The Spicy Librarian's Hot Take

When people say “lazy,” they usually mean
“you aren’t hustling for my comfort.”

But the Sloth knows better.
The Sloth is a boundary with fur.

She doesn’t speed up to prove worth.
She doesn’t perform regulation for spectators.
She rests — because rest is the first act of power.

In survival mode, stillness is dangerous.
If you stop, you get hurt.
If you relax, you become prey.

So when a submissive chooses calm?
That’s rebellion.
That’s bravery.
That’s devotion to self.

My nervous system is the first Dom I obey.
Safety must be earned before pace is surrendered.

Sloth energy says:

✨ I choose the tempo.
✨ I choose when the scene starts.
✨ I choose when softness is allowed.

In a healthy dynamic, a Dominant understands this isn’t defiance —
it’s a yes to sustainability.
It’s building a structure that protects the body that kneels.

Obedience lets you ritualize that surrender gently:
• Weekly “slow days” you both honor
• Bedtime reminders made by someone who cares
• Tasks that support calm instead of demanding output

The Sloth reminds us:

You’re not a machine.
You’re a creature who deserves peace before performance.

And any Dom who earns a submissive’s rest? That’s real power.

🔗

Submission isn’t something handed to me.
It’s something I cultivate — intentionally, deliberately, and beautifully.

My left arm is becoming The Sanctuary:
a place where trust settles, where softness is protected,
and where rest is finally allowed to exist without apology.

Seven animals will live there —
all resting, all peaceful —
yet every one of them has teeth.

Because my submission is calm by choice,
not because I lack power.
Because my stillness is strategic,
not passive.
Because the peace I’m building inside me
is guarded by creatures who know how to bite
when safety requires it.

This month, I’m honoring that truth.
Self-obedience comes first.
Structure and rituals aren’t things I wait to receive —
they’re things I build for myself
so that, one day, someone worthy can be invited in.

Here’s what’s coming:

Sloth — Rest is a ritual

Quokka — Safety in being held

Panda — Peace as progress

Chameleon — Adaptability without erasure

Tiger — Power at rest

Meerkat — Watchfulness as connection

Squirrel — Gathering rewards from devotion

My softness has teeth.
And it rests on purpose.

If you’d like to build your own sanctuary…
explore Obedience with me.
🔗
#ObedientTogether

I was never meant to fit in a box. I know that now. Not because I refused to conform, but because I spent my whole life dissecting the damn boxes. Picking out the parts that felt true, discarding what didn’t. Before I even knew I was neurodivergent, I was already building my own operating system from fragments of everyone else’s.

Autism said I was too much. ADHD said I was not enough. Trauma said I was both. So I crafted my own mold: intelligent, intuitive, relentless. A creature built from contradiction. A paradox wrapped in flesh.

No wonder kink found me.

Where else can someone like me belong, if not in a world where rules are made to be negotiated and safety is built and not assumed. In kink, my contradictions aren’t pathologized. They’re worshipped. Honored. Played with.

I'm the good girl who craves praise and the brat who needs to be put in her place. I'm the scholar with a mouth full of theory and a gag between her teeth. I'm a bottom with a spine of steel. A submissive who sets the terms of her surrender.

If you feel this—if you've never quite belonged because you’re made of too many parts that don’t fit neatly—then maybe you’re not broken. Maybe you’re like me: boxless by design. And maybe, just maybe, kink is your cathedral too.

Some of us weren’t built to be satisfied by one kind of touch.

I used to think I was too much. That wanting both discipline with devotion and tenderness with teeth meant I was broken.

But I’m not broken.
I’m a system.

I need a Sinner — the one who takes control without asking, whose hands correct and command, who isn’t afraid to drag me into the heat of myself and watch me burn.

And I need a Saint — the one who holds me through the aftershocks, who sees the chaos in my head and anchors it with care, who knows the difference between being still and being frozen.

Both are sacred.
Both are real.
Both are necessary.

This isn’t indecision. It’s design.

Because my brain is loud, my body is reactive, and my heart is so damn earnest. I need care that knows how to pierce and protect and sometimes in the same breath.

So no, I’m not necessarily looking for one Dom to rule them all.
I’m looking for the right rhythm between Saint and Sinner and I’m willing to build it brick by brick.

FKJ feels like touch.
Not hands, exactly, but resonance.
Every loop settles me deeper into myself.
Bass lines sync my breath; keys stretch my shoulders open.
It’s what regulation feels like when someone finally holds rhythm for you.

That’s what I crave in a D-type.
Not command for command’s sake
I want containment that moves with me, not against me.
The same way FKJ builds a song
layer by layer, patient, responsive, always listening for the next inhale.

When the sound swells, I don’t brace.
I exhale.
Because I trust it not to drop me.

That’s how I want to be led.
Not controlled but conducted.
Guided like melody through chaos,
anchored without being silenced.

FKJ teaches my body what safety sounds like.
And that’s the kind of Dominance my soul recognizes
steady, attuned,
playing me open until I hum.

When you write publicly about racism or boundary violations online, you brace yourself for silence. You expect screenshots and sighs, maybe solidarity—but rarely swift action.

That’s why I want to take a moment to acknowledge The Cage team for doing exactly what every kink platform should: listening, responding, and protecting its members.

After I shared my experience of receiving racist, fetishizing messages, I received this response:

“I am sorry you had to endure this. I've removed his account from THE CAGE.
If you need to report someone for any reason please do so via their profile page through the Report button, this helps us handle reports in order and with proper documentation.”
That’s it. Simple. Clear. Decisive.
No excuses. No “we’ll look into it.” Just action.

Accountability is a form of aftercare. When a community enforces its own boundaries, it models what consent culture looks like in practice. It tells survivors and marginalized members, you are safe here, and your voice matters.

I’m not naïve; no platform can catch everything. But quick, transparent responses like this set the standard. They remind us that moderation isn’t censorship—it’s consent enforcement.

To the Cage Monkey who handled my report: thank you.
You made the space safer for more than just me.

Every now and then, someone mistakes my identity for an invitation. They slide into my inbox thinking “race play” means they can say whatever they want because kink is supposed to be edgy. They forget that consent doesn’t erase harm, and identity isn’t a prop.

Let’s be clear: race play and fetishization are not the same thing. One is a negotiated, conscious exploration of power. The other is lazy objectification with a thin coat of erotic bravado. One can be cathartic, transformative, and rooted in trust. The other is racism in lingerie.

The Meaning of Race Play
Race play, at its core, is an intentional form of erotic expression that uses racial power dynamics as part of a scene. It can be a space where partners unpack trauma, confront inherited power, or transmute taboo into connection. But it is never spontaneous, and it is never casual. Ethical race play requires emotional literacy, self-awareness, and most importantly, consent that is fully informed and freely given.

That means real negotiation—deciding what words can or cannot be used, how far the dynamic goes, and what aftercare looks like once the scene ends. It requires understanding the history you’re invoking. You can’t ethically play with power you refuse to study.

The Problem of Fetishization
Fetishization, on the other hand, isn’t play at all. It’s a one-sided fantasy that reduces a person to an aesthetic or stereotype. It’s the “I’ve always wanted to try a Black girl” message, or the assumption that someone’s skin color tells you what role they’ll take in bed. It’s when someone treats your race as an experience to collect, not a person to connect with.

That’s not kink. That’s dehumanization with a safeword they’ll never honor. It’s the eroticization of inequality, stripped of mutuality or respect. It’s not taboo—it's entitlement.

Why Some Choose to Engage
For some people, race play is a way to reclaim agency and rewrite narratives that have historically caused pain. When approached with knowledge and integrity, it can transform what was once a source of harm into a shared, controlled space for power exchange. But that reclamation belongs to those who choose it—not to the voyeurs, fetishists, or self-styled “dominants” who think racial trauma is a shortcut to edge play.

The ethical difference is always rooted in intent, knowledge, and consent. Ethical race play is not about humiliation for its own sake—it’s about negotiated catharsis and controlled vulnerability. Fetishization, by contrast, seeks to consume identity rather than respect it.

How to Approach It Without Doing Harm
If you’re genuinely curious about race play, start by doing the work off-scene. Read about the history of racialized violence and fetishization. Learn how racial trauma manifests in the body. Seek out educators and kinksters of color who speak openly about boundaries, healing, and safety.

Ask before assuming. Listen more than you speak. And if you’re white—especially—ask yourself why this turns you on. Is it about taboo, dominance, shame, or control? If so, fine, but be honest about it. Awareness is the only path to ethical play. If your arousal depends on someone else’s discomfort, stop. You’re not being kinky—you’re being careless. And definitely don't DM someone and call them your "black slave".

My Take
Race play isn’t my kink. But I don’t believe in kink-shaming those who approach it responsibly. The real issue isn’t the kink itself—it’s the lack of integrity behind how some people approach it. Too many folks want the thrill of transgression without the responsibility of awareness. If you can’t discuss history, harm, and healing with your partner, you have no business touching the topic in a bedroom. Kink at its best is built on mutual respect, vulnerability, and informed consent. It’s about exploring boundaries, not crossing them blindly. If you want to play with power, start by understanding the one you already hold.

And if you ever catch yourself thinking someone’s identity is an invitation—remember: it’s not.

To me, obedience is never a sign of my powerlessness. It is the most powerful choice I can make—a deliberate act to entrust my well-being to your leadership.

My internal world is often a vibrant, overwhelming chaos. My AuDHD brain doesn't just prefer a firm hand for guidance; it requires containment for survival. When I offer my obedience, I am not giving up; I am creating a protocol that allows me to find a sense of safety and stillness. When I follow your direction, I am fundamentally giving you the authority to create a stable, safe space for my mind to rest.

My ability to grow is entirely dependent on your commitment to my protection. I need you to lead so that I can heal from the deep exhaustion of having to lead myself against a chaotic world. My obedience is my way of handing you the reins to the system I am too tired to manage alone.

This is not a casual agreement; it is a sacred trust. I will obey so that I may grow, and in my growth, I solidify the structural integrity of our dynamic. Understand this: my submission is the blueprint for my peace. Treat it with the reverence it deserves.

Every prospect talks a big game, 'Til they step inside my archive's flame. I've indexed them, I've praised their work, I've given them my key. Washed their coats, kissed their lips, wiped their messy knees. You taste this sugar, you will surely lose your teeth, Ain't no man alive can contain me.

They say I'm too many volumes for their one small bed, Too much complex data in this big old head. Too much truth for their small pride to see, Ain't no man alive can contain me.

They want to be served a snack, not a full meal, baby.

Ain't no man alive can contain me. I'm fire-dressed in clarity, I shine too bright, my standards cut too deep. They talk that protocol, but they don't keep. I ain't just a volume for some fool to own, I worked this land till the plot was my own. I gave my energy till my knees went weak, They love my laugh, but not my grief. Now, baby, They want the structure, not the woman who built it.

They like it neat, they like it sweet, But I need to be served raw degradation beneath the sheets. You taste this sugar, you'll fall to your knee, Ain't no man alive can contain me.

Ain't no man alive can contain me, I shake the stacks, I break the beat, They start to pray when I turn up the heat. Ain't no man alive can contain me.

Baby, one day one man will prove me wrong, But I ain't waitin'. My protocol stands strong.

I am not an airport. I don't announce my departure. When incompatibility is met with mutual effort, I will gladly communicate and negotiate an exit. But when you are simply useless? You don't get a dismissal. You just find yourself in a blog post.

Last night, I watched a prospect instantly disqualify himself from my life over $53 and a phone call.

The Scenario: He suggested a hotel so I could rest while waiting for his late work shift. A great idea—a gesture of containment.

Then came the collapse:

He tried to delegate the one thing he was supposed to manage. "You book it, I'll pay you cash when I get there." He wanted me to front the money and expend my executive function energy for his plan.

He failed to solve a basic logistical problem. When I told him I don't front money, his response was, "I'm a caveman, I can't do online stuff." He couldn't even manage to call the hotel on his cell phone and book the room himself.

This wasn't a minor flaw. This was a catastrophic failure of all my non-negotiable protocols.

My search is for a Dominant who provides structure, competence, and a reliable anchor against chaos. He introduced chaos and then threw the responsibility back into my lap. He showed himself to be fundamentally incapable of providing the high-integrity containment my system requires.

He lost a deliciously dirty night and any future with me because he couldn't handle $53 and a single act of initiative.

I was up at 10:30 PM, ready to give my energy and my submission to a sexual partner. Now? My time is saved, my peace is protected, and he is gone.

Lesson Learned: If you claim authority, be competent enough to wield it. If you can’t manage a $53 transaction and a phone call, you certainly cannot manage my system. I just disappeared. Have a good life.