

He doesn’t make it a secret of how he’s checking you out, a devilish sneer on his face. He’s only ever seen you in your waitress outfit, which let it be known, is sexy enough on its own, but this plunging number that gives him a peek at your cleavage, and hugs your hips in ways he could only dream of… He deepens his grin and jerks his head to the side, urging you up. You follow his gaze and clock the staircase to your left. You make a beeline for it, holding the chain of your purse in a fist and climb the steel staircase carefully, until you get to the platform that Oz is standing on.

“Hi!” You shout over the pulsing music. You’re giddy, like a schoolgirl. It’s embarrassing, really.

“I gotta’ be honest, doll, I didn’t think I’d see you.” he confesses, leaning into your ear. His voice is rough, but enticing. He pulls back, gauging your reaction. You stare at him for a moment, saying nothing, prolonging the moment and torturing him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes flick down to watch. Something he does a lot, you notice.

“What?” you ask, leaning into him. “After what happened in the car?”

When you pull back to look at him, there’s a bemused smile on your face. Confident. Cocky. Like there was an unspoken contest of who would mention it first and you won. He shrugs lightly, huffing out a laugh. You reach for his cheek, palming it softly. Oz keeps his composure, even though inside, he wants to lean into it and whimper like a dog. He’s glad he doesn’t though.

“I’m the one who kissed you, remember? It’s not like you did anything to offend me, Oz.” you coo.

“I ‘spose not, huh?”

You nod, slowly, coyly.

“The chicken parm,” he says suddenly, shrugging with his hands. “It ain’t bad. But I guess you’ve figured out the real reason why I come there, huh?”

You laugh brightly, looking over the railing at the throngs of people below you, neon red lights washing over them in time with the music. You smile softly, feeling special. It’s not every day that you get private access to an elite club in Gotham City and get to schmooze with the owner.

“Come upstairs with me.” Feeling like your attention is drifting from him, Oz takes your hand, guiding you in the direction of yet another flight of stairs. Your eyes trail up the steps; they lead to a loft, glass windows on every side.

You’re stone cold sober, so you can’t blame the alcohol, but the second you’re in his office, above the crowds, above it all, you’re on him like a bear on honey. Your hands smear over his chest, fingers grazing through the hair that peeks out from his open shirt. He smells like cigars and an expensive cologne that you take lungfuls of.

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah, Oz… I am.” You reply breathlessly, kissing a path along his bottom lip and chin.

“How long have you felt this way, huh?”

You finally pull back, and lick your lips, watching him intently. You knew he was a talker from the restaurant, always chatting. But right now, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Uhm…” Your chest heaves visibly, and Oz has to fight to keep his eyes on yours. “The first or second time you came into Bellini…”

“Ah, c’moooon!” he says, incredulously.

“No, I’m serious!” You laugh a little, moving your head to try and keep Oz’s gaze. He looks off behind you for a moment, and when he returns his attention to you, his expression is serious.

“Chicks like you don’t go after guys like me –”

You bristle and take his face in your hands. “Chicks like me? What do you know about chicks like me, Oz? You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

He sidesteps that with another question. “What, you like older guys or somethin’?”

“They’re better…” You say in between tiny kisses. “They know better. They’re more experienced. Guys my age…” You pause to run a finger along his lip. “They don’t know how to take care of women.”

Oz smiles. It’s a dirty, devious smile, and it sends a pulse to your core. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and he brings his hand up to the curve of your shoulder. “You want me to take care of ya, baby? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe.

“It’s a busy club, sweetheart.” He says, almost nonchalantly, as though his slacks aren’t tenting in between both of you.

But… he has a point. You hum quietly.

“Later, then? Give me a tour of the club and – “ Your voice trails off because Oz looks like he’s just gotten an idea. He smirks, and his hand grips your hip, pulling you close to his gut. “What?”

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?”

Your head turns, gaze heavily resting on the room across the way. You assume it’s for the dancers of the club. Whatever it is – it’s right there. You glance at it nervously, and your expression reads strong, apparently, because Oz chuckles next to you, and brings his hand to your jaw, forcing it back in his direction.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. They ain’t gonna’ know a thing.”

His hand drops from your jaw to your waist, where his thumb swipes circles over your dress. His hand sweeps around to the back, where your skin is exposed, and begins stroking patterns over the skin, igniting tiny fires wherever he touches. You lean forward, pressing your mouth against his again, hungry for his taste again. After a few minutes, Oz pulls away, ending the foreplay. He turns and ambles to the leather sofa angled in front of the window and you follow, taking slow, careful steps. One foot in front of the other.

Once he’s seated, you lift your dress just enough to grip the delicately stretchy lace of your panties on either side, and carefully pull them down the curve of your ass. Oz is watching, his brown eyes locked on the tantalizing visual in front of him. You discard them on the sofa cushion, not thinking about where they land. Oz watches though, and his large hand snakes out, fisting them and discreetly tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. If you asked, he would’ve told you that he didn’t want anyone fuckin’ seein’ ‘em. The reality was that his perversions were too loud, and he was going to take a token of this dream he was experiencing.

Oz reaches down, unlatching his slacks, and pulling the zip down just enough to reach in and pull his aching cock free. As you lower yourself, he lines it up, watching intently. You whimper his name, feeling the cockhead nudge your entrance.

“Easy, sweetheart, easy. That’s it, nice n’ slow.” He licks his lips.

At first, you nestle yourself down onto his thick cock gradually. The fat, leaking head pops in first, sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitches in your throat, and instead of sliding yourself down his shaft slowly, with a huff, you slam your ass down hard. You’re sitting all the way down on Oz’s wide lap, stuffing the rest of him in. He’s thicker than he is long, but god, it’s everything you thought it would be. He vocalizes, surprised at your determination. You still, letting your walls accommodate the girth of the man beneath you.

“Hoo, baby...”

The tiniest little movements have him clenching his jaw, hissing through his teeth. And then… with his hand casually holding onto your hip, Oz starts to rut his hips up into you. It’s just enough to rock your body up and down and move his cock inside you.

He grunts underneath you, his grasp tightening on the satin of your dress. He craves skin, and his hand slides into the space between your dress and your back. You can’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers at the feeling of being so full – you don’t remember the last time you were stretched like that. Your dress pools, hanging heavy between your legs and concealing your leaking core.

Abruptly, the collective sound of high heels approaches, and your eyes snap up to the glass windows. A group of girls crowds the room parallel, and the second one of them spots you two, they’re heading your way. Oz stops moving.

“Alright… quiet, doll.” He slaps your hip a few times. It’s a warning, and one you immediately heed, straightening up, tucking your hips into a more natural sitting position. His cock twitches inside you, and you swallow back the noise that bubbles up your throat.

“Ozzy,” the girls coo in unison. One of them has a martini in her hand and asks who you are. God, they’re all so beautiful, you think. Insecurity threatens, but the stretching between your legs calms it.

Leaning to the side to meet their gaze, he tells them your name, proudly – the bastard – and you wave, sheepishly, trying not to allude to the fact that Oz’s girthy cock is buried inside you. Maybe they know. Maybe he’s done this before. You swallow hard, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“We was just havin’ a meeting. She’s thinkin’ of workin’ here.” A bold faced lie, but it distracts the women from looking too hard at the scene in front of them. They all titter excitedly, delighted by the prospect of having another friend to play with.

“Oz takes real good care of us,” one of them chimes in, earnestly. “You’d love it here.”

You clench around his cock as hard as you can, your internal muscles squeezing him in a vice. You smile as naturally as you can at the girls as Oz continues speaking casually. The man’s poker face must be insane because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give away a single thing.

“Alright, alright. Girls, what am I payin’ ya for, huh? Get down there.”

In a flurry of nods and apologies, the women disperse, heading back down to the throbbing club below them. The sound of their high heels clicking down the stairs fades away, replaced by the dull, muffled thrumming of the music below. As soon as you two are alone again, Oz bucks his hips up into you hard, almost painfully, pulling a low groan from your throat.

“Tell me how good that feels, sweetheart. Tell me.” The roughness of his voice, the harshness of his accent makes everything sound intense, but the desperation in which he asks that isn’t lost on you. He’s practically begging you to tell him, revealing a deep-rooted hunger for praise. You wet your throat, and lean your head back onto his shoulder, bringing your hand up around to the back of his wide neck; the flesh is warm and damp with sweat.

“It feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-yeah…” You close your eyes, wincing slightly at the way his cock bullies you and stretches you open. “So good, Oz. I’ve thought about this… so many times.”

His hips rut up into you, finding a hungry, incessant rhythm and your slick walls clench around him. The action brings a choking grunt from his mouth, and your ego swells with the control. An idea blossoms. You straighten up; setting your hips and grinding them back and forth on his lap. Beneath you, Oz moans, his grip on you tightening. You feel his large body shudder, and a cocky smile curls its way around your lips.

“You like that, Oz? You like me fucking you like that?”

He nods, breathlessly, reaching up to palm the sweat that drips into his brow.

“Tell me,” you whisper, arching your body against his.

“I l-like the way you’re fuckin’ me. It feels real fuckin’ good… ” He grumbles, pleased. “Feelin’ that tight pussy uh yours… like heaven, doll.”

You whine at that, loving the way it sounds coming from his mouth. Your hips gyrate, continuing their ruthless pattern on his cock. His hand strays from your hip and juts between your legs, finding your cunt. His thick fingers slip between your folds, stroking you just enough to drive your orgasm closer to the edge. You whimper, tossing your head back.

Oz’s gaze drops from your back to your ass, watching as the flesh swells when you push back against him. God damn. It’s a perfect fuckin’ view, and he sucks in a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tightens, even if he ain’t ready for that.

“Aw, fuck–” he grunts, low. Deep in his stomach, his muscles clench, trying hard to stave off the oncoming orgasm. His eyes open, focusing on the ceiling, the sound of the music, anything except for the way you’re ridin’ him. It ain’t workin’, because he feels his whole body tense up. Fuck.

His hand goes slack between your legs and you grit your teeth, bringing your brows together in a pained expression. The dual stimulation was nice, but the way his cock massages your walls, stretching them out and filling you in a way that has you gasping is enough to drive you mad. You’re thankful that the music is so loud beneath you, because your desperate mewls and whines are getting higher and higher in pitch. Oz mutters something, something filthy about filling you and you drive your hips back against him. And with that, he loses it. He thrusts his hips up into you a few times, with a frenzied sort of desperation. You feel the heat painting your insides, coating your walls in his ecstasy. Underneath you, Oz’s thrusts have turned languid and lazy. He’s silently justifying the too-quick orgasm with the fact that he had to; anyone could’ve walked in at any time. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’s been like a slobbering dog for you for months.

Chest heaving, your hips continue rutting back and forth, and Oz shifts underneath you, still panting heavily. It’s tender, but he doesn’t complain. His thrusts continue to slow and you desperately reach between your legs, tapping his hand back to life. “D-don’t stop Oz, please… don’t stop…”

Behind you, Oz chuckles under his breath and straightens up, having sunk back into the sofa a little too far when he lost it. His thick index finger strokes your clit upwards, and a shiver rips through your body. The coil in your stomach winds tighter as you settle into the oncoming feeling. Still full of him, your slick walls shudder around his cock as the first wave hits. The coil snaps, your thighs clamp shut around his hand, and you look down, sighing loud as he continues flicking between your folds. One of your hands is situated on his thigh, and the other comes to grip his wrist, feeling the cuban link chain beneath your palm.

“That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it…” As you ride it out, bucking your hips against his groin, he coaxes you through your orgasm, both vocally and with the way he massages your clit, the pad of his index finger pressing into it. You can hear the pride in his voice, it’s absolutely dripping with it. “Atta’ girl. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You furiously nod your head as your legs begin to tremble. He doesn’t stop, and your immediate reaction is to dig your nails into the flesh of his hand, silently begging.

“You good, doll?”

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.”

Oz removes his hand from between your legs, and strokes the side of your thigh, gently. Tenderly. For a moment, you stay like that, just enjoying all of the post-coital sensations. Eventually, you get to your feet, curious about how the patrons downstairs are faring. Speaking of dripping… You swallow hard, and press your thighs together.

While still in front of Oz, you straighten yourself out, pulling your dress back down over your hips. Now, you’re suddenly aware of the throbbing beat beneath your feet and make your way over to the window.

“How about that tour?” You ask, running a nail along the glass that overlooks the dancefloor below you. After a few moments, you feel Oz’s presence behind you, his stomach pressing into the curve of your back.

“I thought you weren’t a clubbin’ girl…” he murmurs throatily, in between kisses to your neck. You tilt your head, allowing more space for him to smother.

“Well,” you confess, honesty tinging your voice. “I’m not. But it’s not every day you get invited to the most elite nightclub in Gotham City.” You shrug. “Might as well.”

#i am so hysterically down bad for this man.... he is terrible and i hate him for what he's done but i also wanna [redacted]#nobody fucking look at me #Oz Cobb x reader #Oswald Cobb x reader #The Penguin x reader #Oz Cobb #oswald cobblepot x reader #Oswald Cobb #Farrell Penguin #myfics #x reader #reader insert #female reader #fem reader #The Penguin HBO #The Penguin

410 notes · View notes

nnnnobodyy · 1 year ago

Text

Filming them and posting it online is certainly excessive and questionable. One would *hope* partner in question got permission from the other and they both have a sense of humor about it, but I suppose we shouldnt give them too much benefit of the doubt. Admittedly I have not seen these videos due to my aversion of TikTok, but I have to partially disagree, personally I think it is important to showcase to other people what we (cismen's partners) have to put up with so other women know theyre not alone in having to deal with astoundingly incompetent (cis?)men.

It is sad they were failed by their parents, and its surely a testament to the vileness of the gender roles that cause people to raise incompetent (cis?)men and women who have to clean up after them. Its one thing for them to not know how to get blood stains out of clothes, generally the average cisman doesnt have to deal with blood-stained clothes as often as someone who menstruates does. Its another thing when they need help with nearly every task, no matter how minor and easy to search the internet for a solution it is.

I admit I am biased against your point OP because I just left a 5-yr relationship with what tumblr would lovingly call a "himbo." I was more fortunate than the average het couple in that he could largely cook, clean, and do laundry on his own, but his inability to do other tasks and weird disinterest in using the internet to figure out how to do it correctly really wore down on me over time. For example, at the height of my grad school tenure, I burst into tears over him struggling terribly just to fold up a sleeping bag. It was one he had gotten out and left on the floor for weeks, and when I asked him to roll it up, it became evident he did not know how to re-roll it as it had been before he got it out. And instead of watching a video online about how to do it on his PC 3 feet away or using the smartphone in his pocket, he asked me, who was already on a wire's edge and mentally exhausted from grad school, to show him how to do it. Cue the waterworks, largely due to guilt that I felt so mad and guilt at so badly wanting NOT to help him, and frustration at not knowing how to even begin to explain why I'm so upset about an issue as seemingly as minor as just a sleeping bag.

Undoubtedly you are familiar with the term "weaponized incomptence"--its not a term I would apply to this former partner, as I feel it implies a certain level of conscious choice and intention, perhaps a different way to describe his incomptence would something like "cisman incomptence privilege." I know that as a man who was raised as such in a still-very-gendered society, he likely wasnt taught how to do x, y, & z, and as a partner and someone who strives to be good I feel the responsibility to kindly teach him how to do it, but at a certain point it becomes an unfair demand of his partner's time and mental energy for them to always have to be the teacher and for him to never make more of an effort to not only learn on his own, but to actively explore to learn more about the kinds of things he has no clue about so he can learn to anticipate them.

And I imagine thats also why something as simple as not being able to clean up ketchup has these people filming their partners in a way that is definitely cruel and mocking at a surface level. Sure its sad that the dude cant clean up ketchup, but its exasperating as hell and loses its humor when you near-constantly have to teach him everything when the internet is RIGHT there. I did my best to be a patient teacher but it was a mental load that got too heavy to shoulder.

In defense of the men, there are some things you wouldnt know to look up online because you dont even know its a thing or problem that exists or needs to be done, such as cleaning out a hot water heater or how to replace a shower cartridge (hell even my engineer-fix-everything-himself dad didnt know what a shower cartridge is). But in retort to that defense, thats why taking the initative to not just learn for yourself but EXPLORE is so important. When its a problem thats plainly in front of you, it takes a certain level of self awareness to realize you might not know or be able to figure out the best way to handle this, and the internet is an easy place to consult for help. And it takes more self awareness to know there's all sorts of things out there you dont know about and therefore cant just search up online, hence the value in "exploring."

TL;DR weaponized incompetence or whatever you want to call it sucks and these mean videos bring attention to it

I can't be the only one that sees those like "watch if my boyfriend can clean up ketchup" style videos and not just get extremely sad about how much those men were failed by their parents right? And how they were then failed again by their partners later?

Like, can we stop putting the onus on these men and mocking them for not having a skill? Y'know, a skill? I thing you have to be taught.

Can you imagine your partner - someone you care about and you think cares about you - puts you in a situation where you're set up to fail, then filming you and mocking your lack of skills if you fail or jokingly praise you like you're a child if you do. Then on top of that post it on the internet for everyone - strangers, your family, your job and coworkers, potential future partners, whoever - to see and also laugh at you.

All for clout and content.

That person doesn't care about their partner. You could help them learn this skill that their parents failed to teach them, because of a patriarchal society where men are expected not only not do housework but also not know how to do housework. (Or because they're a shitty parent, that can also happen).

And like it is no one's responsibility to put in that kind of labor for someone, you are not obligated to do that.

However, if you supposedly care about someone and see they lack a skill, and you then film them, mock them, and post their unblurred face on the internet? That's kinda fucked up and you're a bad partner, honestly.

#long post #sorry op i dont mean to act like im assuming youve never dated an incompetant person or man before #this is just a raw subject for me bc any time someone is like wow that woman is a bitch for getting upset her bf cant clean up ketchup #its like. my dude the ketchup is the tiny tip of the iceberg sticking up above the water. you dont know how fucking MASSIVE that thing #might be under the surface #like why are we so quick to assume the woman/partner is the one being unreasonable here..... hmmmmm....#i put the question marks because i dont know if this is a problem lesbians or gay men or t4t people at the level that cishet couples do #yknow that are the straights alright? meme #of course theyre not alright they are largely imprisoned or willingly bound by gender roles #and clearly not as open minded or prone to exploring stepping outside them as an lgtbq couple might be #the cishets oppressive behavior extends to themselves #not that we need to sympathize with them

91 notes · View notes

mychapel-004 · 5 months ago

Text

I think the most interesting and under-explored part of gf canon is the formation of the blind eye and I'm tired of pretending it isn't: a long post

Because hear me out here, if we really take a look at the timing of the only concrete source we have (mcgucket's video diaries), it doesn't... line up at all?

The clear implication here is that he started making the diaries after the first portal incident on January 18th 1983, so this would be our "day one"

"For the past year I have been working as an assistant for a visiting researcher... But something went wrong. I decided to quit the project, but I lie awake each night, haunted by the thoughts of what I've done... Test subject one: Fiddleford."

But this makes no sense. We know from J3 that the memory gun was actually invented after a series of traumatic events with Ford, months before he left the project. Further, the timeline the video diaries set up of the blind eye show that he began to deteriorate and founded the blind eye on day 22, which would be February 9th, but in J3 the blind eye is already a full blown cult by then.

In addition, where is he in this video? we know from TBOB that he isn't on good terms with his wife after Christmas of 1982 and he likely didn't leave GF after the portal incident, but he was living with Ford up until this so where is this room? If he had somewhere else to stay, why only stay there now?

Now, realistically the answer here is that the lore was changed and slightly retconned between the writing of this episode and the publishing of the book (which alex discusses in some of the commentary for this episode when discussing fidd's character), but I think a more interesting theory to solve this contradiction can be found in the source material.

If we play this all completely straight, there are two options here, both involving Fiddleford lying in his diaries. this isn't entirely new to the series, unreliable narration is a big theme, especially in Journal 3 and TBOB. the only real explanations are that:

A) Fiddleford was lying about this being the first time he used the gun, meaning this video diary takes place after the portal incident.

B) Fiddleford was lying about leaving the project, and was filming these diaries while still working with Ford.

Now, either of them is plausible, but ultimately Fiddleford is a scientist. He has dedicated his life to engineering, and it seems to be his lifelong passion considering it's one of the only character traits that he continues to practice after losing his mind. Would a man who is this talented, this dedicated, really lie about testing results in a video diary he chose to make?

If he had used the gun before, any kind of result he is trying to observe would be ruined. It would be a pointless venture, since we know for a fact that by the time he leaves the project he has used the gun on himself, Ford and other civillians multiple times. It's a complete failure of the scientific method, and I don't think it makes sense for the character we know, the man who quadruple checks his own calculations just to be sure they're right.

However, the other explanation feels like something he might do. We know he invents the gun after the Gremloblin incident likely sometime in August, and seems to use it immediately as evidenced by J3, on both himself and Ford. We know from the audio commentary that for Fidd, the memory gun is very much an addiction, it's something that he uses to curb his anxiety and appear like a better partner, to try and keep himself together until the project is over. But ultimately, he's known something is wrong with the project for a long time, and Ford mentions his tendency towards self destructive anxiety when Fidd rips out his own hair after Ford reveals the tip of the weirdness iceberg to him.

All this to say, I think it's far more realistic for Fiddleford to lie about leaving the project rather than his results. He knows that something is wrong, that he should leave and be with his family, and on the other side of that we know that Bill is using this anxiety to whisper into Ford's ear that Fidd is unreliable and will leave. He's been through a severely traumatic event with the Gremloblin, trapped for days in his worst nightmares, to the point where he is prepared to cause himself potential brain damage to un-see it.

But despite all of it, he doesn't leave. He is determined to stay, maybe out of loyalty, maybe out of fear for Ford's safety, maybe he needs the money from the project for his family. He has a wife and son who need him and we know that he feels guilt for his treatment towards them, he even cites them as his sole reason for backing out of using the gun immediately before he does it anyway, and uses it on Ford to cover his mistakes up. Fiddleford is a man who is wracked by anxiety and shame and is such a bad way by this point that he is absolutely willing to self-destruct and lie to just get through this project.

I think he absolutely would start documenting his use of the memory gun, even if that meant lying that he had followed his instincts and left the project when he should have done. After all, he says himself that he wants to use this gun on a wider scale as a therapy tool, assuming the gun doesn't turn his brain to mush, surely the tapes of his initial testing will need to be peer-reviewed? He's presenting the reality he wishes was true, the one where he is brave and stands on his principles and doesn't fall into step beside Ford on his path to destruction.

So, where does this leave the timeline?

Finding exact dates is difficult, mostly because the only concrete numbers in J3 are few and far between, but we do have the dates of the tapes to go off as follows. This isn't concrete but it's a fun way to recontextualise the events of J3:

Day 1:

First usage of the gun, followed by it being used on Ford

Sometime after the Gremloblin incident, Fidd's arm is either healed or on the mend from the incident as his cast is gone, so likely towards the end of August.

Note on the cast: It could also be gone as a result of him removing it too early, he doesn't seem to take a lot of time to recover from the incident before he gets back to work in fear of disappointing Ford.

The room he is in is likely his bedroom in the Shack, or whatever location he initially uses to form the blind eye, maybe a room in the museum? The "probability of failure" graph in the back is the same one that he shows Ford the night before the Portal test, albeit a bigger version, meaning he has likely been tracking the output results for a while.

Day 5:

Still exhibiting postive results, no deterioration yet.

Day 22:

First signs of mental deterioration

First mention of the blind eye, Fidd draws the symbol onto a notebook but it is already scribbled in the background over a diagram of the portal. The blind eye symbol is first mentioned in J3, when Fidd hands it to the carny who becomes the eventual leader of the cult, so this diary likely takes place after he has begun using it on other people.

Official formation of the blind eye as a group to help people forget traumatic memories.

His room in the shack is in a state of disarray, his plants are dead and there are handprints in oil or ink on the walls. Notably, he seems to be connecting the idea of a single eye and the portal despite not being aware of Bill at this point, which I'll touch upon later.

The carnival is likely in September according to the timeline by @fordtato

Day 74:

Slight physical deterioration, more physical anxiety

It seems that Fidd has been regularly using the memory gun at this point, to erase even minorly distressing images from his head, and his anxiety has taken a nosedive. Likely explanation is that this diary is after the bunker, where he had another severely traumatic experience (kidnapped by a shapeshifter and reduced to mute from anxiety) and seemed to become obsessed with doomsday planning. During the bunker arc he also used the gun on multiple workmen and Ford once again.

Likely takes place in October/November

His room is a complete mess by now, with the walls covered in papers and "Help Me" scrawled on the walls.

At this point in J3, Ford has made his deal with Bill and is allowing him to possess his body whenever he pleases. Bill has also sucessfully driven a divide between the other two by making Ford doubt that Fidd will be able to make it to the end of the project, and Ford describes his frustration with him.

According to Ford, Fidd is just as agitated and nervous before the portal test as he was during the Gremloblin attack, and obsessively checks and rechecks his calculations, causing Ford to worry for his resolve.

In between this diary and the next are the stolen pages from J3 that are in TBOB, which give us slight insight into Fiddleford during this time but not much. We see that he tries multiple times to reach out to him the only way that Fidd knows how, through invention and creation, with the snowglobe and the six-fingered gloves. Ford, however, treats them carelessly as a result of his increased attention to his muse. At the same time, he tries to visit home but is kicked out by Emma-May after he forgets to get her a Christmas gift. This is played as an example of his connection with Ford, him remembering two gifts for the man and none for his wife, but if he really is suffering from his use of the gun at this time, the forgetfulness makes even more sense and his argument with his family means he doesn't have a support system outside of Ford who is paying all of his attention to the project. After this, Fiddleford is more reclusive than ever as he spends early January compiling a thesis for Ford to publish

Day 189

Physical deterioration is in full effect and he can't hide the result of his addiction any more, even just to keep up appearances.

His arm is broken, likely due to the car accident he mentions accidentally causing, but its the same arm he broke during the Gremloblin attack and could be a result of him taking his cast off too early for it to have healed right in the first place which could explain why he wears it for so long.

Significant mental decline as he has started exhibiting signs of brain damage or swelling (decreased vocabulary, forgetfulness, loss of motor functions) however, he is seemingly lucid enough to question if the memory gun is causing negative side effects.

There are actually bottles visible in the back of the room, possbly referencing the addiction metaphor being used here

This would take place after the portal test, likely late January. Ford is at the height of his paranoia, Fiddleford has left the shack and taken every trace of his research with him except his college picture with Ford, and the blind eye is a fully established and seemingly self-governing cult.

Day 273

At this point, Fidd has relocated to a motel and is seemingly completely mentally gone, ripping out his hair and developing his hunched posture. This likely takes place after the blind eye takes his memories, or he continues erasing them himself. It's possible that the blind eye continues visiting him and taking his memories even after he is ejected as a member, or at least until they forget who he is after using the gun on themselves too many times.

It appears to be snowing outside? Which doesn't line up with either the canon timeline or this timeline, so potentially the days on the video diaries could be incorrect assuming he isn't filming them every day, or has lost so much of his mind by this point that he isn't labelling them right and has lost track of time

The final two entries are a similar story, serving only to show us the end of his decline and him eventually becoming fully homeless, retreating to the junkyard he lives in for the next 28 years (jesus, he really deserved that mansion).

Ultimately though, this timeline asks a lot of interesting character questions.

Why did Ford not realise how bad Fiddleford's decline was becoming? Maybe a mix of circumstances, he was falling deeper into his worship of Bill at the time, to the extent that he was regularly being possessed and judging by the lack of journal entries at the time, very pre-occupied. We also know that Fidd used the gun on him at least twice in canon, and possibly used it more than we know in order to convince Ford he was okay.

If Fiddleford was erasing parts of Ford's memory, did Bill know? Personally, I feel that Bill was aware but knew that ultimately it would serve him. Fiddleford, without ever encountering Bill at this point, created the blind eye symbol which is eerily close to Bill's symbolism, how would he know that when we know Ford is possessive of his muse and doesn't share anything with Fidd about it? How does Ford have visions of Fidd in a red cloak without ever knowing that the cult and Fidd are directly connected? My thoughts are that Bill, who we know has erased Ford's memory himself before when he stole the journal pages we see in TBOB, was using most of this as fodder to drive a divide between the two, mentally creating associations in both of their minds so they stop trusting the other. Chess but with troubled gay men.

All in all I think Fiddleford's decline is such an interesting way to approach a theme of addiction, particularly a high-functioning addiction. If this really is how things played out, we know that throughout his use of the gun and even 30 years later when he is considered a write-off, the one thing he maintains is his engineering prowess and his smarts. It makes sense that even when actively using the gun and hiding it from Ford he would be able to keep up in terms of building the portal, especially when we know he secretly hired workers. It's also a great example of someone drawing others into their addiction, even if it was unintentional and he didn't believe they would be hurt in the long run.

I feel like sometimes there's a lil bit of a push to see Fidd as a naive or morally good character even through his mistakes and to demonise Ford in response, but ultimately both of them are very morally grey and have their own vices that they develop and grow from.

#eden rambles #gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddauthor #billford #gravity falls meta #society of the blind eye #geiger counter au #eden writes #bill cipher #stanford pines #thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

454 notes · View notes

flcwermimi · 7 months ago

Text

❛ THE ICEBERG EFFECT IN THE VOID STATE ❜

Even after doing right things / following the right method / being persistant towards our desires sometimes we don't get the fruitful outcome and we all have asked ourselves WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?

According to the research our conscious mind which is aware of our feelings, thoughts and behaviour is like a tip of an ICEBERG visible above the water & on the other hand majority of the iceberg, representing the unconscious mind, lies hidden beneath the surface.The unconscious mind is thought to contain instincts, repressed memories, and other mental processes that we are not directly aware of, but which still influence our behavior and decision-making.

Hand to Hand same happens on our Void/Manifestation journey. The ICEBERG in the void state are :

— SUPPRESSED EMOTIONS - Not being able to confess what u actually feel & often ignoring the emotions overcome this by doing some action regarding when u actually feel happy or angry CONFESS IT ' I am happy/ angry '

— UNRESOLVED PAST TRAUMA/ ISSUE - Even u feel it doesn't effect at all but it does unconsciously the burden of UNRESOLVED THINGS or UNADRESSES ISSUE can lead to several mental issue and to overcome it once must overlook yourself, apologize if u are wrong,get help, share their feelings with someone

— SCARED OF THEIR DESIRE - Often someone DM 's me saying that they're scared of having their desire which is completely normal and I feel to restrict this feeling from their self once should just appreciate their self , hangout with good energy people and decrease their screen time

— SOMETHING HOLDING BACK : From my recent post I got many DM regarding how they feel what is holding them back and it's important to have knowledge on the rights things misinformation sometimes stick to ourselves very deeply

— SELF DOUBT : Many people doubts them regarding the how powerful they're, they often find validation to have their desire so it's very important to work on self-concepts and stop questioning " is it possible" or " can I have this or that?"

— NOT STICKING TO ONE THING : One individual when they're trying to enter void often keeps changing methods or finding something which can magically help them and it often leads them finding hard to believe in any methods. Even if u fail at one method at 3 - 4 times doesn't mean it's not effective it's all about mindsets u must stick to one thing and stop looking sources like ' enter the void instantly/ do this method to happen in second ' because u are not realising how powerful u are actually u don't need those things everything is on your command

— COMPLICATING THINGS : As I seen so many of people making a bunch of routine it irritates me cause They are listening subliminals also and on the side they are even doing robotic affirmation and also five minutes they are doing PSYCH -K and next they are also doing mediation and on the night they will put long bunch hypnosis and in the same night they are doing WBTB method trust me you don't need so much things u doing these all things result that u are putting the void on the pedestal Just question yourself this all is needed?doing so much u are exhausting yourself physically and mentally

— TIME : For those who really starts to panic when they don't enter void on the specific time it's ok time hasn't been wasted nothing is wrong when u didn't enter the void on your specific time the only thing u will be doing wrong in that time is making diffrent theories, underestimating yourself, finding different methods, saying yourself a failure

So these we're some things I wanted to list from the very starting I hope u all read it all through find what is actually stopping you and there is no guarantee this thing happens to each and everyone I have listed it down by over analysing the success stories, my experience

Further what u can do is listen to self concept subliminals, building confidence, don't overwork on your selves, stop finding validation and logic in everything , surrounding yourself with postive beliefs , patience is virtue so keep persisting , do something new daily as if meditate or write a journal or share your thoughts with others learn new skills

That's it all no iceberg effect is bigger than you so stop doubting yourself you can do this it's all easy peasy 🤍🫶

#loa tumblr #loassumption #manifesting #void state #reality shifting #void success #void concept #robotic affirming #subliminals #void method #self concept #law of assumption #manifesation #mamifest

394 notes · View notes

prettieinpink · 1 year ago

Text

MAKING FRIENDS ♡

Friends add so much value to your life. Especially ones that you like, and there is a positive healthy exchange of support and love in between. However, some of us do struggle to create meaningful friendships that last. To start this post, I will start by talking about how friendships are essential to becoming the best versions of ourselves.

Friends help us in many ways, even if they don’t even do it directly. We discover new things about ourselves just by talking to them, we have a sense of belonging and build our self-esteem. It’s not impossible to have these things and be alone, though being alone for extended periods can fester feelings of social isolation & loneliness.

As someone who’s experienced both, usually, these feelings can make us spiral deeper as it is just the tip of the iceberg. Humans need daily communication to feel sane, which has been proven again and again.

If you decide to invest a lot more time, effort, and energy in friends, there’s bound to be an overflowing amount of rewards. Hanging around the right people can open up new opportunities for yourself drive you closer to achieving your goals and help advance your skills.

This being said, if you invest in the wrong people or neglect your friends, the opposite will more than likely happen. Remember that the people you allow in your life can influence you, whether for better or worse.

REDEFINING YOUR MINDSET TOWARDS MAKING FRIENDS

Your mindset is so crucial to making friends. It can either help you or not. Another thing is that your mindset towards life, in general, can either repel or attract people to be around you.

Firstly and importantly, do not get attached to people you barely know. Don’t overthink about them, change yourself for them or get anxious waiting for a reply. Seriously, detach. Little things like replies or if they’ll like you, should not bother you. The concept of it bothering you should not even exist in your mind.

Secondly, do not think of humans as assets to support your growth. This is just so icky and once you get that materialistic perspective on friendships, it just becomes harder to create meaningful ones. While friends can help you grow and achieve your goals, they will drop you once they realise they’re being taken advantage of.

Thirdly, stay true to yourself. A bit of common advice, yet not widely followed. Never, ever, make the effort to change yourself for someone to like you a bit better. If someone doesn’t like you for just who you are, they’re not meant to be in your life, forcing it causes unnecessary & avoidable circumstances.

Fourthly, quality over quantity always. When you get older especially, it shouldn’t be your priority to gain masses of friends. Most likely, not all of your friends like you because it’s harder to invest in all of them and causes you to neglect them.

However, having quality friends who help you grow and succeed will never stop serving you in life even if that friendship falls out. Plus, you are too busy achieving your goals every day to entertain everyone you know.

Lastly, do not allow disrespect just because you’re friends. They will test the waters to see how much you can tolerate, then you allow them to, they’re just going to get more extreme with it. Identify disrespect in ‘jokes’ or casual conservation and call it out. These people are praying for your downfall.

That being said, just because it is not happening to you, don’t allow it. Once you establish yourself as only wanting respect, you’re going to get treated like it.

DEFINING YOUR INNER AND OUTER CIRCLE

Your inner circle consists of people whom you are close to, and have healthy and positive relations with them. These are the kind of people who you’d go to for emotional support or to celebrate great successes in your life.

Then, you have your outer circle. These can be people who you’re close to, but they’re not the closest. It consists of people who you talk to regularly, but there’s still that distance. Distance is not a bad thing at all in friendships, not everyone is meant to be your closest friend.

Now those two terms are established, I want you to visualise how you want those two circles to look. These can be people who you want to be friends with, wanting to cut anyone off or just people who you hope to meet one day.

Then define how you want to feel with those two circles, like a loving or caring circle, or a growth and learning circle. This is completely up to you, about how those circles feel and look like as it is for you.

I recommend writing your visualisations down and putting them somewhere you can see regularly. This is just to help us get into the energy of making meaningful friendships every day.

STANDARDS + CRITERIA IN FRIENDS

The heading is a little bit off-putting, I understand. However, it is essential to establish a set of standards once you start making friends. This is to make sure you’re making quality friendships, and not attaching to just anyone.

This is a bit of individual advice, you have to curate your standards by yourself. A personal example is that I’m Christian myself, I believe in God and I’m devoted to him.

So, in that case, I won’t allow other religions or non-religious people into my inner circle. While they can be in my outer circle, I would prefer having most of my friends believe in God and uphold his values.

Standards and criteria in friends can either be a must quality (they must have this quality) or a preferred quality (I prefer if they did, don’t mind if they don’t). You decide which qualities are which, and if they apply to your inner or outer circle.

Can’t say much, but to help you, I advise looking into yourself internally and once again, visualising what those friendships look like daily. To help, I’ve gathered a few journaling prompts!

What do you think are the responsibilities of friendship?

What is the nicest thing a friend could ever do for you?

What do you think friendship is?

How do you expect the aftermath to be after an argument with a friend?

How can someone become a part of your inner circle?

What behaviour makes you want to cut someone off?

Who were your favourite friends in the past? What did they do to become your favourite?

How would you like to be shown appreciation daily?

Do you like banter or prefer showering each other with compliments?

Then, extract from your responses to these prompts, some characteristics or traits that you look for in friendships.

BECOMING SOCIALLY ELOQUENT The first tip i’m going to give to you is to read. Not just in your head, but out loud reading. Read, and see if you’re going too fast or too slow, you’re pronouncing words clearly and know when to pause. Bonus points if you record yourself reading, then rewatch it to see your progress.

Search up any words you don’t know and how to pronounce them, and to test yourself, think of a way to use those words in an everyday sentence.

While this helps to expand your vocabulary as well, really keep in mind the setting of the conservation. If you’re at a science and math invention fair, more advanced language is suited. However, you wouldn’t use that same way of speaking casually at a party.

The second tip is to get rid of all filler words in your vocabulary.

Unnecessary when speaking and it can make you an unengaging conservationist. Just take a pause when thinking, and if you forget what you were talking about, tell your listener or just change the topic. Sometimes, these words are needed when speaking, but not all the time.

The third tip is just to do everything slower, while speaking. Move your hands slower, don’t dart your eyes around and take deep breaths before speaking. If not, you seem anxious and jittery, in which your words will not be clear.

The fourth tip is to pay attention to the listener. Make eye contact with them and ask questions about them too. This makes it a lot more engaging and therefore, easier for the listener to listen.

My fifth tip, and the most important, is to practice speaking. Whether it is in front of a mirror or with a partner. Use notes as reminders while practising to help you remember what to do. There are even videos on YouTube where you can pretend you’re having a conversation with someone, or you could just make your own.

However, practice yourself to speak without preparation. Like for example, you strike up a conservation with your classmate and apply the things you’ve learnt.

Bear in mind, that the whole point of becoming socially eloquent isn’t to make people listen to you, but to make it easier for people to listen to you.

MAKING FRIENDS + KEEPING THEM

Now everything else is out of the way, let’s talk about what you probably came here for. How to make friends and keep them. Better said than done.

The settings where you meet someone are important. It allows you to easily connect with people who are similar to you in any way, without actually having to state it. Here are a few places to meet people.

Church/any religious site (same beliefs)

Sports club (like that sport/exercise)

Any classes (people who like learning/that hobby)

School or university (you’ve got something to connect over)

These are just a few examples of where to meet people, however, you do not have to go somewhere else just to meet someone. Sometimes, I go to my nearest shopping mall or supermarket either after school or on the weekend and talk to any girls who look around my age, with whom I’ve gained so many friends.

While going to a particular setting helps to find people with similarities, it’s not the essential piece to meet people.

If you struggle to make friends just by striking up a conversation, just make yourself known to others first. Help them when needed, compliment them or greet them daily. They will most likely approach you first and talk to you first as you’ve deemed yourself approachable. Do not rely on this method though, not everyone is willing to approach you.

Once you find a potential friend and you’re talking to them, make sure it’s an engaging conversation. First, ask open-ended questions. Open-ended questions are ones that someone can expand on, basically not yes or no answers.

Do you own any cats? -> What’s your favourite cat breed?

Do you enjoy *activity*? -> What’s your favourite thing to do after school?

When can we hang out? -> Where’s your favourite place to hang out?

These are the kinds of questions that you get to know someone and are engaging. Remember, do not be overbearing with questions, it can come off as kinda odd.

Secondly, find any similarities and talk about them. For example, a sport, a favourite book, a hobby, religion. It is so easy for people to connect over their favourite things.

Thirdly, have open and friendly body language. Smile when they’re talking, maintain eye contact, avoid crossing your arms and legs, and lean in to show you’re listening. People love love, good listeners.

My fourth point which refers back to being good listeners, is remembering what they say. If they said, oh I love going to the beach, maybe suggest going to the beach together. Or, they said, I hate studying, then the next time they have a test, help them study.

Lastly, avoid small talk. It becomes awkward and the answers are always the same. If you must, ask them about things that happened in their life. Like, how’s that boy you’re talking to or did you do well on that test?

Most people also hate small talk. So, if every single conservation is just small talk, they would not want to talk to you.

These little things that you remember can make people like you and therefore, want to be your friend. I remember stuff about people by just writing it down and occasionally referring back to it.

Now, let’s say you’ve got your friend now. However, you don’t have a way of talking to them every day. They don’t live close by nor do they attend your school/uni/any place. So, how do we keep them?

Easy, invest in those friendships. Talk to them via messages or phone, schedule days to hang out, check up on them to make sure they’re doing well, be honest with them, remember important dates of their lives etc.

Keeping friends is just about being a good friend to them. Just think about how you would like to get treated by your friends and treat them like that. Even if they don’t reciprocate, putting out those positive actions, will come back to you one day.

1K notes · View notes

flanaganfilm · 11 months ago

Note

howdy!! do you rewatch your own work? if so, how often? im wondering if it has the same "artist just sees faults with what they create" thing, or if youre able to appreciate past projects the way they deserve

I don't, typically... usually, by the time we're finished with post production, I've seen the thing so many times that I'm thrilled to stop watching it. I'm either sick of it, or just feeling like it doesn't belong to me anymore. There are other reasons, too - Hill House was a traumatic production for me, for example, I have a lot of complicated emotions woven into it, so I haven't felt ready to rewatch that one since before it aired. Maybe in a few more years.

Somewhat recently, I've revisited a few of the older movies with my eldest son, who is 13 now. He's basically as old as my career itself. We've watched Oculus, Hush, The Midnight Club (which he LOVED, proving it worked for our target audience) and Ouija: OOE together, and each of those screenings was a really cool experience. His reactions and questions were really fascinating, and I felt like I was able to see those movies anew through his eyes. That's the closest I've come to feeling like I was really seeing them, and that's only because so much time has gone by for those. I watched the Director's Cut of Doctor Sleep a few years back at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park Colorado. It was part of a live NoSleep Podcast event, and that was the first time I'd seen that movie since it was released. It was also the first and only time I'd ever seen the Director's Cut with an audience. That was a really special screening and it meant a lot to me.

I haven't yet had the guts to revisit any of the TV series other than Midnight Club. As my kids get older, I'm sure I'll watch them all with them. The one I'm most excited to see is Midnight Mass, which remains my favorite of the shows. I haven't seen it since before it came out - I remember the last day of post on that show, watching down each episode with final mix and color. That's a series I wish I could actually watch like a viewer at home, and while I'll never truly be able to do that, I look forward to looking at it with some real distance.

There are a few of the older projects I'd be curious to watch now. I wonder how Absentia holds up - I was such a baby when we made that movie, and it's been so long. I imagine I could watch that today and have a really trippy experience. I also haven't revisited Before I Wake in a very long time, and I always really loved that script. The movie was a rough road, and my feelings were mixed by the time it finally found its finish line (Relativity Media really beat that one up), but that could also be a really interesting viewing experience at this stage of my career.

But generally, each of these movies is a journey, and once the journey is over it's tough to ever really go back. There's little point, and moving forward feels like a matter of survival. The "finished product" is only the tip of a large, deep, labyrinthian iceberg for me. It's impossible to only see what's on the surface, no matter how hard I try.

(Interesting side-note: The only exception I've found to this rule is The Life of Chuck. We just finished post production on the movie, and I've watched it dozens and dozens of times now - but I've never grown tired of it, not even a little bit. That movie is something special, and I am eager to watch it again - and again - and again. I don't know that I'll ever want distance from that one; in fact, watching it brings me a sense of joy, comfort, and safety.)

#midnight mass #the fall of the house of usher #the haunting of hill house #the midnight club #doctor sleep #the haunting of bly manor #ouija origin of evil #oculus #before i wake #absentia #ouija: origin of evil #gerald's game

323 notes · View notes

wickerwax · 24 days ago

Text

Imitation, and Other Forms of Flattery (Codywan First Kiss Bingo 4)

There was a tubie on-board The Negotiator.

There should not have been a tubie anywhere near the star destroyer, not unless they were doing some sort of refugee carrying, or helping out with a- a- a migration or resettlement or something – there should very specifically not have been a clone trooper tubie on The Negotiator while they were in hyperspace after leaving Coruscant.

They hadn’t even been near Kamino in weeks!?

Cody felt like he was having a stroke. He was pretty sure the Kaminoans had bred those out but the tubie - and his General cuddling it - were winning that battle against Kaminoan engineering.

“Hello there, Commander,” said his General, continuing to cuddle the tubie. It looked at him with big, dark eyes, and something in him quailed that he could ever have been so small as that. This was not office-appropriate.

“General,” he replied, strangled. “Sir, what-”

“We had a stowaway, it seems.” the man interrupted smoothly, smiling. “Luckily we hadn’t gotten very far -”

The ship shuddered gently as it exited hyperspace.

“-Ah, excellent. We’ll have one of the Seeker ships out here in no time to retrieve her.” The tubie snuggled against General Kenobi’s neck, starting to giggle at the tickle of his beard. A small brown hand buried itself in the ginger-blond. He stared.

“Sir,” Cody said, because that only explained the barest tip of the iceberg of what was going on, “Why would – I mean, that’s a tubie. General.”

Kenobi looked down at the impossible creature and Cody watched that soft-eyed smile get wider. “Oh. Oh. My apologies, Cody dear. Zanah here is one of our younglings, she’s a clawdite – she’s been fascinated with your brothers. They do say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

The tubie -Zanah – blinked hugely at Cody. Abruptly, she released his General’s beard and flopped sideways, both hands grabbing for- for him. “Co-ee!” she said, as Kenobi shifted his grip to accommodate her new orientation. “Co-ee, up!”

“Manners, Zanah,” the Jedi scolded fondly.

“Up, Co-ee, please.” she amended instantly, batting her eyes.

“You’re already as up as it gets without General Skywalker here,” Cody told the tubie. She seemed unappeased. He found the picture they made, his General’s freckled face close with that small, very familiar one, vaguely discomforting in a way he really didn’t want to explore. “I can’t help you with up more than the General can.”

Zanah scrunched up her face – his face, once – and tears welled up in those brown eyes.

“Please?” she half-lisped, and Cody broke. He stepped into their space, arms lifting automatically, and got a child to the chest before he was ready (he was never going to be ready. Not this child – not this close to Kenobi).

The tears vanished like magic as she squirrelled herself into his arms. She settled her curly little head on his shoulder and nestled in like she was -

“Oh,” Kenobi said softly, and Cody made the mistake of looking up. Neither of them stepped back post-child-transfer, and grey-blue eyes now filled his metaphorical viewscreen. “A nap is probably a good idea.”

He could tip his head forward and they would be touching. Cody adjusted his hold on the – on Zanah. “You said a Seeker ship was coming?” He kept his voice low and private – to avoid upsetting the tubie snuffling into his shoulder. Not so his General needed to stay closed in this moment with him just to hear. It was – strategic.

The Jedi hummed quietly. “They already knew she was missing – it doesn’t tend to take us long.” Smiling at close range like that was a kind of lethality Cody wished he had taken into account. He could see the shadow of a dimple beneath that coppery beard, the exact angle the corner of his mouth curled up. “So it was a matter of direction. I’d give it a half hour, at best. It took me nearly that to retrieve her from Waxer and Boil.”

A suspicious absence, now that Cody knows. “I’m surprised they didn’t follow you in here, General.”

“Ah, well, they mentioned something about an appropriate send-off.” Kenobi’s gaze dropped to the small, slumbering creature, who had apparently had a very exciting morning. “She does seem charmed by you, Commander.”

He should slide the fragile little bundle back into Kenobi’s far gentler, peace-knowing hands and go disrupt his senior officers almost-certainly out of control plans. He patted her back instead and allowed the oddly sticky grip on the neck of his blacks to remain. “She has limited experience, I imagine, sir.”

The Jedi laughed quietly at him. “Or, my dear Commander, you are simply a very charming man.”

While he was distracted over that, his General had clearly come to some sort of resolution. He laid a warm hand on Cody’s shoulder and nudged him down into his seat, as across the room the kettle lit up and started to heat. “If you are to play sleeping mat, darling, I can at least see you properly acquitted with chair and caf.”

Sitting, his arms occupied by cradling a Jedi youngling who thought their faces were fascinating enough to voluntarily wear – who so immediately classed Cody as a desirable holder and space to sleep – he had nothing to do but watch General Kenobi make the drinks. There was an economy of movement there – having done this exact thing so many times – and his face was lowered like he was focusing but – he couldn’t be really. Who focused that much on tea and caf when their hands so thoroughly knew their work? No, Kenobi was thinking.

He, too, might be considering strategies to avoid the worst of Waxer and Boil’s excess. Their idea of an appropriate send-off could be anything from a late-stage kidnapping to a hazardous-to-the-ventilation number of contraband balloons.

He hoped it was the balloons.

He could make them clean up that mess and consider the consequences of excess. Not – not disguising the tubie as one of the MSE droids or something ridiculous.

The cup of caf clinked as his General set it on the table and Cody jolted. The Jedi was smiling again, blue eyes gleaming cheerful amidst their multitude of irritatingly-appealing eye crinkles. He did not comment on Cody’s frown. Only touched two fingers back to his shoulder and murmured, “If you lean back slightly, you should only need the one arm to keep her stable – at least for as long as it takes to sip.”

Carefully, Cody shifted himself backwards. Zanah snorted into his shoulder, and he felt an unpleasant dampness forming as she drooled in her sleep. She kicked. Her tiny foot bounced off his ribs and he felt a completely disproportionate kind of pain at how little force there was behind the hit.

“There you go,” Kenobi’s voice was so soft. He looked like he was holding back from leaning in himself and Cody had no idea what to do with that thought. Slowly, he lifted the non-weight-bearing arm resting against Zanah’s back. She kept sleeping, and Cody got a caf mug deposited with great care into his hand.

“Thank you, sir.” Cody hesitated, then continued, “Will she get in trouble?”

The Jedi retrieved his own mug and took his neighbouring seat before answering. “Will she be punished? No, of course not. But there will be conversations with her carers about letting someone know where she is – about how we worried she was lost or hurt. Gently, at what level she can best understand. And – apparently she managed a rather impressive notice-me-not – her crèchemaster will be on the lookout for that sort of – well, it’s kind of like a gap in your senses, it’s far more difficult to add noise to properly cover that absence – ah, that is to say, we shall adjust to meet her where she is. There may be changes.” He sighed, staring down into his tea as though the faintly steaming liquid held answers and not floral complexities I find comforting when surrounded by all this durasteel, Cody dear. “It is easier when the Temple is less empty.”

Cody hummed, comforted himself by the now-familiar tangle of scents.

“So, no. She won’t be in trouble, Cody, not like that.” he finished, glancing over - smile ebbed away into regrettable wryness. Previous conversations – tiptoeing around Kamino and its approach to the raising of their units – lay between them like a napping kamoradon. He could almost hear the not like you were. The I’m sorry for what was done. The I would see every brother of yours given home and hope and childhood were it in my power. He chose to leave the kamoradon un-woken. It wasn’t him that those teeth were pointing at.

As well, it wasn’t like he didn’t know about the meetings with senators – Kenobi pulled him in on as many as he could, was hardly the only Jedi asking their troops for input on the progress and wording of bills. Was aware, as well, that the Jedi Order at large had had no idea of their existence until his General – his General – had all but stumbled across them. The Prime had a lot to answer for – it was probably the only uncomplicated reason he had for wishing sometimes that the man had made it off Geonosis.

Zanah hurked in a sudden breath that took all of her tiny body and he had to replace the caf tableward with a clink to stabilise her. Her face lifted up towards him and she slapped a hand to his cheek in a clumsy pat as he blinked at her. The hand was not any less sticky for having already grimed his collar. “Co-ee sad?” she said, looking like she would mutiny about it if he was. Little gods, his officers would let her.

“No, no, I’m okay.” he said hurriedly, half-aware of his General’s attention getting sharper. “I was – ah, I was worried about you, Zanah.”

Her face – vod but not – scrunched. She said, voice wavering, “Zanah sad?”

His lungs grew knots. “No – Zanah, everyone is okay. It’s all okay. You were having a nice nap, yeah?”

Blinking hugely – but not yet watering – she considered him from right up close. She patted at his face again, nearer his scar. “Face hurted?”

The relief was enormous. He breathed out like a flood scouring a wadi clean. “Yeah- yes. Yes, it aches a little. It’s okay now, thank you.”

That solemn little face observed him. He could see his Jedi in that expression, and on that face it ached. If he looked sideways he might see it twice over, so he concentrated on making himself look calm and peaceful for the tubie – the youngling.

She narrowed her eyes. Nodded firmly. “Needs a kiss better. Master Urlu says it kind- kindest sooda sting.”

“Kindness soothes the sting,” General Kenobi repeated smoothly, “Well done, Zanah. What if Cody doesn’t want a kiss?”

Cody was not looking. “Cody might want-”

“Hafta ask what’s their kindest. Kind-ness, Master ‘Nobi.” Zanah said, overlapping, wiggling excitedly at the Jedi Master, “What helps.” She arrowed back in on Cody as he swallowed. Master ‘Nobi. “What helps, Co-ee? Cody?”

“A kiss would help,” he allowed, ducking his head down. She planted a kiss over the scar with an enthusiastic smack. His General was poorly muffling a laugh. He was having altogether too many feelings for a Marshal Commander on a warship and none of them were about combat, save for that which he would indulge in if someone upset this tubie.

“Master ‘Nobi, kiss help!” Zanah said, doing more of her delighted wiggling. He was focused on making sure she didn’t overbalance and didn’t take enough notice of the laugh to his side strangling quiet. When she jabbed a hand out towards the General, he compensated automatically and followed her gaze to a paling Kenobi.

Cody suddenly registered the stare-down occurring. Zanah was dramatically furrowing her less-than-impressive eyebrows, while General Kenobi was raising his with an air of studied innocence. “Just so, your kiss helped Cody feel better.”

“Master ‘Nobi! You gotta ask.” she maintained. “Master Urlu-”

“Cody,” The Jedi said, pretending he wasn’t clinging to his tea, “It simply must be asked, it appears. What would help you, my dear?”

He had a mad, brilliant, shooting-star idea. He could space himself. His mouth said, his mouth repeated, “A kiss would help.”

Zanah crowed. Kenobi’s pale filled back in with pink. “Ah.” he said.

“Quite,” he said.

“Wonderful modelling, positive reinforcement around affection between friendly adults,” he said.

Cody had clearly lost his mind and all he could think to do was smile. Encouraging. Zanah crowed again, and his General put his mug down too loudly.

“Right,” he said, and leaned over. He ruffled Zanah’s curls until she giggled and did her ineffectual best to push him at Cody’s face. Still, the man moved his focus. Once again, this close, his eyes were sabre-bright. Lightning against storm clouds. Hard to look at without getting dazzled. “Last chance, Commander.”

“I’m looking forward to being soothed by your kindness.” he replied, utterly incapable of melting butter or any other dairy-based product. Too smooth – Kenobi’s legendary side-eye made an appearance, and also he seemed to be about a foot above his own head while somehow still almost nose-to-nose. “You asked, General.”

“I have been utterly railroaded and I’m not sure it wasn’t planned.” his General muttered, twitchy. He touched a hand to Cody’s shoulder again – barely felt, hardly worth a mention, burning – and ghosted a kiss over the scar curling Cody’s eye. “Better, Cody?”

“I’m not, uh, not sure I felt that.” he managed, half his voice getting lost in-between his lungs and his lips.

This close, he thought he heard the Jedi say, you’re going to be the death of me, but then Kenobi was pressing his mouth firmly to his scar, soft and warm and impossible, and Cody lost the whisper in favour of replaying the touch as his General drew back, looking – unsure.

“Better?’ he asked again and Cody fished up a bright smile for him and for Zanah, bouncing against his shoulder and beaming upwards.

“Much.” he said, as something sunlit and fluttering went bacchanal in his chest. “Much better.”

The pink in General Kenobi’s cheeks darkened a touch. He sat properly back into his seat, averting his eyes and taking up his tea as anchor. “Excellent! Well then-”

His comm chirped loudly. Kenobi lunged for it. “Ah, the Seeker’s ship has arrived. Zanah, my darling, your chariot home is here.”

“Master Urlu?” she asked.

“Shall we go and find out?” he asked her. His shoulders had smoothed back out with a task at hand. Cody’s face still tingled.

Zanah squealed and reached for him and Cody’s tubie was neatly stolen away. His General paused - at the door before Cody’d even managed to get to his feet. “Perhaps, Commander, you might waylay our excellent officers before any especially extravagant plans come to fruition? I’ll delay so you, and they, can make their goodbyes, of course.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed. “Coward.” he accused.

Kenobi took the hit and grinned. “On this? Undoubtedly.”

@codywanfirstkissbingo number foooour is "uncertain kiss" and it's also my swapsie <3333 cl

#my writing #star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #cwfkb2025 #click the title to go to the ao3 version ^^#accidental child acquisition (temporary)#i get a lil silly with this one but hey its cute its fine

115 notes · View notes

angorwhosebabyisthis · 1 year ago

Text

man. honestly, i think it says something about the eternal question of whether my baseline thinking is supposed to be on the slower/stiller end, or if that being the case means something's Off, that my brain can in fact be going a mile a minute thinking hard about something and yet that still counts as elevator music to me the moment i turn part of my attention to something else

#whosebaby talks #it's the difference between 'brain is Simply' (pleasant vibing) and 'brain is Simply' (increasing restlessness and distress)#i think most people would assume i'm describing something Unpleasant when i say my brain is being a bunch of spider legs #but i'm like no that's Happy Moogle i am meant to be doing that fsjdjfkfkd #i do still have to steer away from it sometimes when i get overwhelmed by Too Many Thoughts at Once #or when the thing my brain has decided to gnaw on is Upsetting; and not in a way that's worth tackling to Process It at the moment #but yeah i think that's just generally what i'm supposed to be doing and when i'm not it's probably a brain fog/low energy/can't focus thing #if you think i am long-winded here the stuff i actually end up posting is like. the tip of the iceberg #if it's something that actually makes it here and isn't like a one-line shitpost or something #there is a very good chance it's a small condensed part of a subject i think extensively about for hours at a time on the regular #there's a lot lmao #i am the very model of a modern neurotypical etc

1 note · View note

dancermk · 2 years ago

Text

I’m a little disappointed to see so much discourse, fandom competitiveness, and plain arguing going around at the moment in regards to queer film/TV. People complaining about too much sex, not enough sex, too cheesy, made for the hets, too happy, too sad, too realistic, too unrealistic, and a million other petty issues. I, for one, am a queer person in my 50s and I grew up with practically zero representation! Yes, we want to continue onwards and upwards with quality and varied shows BUT let’s be HAPPY we now have representation! Like, actual shows where the central characters are queer, not just a side character who gets f*cking murdered! There is room for all different types of representation - so enjoy the types you like, and let others enjoy what they like.

And on a side note: progress is progress and film/tv is a business that has to turn a profit! If some queer content is made to appeal to the straight community, and will also act as a means of reducing homophobia and increasing understanding, then that’s a good thing. That means in the future more and more content will include queer stories and representation. If only 10% (ish) of the population is the maximum target audience then shows won’t keep getting made!

There is a huge backlash all over the world right now - a “push back” by conservatives and religious groups that want to wind back the clock, and specifically the last decade of advances.

So stick together queers and LGBTQIA+ allies.

I’m super happy knowing I don’t have to wait years between content anymore. And I’ve loved all different types of shows over the last 5 years, for lots of different reasons!

Interview with the Vampire - is giving me the toxic, passionate gothic love affair I’ve always wanted. And addressing interracial relationships.

Heartstopper - is filling me up with pure joy and hopefulness for the future.

Shameless - gave me Ian and Mickey - unique, anti stereotypical gays with a tragic yet ultimately beautiful love story spanning 11 years

Lone Star 911 - is giving me TK and Carlos whose sexuality barely factors into the storyline! Yay!

Looking - gave me an authentic queer experience and an intoxicating love triangle.

Red, white and Royal Blue - gave me a sweet, cute romcom that allowed reality to be sidelined. Fun escapism!

Young Royals - had me captivated by first love and intense angst.

Fire Island - an underrated romcom that made me laugh so hard I cried.

Sex education - shoved the realities of sex in our faces and provided me with laughter and drama and a range of queer identities.

Gentlemen Jack -gave me historical lesbians with spectacular wit, and feminine power.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg- because there’s SO SO SO many more shows I could mention! Don’t at me because I didn’t mention YOUR favourite. This is my point! There is SO much great content it would take all day for me to include everything. This is just a sample - and that’s f*cking brilliant!!

So maybe we could all start posting/tweeting etc about what WE DO LIKE / LOVE / MAKES US FEEL LOVED AND SEEN and put down the device if we’ve got nothing nice to say.

Sending everyone a love filled week! 💜

911 notes · View notes

genericpuff · 15 days ago

Note

Dyou ever feel disappointed (?) that there aren't more eyes on LR? I know you keep it on the DL to avoid Rachel's wrath but I 100% know the only reason it's not more popular is that not enough people know about it. You put in a lot of work that we all really love but I know the notes count could be higher. Is this something you care about? We can try to spread it more if so, but going back to the Rachel/not intruding on LO spaces point...

Ouu so that's a good question, but honestly... nah, not really. And I'm not even saying that to be "humble" or whatever, it's literally just... what y'all are seeing in Rekindled is, to me, a step away from my usual patterns and habits that I've been dealing with for years now. It's forced me out of my comfort zones, but most importantly, it's got me creating purely for the fun of it, for the self-indulgence, without any of the usual pressures I've forced upon myself in the past for the work I do to "mean something" or for it to "be successful". It's not just the tip of a massive iceberg, it's practically a whole ass detour. Rekindled is like one of those road trip movies where the reluctant stickler gets strung along by the aloof weirdos, driven off the beaten path, and winds up realizing by the end of the crazy journey that it was worth taking the long way home.

That's not to say making Rekindled doesn't come with its own unique pressures or that I don't take it seriously, but they're different from the pressures I've dealt with in the past and the nature of Rekindled being what it is means... I don't have to take it as seriously as the car crash that was my original work prior to it? 💀😆 (which I already took way more seriously than what was healthy for me, in hindsight). Like I can take it seriously as a creative project that I wanna see through, especially where it's meant to "fix" stuff that felt misguided / done poorly in LO, but because it's effectively fanfiction, I can separate it from the expectations that came from my original work. It can never pay my bills, so I don't have to worry about it doing so. It shouldn't be the only thing I'm ever known for, so I don't need it to amount to my legacy.

A good example of what I mean are what you brought up - the notes count. Thing is, compared to social media platforms like Instagram and Facebook and even Youtube, posting exclusively to Tumblr over the past couple years has been great for my mental health. Unlike those other platforms, my follower count isn't on full display to both myself and others. There's no real bearing on notes beyond clout, and that clout only exists within Tumblr - going "viral" on this hellsite doesn't amount to the same things as going viral on a platform like Twitter, for the most part my work still stays within its respective audience where it's meant to be and even if I do have an episode "take off" in notes... it doesn't really matter? Like to me there's virtually no difference between a post that has 300 notes and a post that has 30,000 notes. And I actually do have a couple posts that have "taken off" like that. It's neat but it's also like... okay, life goes on. Except now I'm gonna keep getting notifications about that one post forever LMAO

Granted, it would be different if the posts were actually intended to get as many eyes on it as possible - like if they were posts meant to generate income in some way through advertising Patreon, Ko-Fi, merch shops, etc. - but it's rare that I ever do that because obviously with Rekindled being what it is, I can't really profit off it anyways.

And that's okay! I've spent enough years worrying over the online "gains" and bearing the weight of my work's responsibility to my livelihood on my shoulders.

Rekindled is fun. Even when it's stressful, when an episode goes up late or when I'm still finding myself procrastinating, it's fun. It's neat that it now has a TV Tropes page and that there are some Youtubers who talk about it every now and then, but... the novelty of those things comes paired with the pressure and fear of knowing my work is being perceived outside of my own scope. Sure, that's just what happens when you share your work online, but even I , in all of the hubris I had to have to create Rekindled in the first place, can't pretend like I'm infallible to that sort of thing. Every time a Youtuber talks about it, every time there's a thread in /r/webtoons about it, every time someone besides myself uses the #lore rekindled tags, I have to live with the small but real consequences of doing what I do - the anons taking it upon themselves to judge me in my own inbox, the Youtube commenters forming their own opinions based on what they assume are my intentions (even when those assumptions are often false), the redditors arguing back and forth over the virtue of transformative rewrites.

It's a small price to pay, for everything that I do here. I can't very well sit here on my pedestal talking shit about something like LO without taking some of that shit in return regarding my own work. It's only natural people will have misinformed opinions about what I do, or will take it upon themselves to dissect and debate and discuss my work regardless of whether they even like the work or not. I try to take it as proactively as I can, that it's a metric of success in and of itself - what I'm making has made people feel something, for some joy, and for others, frustration. The art has done everything it could ever do, for better and for worse - it's made people feel and think and talk. Most of all, it's made me feel and think and talk, and create, and experiment, and fail, and succeed in ways I never thought myself capable before. It's more than I ever expected - and all I really needed to come out of all this.

----------

All that aside, it's not like Rekindled isn't already doing a lot in the way of "expanding my reach", so to speak. Though it is just Tumblr, I've gotten to meet so many amazing readers and writers and artists through this project, and that's at the heart of why I make comics at all. I'm not joking or exaggerating when I say that Rekindled literally couldn't be what it is without the community that surrounds it. And that's a community that I'm hoping will still be interested in hanging with lil' old me even after Rekindled is over.

Rekindled isn't my first rodeo and it certainly won't be my last. In fact, I'm currently (finally) overcoming some of the burnout that's been persisting over the past couple years with my original project, and I'm breaking down walls I literally couldn't have broken down before. I hadn't realized I had been suffocating, and Rekindled wound up being that breath of fresh air that I needed to live again.

It's gonna take time, and there's still a lot of healing happening on my end, but I'm making plans again for what I really wanna do esp for when Rekindled is over, and it's exciting, and scary, and most of all, hopeful.

So all that's to say, if you (anon) or you (everyone else) are really interested in "boosting" my work and getting more eyes on it... well, I suppose I better start sharing more of it outside of just Rekindled, shouldn't I? I hope that when I do, it's welcomed as eagerly as you all welcomed Rekindled. It'll be quite different, and likely won't be everyone's cup of tea, but I hope all the work I've done on Rekindled so far - and what we still have left to accomplish in the future - proves what I'm capable of and allows for the opportunity to really connect with my work, wholly me. Y'all took a chance on me when I first started posting those lil' glow edits and the first scrappy sketches of Rekindled back in the day, so I hope when the time comes, y'all can take that chance on me again <3

And hey, here's a fun fact for you to close out this long response - though it might not be a major platform, judging by the metrics I can see on the surface from other comics alongside it, I'm pretty sure Rekindled is carrying like 90% of the current traffic numbers on Dillyhub LMAO Like seriously, the next highest liked / subbed comic I could find on there didn't even amount to a third of the amount of likes and subs I have on there just through Rekindled. It's actually hilarious, but also kinda sad, because damn... the devs really have abandoned that place. So it's not exactly all that impressive. But that's pretty much exactly why I chose it as a mirror in the first place - I sure as shit wasn't gonna test my luck posting it to Webtoons or Tapas, and the only reason I even wanted a mirror site in the first place was to give non-Tumblr users a place to read it (without being badgered to make an account and without having to sift through all my rants and essays LMAO) so Dillyhub just kinda made sense as a place that was functional enough to host it but not big enough to draw any unwanted attention. Sooo I guess what I'm saying is, you're welcome Dillyhub?? 😆

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore rekindled ama #original art

74 notes · View notes