#Innovations in Hearing Care | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

too-much-tma-stuff · 3 months

Text

Finally getting help (prt 9)

Masterpost

“So where’s the brother?” Jason asked as he followed Bruce down the hall.

“He’s in Tim’s lab. It seems like they’ll be able to share it, which is good even with as big as this place is I don’t think we have room for two mad science labs,” Bruce said with dry humour, making Jason laugh in spite of himself.

“Tim must be thrilled to have a buddy huh?” He asked, still chuckling. No one in this family was stupid by any means, he often felt like the dumb one and objectively he knew he was still a fucking genius. But even with all of them being That smart no one could keep up with Tim’s innovative and scientific mind.

“I think he might even learn a few things, which is a frightening concept. Danny asked for microwaves and toasters this morning so he could cannibalize them into anti-possession tech. The way that boy combines science and magic is going to give both me and Constantine ulcers.”

Jason snorted, both at the joke and maybe a bit out of pleasure that someone was going to be giving Bruce a hard time. “Well if you need a babysitter don’t call me. I don’t want to deal with any of that,” he chuckled.

“Oh absolutely not, you would only feed into the chaos,” Bruce said quickly making Jason cackle, because he was right.

“Alright,” Bruce murmured to himself when they reached the closed door to the lab, it was almost lost in the banging inside but Jason heard it. Heard Bruce bracing himself for whatever was going to happen when Jason and Danny met.

He opened the door and across the room Jason saw who must be Danny. He was prime adoption bait with his black hair and blue eyes, but he was… absolutely beautiful, slight and elven, gently curved and wired with muscle. Jason froze, and it seemed so did Danny, staring at each other from across the room. Butterflies fluttered in Jason’s stomach, building till they didn’t feel like butterflies but something buzzing, trying to get out. He could hear the growl coming from his chest, not his throat.

Danny’s eyes swirled with green and he vaulted over the work table, abandoning the half finished tech he was working on to lunge at Jason. He collided with Jason with a snarl of his own, Jason growled and flipped Danny over his shoulder, the hall was a closed space so Danny twisted, running into the wall feet first and landing in a crouch. Jason twisted so he didn’t have his back to a wall anymore as Danny lunged at him again and Jason dodged, pushing off the wall to give himself momentum as he threw himself after Danny.

Danny grabbed Jason’s arm and used his momentum to throw him over his hip, following him down to the ground, barely missing as Jason rolled away. He didn’t even think to draw a weapon, that wasn’t what this fight was about, they weren’t actually trying to hurt each other. Even as Jason punched down so hard he cracked the floor he somehow knew Danny would dodge, and wouldn’t get hurt. And Danny did, he got out of the way and lashed out in return, kicking Jason in the chest and sending him flying a few feet back giving Danny time to scramble back to his feet and chase after him.

This give and take carried them down the hall and to the landing by the stairs. Somewhere in the background Jason knew that someone was shouting at them to stop, and to be careful, but he wasn’t listening. He was too focussed on the growl emanating from Danny, and from himself which were starting to smooth out again, to feel less like desperate insects trying to escape and more like a cat’s purr, or some sort of song. They were reaching equilibrium, some sort of harmony.

He didn’t realize how close they were to the stairs until Danny knocked him back again and this time when he stepped back he didn’t land on solid ground. The two of them tumbled down the stairs, rapidly switching who was on top as they fell. Jason could feel himself collecting bruises but he didn’t fucking care.

They came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs with Jason on top, his forearm pressed against Danny’s chest just below his throat. They were both breathing hard, staring at each other with wide blue-green eyes. The growling died down, lowering down into purrs harmonizing with each other as they caught their breath. Jason’s was lower and Danny’s a little higher, it was a hypnotic sound that made Jason feel… peaceful.

Danny moved first, reaching up slowly to touch Jason’s face, but before he could Jason realized what they had done and the position he was in. He had fought with Danny, and he was now pinning an abused teenager to the floor straddling his waist. This looked bad and now that he realized what was happening it Felt worse! He practically shot up off of Danny and was about to bolt before Danny grabbed his hand.

“Wait! Don’t go yet! Let me just, let me get you a specter-deflector so no one can possess you first okay?” Danny asked, sounding oddly desperate and even though Jason wanted to run he nodded.

Danny looked relieved and let go of Jason before suddenly flying up and through the floor above them. Jason blinked at the ceiling above him before looking around him.

Oh dear, Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Jazz were all watching from the landing above. Damian looked like he wanted to kill Jason himself, Bruce looked disappointed, Tim impassive and Jazz looked… Excited? Why did she look happy?

Danny flew back down through the floor before anyone could think of what to say. “Okay! Here’s the specter-deflector,” He said, clicking something that looked like a watch into place around Jason’s wrist. “That’ll protect you, this is a blaster,” he said, handing Jason an odd sci-fi looking gun. “It’ll reload automatically from ambient ectoplasm, it works best against dead and undead but it can hurt humans too. And.. um, this is my number,” He said, blushing furiously as he handed Jason a slip of paper. “Please text me?”

When had Jason’s mouth gotten so dry?! He had to lick his lips before he answered, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks were and that he must be blushing too. He didn’t blush much, not since his death and resurrection, but he was absolutely blushing now, and he was still purring too if more softly now. He didn’t even know that he could purr, not really. “Ya, Yes, I’ll text you,” he promised before he fled the house. He would have to have some of Alfred’s lasagna later, just then he desperately needed to calm down and clear his head.

-----

Jazz was practically vibrating with excitement and as soon as the door had closed behind Jason she couldn’t contain it anymore. She squealed as she vaulted over the railing of the landing and landed in the foyer and sprinting over to Danny. “Danny what the heck! You have a crush?! I haven’t seen you that passionate in ages!” She enthused scooping Danny up under his arms and twirling him around.

“Jaaazz,” Danny complained even as he went kitten limp in her arms letting her hold him at arms length nearly a foot off the floor.

“I didn’t even know you liked boys! Why didn’t you tell me you like boys!?” Jazz demanded, shaking him a little.

“I didn’t really, I mean I always preferred girls. The only guy I ever really had a crush on was Dash and-” He cut off when Jazz made a disgusted face. “Exactly! That was never going to happen and he was an asshole so I didn’t want to talk about it!”

“Okay ya I understand- Wait you were making fun of me for having a thing for bad boys when your type is asshole meathead jocks!? Ohhh you’re never going to hear the end of this baby brother!”

“Oh my god No!” Danny groaned, finally squirming out of Jazz’s hold and dropping back to the ground stepping back.

He turned towards the Wayne’s who had made their way down the stairs while the siblings were talking. “Is Jason an asshole?” He demands of Tim, he’s probably the fairest judge in Danny’s estimation.

“Absolutely,” Tim said promptly before realizing what he said and backtracking a little. “But I’m his brother, I'm supposed to say that. Jason’s heart is in the right place, he's a good guy, just kinda violent and a complete jerk,” Tim said.

“Perfect,” Danny said his expression a little dreamy.

“Why on earth would you have a crush on Todd?! You could do so much better!” Damian squawked indignantly, breaking the tension and making everyone besides Bruce laugh, and even he smiled just a little.

“I want to say you did well Bruce, I know it was hard not to break up the fight but so? It was good for them, I hope it won’t be too hard on you if they do end up dating,” Jazz said, patting Bruce’s arm.

He shifted from one foot to the other a little awkwardly but then shook his head. “No it won’t be, I mean it won’t be the first time, Barbra was as good as my daughter and she dated Dick, and Steph and Tim dated. It’s always a little awkward but I’d rather that than a Super,” He said, shooting Tim a look, he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Well good, we’ll see how this works out but really,” she turned back towards Danny. “This could be good! You’ve always been attracted to violent people but I don’t think that your ghost instincts realized that when Val was shooting at you it wasn’t bonding for her the same way it was for you,” she told him, her tone borderline accusatory.

Danny looked down and shifted from side to side, giving a little shrug. “I know, but she was a good girlfriend, when she wasn’t being Red Huntress and I wasn’t being Phantom. When we were just Danny and Val, it was good.”

“Oh Danny,” She sighed and pulled him into a hug. “I know, but he has the same instincts as you, I’m rooting for you Danny.”

“Thanks Jazz,” Danny said softly, hugging her back.

“Welp, I’m heading back to the lab,” Tim said, obviously uncomfortable with the genuine emotions he made a break for it before he could get roped into any hugs.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #fanfiction #dead on main #jason todd #finally getting help au #Danny is pregnant #trans!Danny #vlad is a creep #bruce wayne #jazz fenton #damian wayne #tim drake #multi part fic #long post #unedited #let me know if you find any mistakes

1K notes · View notes

punksocks · 4 months

Text

Astrology Observations: No.28

*just based on my observations, only take what resonates

(Sorry it’s been a minute, I got my time back then I got sick- like same day! I’m good now, thank god, but it was absolutely insane and everything has been going on in the world, my God)

-If your moon opposes your ascendant you may be known for making the wrong impressions on people (especially first impressions) at some point in your life

-Not the first time I said this but I feel like Libra Asc tend to need to balance out aspects of their life more bc of their houses having the opposite signs over them.

-On the other hand I feel like Aries asc have a very straightforward, sometimes less complicated world view bc of their houses lining up with their traditional rulers.

-Mars in determemt and fall (Libra, cancer, 12th house) really gives you a finite amount of stamina

-I feel like cancer venus/moons tend to wax the most poetically and romantically about the nostalgia they feel. Even stronger for Venus.

-Men with cancer placements be like: I didn’t know I was manipulating you into being nice to me until it was already happening (lmao oof)

-I noticed Aries and Scorpio Sun men/masc folks can get romanticized a lot, I think this is bc their identity is ruled by mars traditionally, so they tend to be assigned more masculine traits/act their traits out in a more “traditionally” (or even just comfortably) masculine way

-Aqua Sun/asc/venus usually have some features that makes their face really stand out I noticed (unique brow/nose/head shape etc) (idk why I haven’t seen this with moons as much)

-Signs in your 8th house may come off as mysterious or hard to understand

-You may find it really easy to vibe with people that have Sun conjunct your Asc

-I’ve noticed that a lot of Virgo mars may eat like really spicy or punishing foods (especially if the mars is in a fire house)

-Saturn aspecting your big 3 can help you age really well- depending on how well you take care of yourself (extreme example: dick van dyke, he’s almost 100 and he’s still jumping around with so much energy)

-Pisces placements can be like incredibly intelligent and yet still come off as a bit spacey (one of my favorite YouTubers used to head extra credits and he is SO SMART, like just a seriously huge capacity for knowledge but he sounds spacey when he does his chill gameplays and pieces things together unscripted lol)

-Jupiter square/opposition Sun can make you come off as overly pessimistic, it can also make you come off as optimistic at the wrong times (laughing at serious moments, etc)

-Taurus placements are so motivated by food, it’s so real (the amount of times I’ve had a Taurus sun/moon/mars not hear a word I was saying bc they were scoping out a restaurant? Countless lol)

-I notice a lot of rappers & musicians (especially the innovative ones) have major Pisces placements

-Aries moons get emotional fulfillment by winning what they chase after (Aries in big 6 tends to make you go after things in general too imo)

-I noticed sometimes Leo moon can make you a bit self centered, like in the most literal sense, you may have trouble understanding perspectives outside of your own

-Virgos and Geminis and 3rd/6th house placements have great memory but they tend to forget certain aspects. They tend to forget or mix up details. (My ex took like 3 years to remember my middle name beyond the first initial lol god; also, I always remember zodiac signs but not birthdays lol)

-I love how Joe Pera has a cancer Mercury and his comedy is like the coziest comedy I’ve ever heard, he even got his following bc his helping people fall asleep and just talking through his chill podcast (did not expect him to have like the most fire in his chart tho?? Wouldn’t have guessed lol)- Pisces Mercury and Mercury with hard aspects to Neptune probably have a cozy affect on others when they communicate with them too

554 notes · View notes

equalseleventhirds · 1 year

Text

"I don't understand how I'm losing," Reigen said, his hands flying over his keyboard. It was so late now—too late, maybe—if only he'd used the same technique as with the Player Killer from the beginning, he might have stood a chance, but he hadn't seriously thought he'd lose—

"Shishou," Mob said, "why is this so important? You already have second place from Twitter."

Reigen laughed, not at all nervously, and splayed a hand across his forehead. "You don't understand, Mob. The publicity from something like this, even a rematch, would do wonders for Spirits and Such. This is about business."

(He would never admit to his pride being on the line.)

"And anyway, who is this guy? A radio host? I've been on TV, you know."

Mob carefully did not bring up what had actually happened when Reigen made his television debut.

Ritsu had no such qualms. "When they exposed you as a fraud? That was publicity too, right?"

"Hey—!"

Serizawa leaned over Reigen's shoulder to see the computer screen, careful not to spill the tea he placed on the desk. "Oh, Cecil from Welcome to Night Vale? It's been a while since I listened to that, maybe I should catch up."

Reigen stared at him. "You? What? Serizawa?"

"Ah... yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Back when I was... well, when I didn't leave my room much, the podcast was popular. I guess it gave a sense of... community? Feeling less alone, even when you are." He shrugged. "Plus, hearing another gay man in a show like that was comforting."

"He's gay? Canonically?" Why can't I be gay canonically?

"Sure, he got married in episode 100. It was very emotional."

"I nearly died in our chapter 100—"

-- -- -- -- --

Well, listeners, there's still a few hours left on the poll, but I'm now leading at 56%! I must say, I did not expect this, especially after Twitter users so clearly forgot—or perhaps never knew—about my Tumblr Sexyman Origins.

But, that's neither here nor there. I certainly am grateful, if a bit bemused, about all of this, but let us not forget that this is all a friendly competition. Unlike the annual War On Christmas—and let us all take a moment to remember our fallen allies against that terrible holiday foe—this is a battle of kindness. Love, even. The love we feel for Tumblr, for our favorite sexy men, for pressing a button on a meaningless internet poll. The love we feel, listeners, for each other.

And in the spirit of that love and friendliness, I figured I'd get to know my opponent a little better! A bit of googling, which of course you know means searching via every search engine but Google, what with the Town Council imposing the Google Search Tax and getting all Night Vale IP addresses shadowbanned, has led me to... oh my, listeners. I do not know who made this, but Reigen Arataka has the single most beautiful professional web page I have ever encountered. It's... words do not do it justice. I am tearing up. This... I could not make anything better myself.

A-hem. Listeners, now that I've wiped away the tears such beauty inspired in me, I can now see that Reigen's website advertises his business, one Spirits and Such Consulting. Well! We may be rivals in this moment, but I am overjoyed to learn that Reigen runs such an innovative and important business! I am nearly ashamed that, while my opponent works to make the world a better place, I, a mere community radio host, am winning the sexyman contest.

Nevertheless, we must respect the polls. Not respecting polls could get us in hot water with the Town Council, or with the demigods of numbers who lurk in the sharp edges of percentages. So since I can't hand my victory over to him, I think I'll do what I can as a community radio host, and promote Reigen Arataka's important business!

So if you're a spirit in need of counseling, a ghost in need of therapy, or an eldritch beast in need of a shoulder to cry on, head on over to Seasoning City and pay our good friend Reigen a visit! I'm sure he'll be pleased as anything to see you.

#long post #fanfiction #algie writes things #fjskdlfjdk SORRY ABOUT THIS BUT #i had to i had tooooooo #hammered this out v quickly and i am feelin v sleeby still so it's not polished but it IS funny #.......i think. i think it's funny. u kno.#anyway #sexymanotd #tumblr sexyman rematch #cecilsweep

5K notes · View notes

ludwigplayingthetrombone · 1 year

Text

Finally finished the first part of gai’s 8 gates coma and how kakashi dealt with it rewrite people have been requesting. [tw blood, injury, coma, death discussions, grief]

Kurenai: Kakashi Kks: Ah. Kurenai and...baby, what’s up? Kurenai: You mind if I come in a moment? Kks: Uhhhhh I-

Kks: So what did you need to speak about? Did something happen? K: No, Nothing’s happened. You haven’t gotten to properly see and bond with her yet. Here Kks: You know I’m not fond of kids. K: That’s why I didn’t ask. Hold your arms out. Ok, now, don’t look absolutely petrified.

Kks: She’s ok, I guess [YELP] Oi! Don’t pinch me while I’m holding your baby! K: You wouldn’t drop her. Asuma would haunt you forever! Kks: Terrifying thought, Mirai.... How are you feeling? K: Exhausted. Do you really want to hear how horrifying having a baby is? Kks: No, please don’t tell me.

K: I came over to check on you as well. Any news? Kks: No. He’s still the same. K: Is that why it looks like this in here? Kks: ...Yeah. Doctor said he may never wake up. Since we’re eachother’s medical contacts, Tsunade told me I had to prepare to make hard decisions should it come to that.

Kks: With the council breathing down my neck over a job I don’t want, I had... A bit of an outburst. K: I don’t even blame you. That’s... That they expect you to carry on like normal. Still grieving. The person you love most is gone. But you’re still here. Don’t let them just dust you off and move on again. I’ll always have your back. Kks: You and Asuma always did. Even when I wasn’t grateful for it.

Kks: I can’t tell if they just don’t care or didn’t realize, Gai’s the one who held me together all these years. Only reason I’m still here at all is because of him. I don’t think tenzou, the elders, or the village are prepared for what’ll become of me if I lose him. So, I don’t care anymore. Let them be mad. I won’t give up on him. K: You should talk to him. Kks: huh K: Talk about anything! I’m sure the sound of your voice will help him find his way back. Especially if you sound sad, Kks: uuh

K: I can hear it now, “My eternal rival is sad? Not on my watch!“ Kks: Pretty accurate impression. K: There’s been lots of source material! Kks: Maaa, Your mom’s a huge dork K: Oi! [kakashi chuckles]

K: He’ll be so upset he missed her birth Kks: Oh, devastated. I can’t wait to see the look on Gai’s face, Mirai, when I tell him /I/ held you first! When he wakes up

Kks: Hey, Gai. Kurenai said i should talk to you.

Kks: Feels weird. Most of the people I’m used to talking to like this are all... Dead.

It’s so eerie how silent you’ve been for so long. you’re not even this quiet when you sleep. Your kids come everyday to see you. Naruto and sakura when they can. Lots of others. I’ve been telling them embarrassing stories from when we were kids since you keep making them wait. Do you remember when I came over while you and Dai were making supper

Dai: Kakashi! Good to see you, my boy! Kks: Id Gai home? Dai: He’s helping with supper! Go on, inside, you’re always welcome! Kks: Ok Dai: Atta boy Kks: Hey, G- !? ummm? Gai: OH!! Rival!! Kks: Is that a lid?! Gai: Correct!! It stops me from crying while cutting onions! A win for me!!

Kks: Against.... the onions? Gai: Yep! KKs:[snicker] Gai: Laugh all you want! Not everyone can comprehend innovation. Kks: Whatever. You forgot this at the training grounds. I know it’s yours there’s a turtle on it. Gai: See! You’re already tearing up! Kks: Am not Gai: Also, thankyou so much! Kks: Bye, I’m leaving. Gai: Could it be? You’re scared I can cut much faster than you! Kks: I am not scared. Gai: Good, I think we have another lid! Kks: YOU-!

Dai: Great to see growing boys with such a hunger! I’ll never have to prep onions again! Kks: I think about that everytime I chop onions now. You’ve altered my brain with all the ridiculous things you’ve done. Can’t even look at the toys you’ve gotten the dogs without getting emotional

Kks: Just knowing you’re here still, I can barely function. It’s pretty pathetic... Your hair’s getting long. Turning into your dad.

[gai’s heartbeat] Kks: Gai

[gais heartbeat continues]

[gai’s heartbeat continues] Kks: If anything should happen to me, you’ll rush over, right? Gai: Damn right, I will. Dont you worry about that.

[Gai’s heartbeat]

Kks: I miss you

#kakagai #gaikaka #Kakashi Hatake #Maito Gai #might guy #naruto #my art #//coma #//blood #//death mention #Kurenai Yuhi #mirai sarutobi #naruto spoilers #i guess

2K notes · View notes

rosesdrop · 2 months

Text

Pick a pile

Their current feelings for you

Your person sees you as a prize, you have stirred up this person's attention I heard, this person has been hearing rumors about you, they could very strongly be a fire or an air sign, especially Sagittarius Gemini and Leo, this person is very curious about you. I see that this is a new connection and they wanna know what you're hiding- they see you as a mysterious person in an eye catching way, this person may be hiding their interest in you.. They may not want you to know how they feel about you, they're feeling guilty for holding feelings for you.

They feel nervous or defensive around you, they could naturally be an anxious person, this person has a lot of people around them, or I see that they're attractive to other people and they charm others easily, they're well known in their community, it's a bit odd but this person has a long nose 😅, I'm seeing longer hair and taller than average, for their appeareance. September is significant here.

This person sees you as someone pure, beautiful, someone they want to bond with, you are home to them, you have specifically long hair that this person likes, this person likes reading books, there's something very pure and innocent about this energy that I wanna tear up, they want to take care of you, this person is afraid of loosing you, this strikes me as a no contact situation, this person feels regretful of how they left things, and they want to come back, they're feeling nostalgic, they have new ideas for this connection going on in their head, and they're feeling optimistic about a new opportunity. Someone here likes playing football, has lighter hair. This is a thinker, and they get very passionate over ideas, very innovative and original, they have eyes that light up. They think about you but they're more of a thinker than a doer. They want this situation to shift, badly. Not for everyone but someone here might have lost a pet, someone, or it might just be this person feeling lost.

There's a shyness to this person, I'm seeing your person has long lashes, they're very sensitive, a combination of fire and water in their chart, a scorpio sun, they're very jovial from the inside and has a warm and loyal heart. They see you as their queen, they get constant dreams about you, either you or them (I'm feeling mostly them) are very religous in a spiritual way, it has been a long time since the two of you talked. You find this person to be funny, they hold themselves in high regard, they could be older than you, their sexual energy towards u is very strong as well. They could overindulge in drinking, and might have health issues currently, they hold a lot of tension inside, this person listens to music and thinks about you, they're very resistant towards you and too prideful, an additional message came up that they could often wear glasses.

#tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pac reading #channeled message #channeled reading #intuitive tarot reader #energy #tarot community #spirituality #energy reading

283 notes · View notes

hwaightme · 7 months

Text

Timezone

(masterlist) (perma-taglist)

🎸 pairing: rockstar!fiance!seonghwa x gn!reader 🎸 genre: fluff, long distance angst, established long-term relationship 🎸 summary: "Only thing that keeps us apart // Is a different timezone" - TIMEZONE by Måneskin; during a long tour, the only thing seonghwa wants is to come home to you, and to hold you in his arms 🎸 wordcount: 3.2k total 🎸 warnings/tags: not edited, language, songfic, enamoured simping activated, seonghwa misses you intensely, he is one step away from swimming to you, seonghwa has tattoos and lip piercings, lyricist producer musician rock singer hwa good luck to us all, words of endearment/pet names (baby, angel... etc) 🎸 taglist: at the bottom of the hcs 🎸 a/n: this is for @starrysvn the most wonderful, beautiful soul. thank you for being who you are, ilysm. and may this small manifestation of our shared delulus bring some sunshine~

There was no salvation for a heart that was on the verge of breaking. No call could replace the sensation of a lover’s whisper, no video could replace the feeling of skin against skin nor of a warm and reassuring embrace. The myriad of details that made you who you were seemed to be slipping through Seonghwa’s fingers, and he was a desperate man drowning in quicksand of responsibility and routine.

Every chord was a strike of the coldest and sharpest blade on his tired body, and the sweat trickling down his face as he yelled his emotions to thousands masked the tears that were welling in his eyes. It was unbelievable, how in the faces of millions the only features he could ever make out were those that resembled yours. In every cheer he could only hear you, how you could make his name sound like magic. The lyrics – a simple selection of syllables, words, always fell short of describing how he felt, and every song appeared trivial compared to the fire in his heart, to your existence in his life.

Too many miles separated you, and he would be damned if he were to say that he was fine with it. This was the unbelievable curse of his work. An artist, a singer, a musical innovator who had evolved from being in a group of hoodlums with a dream to being in a star-studded collective, a band that was paving the way for many others and inspiring loyal and new fans to reach the stars with them. But where was his star? Even when surrounded by the speakers, side by side with his friends on those grand global stages, this question never left Seonghwa’s mind. Losing sight of what he truly desired, he ran into an oblivion.

After the concerts, it was customary for the young man to spend some time with his fans, still on an adrenaline rush and thus were expecting interaction, further connection, and insights into the most recent performance. However, tonight, he could not even begin to find the energy to press the right button. Claiming that he was feeling a little under the weather, Seonghwa delegated the role of publicity man to another member and hobbled to his hotel room, collapsing onto the bed sheets not caring for the state of his clothes, his hair, nor for the creases that were undoubtedly going to form. This was no issue.

The electric guitar, his trusted comrade in composition and emotional turmoil, was left in a black case on the floor. Stickers marking the cities he had visited decorated a portion of the surface, while the rest was another depiction of you. Scurrying off the bed, he erratically shot to the case and brought it up with him, letting it rest by his side so he could admire the artwork more closely. Over many days, you had decided to surprise him by painting the dark leather, echoing famous renaissance pieces and intricate flora. Impeccable, incorporating nods to his and your lives through symbolism, be it in the hint of a star ship, a guitar pick, or a paintbrush hidden in foliage, it was a reminder of a life that he always wanted to live and to keep close.

He wanted to destroy the walls of his room. He wanted to break the glass, fight the agony of the sorrowful monster eating away at his soul with physically radical action, anything to take his mind away from the fact that you were thousands of miles away, and that when he was cursed to be awake, you were in dreamland. He could not even protect you from the nightmares that you sometimes had. He could not keep you close. You were unable to run your hands through his inky black, long and tousled locks as a way to calm yourself. Why was he doomed to sacrifice the heavenly touches and sweet words in favour of roaming the globe like a madman, screaming the same things into a microphone until they lost all meaning? Seonghwa missed you. Violently. Painfully. Aggressively. If it took raising hell to elevate him to your heaven before he would ultimately crumble, he would choose to do so in a heartbeat.

His hands inadvertently travelled into the pocket of his flared jeans, fishing out the device which he had been glued to for the full duration of his tour. At any spare second. Lockscreen – your smiling face, surrounded by the scenery of his hometown when you two went for a visit over the holidays. Tapping in the date of your birthday, he came face to face with a photo where you two were together – a candid picture snapped by his closest friend and fellow band member during a celebratory dinner; you two laughing at a joke shared between yourselves, so in love that every part of you and him were intertwined. Seonghwa wanted to break himself apart. Take his heart and mind out and douse them in cold water so that at least for a moment he could have some space to breathe before ultimately repeating: you, you you again. Fingers flying to tap onto the messaging app you preferred to use most often, though the two of you had conversations going on almost every piece of social media, he scrolled through your chats, relistened to the voice messages and scrutinised every photo until it was re-imprinted in his brain. As if he could ever forget in the first place.

He would likely be a laughingstock, wouldn’t he? A man with the world at his feet, wanting nothing more than to collapse at the feet of another. Sure, his fans were no strangers to the fact that there was ‘a special someone’ in his life, though since he made sure to keep his private matters truly secure, no one knew who was the reason why he woke up even when the day was promising challenge and turmoil. The only sign of his undying devotion that he dared to expose with shameless pride was the tiny red band around his pinkie, a simple line alluding to the string of fate, of soulmates. One night, not too long ago even though it seemed that you knew each other for your entire lives, when you had the chance to spend time together without worrying about work matters and could let time trickle past while stargazing, he proposed. Perhaps it was not traditional, the four words uttered only in passing after you had already blessed him with your agreement. Instead Seonghwa had suggested the permanence of a tattoo as a symbol for your love, and revealed his faith and devotion. Written in the stars, he found his guidance in you. Just like the constellations, galaxies and mythical creatures permanently etched on his skin, he wanted to live the neverending story with you.

As he shifted his grip on the phone to glance at the red band, Seonghwa could not help but imagine what you could be doing right this second. Could you be stirring from sleep? Could you be getting ready for another day at work? How was that one personal project you picked up going? He hammered out letter after letter on driven by what had to be an external power, so much mightier than him. The rockstar bit his lower lip, feeling a tug on one of the piercings, but that made him simply bite down harder.

I’m losing my mind.

Without hesitation, he sent the message into the void, hoping that you would not be too worried and simply accept it as one of his eccentricities as an artist. Finally, he tugged off the leather jacket that had been clinging onto his body, suffocating him, and collapsed back onto the bed. Exhaustion was a beast weighing down on him and pushing him into the mattress. Nothing but a lonely carcass, Seonghwa imagined himself as carrion left for the devouring by devious promoters, producers, agents and the like. Freedom was an interesting concept in his industry. Did he have it? Or was it the case that as soon as he gave into a dream, he signed his very being away to be an offering for the money-hungry world? He was definitely going mad. He needed you. Seonghwa missed you. Feverish, anxious, he grabbed a fistful of the duvet with his free hand and counted the passing seconds, too many of them, but not as much as the distance between where he was supposed and wanted to be, and where he currently was.

A loud ringing jolted him out of his paralysing ruminations – his phone. He rolled his head to the side, and upon seeing the incoming video call could not be faster in wriggling to rest on the headboard and answer. So you were awake, and in a couple of seconds… there you were, hair in a loose side braid, a familiar vintage t-shirt adorning your shoulders. You were at the desk – your home office, cradling what had to be a cup of coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream. Nothing. Just how you liked it.

“Hi baby,” you greeted him with the warmth of a thousand suns, and soon enough, his smile returned to him too, though still a little weak, beaten down by the weeks spent apart. It was still dark where you were, while for him it was already dark. It was easy to face when with you, however – nothing could be brighter than you.

“You’re wearing my old clothes?” Seonghwa could not help but ask, too curious to refrain from the inquiry. You looked down at the shirt momentarily before lifting your head and nodding.

“Yep. There’s been a change of plans so I am working from home today. And… I wanted to have a day-long hug from my fiancé.”

“You always wear them better, and I wish it were me and not the tee, angel,” he sighed, eyes trailing down what part of you he could see. He might be wrong, but you appeared to be a little tired, dark circles more prominent under your gorgeous eyes, and movements a fraction more lethargic than how they would usually be in the mornings.

“Is that what you were losing your mind over?” you attempted to lighten the mood, but Seonghwa could not play along when the joke was a reality. You caught onto this quickly enough, and paused to look at him more closely.

Seonghwa could feel the intensity of your inspection. It was as though you were reading him like one of the many books you had collected. Basking in the attention from his lover, he leaned further back onto the pillows and let himself think out loud.

“We have another flight tomorrow.”

“Yeah, next is the third to last concert, right-”

“I want to fly to you,” the young artist cut you off, staring at nowhere in particular as he voiced his one wish.

“It’s not too long now, Hwa, and then we have a whole month to ourselves. No touring. Home.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too, love. But also, I am proud of you. You are bringing dream to reality-“

“Fuck what I’m dreaming. What does all of this mean anyways?” he retorted, making you raise an eyebrow before leaning onto the desk.

“All of this means that you are yourself. You are an artist. A light for so many souls. And if you cannot hear this, then let me remind you that I love you, the you who is so driven, so talented and so hardworking. Park Seonghwa who has been destined to become a star and give hope to millions. You are yourself, and that is what is so precious and iconic about you.”

You had a way with words. You always did. Stepping in when he was at his lowest and managing to drag him out of what he had assumed was an abyss, you were his biggest supporter, cheerleader, muse. When he was afraid to put pen to paper or deemed a melody worthless, you were the one to encourage him to experiment, try things out regardless, and with such strength that now it was a philosophy he abided by; it never hurt to try, and perfection was impossible. What was achievable, however, was satisfaction and happiness with the self. It was more than enough to try. And now, you were the one fearlessly bearing the catastrophic mass that was his worries with the last tour dates.

“Oh how dare you…” he mumbled, lips trembling ever so slightly as he pushed out the words. Involuntarily a mist settled over his eyes, and Seonghwa’s surroundings began to blur.

“No, baby come on, don’t cry, or we’ll be crying together. Let’s stay strong for each other, yeah? Like the dragon you have? Let’s leave the tears for later, and hopefully make the source of them a happy one,” you cooed, your own heart being torn apart as you witnessed your lover’s vulnerability, raw misery expressing itself as the hard exterior of a professional rockstar fell away. The hint at one of his many tattoos made Seonghwa’s mouth twitch into a tiny smile, an adoring gesture to remind your fiancé that you could draw each of the masterpieces from memory, having spent many nights tracing them with your digits.

“I-… Y/N I… I love you so much, you know that, right?” The confession turned query was choked, feeble, fragile, an offering made of the thinnest glass. One that you would protect with your life.

“Hwa, I love you too. So much…”

“Everything makes me think of you…” fatigue was evident, coating his vocal cords thick with a somnolent huskiness.

“Soon, you won’t have to remember me. You will have me in real time. Will you look forward to that for me?”

“Always.”

One topic, another, talking about nothing and everything at once. Trivial matters transformed into beautiful tales. In what had appeared to him to be no time at all, you had to rush into your first meeting of the day, while he was left a little less lonely in the hotel room continents away from you, with only his guitar and your reassuring love to keep him company. A hope, an excitement rekindled in his chest, bubbling up and flying across the bloodstreams into a tingling sensation in the fingertips, and a pleasant, hazy buzz in his brain. Caught between what had to be sleep and delirium, Seonghwa moved exclusively on instinct. In a few movements, he produced a tattered notebook and pen that had listened to his every confession and flipped it to an empty page before setting it down on the sheets.

Carefully, he took the guitar out of its case, and upon checking that it was properly tuned let a few notes hang in the air. The longer Seonghwa stared at the wall, the more confident he became in the fact that he could see you standing there in front of him, and as the words began to pour, it was you who he was confiding in. When with you, he was not afraid. When dedicating yet another song to you, he could not care less for the lack of rest, for how he greeted the dawn. He had a week until the last show, and he sure as hell was going to make full use of it.

The arena was silent aside from a few yells, before they too, succumbed to the suspense. The spotlights were almost blinding, and Seonghwa suddenly felt grateful for the fact that his image allowed for sunglasses. Elegantly perched on the bridge of his nose, they masked his anxiety as he adjusted his microphone, setting it back onto the stand while the rest of the band was exchanging glances and making the last checks before the grand finale, what he had decided would be the last ‘official’ song of the concert, and therefore the tour. Of course, the audience would ask for an encore. Of course, he would step right back out on stage to perform it – the act had already been planned in advance. But it was this song, one that he and his closest friends had spent night and day finalising, recording, even sending off to be made commercial, that would be his final word.

“Distance is measured in miles, and in how strongly you feel them. This is ‘Timezone’,” following the brief introduction, he momentarily shut his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. In that split second, he did not exist. He was not on stage, he was home. Seonghwa could feel your hand on his shoulder and could float in your perfume. This was no different to how he would play for you in the living room – anything you wished for, he would either perform or learn on the spot or even create. So, maybe, just maybe, you will be able to hear him now, too. And how he was calling out for you, and was counting the seconds until he could see you again.

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is seven thousand miles, running like a mad dog

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone

So fuck what I'm dreaming, this fame has no meaning

I'm coming home

Only thing that keeps us apart

Is a different timezone

A roar overtaking expressions of gratitude. With every bow the crowd grew wilder and wilder. Chants praising the song were unfathomably strong, and Seonghwa had no doubt that the videos would go viral. Would you see them? Would you message him after? He did not need the answers to these questions. Not when he almost dropped his guitar as he saw you standing backstage, arms open wide, a staff lanyard around your neck. He was thankful for how you did not mind his sweat-covered arms, his glistening forehead as he pressed himself against you. He was enamoured with how your lips fit perfectly together, piercings and all, as he planted one kiss after another, each one bringing him back to life. He was eternally devoted to every moment with you.

“I told you, soon, didn’t you?” He could not respond, instead choosing to nod lest he break down in the midst of his overwhelming elation, “same timezone…” you altered the lyrics – sunlight after a rainstorm.

“I’m home, Y/N,” he mumbled into your hair before pulling you even closer to him, arms wound tight around your body, fingers dancing on your back as though he was still in disbelief that you were here.

“Welcome home, my love,” he leaned into your hand that reached for his face, letting you cup it. With nothing to keep you two apart, Seonghwa let himself get lost in your eyes, the string of fate winding tighter and tighter until his, and your heart were both glistening in a healing gold, the hints of cracks sealed and more beautiful than ever, standing the test of time, of space, of dreams.

🎸 taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @lightinyreads @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @alyszaen @archivesummer @little-angel-k @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy

enjoyed? please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. thank you, much love!

632 notes · View notes

xeeroo08 · 1 year

Text

Astro Observations 《2》

Disclaimer : I am not an astrologer so please take these observations with a grain of salt. Plus I have noticed, I ranted a lot here so please bear with me. It's only for fun.

♦️ Mercury could indicate what kind of genre/content you like to read. For example:

Mercury in Taurus/2nd – Cookbook, rom-com, finance, fashion magazines.

Mercury in Leo/5th – Children's story books, Tales, quizzes, riddles, Adventures books.

Mercury in libra/7th – Romance novels, fashion magazines, pamphlets, brochures.

Mercury in Scorpio/8th – Non-fiction, Thrillers, mystery, smut.

Mercury in Sagittarius/9th – Encyclopedia, Rom-adventure, historical books, Atlas.

Mercury in Pisces/12th – Spiritual books, inspirational, Autobiographies.

♥️ Pluto in 11th house is a big Best friend crisis placement, if you ask me. In this, you can never be anyone's only bestfriend and no one can be your bestfriend. Friends are a lessons in your life. They come, you transform each other in some way, they go. Nobody stays long enough. Their definition of best friends is tricky, because– "We have known each other for 6 years but we haven't talked since 3 years, are we still besties?" To these people, Instead of feeling betrayed or petty, accept it and move on.

♦️ People with Asteroid hobby in their 11th house might like to do coding or other technical work. Technology and social media plays a major role when they are free. They might even share their hobbies with others on social platforms.

♥️ No matter what the reputation says, Sagittarius venus are the most hardcore lovers. They also don't mind a bit of possessiveness in the relationship. When I say possessiveness, they don't want to hear how you will lock them up in a castle for the rest of their life if they try to run away from you. Whereas, that might be a fantasy for some but its not for Sag venus. They will purposely take the next immediate flight and be gone for good. What they actually want to hear is how you will chase them to the moon and back. And no matter where they go, you will always be there to embrace them with your open arms. All we Sagittarius people need is to feel grounded not caged.

♦️ Asteroid Lie aspecting Neptune could make very imaginative and fluent liars. Sometimes it won't make any sense but you will still believe them because they lie with such a honesty and projection that you are forced to doubt your own judgment. Their lies are very descriptive and they make them on the spot. They appear dreamy as if they are not lying but living their own reality. Sometimes it comes handy to them but sometimes it backfires when they forget what they lied about for no reason.

♥️ Aquarius Rising got nothing on Uranus conjuct ascendant. Look, I get that Aquarius is ruled by Uranus but honestly I can't relate to the stereotype when they say Aquarius risings have a unique fashion sense. Being a Aquarius rising and having Uranus in first house I personally think it fits the Uranus conjuct ascendant more. Yes, I like to stand out but my fashion sense is not that unique. I like it different but simple. My brother has a 12th house Uranus conjuct ascendant and he is a uranian more than me. He wears the most unconventional outfits at very wrong timings. He has a very unique fashion sense and he remains fixated on it until the last moment. Man... and he still pulls it off effortlessly. I could never do that.

♦️ Asteroid Sharp (5426) true to its name could indicate the area of your life where you excel the most and are quite attentive. You also learn and grasp those parts quickly. For example: Asteroid Sharp in Aquarius means you are good with electronics,technology, innovating things. In 2nd house could mean you handle money matters very well. In 10th house, you make profitable business deals, bargains and have a good eye when it comes to trading something.

♥️ Have you seen a Mars in 4th house getting angry? They are never angry. Well, never angry enough to be angry. But be careful just because they are not saying anything for the past twenty minutes while you are chewing their head off doesn't mean they are calm. It means either you are someone they can't cross with for the time being or they are thinking of hundred ways to kill you without getting into jail. Good luck bby, these people are damn calculative and smart. They will let you walk all over them for a moment but later.... oh boy you will not even realize what hit you. And trust me, they will have a strong alibi.

♦️Venus in 10th house 🤝 Get them a man/woman with financial stability. They themselves prefer to be independent and classy in a relationship. But no matter what financial stability is a must for them. Maybe not the first but definitely one of the top priorities.

♥️ Virgo Mars people are really fond of ropes, handcuffs, belts, elastic things and all. Idk why my brother keeps checking their strength when he encounters them. Hmm...sus

♦️ Saturn in 1st house could mean you were forced to grow up too early. You had many responsibilities on your shoulders at a young age and faced a lot of difficulties expressing your weaknesses. You might also be the person in the family who is looked upon and respected the most. No decision is taken without your consultation because you are considered to be the wisest of all.

♥️ Pluto in 3rd house, don't tell me your school life was easy. Either you failed a subject, were bullied for no reason, had abusive teachers, teachers who always picked upon you, unstable attendance or your family could hardly afford your studies.

♦️Scorpio/8th house Mars and their gazes. God, please don't stare at me like that. I get chills. There was this girl in my class. She used to stare at people a lot, that too bluntly. We thought she was creepy. But later after knowing her, she turned out to be really sweet and pretty decent girl.

♥️ Moon in 3rd house, very very curious people. They need to know everything there is in this world until they are emotionally satisfied. My 8 year old cousin asked me where do babies come from? She also added, don't say from God.

♦️I don't know about other Pisces placements but Pisces venus, they do have a thing for foot. Trust me on this, I had a deep conversation about this topic with my cousin who is a Pisces venus and because I didn't want to go with stereotype judgment, I had to make sure it was true. But it can vary from person to person tho.

♥️ Saturn in 2nd house people could come from a poor household or used to be financially unstable. But trust me it doesn't stay this way throughout. They usually face many difficulties with money until they don't at all. Karma always pays off and most of the times they live a very satisfied life. Very down to earth people. They don't fear poverty either.

♦️8th house Virgo are suckers for hygiene and perfection. But can be quite freaky in bed. Or the complete opposite of both. They can also have a guilty conscience after sex or masturbation.

♥️ Chiron in Capricorn/10th house can be very hard on themselves. These people often feel incompetent when it comes to their professional life. They can be insecure and anxious if things don't go their way. For them being unemployed is much worse than being heartbroken and it can be destroying.

♦️ Saturn in 6th house placements have an unimaginable disturbed mental health. They don't show and it seems as if no one sees it either. They pretend that everything is okay and no one can tell that it is not. Sometimes they are not even capable to share because people around them make them feel as if they are not supposed to. They often feel restricted when it comes to their emotions.

♥️ Now this is kinda funny but I have noticed some of the people having Sagittarius in fifth house or prominent Sagittarius/Gemini placements come off very lively and enthusiastic when it comes to kids. They also have a thing for irritating kids in a funny way to the point they start crying. Then they laugh it off.

#mercury #sagittarius venus #zodiac signs #astrology #astro observations #sharp #asteroid sharp #saturn in 6th house #pluto in 3rd house #saturn in 2nd house #aquarius rising #uranus conjuct ascendant #pluto in 11th house #asteroid hobby in 11th house #asteroid lie #mars in 4th house #venus in 10th house #virgo mars #Capricorn chiron

3K notes · View notes

bunji-enthusiast · 3 months

Note

well I was gonna ask for a second part to the catnap story where he takes in the child after the hour of joy who called him kitty, I was the suggestor lol, but it appears I was beat to it lol. I hope it's still okay if I request a second part now or just a separate part with one of theses ideas. One would come after catnap used the gas to help the child fall asleep, where after they now like the other childern in playcare become reliant on the gas because of the poppy opium used to make it. So now catnap every time they sleep has to be faced with what he did, and has to decide to put his dear little one out of their misery while they sleep or to be usual catnap and keep giving them the gas. The other idea I had was for the child to not like to go anywhere without catnap, and starts to become upset if they are left alone especially after the nightmare so catnap finds one of the small smiling critter toys like him from the playhouse, and fixes it up. to then give to the child to keep them company as they roam the factory, or when they are without their stretchy kittyy.

Better To Death

Note || aye, good to see you! Hope this was okay :)

WC || 1,018

Caretaking wasn’t certainly something CatNap had on his table, but he pulled through, innovating in ideas from Ms. Delight and find books around the ruined place on how to properly take care of you better. Safe to say, he would like to think he’s improved on doing so. Though as you were, you are a child and are quite clingy to the giant cat. He had to find numerous ways to keep you occupied and entertained, keeping you away from the mass destruction and bloody spats as much as possible.

Ever since he had remained with the tortuous knowledge of knowing that his gas causes you nightmares every time he puts you to sleep, CatNap was at a loss.

Would he continue on doing it, or just find alternatives…Or put you out of your misery permanently?

Confusion was a brand new emotion to CatNap ever since he had felt himself faced with this dilemma, he had sat on his thoughts. Contemplating what to do, but the insomniac cat had come to enjoy your company in the pit of all his loneliness all just for following his god. It was in due time that he always followed the Prototype anyway, yet his god had no care for what he did. Just get rid of the ex-employee that may come through here.

As of right now, there was nothing un-important that had gained his attention. CatNap had the fortune of only dealing with you at the moment, your joyful smile and laughter was something he had grown to see and hear. Truly you were one of the rare few that never was afraid of his appearance, instead just finding it humorous. The mind of a child is one that is interesting, sometimes he can still feel that another part of him resides deep in the pit of his chest. Pity, perhaps.

Though nowadays, however long a time has passed, he had lost track – a fortnight maybe. You had grown extremely clingy to CatNap, he needed to find out what to do about that. He understood that children can be afraid of being alone, but in your case it was different.

Finally, an idea had struck him. CatNap can use one of the miniature feral smiling critters, one that was an exact replica of him and ask for it to be attuned to your needs (surely now you don't mind being without him anywhere you go).

So he paid a visit to the Playhouse, even though it was messy and destroyed. CatNap could tell that it was the work of all the miniature smiling critters, he dwarfed them in size yet they were capable of much destruction as he was. It was for a moment, amusing to think about. Tiny beings so feral to destroy or feast upon whatever he feeds them.

He guessed they were quite useful, especially in the exact circumstance he was faced with. CatNap had huffed and roared, calling out to a specific tiny smiling critter, one who resembled himself greatly. The giant cat raised his paw and stepped around, trying to acclimate to his surroundings of the tiny spaces the CatNap was forced to go through. Only it had taken a minute, the smiling critter who was akin to his appearance finally appeared, crawling up to his giant paw.

CatNap raised his paw, the miniature CatNap remained unwavering, waiting for whatever orders the bigger cat would give him. CatNap silently instructed him to crawl to his back, to which the smaller one had obliged. Bigger Body CatNap was tumultuous in size, having to carefully step around the rubbled and ruined padding in the Playhouse. He sighed in quiet grievance as small spaces weren’t entirely easy without using his gas to squeeze through, CatNap finally had turned back around, slithering back to where you had rested.

The smaller smiling critter cat was squiggling around in excitement, though staying still so as to not annoy the bigger cat. He was quite curious to see where CatNap would take him.

Soon enough, the questions of the smaller CatNap were answered. “Oh hi, hehe! Stretchy kitty!” The little kid sitting right before CatNap, the smaller cat had easily figured out what it was that CatNap had brought him here for. Sure, the smaller smiling critters seemed to be idiotic enough, but they were smarter than they would let on. The smaller cat had scrambled down the roughened arm of the larger CatNap, who had glared at him – to say the least, the miniature CatNap had gotten the message very quickly.

“I’m really ah- happy!” You nod swiftly, having buzzed about with an energy he had not seen in a while. The smaller cat had scrambled up to you, curling up in your lap as he sat down, waiting for you to react to his presence. “OHHhhh– what are you?” You immediately had been overrun with curiosity, poking at the smaller cat. “You look so much like the big stretchy kitty.” You held out your arms, trying to enunciate the word.

A small sound escaped the smaller cat's mouth, you almost had caught onto it.

“Whoa!”

You giggle, holding up the miniature CatNap. “You are so adorable!” You seemed to be happy and content with the results, he was too. The bigger body CatNap was reassured in a sense you didn’t seem to be at all upset, more so eased and at peace. He sat down, watching you as you had gotten acquainted with your brand new companion.

CatNap had the full intent for the smaller one to keep you company for when he is not present, or with you for that matter. You always liked to bring it around with you when you wandered the factory, regardless of the idea if CatNap was there with you or not.

He found it quite refreshing compared to the usual grotesque sights he had gotten numbed to, but in the name of the Prototype. CatNap was willing to take on anything and everything, even for you.

When you're with any kitty, big or small. If he was CatNap, you are one untouchable person.

[Taglist: @everythingnicen0nnie @prince0fpaints @alocaldemisexual02 ]

#poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader #catnap poppy playtime #catnap #child!reader #yeah we riding with platonic fluff boys

293 notes · View notes

moooncats · 2 months

Text

✿ Pick A Card : Your Vibes ✿

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Pile 1 : Integrity.

You are full of inspiration which is very addictive. Lowkey- your peers love to absorb your energy so they can get just an ounce of what you have. Please be careful for energy Vampires pile 1! 🧛‍♀️🩸 Use your discretion when interacting with others. I'm seeing here that your energy gives me a feeling of honor. You live life righteously. I'm hearing "Ho'o Pono Pono". Your eyes show the truth in them and your mouth spreads it amongst the universe. People who hear you speak want to follow you. I'm seeing here that you are easily a leader pile 1, and you don't mind if others want to be there by your side as you preach. Trendsetter mindset strongly here. I'm hearing "Genuine". People can just tell that you are wholesome and down to earth. Just like fine wine, your energy is intoxicating. People can tell you have that Je ne sais quoi. You are a truth seeker who is reliable, and you don't really care what people think or say about you. You stay focused in the now. People find that very respectable about you. In my minds eye I'm seeing Mulan. At first what she was doing was against the norms, but she pushed through what others thought and said and did the unthinkable. Pile 1, you are innovators and creatives who have a beautiful aura and energy to share! A true Visionary. ♡ Your soulfulness is really attractive and magnetic as well i'm picking up on old souls. People who resonate with feeling like they've been on earth for a long time and this isn't their first rodeo. People instinctively know not to mess with you, and try to get in your good graces.

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Pile 2 : Dragons.

This is my lucky pile. 🍀♡ You can see the synchronicities in life and you use that to your advantage. Even if you don't even notice yourself doing so, the universe hears your thoughts and does whatever it can at the moment to match your current frequency which is in tuned with wealth. You may love to be grounded in the 4D, you are well at visualizing your goals, dreams, and aspirations. You may also be very grounded in the 3D as well, for ex: you like to take your time to contemplate your actions before you do them. You understand that some of your idea's don't need much attention so you move in secret, and keep your dreams to yourself/others that you find as ride or dies. This pile may also like to look plain when they go on about their day to day tasks. Even if you have an abundance of wealth. You may not flex often unless needed to "understand the assignment". Like a dragon, you keep your precious possesions locked away in your safe haven. You understand that those precious things keep you sane and on the righteous path that has made you into the person that you are. You know how to work hard, and play hard. ✈️ I'm seeing vacations, pamper days, and being at home relaxed in a setting where you get to choose what surrounds you. You like to keep negative vibes out of your sight so your mind can be more clearer. You understand that when your mind is clear, manifesting becomes easier and easier. ⚠️ PSA for this pile, please be careful when it comes to hoarding. If you feel overwhlemed at times, it is okay to let go and observe how you feel after that. "I just sit back and observe" 💅 by Nicki Minaj is what I'm hearing. Sometimes, less can be more. 🌿 One man's trash, is another man's treasure may also resonate with you pile 2. ✨️

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Pile 3 : Family Friendly.

You're seen as a bubbly person. I'm seeing truly's and energy drinks in my minds eye. Your energy is sugary and sweet my pile 3 🍸. It is also very intoxicating as well. Imagine a hummingbird landing on a flower. You are that flower. 🌷 Most of your time is spent well with family/those who you consider as family. People like to think of you as someone who is very reliable, they see you as a cruicial part of their daily routine. You may also be seen as the innocent wide eye'd child you once were (or still are). You love to see others happy, and as a result smiles are never far from your reach. 🌈 You seem to get very good reactions out of people. Even if you've seen someone having a rough day and they lash out on you, they ruminate on their actions and start to feel bad because to them - you are their ohana. They wouldn't dare leave you behind because if they did, who would be their sunshine after a rainy day, or their stars in the nightime? Pile 3, you may also be mothers or fathers as well. If so, your kids love you so much. They appriciate everything you do for them. You're seen as a Magician who can conjure up anything for the right occasions. Love is a strong theme for this pile. I'm seeing your heart chakra is open and when you fully embrace it. I just thought of the scene from the grinch when his heart finally grows bigger and he's ready to be a part of the society he is in. You may, be learning to fit in while being an outsider. Although being an outsider, you are like a magnet to others who you piqued their interests. It's hard to be in a bad mood around someone who's buzzing, it is quite contagious. 🐝✨️

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Thank you for reading this, I appreciate you all. If you have any suggestions on the next reading, don't be afraid to let me know in the comments/dm. ^-^ Stay hydrated and weird everyone. Moooncats out! ✌️🦇✨️

#baby witch #intuition #intuitive #pac #pick a card #tarot #tarotreading #free tarot #tarotblr #witchblr #moooncatstarot

268 notes · View notes

signedkoko · 4 months

Note

Hi!! I just want to start by saying thank you so much for sharing your writing with us! I check your blog everyday to see if you’ve updated and love reading what you post! 💙

In light of the season finale, I was wondering if you could do some romantic headcanons in which f!reader finally approaches Vox (after a long slowburn of mutual pining between them, though neither knows how the other feels until now) and tells him he deserves better than whatever unhealthy on-again-off-again thing he has going with Valentino? And perhaps suggests (or outright says) how she would actually take care of him/treat him better? 🫣 I would LOVE to see your take on it! Only the best for everyone’s favorite TV man lol!

Thank you so much in advance if you choose to do it, I hope that’s all clear! Please take care of yourself and have a wonderful day!

Vox X Reader [Romantic]

In which you decide its finally time to step inbetween Vox and Valentino. Reader is female.

The most feared assistant in all of hell, you certainly were one of a kind when it came to sinners

The Vees had taken you in as their head assistant, close enough to be a fourth member but far enough to be uninvited to galas, showings, and all the celebrity events

It was your ideal position; you made plenty of money to get by

Class without the hass(le) as you always put it

Your job was hard, but it was nothing you couldn't handle; all it took was knowing it and predicting the hiccups

Besides Valentino, the other two were very relaxed with you and usually only demanded that you do things that were typical of your day

And being around them so much, you naturally became an honorary member; you'd especially spent plenty of time at Vox's side

He was the hub of communication, and he offered up a space for you to call an office in his own area of the building

Not only did that mean the others could easily reach you since you were always around Vox, but it also meant you always had an upgraded space, courtesy of Vox's constant innovations

He was always so peculiar; you could tell he didn't like being around people, yet he always called for you to pick up lunch with him

Or he brought you to meetings to 'take notes' despite the fact that he could transcribe every conversation in a second

To him, he was showing that he enjoyed his company; to you, it was an opportunity to get to know him better

Admittedly, you wanted to know a lot more about him—no, you wanted to know everything

Unfortunately, the more time you spent with him, the more you'd end up being around Valentino, who always called on Vox during his fits of rage

It was confusing

Vox expressed hating him, but also tripped over every step just to appease the overlord

And Valentino took advantage of that a lot, which caused a boiling anger to eat at you

But you knew your place; you knew Vox was an adult who could stop himself, so you bitterly witnessed it

But as you and Vox got closer and Valentino got rougher with Vox, it became impossible to ignore

After hearing a screaming fit from his office, you could make out Valentino's heels stomping out the door towards the elevators, and after a good moment of silence, you heard Vox follow

But you stood up this time, and right as the overlord passed your door, you caught his arm

" Can't talk right now. "

" He isn't worth your time, Vox, sir. "

You certainly didn't waste any time, and in a moment he went from pulling his arm away to stopping in his tracks to look at you with a surprised look scribbled on his face

You felt guilty knowing that he was only surprised because you'd never tried to help him before; he must have thought you were a terrible person, but you continued

" I don't get what you see in him when there are already people who love and care for you far more than he ever has all around you. "

While you started strong, your voice eventually tappered off into mumbles, already losing the confidence you thought you had when you started initially

The silence is deafening

Until he lets out a long exhale and slumps

" You're right, I shouldn't get so worked up. But Jesus, I didn't expect that out of you. "

He was already trying to bring in humour to laugh it off, but you were more glad that he didn't take your actions as negative

" Just so you know, I'm sure I can show you what you deserve "

You couldn't help it with his validation; you had to get it out, and he seemed to pause again—before a bluescreen came up

Oh no, oh no, you immediately called for him and snapped your fingers, hoping to shake him out of it, and with a quick reboot, he was back to ask if you meant it

And of course you did, and of course he wanted to take you up on the offer

As happy as he is, Vox is frustrated that he didn't ask you first; he's usually the first move kind of guy—or at least he swears

But he trusts you will treat him better because he's always wanted you to

Author's Note - Tell me why I went so hard on the lore that this ended up being 700 words I am so sorry!!! I'm glad you like my work, I really hope I did your request justice!!! Again, idk why I went so crazy on the buildup ahhh

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #vox #vox x reader

393 notes · View notes

unityrain24 · 8 days

Text

email i got today not sure if this is news??:

----

Breaking news: a top Democrat in the House has highlighted the problem with the “duty of care” model in the Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA).1

During the markup last week, Rep. Frank Pallone said, “adopting the duty of care could cause social media companies to over-filter content out of an abundance of caution about legal risk, and as a result some young people could lose access to helpful and even life-saving content.”2

This is exactly what dozens of human rights, civil liberties, racial justice, and LGBTQ+ groups have been saying for years about why KOSA’s duty of care is so dangerous.3

Our grassroots campaign is working and it's getting the attention of top lawmakers. Can you help us continue the fight to ensure that KOSA is only passed if it gets fixed?

Donate

Pallone rightly went on to say that he doesn’t trust Big Tech companies to make determinations about what types of content recommendations cause mental health disorders, noting that our understanding of the science in this area is still evolving.

Here’s what this means:

It’s working. Your phone calls, emails, the videos you’ve made and shared, the small $5 and $10 donations that enable us to run online campaigns, display your comments on billboards in DC4, and keep the media and lawmakers staff as informed as possible about our concerns have made KOSA less likely to pass, at least not without major changes. The top Democrat on the House committee is speaking out against it, and that wouldn’t have happened without all of our work together.

We still have a ton of work to do. Rep. Pallone’s alternative proposal is to try to address the harms of Big Tech by going after Section 2305, which would lead to many of the same harms he’s worried about with KOSA’s duty of care. So we still have to work to educate his staff and other members on and off the committee, and drive emails and phone calls urging Congress to adopt strong privacy and antitrust protections instead of stalling out again and again with bills like KOSA and EARN IT that raise serious human rights concerns. APRA, the privacy bill that also advanced at the hearing, has some positive features, but there’s a lot of work needed to make it strong enough to actually protect the most vulnerable people.

KOSA could still pass, and we need to keep up the pressure. Despite the surprise blowback KOSA faced at last week’s hearing, the subcommittee still voted to advance it to a full committee vote. That means it’s one step closer to passing, and there is still a very real possibility that it could be snuck into a “must-pass” funding bill like the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA). There is a big push from backers of KOSA including full page ads, op-eds in major papers, and several large tech companies have already come out in support of it. We have to take it seriously as an ongoing threat.

There is also still a chance that KOSA could be amended to address our concerns. Senator Wyden has proposed some helpful amendments. One of the good parts of KOSA is its ban on targeted advertising to kids. That could be imported into a strengthened version of APRA, for example, while leaving the harmful duty of care model behind. There are lots of ways Congress can address the harms of Big Tech and protect kids without enabling censorship and surveillance.

So, we gained some ground, but the fight is far from over. If you’ve read this far, you must understand how important this is. If you’re in a position to donate, please click here.

Help stop KOSA

If not, seriously don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there. Thank you so much for being part of this movement demanding Internet policies that don’t throw marginalized people under the bus. We can fight for an Internet where kids aren’t just safe, but have basic human rights, and the ability to speak out and shape the world around them.

Let’s do it,

Evan at ❤️ Fight for the Future

https://energycommerce.house.gov/events/innovation-data-and-commerce-subcommittee-markup-of-three-bills

https://www.techpolicy.press/house-energy-commerce-subcommittee-markup-of-the-american-privacy-rights-act-kids-online-safety-act/

https://www.stopkosa.com/

https://www.fightforthefuture.org/news/2024-05-22-listen-to-kids-billboard-outside-house-hearing-raises-up-voices-of-lgbtq-youth-who-oppose-kosa/

https://touchgrass.fightforthefuture.org/unserious-attempt-1-562-to-rollback-section-230/

Fight for the Future, PO Box 55071 #95005, Boston, MA 02205 Don't like these emails? Unsubscribe.

Sent via ActionNetwork.org. To update your email address, change your name or address, or to stop receiving emails from Fight for the Future, please click here.

#unityrain.txt #kosa #stop kosa #fuck kosa #cant tell if this is actual news or just spam updates lol

126 notes · View notes

anananass · 7 months

Text

NSFW Wriothesley x Fem!Reader ~ Snake Eyes

warning: Nsfw, as per usual

Tags: oral (giving), praising (as usual), almost getting caught, semi-public sexy stuff, sucking under the desk (spoiler), inappropriate usage of a tongue piercing, slight choking, dom Wrio but he is soft, he gets a little bit pissed and turns into a small asshole at some point (not directed at you, never)

wc: 2,2k

summary: spicy time under his grace’s desk. It was about time you spoiled your beloved Lord a bit, though someone disturbs your fun time.

note: piercings are hot

“I have an idea.” You insisted with a glint in your eyes proving that what you were about to say would be of tremendous interest to him.

The Duke raised a curious eyebrow and immediately offered you a smirk of intrigue, but he kept silent, awaiting your thoughts with much enthusiasm and utter craving.

You were seated right under his desk, between his legs doing something seemingly… interesting. Your hands were already resting on his hips at a narrowing distance away from his crotch. Despite that, his throbbing tent remained uncovered though if someone were to walk in on you two, it would be like you were just about to do something unholy. Not that it would be the first time the two of you would be caught doing something like that, but that wasn’t of any importance right now.

Voyeurism aside, your idea was innovative, something he’d easily get obsessed with, but You wouldn’t just serve it on a silver plate without starving him a little.

Hushed and delighted, you peered deeply into his icy eyes, your vision thinning into a squint with each second that passed. You just required a little stimulus, nothing more, but the Duke’s tolerance was running out and with it, his hunger only kept growing.

A little impatient with your quietness, Wriothesley gently wrapped his fingers around your neck, leading you to lift your gaze. Something a little unexpected, but he’d surely use that to his advantage in some way, right?

“Go ahead, spill it.” He urged you through ragged breaths that he hardly held under control, though the seductive eyes you were giving him made it even more difficult. “Don’t just leave me hanging like this.”

You felt his grip tighten around your throat, the applied pressure feeling pleasurable with each second he was digging deeper and deeper into your sensitive skin.

Maybe you shouldn’t have toyed with his grace like that when he expected something the most, or maybe you should have done it every time if that meant he would choke you just the way you liked it.

His clutch only caused you to gulp your arousal. “What if I do things a little differently this time?” you finally spoke out but as soon as he gave you that look of intrigue, you felt your cheeks boil.

“Is that so?” he questioned in a guttural voice that sent cold shivers down your spine until you were nothing but a trembling mess. “Why don’t you show me?” he tilted his head and soon after, tightened the grip around your neck.

The way he said that in such a hoarse voice made your knees weak and you didn't care about toying with him anymore, you just wanted to savor the opportunity of pleasing him in a new way.

“Yes, your grace.” you murmured softly, emphasizing the words ‘your grace’ and he seemed to like that with how much his member was twitching underneath that thick layer of fabric.

Upon hearing that, he expected you to lower your head but instead found himself watching you open your mouth. Shortly after, the imagery of you sticking out your tongue for him to see the snake eyes you had on your tip made him wonder if that’s what you meant by different. Just what were you planning to do with that hint you gave him? He couldn't figure, but that was fine, he would feel it soon enough.

With how much you were making him question your plans, you felt this new necklace of yours loosen up. That was your opportunity to surprise him with a new sensation, one he’d surely hope for once more in the near future.

Slowly, your digits crept closer to his aching bulge. You took all the time to unbutton his grace’s garments, making sure nothing would hinder the treatment he was about to receive. Wriothesley watched you closely the entire time, paying close attention to every single thing you were doing, and the closer you got to removing his boxers, the more he felt his breath grow steadier. Still, he wouldn't rid you of the image of a cocky smile smeared all across his radiant face. He knew very well that it was your fuel, apart from other particular reasons that are best known among you two.

Finally, once you took away the last layer of cloth and watched his member come out with an incredible bounce, you gave the hardness a good look before lifting your gaze back up. You let out a playful chuckle that was suspicious enough to push him to move his hand to the back of your head, and once enough time passed, you lowered your head.

The first thing you did was wrap your fleshy lips around his dripping tip. As a consequence, he let out a muffled moan that only went lower with each inch you were beginning to take in. Oh, he liked that so much. It was a sensation he could hardly explain, but the way his mouth opened partly and his eyes grew heavier was enough to make you aware that you were spoiling him rotten.

Soon enough, your lips parted ways with his head and without a place for pause, you stuck your tongue out and began running it down his shaft at a slow pace. You applied close pressure to where the Pierce would make contact with the sensitive buds of his length. The cold sensation of the steel had his blood boiling with a different kind of arousal. You wondered for a second whether he liked it or not but once you saw him bob his head back, clench his teeth, and growl, you figured you hit the spot.

“Jesus, Y/N.” Wriothesley gasped, letting out another moan the moment he felt you hit the base of his member. His free hand seized the hardwood of the chair, and every time he sensed your tongue grind a bit more diligently he dug his nails in and clawed. Soon after, you noticed his other hand grab onto the back of your head, tugging at your hair with each moan that escaped out of his throat.

Hearing him so weakened pushed you to take another go but this time with a little more spice. You lifted your head and instead took his head inside once more, this time gradually bobbing your head up and down whilst applying the same pressure against his slickness. You slowly increased the speed at which you were taking him in and out, and with it, rubbed his nerves harder and harder.

“Fuck.” was all he muttered while finding it difficult to keep his head straight and not just arch it back against the chair. Yet you looked so nice taking him in like that, he couldn't just miss on all that.

His grip tightened, so much that you felt him beginning to push you deeper into him. Simultaneously, he began bucking his hips into your mouth, as if his instincts were activating. Shortly, you sensed them evolving into gentle thrusts which was a little surprising, but maybe he just didn’t want to mess that pretty face of yours.

It was a little hard to keep yourself in place with all the ongoing motions, but thanks to him holding your head down like it was nothing, you only needed to reinforce your touch around his knees.

Groans began pouring out of his mouth with each second you spent like that, it was a melody to your ears. This was your first time seeing him so vocal during a simple act like this one, it was intriguing really, and definitely, a must-do again. Well, you’d surely do it again with how much he was enjoying himself in that position.

The aroma of his precum mixing with your saliva was infatuating. A flavor of bittersweetness exploded in your mouth and at that moment, all you could think of was how this quickly would surely turn into something more lengthy, as it always does. Every time he proposed that you two have a little fun time between breaks, that break would end up taking more of his time than you anticipated. It made you feel hot thinking about it, so hot that you too began accompanying him with some whines of your own. That and the addition of his continuous growls caused your folds to soak a little. Your insides were beginning to boil in anticipation as you looked forward to what he would do in return for you because let’s be honest, he would repay you back.

How could His Girl leave unspoiled after treating him so well under the desk? Until then, you decided to focus on the task at hand.

Suddenly, you heard the loud clicking of the metal door making a pounding sound as if it just got closed. Did someone enter his office? You questioned in your head, taken aback by the unannounced visitation. You halted your motions as you’d normally do but the Duke kept moving your head in and out, desperately signaling you he didn't want you to stop. He even flashed you a serious look whilst his brows furrowed into a demanding expression. He looked more tense than before but that was probably because he was preparing himself to deal with the situation.

Then, he took his hands away from you, allowing you full control, hopeful you’d keep going since your body was hardly noticeable under his desk. So you obliged and deepened yourself in his length. Truthfully, this moment was hindering. You had to keep silent which was a lot more difficult than you imagined. Even he could feel it since you squirmed slightly.

“Your grace-” finally came from the voice of an officer that was already going all the way up.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” wriothesley barked back, a little annoyed with this intrusion. “I thought everyone knows they should first check whether I’m available or not.” he pointed out this time more roughly. His eyes analyzed the scenery to see when he’d make eye contact with the officer. You seized that opportunity to rub your teeth against his shaft to toy with him a little, and in response, he held back a muffled groan.

Despite your successful attempt, his eyes didn’t lower to your head anymore although you could feel how much he was yearning to do it.

“Yes your grace, but-” the officer spoke out upon reaching the final step. “I have just finished the cafeteria report you asked for.”

“Is that on the priority list?” Wriothesley didn't hesitate and cut him off almost immediately. If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was people coming up with low-priority tasks rather than high-priority ones. That and being bothered during his special break time. “Didn’t I specify this is a low-priority objective on this week’s list?”

“Yes but, I just finished it.” the officer cried out, sounding perplexed as to why the Duke was displeased with his arrival.

Right before he could answer, you accidentally brushed your tongue a little too hard against his member. Not only did it cause it to throb, but the consequence had a small effect on Wriothesley too. He frowned and stayed silent for a little longer than he meant to, maybe because he was composing himself.

“Then you could come by later on and tell me all about it. Right now I’m on a break.” he insisted, sounding more distracted than present in their conversation. “So please, help yourself and leave this for further discussion. Take a break too, a small one.”

You didn’t hear anything more from the officer but a hum, after which he finally spoke. “Yes, your grace. Enjoy your break!” the young man exclaimed, sounding clueless. Immediately, you heard his footsteps once more, and finally the pounding of the door.

Wriothesley sighed deeply as soon as it was the two of you again. He leaned back on his chair and reached for your head once more. His fingertips caressed your hair, drawing small circles.

“Sorry about that.” his apology took you so much by surprise that you gradually decreased your pace until finally retracting your face so you could look up at him.

“What are you apologizing for? There is nothing you should apologize for.” you contested.

“I know but-” he paused for a second, time in which he backed his chair away. You stared in bewilderment at his gesture but trusted that he wasn’t just terminating this moment. “How about you come out of there?” his hand reached for yours to guide you out of the desk. “And allow me to return the favor?” he urged as soon as he had you right in front of him. Then, he further directed you to come sit on his lap, your knees must have been sore from all that time spent there.

You were about to reply but when the corners of his lips curled into a broad smirk and his face slowly capped the gap between your faces, you gasped with utmost anticipation. His hands began wandering around your hips, gripping bits of skin with each inch they traversed. His member on the other hand throbbed against you, which left you desperately squirming for more.

“Yes, please,” you whined as the gap between your lips and his narrowed even more, though you noticed that his mouth was merely trailing closer to your neck.

“Right away, darling.” Wriothesley chuckled and didn’t wait even a second to begin nibbling on your sensitive skin.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #wriothesley smut #wrio smut #wrio x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact imagines

233 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

When you hear "fintech," think "unlicensed bank"

Tomorrow (May 2) I’ll be in Portland at the Cedar Hills Powell’s with Andy Baio for my new novel, Red Team Blues.

In theory, patents are for novel, useful inventions that aren’t obvious “to a skilled practitioner of the art.” But as computers ate our society, grifters began to receive patents for “doing something we’ve done for centuries…with a computer.” “With a computer”: those three words had the power to cloud patent examiners’ minds.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

Patent trolls — who secure “with a computer” patents and then extract ransoms from people doing normal things on threat of a lawsuit — are an underappreciated form of “tech exceptionalism.” Normally, “tech exceptionalism” refers to bros who wave away things like privacy invasions by arguing that “with a computer” makes it all different.

These tech exceptionalists are the legit face of tech exceptionalism, the Forbes 30 Under 30 set. They’re grifters, but they’re celebrated grifters. There’s a whole bottom-feeding sludge of tech exceptionalists that don’t get the same kind of attention, like patent trolls.

Oh, and the fintech industry.

As Riley Quinn says, “when you hear ‘fintech,’ think: ‘unlicensed bank.’” The majority of fintech “innovation” consists of adding “with a computer” to highly regulated activities and declaring them to be unregulated (and, in the case of crypto, unregulatable).

There are a lot of heavily regulated financial activities, like dealing in securities (something the crypto industry is definitely doing and claims it isn’t). Most people don’t buy or sell securities regularly — indeed, most Americans own little or no stocks.

But you know what regulated financial activity a lot of Americans participate in?

Going into debt.

As wages stagnate and the price of housing, medical care, childcare, transportation and education soar, Americans fund their consumption with debt. Trillions of dollars’ worth of debt. Many of us are privileged to borrow money by walking into a bank and asking for a loan, but millions of Americans are denied that genteel experience.

Instead, working Americans increasingly rely on payday lenders and other usurers who charge sky-high interest rates, on top of penalties and fees, trapping borrowers in an endless cycle of indebtedness. This is an historical sign of a civilization in decline: productive workers require loans to engage in useful activities. Normally, the activity pans out — the crop comes in, say — and the debt is repaid.

But eventually, you’ll get a bad beat. The crop fails, the workshop burns down, a pandemic shuts down production. Instead of paying off your debt, you have to roll it over. Now, you’re in an even worse situation, and the next time you catch a bad break, you go further into debt. Over time, all production comes under the control of creditors.

The historical answer to this is jubilee: a regular wiping-away of all debt. While this was often dressed up in moral language, there was an absolutely practical rationale for it. Without jubilee, eventually, all the farmers stop growing food so that they can grow ornamental flowers for their creditors’ tables. Then, as starvation sets in, civilization collapses:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

As the debt historian Michael Hudson says, “Debts that can’t be paid, won’t be paid.” Without jubilee, indebtedness becomes a chronic and inescapable condition. As more and more creditors attach their claims to debtors’ assets, they have to compete with one another to terrorize the debtor into paying them off, first. One creditor might threaten to garnish your paycheck. Another, to repossess your car. Another, to evict you from your home. Another, to break your arm. Debts that can’t be paid, won’t be paid — but when you have a choice between a broken arm and stealing from your kid’s college fund or the cash-register, maybe the debt can be paid…a little. Of course, digital tools offer all kinds of exciting new tools for arm-breakers — immobilizing your car, say, or deleting the apps on your phone, starting with the ones you use most often:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Under Trump, payday lenders romped through America. A lobbyist for the payday lenders became a top Trump lawyer:

https://theintercept.com/2017/11/27/white-house-memo-justifying-cfpb-takeover-was-written-by-payday-lender-attorney/

This lobbyist then oversaw Trump’s appointment of a Consumer Finance Protection Bureau boss who deregulated payday lenders, opening the door to triple digit interest rates:

https://www.latimes.com/business/lazarus/la-fi-lazarus-cfpb-payday-lenders-20180119-story.html

To justify this, the payday loan industry found corruptible academics and paid them to write papers defending payday loans as “inclusive.” These papers were secretly co-authored by payday loan industry lobbyists:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2019/02/25/how-payday-lending-industry-insider-tilted-academic-research-its-favor/

Of course, Trump doesn’t read academic papers, so the payday lenders also moved their annual conference to a Trump resort, writing the President a check for $1m:

https://www.propublica.org/article/trump-inc-podcast-payday-lenders-spent-1-million-at-a-trump-resort-and-cashed-in

Biden plugged many of the cracks that Trump created in the firewalls that guard against predatory lenders. Most significantly, he moved Rohit Chopra from the FTC to the CFPB, where, as director, he has overseen a determined effort to rein in the sector. As the CFPB re-establishes regulation, the fintech industry has moved in to add “with a computer” to many regulated activities and so declare them beyond regulation.

One fintech “innovation” is the creation of a “direct to consumer Earned Wage Access” product. Earned Wage Access is just a fancy term for a program some employers offer whereby workers can get paid ahead of payday for the hours they’ve already worked. The direct-to-consumer EWA offers loans without verifying that the borrower has money coming in. Companies like Earnin claim that their faux EWA services are free, but in practice, everyone who uses the service pays for the “Lightning Speed” upsell.

Of course they do. Earnin charges sky-high interest rates and twists borrowers’ arms into leaving a “tip” for the service (yes, they expect you to tip your loan-shark!). Anyone desperate enough to pay triple-digit interest rates and tip the service for originating their loan is desperate and needs to the money now:

https://prospect.org/power/05-01-2023-fintech-ewa-payday-loan-scam/

EWA annual interest rates sit around 300%. The average EWA borrower uses the service two or three times every month. EWA CEOs and lobbyists claim that they’re banking the unbanked — but the reality is that they’re acting as sticky-fingered brokers between banks and young, poor workers, marking up traditional bank services.

This fact is rarely mentioned when EWA companies lobby state legislatures seeking to be exempted from usury rules that are supposed to curb predatory lenders. In Vermont, Earnin wants an exemption from the state’s 18% interest rate cap — remember, the true APR for EWA loans is about 300%.

In Texas, payday lenders are classed as loan brokers, not loan originators and are thus able to avoid the state’s usury caps. EWAs are lobbying the Texas legislature for further exemptions from state money-transmitter and usury limit laws, principally on the strength of the “it’s different: we do it with a computer” logic.

But as Jarod Facundo writes for The American Prospect, quoting Monica Burks from the Center for Responsible Lending, a loan is a loan even if it’s with a computer: “The industry is trying to create a new definition for what a loan is in order to exempt themselves from existing consumer protection laws… When you offer someone a portion of money on the promise that they will repay it, and often that repayment will be accompanied with fees or charges or interest, that’s what a loan is.”

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Mountain View, Berkeley, Portland, Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: A stately, columnated bank building, bedecked in garish payday lender signs.]

Image: Andre Carrotflower (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:30_North_%28former_Pontiac_Commercial_%26_Savings_Bank_Building%29,_Pontiac,_Michigan_-_entrance_and_Chief_Pontiac_relief_sculpture_-_20201213.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #cfpb #earned wage access #digital armbreakers #loansharks #payday lenders #tech exceptionalism #jubilee #debt #fintech #usury #michael hudson #graeber #debts that can't be paid wont be paid

670 notes · View notes

defectivevillain · 6 months

Text

tongues and teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reading (can be read as romantic or platonic)

reader's pronouns & race: unspecified, ambiguous

summary:

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in misguided arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.” “Chef Lecter?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Chef Hannibal Lecter is a world renowned chef praised for his innovative dishes. He’s won numerous awards and his restaurant, Hawthorn, reflects his talents. There’s something off about him, though. It isn’t until you’re seated in Hawthorn, a distance away from the door guarded by security workers and looking down at a breadless bread plate, that you begin to connect the dots.

word count: 6k | ao3 version

Warnings: spoilers to The Menu, canon-typical blood & violence, suicide, hanging

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is going to be an alternate universe, in which the characters from the Menu are replaced by those from Hannibal. Hannibal is the main chef and the reader takes the place of Margot. In this universe, we’re pretending that the dinner guests—many of whom are criminals in Hannibal—are not hardened killers, but rich consumers in the highest echelons of society. There’s an exact list of which character corresponds with The Menu dinner guests in the endnotes, if you’re super interested.

I have many different justifications for some of the choices I made while writing this, but I don’t want to bore you all to tears, so I’ll detail them in the endnotes. Just know that Hannibal and Julian (the antagonist of The Menu) have very different reasons and motivations for killing, which will impact the story

You’re not sure how you find yourself sitting at a table in Hawthorn, one of the world’s most exclusive restaurants, next to someone you can barely consider an acquaintance. Actually, you do know—you’d just rather not think about it. The boat ride over to the private island, the entirely unnecessary tour of the facilities, and the weirdly stringent rules governing your every move… You indeed remember how you got here. These occurrences all seemed outlandish and entirely otherworldly to you. This entire day has been nothing but a flight of fancy for those with more money than they know what to do with. Not for the first time today, you regret every decision that led you to step into the boat, walk along the sandy shores, and step into this cage of a restaurant.

Indeed, the space is nothing more than an enclosure. Everyone in the group seemed too excited about the upcoming meal to notice how the door promptly swiveled shut when you entered, sealing you into this urban nightmare of a building. You had turned over your shoulder upon hearing the door close, only to find several men in suits blocking the exit. A horrible feeling had settled in your chest. Whatever may come tonight, one thing is for certain: you are not supposed to leave. This may very well be your last meal.

You’re ushered rather forcefully to your table. Franklyn Froideveaux, the man who invited you, looks completely ecstatic. You berate yourself for accepting the invitation; in your defense, however, you weren’t exactly given a choice. You owe this man a favor, as begrudged as you are to admit it. You’d rather wash your hands of the scourge that is Franklyn Froideveaux as soon as possible, which is why you find yourself in Hawthorn tonight. This restaurant doesn’t accept single reservations—something Franklyn made sure to announce several times on your walk over. You should be grateful for this opportunity, Franklyn says every few minutes. Currently, he’s prattling on about the cooking utensils in the kitchen, and about some television series that he claimed to watch about the executive chef. You nod and hum at the appropriate moments, but your attention is elsewhere. Conversations fill the space, combining with clinking glasses to create a pleasant ambiance. At least, you suspect it is intended to be pleasant. However, you can’t help but see past the pleasantries scattered around you—especially when in the presence of such… notorious dinner guests.

First, there’s Frederick Chilton—self-proclaimed genius and institutional leader of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Next to him sits Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, another high-profile psychologist known for her numerous research publications. Dr. Alana Bloom is seated in the third spot at the table. From what you know, the three professionals are colleagues in the medical field and research partners.

Next is Freddie Lounds. You remember seeing her make the news for her self-published food review magazine, TattleCulinary. She sits with James Gray, another critic who is more well-known in the art world. Gray edits the journalist's pieces, and you can pick up on the underlying tones of superiority in their dynamic as Lounds dominates their conversation.

Scott Komeda sits at a table off to the side with his wife, Cheryl. Neither of them look too happy to be here. You can’t say you blame them; although, judging from their luxurious attire, they’re all too familiar with a rich dining experience. A sordid state of affairs, you might say, if they weren't absolutely dripping in wealth. It almost appears as if they’ve dined here before. You certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

Mason and Margot Verger sit at the table to your left. Rumor has it Mason is a cruel bastard. Since his rise to stardom, he’s been embroiled in many scandals—scandals that have dragged him into the courthouse, of all places. He is not a good person. Margot, his sister, sits next to him. Her shoulders are drawn tight, as if she’s on guard. You can’t find it in your heart to pity her—not when you remember her and her brother’s exorbitant wealth.

And, of course, Franklyn is sitting across from you. Truly, you’d rather be sitting here with anyone but him. Mr. Tobias Budge was supposed to dine with Franklyn instead—as the hostess so rudely reminded you several times—but he couldn’t make it. You wonder if Franklyn also has Tobias under his thumb; although, if he was able to escape this dinner, you suppose Tobias is in a much better spot than you are.

You allow your gaze to wander about the room. Everyone is preoccupied with speaking to one another or sipping the proffered wine. Upon first glance, there isn’t much that this group has in common. However, the more you look at them, the more you’re struck with one fatal realization: this entire group is enamored with greed. You can see it in the most minute of gestures—the roll of their eyes when they’re left waiting, the expectations they carry on shoulders that have never known burden or suffering. Indeed, it costs an excessive amount to take part in this dinner—this dining experience, Franklyn is keen to remind you.

Amuse bouche is served first. You stare down at the dish. It looks to be no more than two mouthfuls of food. You can’t help but huff a laugh from under your breath, which goes entirely unnoticed by Franklyn. He’s too busy sneaking pictures of the food—something the group was explicitly ordered not to do—and ranting about something pretentious.

As you stare down at your plate, you feel a prickling sensation rising up your spine. Unnerved, you turn around, only to find that a new addition to the kitchen is staring at you. It’s not just a new addition, you realize with growing horror, but the chef himself. You’re the first to break eye contact, as you tear your gaze away and focus on the appetizer. The man unsettles you.

Ultimately, you don’t end up eating the dish, so Franklyn takes it and eats it himself. Somehow, his behavior has grown worse since you first set foot on the island. You contemplate the thought for a moment, before you’re interrupted by a loud clapping sound. It makes your heart race out of your chest; startled, you turn around to find the chef standing in the center of the room.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter,” he says, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. “Today, you will ingest some of the building blocks of nature and, perhaps, even nature herself.” You take the gifted opportunity to study the man before you. Perfectly coiffed hair frames a sharp, angular face and mahogany eyes. An understanding smile is plastered on his face, yet malice curves his lips and sharpens his teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest. You’re thrown out of your reverie by the light applause scattered about the room. Clenching your fists at your sides, you try to remain calm and turn back to face Franklyn. The cooks descend the stairs and serve you the first course. Once again, the dish you’re presented with resembles a display more than a meal. You pick around at it for a few moments before abandoning the thought.

If the first course is sparse, the second course is almost entirely empty of nourishment. Lecter’s description—an allusion to the privilege of the very guests sitting around his restaurant—is a warning for what lies ahead. The group will not be receiving bread, you realize as the cooks step down from the kitchen and fan out across the room. You have to suppress your irritation at the scene. Sure, you understand what the chef is trying to say. However, you get the feeling you’re not his intended audience. You’re not from the same world as these people. This is painfully present in the way Freddie Lounds tastes her dish, gushing about its distinct flavor profile. You grit your teeth to stop yourself from saying something stupid.

You’re anchored to your seat. Ultimately, you don’t belong here amongst these upper-class socialites, born with silver spoons on their tongues and privilege in their every movement; you feel like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

The third course doesn’t bring nourishment, but it certainly brings a host of other feelings. The chef’s anecdote about his childhood is disturbing—especially when punctuated by the dish he serves, chicken thigh with scissors stabbed in it. When the dish is served, you can’t bear to touch it. Thankfully, there is an accompaniment to the poultry: tortillas. The tortillas have engraved drawings on them, supposedly. You unfold the tortilla cautiously. To your disbelief, there are indeed intricate depictions on the tortilla. Your heart hammers in your chest as you look at the single tortilla you were served. It’s an exact replica of how you’re seated right now, except Franklyn is missing. His chair is pictured and there’s a dish placed on his side of the table, but the man is excluded from the image. Upon closer examination, you find his fork and knife positioned vertically on the plate. Dread courses through your chest as you recognize the nonverbal sign of a finished meal. This does not bode well for Franklyn.

Franklyn, seeing that your attention has been captured by the tortilla, moves to grab his own. His tortillas are engraved with sketches of him seated at this exact table, holding up his phone and sneaking pictures of the meal. The color promptly drains from his face. You’re about to ask him why he looks so disturbed when you hear several outcries from the tables around you. Each person’s tortillas are depictions of unsavory, humiliating truths. The three researchers are whispering hurriedly amongst each other. Mason Verger is glaring at Margot, as if the dish is somehow her fault. Mrs. Komeda is staring at her tortillas with wide eyes and her husband seems to be sweating. Suddenly, you feel as if you were spared from any potential humiliation and embarrassment.

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in unfounded arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.”

“The chef?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Franklyn’s preoccupation with his tortillas prompts you to look down at your own. You look down at the tortilla warily. Suddenly, you realize your picture has another meaning. It’s not just an omen for Franklyn, but for you, too. It’s a warning: this night is going to be a bloodbath.

The fourth course validates the trepidation settling in your chest. Chef Lecter allows a cook, Jeremy, to take center stage. Immediately, you know something is wrong. From what you’ve seen, Hannibal Lecter treats cooking as a performance. What performer would willingly let another take the stage? Unless… that other performer was the entertainment. Your suspicions are proven correct when you see Jeremy put a gun to his mouth and fire it off. You flinch at the gunshot, even though you’re expecting it. The guests around you scream.

The subsequent dish is aptly dubbed “The Mess.” There’s a significant resemblance to the human body, and the dish’s sauce looks like blood. You swallow hard, feeling rather nauseous. Franklyn rubs his hands together and begins eating, as if someone hadn’t just committed suicide before his very eyes. He is entirely unbothered and you’re sorely tempted to snap your fingers in front of his face.

You feel completely sick to your stomach. You grip the table hard, trying to keep yourself anchored to this horrible reality. A man died before your very eyes. You’re going to die tonight, surrounded by wealthy, privileged assholes. Bolts of pain slide through your fingers. Before the sensation can begin to truly burn, there’s a harsh grip on your shoulder. Hannibal Lecter, the chef, is looming over you. You flinch at the sudden touch and look up at him, while trying to regain feeling in your locked joints. There’s a buzzing sound in your ears. The chef’s eyes gleam crimson in the bright lighting. Franklyn lets out a weird squeal, clearly excited by the prospect of Lecter visiting your table. Unfortunately, the chef doesn’t have eyes for Franklyn. He’s staring at you hard enough for your skin to be lit with a phantom burn.

“How are you enjoying the meal?” Lecter implores, looking down at you. He’s rather handsome up close, you realize. You try to choke out a response, but Franklyn is quicker.

“It’s wonderful, sir!” Franklyn gushes shamelessly, “Truly exquisite-”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” the chef interjects, sending him a withering glare before focusing back on you. He raises an eyebrow ever so slightly at you. You’re scrambling for words, empty promises and compliments that will leave him satisfied enough to leave you the hell alone. Thankfully, you’re spared by the enraged scream of Scott Komeda. The chef’s attention is drawn away from you and you breathe a sigh of relief. Lecter clasps his hands behind his back and levels the man with an expectant gaze.

Mr. Komeda’s eyes are frantic and he breathes heavily. “Get me the hell out of here!” He screams.

There are a few beats of silence, before the hostess—Abigail, you think her name is—paces over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. She whispers something quietly to him, something that goes unheard by everyone else. Whatever she says, it must be suitably disturbing, because the man’s face pales significantly. Abigail’s grip tightens on his shoulder.

“Which hand would you like to lose, sir?” She asks politely. The placating smile on her face almost makes you second guess what you just heard her say. The man blinks at her in evident disbelief. His wife tries to pull him back, but security guards descend on the man and he doesn’t budge. “Left or right?” He does not answer.

“Left hand, ring finger,” Lecter announces, breaking through the tense silence that was descending in the air. You inhale sharply, nearly choking on air at the reminder of the dangerous man lurking near you. You had nearly forgotten his presence. Abigail nods and walks back towards the kitchen, returning with a sharpened butcher’s knife.

You avert your eyes, but the man’s scream is enough to inform you of what occurs. When you turn back, you find Mr. Komeda holding his bloodied hand. His ring finger rests on the elegant tablecloth. You very nearly vomit right then and there—just barely managing to avoid the urge by placing a hand over your mouth and turning away. Mrs. Komeda’s jaw is frozen wide-open, and everyone else seems just as nauseated as you. At least, everyone except Franklyn. Somehow, amidst all this chaos and madness, Franklyn is still eating. His unaffected ferocity unsettles you.

“Let’s get a breath of fresh air, shall we?” Lecter asks, before motioning for everyone to rise from their seats. No one seems to understand his question, in the wake of what just happened. After he repeats the question, the guests are quick to rise from their chairs. It is dangerous to try opposing the chef. You stand up and follow the group back through the entrance hall, until you step out the door and outside the building. The chef waits in the center of the assembled group, pausing for a few moments to let any stragglers catch up. Franklyn is still chewing. The researchers are whispering amongst themselves, and Mason looks two seconds from decapitating his sister with his own hands. You keep your eyes firmly on the ground.

“You will be given a forty five second head start,” he begins. Everyone stares at him in confusion. “You may try to run. After forty five seconds have passed, my staff will chase you down.” Lecter doesn’t finish speaking before Frederick Chilton is sprinting away. The chef huffs in amusement, not looking the slightest bit threatened. He turns to regard the rest of the group. “Your head start begins… now.” Alana Bloom and Bedelia Du Maurier exchange glances before running away. Mr. Komeda stumbles away, with Mrs. Komeda tugging him along. Freddie Lounds and James Gray run in opposite directions, foregoing the path straight ahead and diving through the trees and bushes. Margot Verger doesn’t hesitate to run away. Mason watches her go for a few seconds, before pursuing her. This leaves Chef Hannibal Lecter, Franklyn Froideveaux, and you. You turn on your heel, about to run alongside the exterior of the restaurant and behind the building. A loud clap interrupts your momentary escape.

“Stay.” You swivel back around, only to see Lecter staring you down. His eyes are glittering in the dark night. You bite the inside of your cheek. Of course, you could simply ignore his command. However, you know you’ll be caught by his staff eventually, anyway. Might as well spare him the chase, you think to yourself. You nod and take a step to break the distance between the two of you. Franklyn sends you an incredulous gaze that you pretend not to notice. “We will go inside.” Lecter doesn’t wait for your answer, instead walking past you and back towards the door. You follow after him apprehensively, wondering what he could be planning. Perhaps he will slaughter you and serve you as the fifth course. The thought makes you shudder. You step through the opened doorway and stop once you’ve crossed the threshold. Chef Lecter is staring at Franklyn with a bored expression.

“Not you,” he says, effectively dismissing the man. Franklyn, evidently embarrassed, steps back from the door. The attendant closes the door, leaving you as Lecter’s only dinner guest who is still in the building. The chef’s shoes click against the polished floors. You momentarily contemplate ducking down into a hallway, but you realize you don’t know the building well enough to ensure you have a fighting chance at escape. Lecter leads you through the kitchen and into another room, waiting for you to enter before closing the door behind you. The room is sparsely furnished.

“This entire evening has been meticulously planned,” the chef says, taking a seat. You move to do the same. “You are not according to the plan.” He doesn’t seem too troubled by the notion—it’s a mild inconvenience. You frown. Before, you had attributed the chef to be a person taking his grievances out on his guests—each of whom serves as a reason for his loss of love for his craft. You were wrong, you’re beginning to realize. Hannibal Lecter is doing this for his own amusement. The social commentary behind it all is certainly motivation for his actions, but he does not intend to offset the system—the fragile ecosystem of the high-end restaurant industry. He is utilizing it to cater to his desires. What exactly are his desires, though?

“Why are you doing this?” You decide to ask, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude.” It is not an answer to your question, yet it somehow provides you an explanation nonetheless. From there, the chef manipulates the conversation expertly, asking you all sorts of questions about your childhood, your adult life, your career… You’re beginning to feel unnerved, all up until he releases you from your pseudo-captivity. His attention has been recaptured by his staff, which you are extremely grateful for. His gaze felt as if it was searing through you. When you return to the dining area, you’re surprised to find the rest of the guests are already seated. They look tired, their hair messy and their clothing slightly rumpled. Just as you sit down, you’re immediately assaulted with tons of questions from Franklyn. They start off innocuous enough, but soon descend into an envious madness.

“Why would he want to speak with you?” Franklyn spits, stabbing at the remains of his meal. You watch as he shoves another bite into his mouth, seemingly immune to the positively disgusted glare Chef Lecter is pointing at him right now.

“Franklyn.” The chef is heading towards your table. Franklyn practically lights up upon the chef saying his name. Lecter steps impossibly closer, until he’s almost towering over your table. It feels as if he’s looking down on you—and he sort of is, from his position. You try to just breathe. His attention isn’t on you right now. “There’s something you haven’t told your friend here.” The chef’s tone is slightly mocking. His mention of you throws you for a loop.

You look to Franklyn, only to find that he’s steadily paling. Agitation itches beneath your skin as you try to rationalize what could possibly cause such a fearful expression. Lecter is nearly smirking from his position at your side. You grit your teeth and clench your fists under the tablecloth.

“What were you told about tonight?” Lecter prompts the man. Everyone is looking at Franklyn now. Even the kitchen seems to have fallen into an uneasy quiet. What could he have possibly been told about tonight? You’re not sure.

“Everyone would die,” Franklyn admits. There’s a ringing sound suddenly, and it takes several seconds for you to realize the sound is in your mind. Every thought almost seems to come to a screeching halt, as you try to come to terms with the unshakeable fact that Franklyn willingly attended this dinner, despite knowing he would die.

“And what happened to your original companion?” Lecter muses. “Who did you bring in Mr. Budge’s stead?” You don’t stay still for long enough to hear his next remark. There is a sharp knife lying next to your fork and spoon, almost as if this very interaction had been planned (if not for you, then certainly for Tobias Budge). Rage governs your every move, as you realize that Franklyn brought you here despite knowing you would die. This night was a death sentence, executed by Franklyn himself. Before you can contemplate the consequences, you lunge across the table in a fluid movement, before reaching out and cutting him. Before you can stab him, you’re roughly yanked backwards by someone. The knife slices at the skin on Franklyn’s cheek, and he screams loudly. You try to fight the person’s grip off, and it takes a few people to hold you back from Franklyn. When you see the shock and fear on his face, you’re filled with a cruel sense of satisfaction and vengeance.

“That is enough,” the chef remarks, slicing through the tense air with a simple sentence.

“Sorry, Chef,” Franklyn immediately replies, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Does the thought of falling out of Lecter’s favor really distress him so? Although, when you think about it, you’re not sure if he was ever in the chef’s favor.

The chef looks at you now. You don’t bother apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong. If you’re correct, Chef Lecter engineered that very interaction. You don’t regret lashing out at Franklyn, so you meet Lecter’s expectant gaze head-on. Eventually, he seems to come to terms with your resolve, because his attention falls back to Franklyn.

“Franklyn,” the chef starts. You see Franklyn nearly go limp at the prospect of Lecter using his name. You grimace. Something feels wrong here. Indeed, the chef’s next remark seems to be an omen. “You believe yourself superior to me.”

“No, Chef,” Franklyn is quick to say. The patrons around you are entirely silent. The room almost seems to buzz around you, ringing with unresolved tension. You think back to Franklyn’s hero worship of the chef, clumsily combined with his own attempts at thoughtful critiques.

“You have made a mockery of my craft,” Lecter continues.

“No, Chef-” Franklyn sputters.

“Now,” the chef breaks off, a glint in his eyes, “We will test your assertions. Come here,” the chef orders. Franklyn obeys and, once he’s in the kitchen, Lecter awards him an apron and ties it around him. Franklyn looks absolutely over the moon, but you see the gesture for what it really is: the final nail in his coffin. “Everyone, please step back. Franklyn will cook something for our guests.” A hollowed laughter echoes throughout the space as the cooks chuckle, before stepping back to let Franklyn have control over the kitchen.

What ensues is quite easily the most embarrassing and humiliating display you have ever been forced to witness. By the end, there are tears slipping down Franklyn’s face. You almost feel bad for him—almost. Your sympathy quickly fades to obscurity when you remember that he invited you here despite being told everyone would die.

When Franklyn’s dish is complete, there’s a renewed silence around the space as the chef takes a few steps forward and leans down to smell it. Chef Lecter motions for a cook to step next to him and gestures for them to taste the dish. The cook eats the food, their left eyebrow ticking up ever so slightly.

“How is it?” Lecter questions.

“Horrible, Chef,” the cook answers. “The lamb is undercooked, and the sauce is practically inedible.” They grab a napkin and wipe their mouth, before putting it in the pocket of their apron and stepping back to join the rest of the cooking staff in the background. The background is an apt term for the group—they are mere backdrops, accessories, to Chef Lecter’s performance.

“Do you see now, Franklyn?” Chef Lecter asks, an understanding smile on his face. All you can see is sharpened teeth and a crooked malice. “Guests must remain in the dining hall, just as cooks must remain in the kitchen. Take off your apron; you’re dismissed.” But Chef Lecter isn’t done yet. The moment Franklyn takes off his apron and holds it in a clenched fist, Lecter places a hand on his shoulder and leans in to whisper something to him. It’s incomprehensible to you, but you can still see the way Franklyn’s expression falls, before an eerie resolve sets his shoulders. Without explanation, Franklyn steps further into the kitchen and disappears from sight.

Things don’t end there, however. Lecter then calls your name, beckoning you to follow after him as he weaves through the busy kitchen with ease. The rest of the patrons are banished to return to their seats. You glance back at them for a moment, before returning your attention to the chef in front of you. Once you turn the corner and are out of view of the guests, the chef turns on you.

“Abigail was supposed to bring dessert,” the chef remarks. His gaze flits to the hostess behind you for a moment. You hadn’t noticed her presence. Lecter stares at you. “Fetch the barrel from the smokehouse. It is a key instrument for the next course.” You stare at him in disbelief. You desperately want to object, but you suppress the urge. Once you think about it, you realize you’re being given a golden opportunity: a chance to leave the restaurant and explore the premises. Perhaps you could find something to aid your escape. With that knowledge in the back of your mind, you accept Lecter’s request.

You nod and turn around, intending to retrace your steps. You’re walking into the kitchen when something enters your field of vision. You squint and take a step closer, eyes widening as you process just what you’re seeing. Franklyn is hanging from a noose, feet hanging limp in the air. There’s a horrible motley of bruises around his neck and his eyes almost seem to pop out of their sockets. Your eyes are inexplicably led to the bloody cut on his cheek. You take a deep breath and pretend you didn’t see anything, before heading through the winding hall and exiting through the door Lecter mentioned. When you reach the open air, you feel a new sense of tranquility and calm hit you. The night air doesn’t know of the pain and suffering inflicted tonight; its briskness seems to ground you to the present.

You manage to make it to the smokehouse and, once you find the barrel, you drag it outside. However, knowing this may be your only opportunity for exploration, you decide to look around a little. Leaving the barrel to rest near the smokehouse, you head towards the nearest building. To your surprise, the side door is unlocked. When you open it, you’re certainly not expecting to be standing in a living room. Upon closer examination, this appears to be a home—the chef’s, most likely. Abigail had mentioned that all the cooking staff sleep in barracks, which leaves Lecter as the only viable owner of this residence. You look around the space, unsurprised to find that it looks meticulously clean.

You look around a little more, finding a gleaming stainless steel kitchen and an elaborate dining room. There’s only one space that remains: hidden behind the wooden door that you’re currently staring at. You tentatively grasp the door knob and slowly twist it, only to find that it’s locked. You tug at the door again, only for the sound of footsteps to distract you.

You turn around, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest as you see Abigail standing a short distance from you. “No one is supposed to enter Chef’s personal quarters,” Abigail remarks, her voice hollow. There’s a dullness to her eyes that disturbs you.

You frown. “Why are you here, then?” You ask. She stills for a moment, clearly not expecting the question. A moment later, the hostess regains her composure.

“You were asked to fetch the barrel, because of my mistake,” Abigail recounts, eyebrows furrowing to let you know what she really thinks of that idea. She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes gleaming in the dim lighting. “But Chef never asked me to fetch it.” There’s a dangerous look in her eyes and a weapon in her hand.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment, Abigail is running at you; the next, you’re standing over her bleeding body. A knife juts out of her throat and it seems that she’s choking on her own blood. The light slowly leaves her eyes, until her form is terribly still on the kitchen floor. You take a shaky breath in, finding the effort rather laborious. It takes you several moments to come to terms with the fact that you just committed murder. Once you’re finally able to steel your nerves, you take the hostess’s key and walk over to the door. After twisting the key, the door swings open to reveal a hallway. You don’t make it more than a few steps into the hall before noticing a doorway to your left, barricaded by a steel door with a small glass window. Against your best judgment, you steal a glance through the window.

There are chains and sharpened tools lining the walls, metallic gleam burning your vision. A corpse hangs from the ceiling, flayed and mutilated beyond recognition. It isn’t even the thought of a corpse that frightens you. No, this corpse is different from the ones you saw in the smokehouse—this one isn’t an animal. The realization slowly sinks into your skin, sending your heart roaring in your ears. Human corpses hang from dangling meat hooks, in various states of mutilation.

You’re suddenly immensely glad you never ate anything. That chicken thigh served in the third course… was probably not chicken. You shudder. One thought triumphs over all others in your mind: you need to leave.

Afraid of what else you may find, you decide to turn back. You retrace your steps and walk back through the kitchen with bloody flooring and the empty living room until you’re outside once more. The walk to the smokehouse is quick, but once you grab the barrel, you’re reminded of how heavy it is. Your trip back to the kitchen takes longer than you’d like but, fortunately, Chef Lecter doesn’t seem bothered by how long it takes you to return. He only nods and instructs you to give the barrel to one of the cooks. Lecter’s attention is then taken elsewhere—as he still has a dessert to prepare—so you decide to take advantage. You know a way out now, after all. You have to wait for an opportune moment to access the outside door, since cooks are mulling about the kitchen near the exit. Eventually, you manage to find an ideal time frame for your escape and, with equal apprehension and anticipation, you walk over to the door. Your hand doesn’t even clasp the doorknob before there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Leaving so soon?” You turn around, dread prickling across your skin as you’re faced with Chef Lecter’s disappointment. You’re not sure you’ll make it out of this alive, after all. Every time you blink, you see yourself as the next course in this absurdly fanciful feast. The Unwanted Guest, the chef would probably call it. “The final course hasn’t been served yet.”

You manifest a confidence that you don’t necessarily feel. “I’m finished eating,” you assert. Beneath what you hope is a cool exterior, you’re panicking. You can’t think of an excuse that will permit you to leave. Lecter seems to recognize that, because he only arches an eyebrow at you. He is not threatened.

“You’ll miss dessert,” he remarks, a sad smile on his face. You know the gesture is nothing but an act, a performance put on for an audience of one. You bite the inside of your cheek, stopping yourself from doing anything rash.

“I’m not much of a sweets person,” you eventually say, when the torrent of noise in your mind manages to calm down. The kitchen continues to hustle and bustle behind you, providing a subdued background of sound. It’s not enough to drown out your fear.

“Stay,” Chef Lecter insists.

“I couldn’t possibly,” you answer. You need to think of something quickly. What could justify your departure? “My clothes…” You break off, motioning down to your dress clothes, which are now stained with Abigail’s blood and who knows what else. This is as good of an excuse as you have, but it just may work. Stained clothing is extremely improper, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this hellish night, it’s that Chef Lecter abhors rudeness.

It must only be a few seconds of silence before Lecter speaks again, but it feels like an eternity. “Very well,” the chef finally responds. Lecter reaches towards you, his hand frighteningly close to your hip, before he opens the door for you. It feels too good to be true. There’s no way you actually convinced him to let you go, right?

He’s still holding the door open. This isn’t a trick. As you stand in the doorway, you briefly contemplate staying to rescue the other people. You contemplate fighting back against this chef and his staff. The thought doesn’t last long—not when visages of the guests are conjured up in your mind’s eye—Mr and Mrs. Komeda’s annoyed, impatient expressions, Miss Lounds and Mr. Gray debating the integrity of an ingredient worth more than your very life, Franklyn eating while blood splatters, the researchers amicably discussing the lives of their patients over the very depiction of the chef’s own trauma, Mason Verger gazing at his sister predatorily. None of these people are worth saving.

“Thank you for the meal,” you murmur to Lecter. Somehow, it feels like the appropriate thing to say. It must be a good choice, because a small smile appears on the chef’s face. It’s a fleeting gesture, but it almost looks genuine.

“I hope to see you here again soon,” Lecter says. You don’t acknowledge that remark, instead turning on your heel and walking away. The chef’s ensuing laughter follows you and echoes in your ears, even as you board the ship and sail back to the mainland.

Character Guide Chef Julian = Hannibal Lecter Margot = Reader Soren, Dave, and Bryce, business partners = Frederick Chilton, Bedelia Du Maurier, and Alana Bloom, research partners Lillian Bloom, food critic = Freddie Lounds Tim, Lillian’s editor = James Gray Tyler Ledford = Franklyn Froideveaux Ms. Westervelt, Tyler’s original guest = Tobias Budge Richard and Anne Leibrandt, restaurant regulars = Scott and Cheryl Komeda George Diaz, movie star = Mason Verger George’s personal assistant, Felicity Lynn = Margot Verger Elsa, Chef’s right hand = Abigail Hobbs

Adjusted Menu (Appetizer) Amuse bouche: compressed and pickled cucumber melon, milk snow, and charred lace. (First Course) The Island: plants from around the island, seaweed, raw scallop served on a rock from the island (Second Course) Breadless Bread Plate: no bread, savory accompaniments (Third Course) Memory: house-smoked chicken thigh, served with scissors stabbed in the meat, along with house-made tortillas (Fourth Course) The Mess: pressure-cooked vegetables, roasted filet, potato confit, beef au jus, and bone marrow Franklyn’s Bullshit: undercooked lamb with inedible shallot-leek butter sauce

Justifications At first, I thought Abigail as Elsa was a stretch. Then, I remembered that Abigail helped source the victims for her father, Garret Jacob Hobbs. That led me to conceptualize an older Abigail—one who wasn’t afraid to embrace the cruelty that she witnessed all around her. She is rather similar to Elsa, especially in the sense that she longs for Hannibal’s approval (just as Elsa longs for Julian’s). Just like Elsa, she is delegated to the sidelines—forced to carry out the chef’s every whim without even a moment’s gratitude.

Freddie Lounds as the food critic (Lillian) just makes perfect sense. She would be a perfect food critic—entirely unflinching and brutally honest. The Komedas fit pretty well too, and I wasn’t even aware of their existence until I looked through the Hannibal wiki for characters to substitute. Mrs. Komeda—and her husband, by extension—was a frequent guest at Hannibal’s dinner parties, which bled rather well into her status as a regular at his restaurant.

Since Hannibal’s relatives aren’t exactly alive or easily accessible, I scrapped the whole alcoholic mother bit that Julian had going, and instead just kept the third course as a vague allusion to Hannibal’s childhood. The bit about having the males hunt and the females dine felt misogynistic (and also exclusive of people who aren’t exclusively male/female), especially without the context of Katherine and Julian’s interactions, so I just scrapped it. Now, everyone gets to run from a murderer! Woooo!!

Y’all, I did A LOT of research for this fic… so pls lmk if u enjoyed reading it !!!! <3

TAGLIST (hoped y'all don't mind I'm tagging you in this, but I figured you'd like another Hannibal piece): @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#defectivevillain #x reader #reader insert #male reader #gn reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal nbc #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #the menu #the menu fic #fanfic #sorry for all the tags lmao

366 notes · View notes

epigstolary · 7 months

Text

The Middle of Nowhere, Part Two

I once said that my feeder didn’t have to do anything to keep me on his farm. That I was building my own prison there, bite by bite. And that’s still true — but only partly true. The farm may be a long way away from anything — town, other people, even the road that’s our only real connection to society — and it may as well be a desert island for someone too big to drive a car or walk further than the yard, but it isn’t my prison. Because my prison isn’t a place.

Things started to change when it got difficult even to go outside to our porch. I don’t mean they changed with my feeder; he was still as caring and doting as ever. He started bringing me my snacks once I got big enough that just shuffling out the front door took all my energy and attention. I had to watch where I placed every step of my bloated legs, laden with fat that looked like bags of cottage cheese, and hold on to the walls and the railing along the porch to keep my belly and chest fat from sloshing sideways and pulling me over. Even those few steps left me breathless and my heart pounding by the time I got settled on my bench; but it was worth it to have a plate of his biscuits and gravy or chicken and dumplings, under that big sky beyond our little farm, gilded with another sunset. And even when my bench finally gave way after one too many helpings of both, he dusted off his woodworking kit and put it back together, reinforced and better than new.

But by then, we both knew it was only a temporary fix. It wouldn’t be long before there’d be no way I could maneuver myself out there every day, and he could tell how being cooped up inside would drive me crazy after a while. If I was going to do anything other than sit mostly alone on the couch all day, we were going to have to find another way.

His first innovation was to invite people over for dinner — farmhands, friends, folks he knew from town that he could get to come to me even if I couldn’t go to them. And they were good company, in a lot of ways; they’d bring a taste of the outside world with them. They might talk about how the crops were doing, recount some recent anecdote from working out in the fields or going into town, opine on some petty local politics or gossip. And it was nice to hear about something other than what was going on within the confines of our little farm — an outside world that it was increasingly impossible for me to get to. But really, it was hard for the focus not to turn around to me. Nobody was ever rude the first time they met me; but it was rare not to see either a reaction of stifled surprise, or else a glassy look of unseeing, a conscious attempt not to notice the half-ton of fat flowing and bulging out of my ill-fitting clothes.

It didn’t help that, with me never leaving the farm, there weren’t many topics of conversation other than myself and food that our guests could engage with me about. When the conversation didn’t turn to recent meals or my favorite foods, which usually elicited at least warm agreement about the country staples forming much of my diet, it turned to how I spent most of my day. We’d do our usual face-saving song and dance about what I did to take care of the house while my partner was out working in the field — all of it lies, and increasingly transparent lies as my limited ability to even move became more obvious at higher weights — and how I was getting ready to start losing some weight. I’d talk about how I really wanted to get healthier, get out and about more often; and they’d smile and nod, giving tepid approval and encouragement.

The thing is, I really did mean it. I really did want to get down to a size where I could at least walk around outside again, maybe even drive a car into town and go to the little greasy spoon like I used to. It was becoming discouraging to have every step, every reach, every movement blocked or restrained by the fat smothering every inch of my body. But our guests knew full well I didn’t have a prayer of keeping to a diet or an exercise routine. It was even more obvious to those who’d visited before, and who saw me even more bloated, even more out of shape than the last time they were there.

The actual meals certainly made them think that, if they hadn’t before. My partner would serve a spread fit for a dozen people — something like a barbecue buffet, a whole turkey with all the fixings, a tray of lasagna — and I’d end up eating everything that was left after the others had their fill. Long after their places had been cleared away, I’d still be gobbling up the heaping plates my partner would keep bringing me until every scrap of food was gone. Since I couldn’t last very long at the dining table anymore, usually we’d sit around the living room, and they would basically watch me gorge myself — tits and chins wobbling as I’d chew, plate sitting on my enormous belly so my blubbery arms could rest on the sweep of my side rolls while I cut and speared each bite. It was obvious to everyone, I guess even to me, that I was never going to drop a pound if I couldn’t resist completely abandoning myself to food like that. By the end of the meal, I’d be stuffed full, taking up the entire couch and looking enormous, almost too drowsy from overeating to notice the expressions passing between our guests, their looks of amusement or disgust or astonishment at what was apparently a typical dinner for me. Sometimes they’d even whisper about it, thinking I was asleep. I wasn’t.

From the front window of the house, I could watch them drive away, taillights receding toward that distant road where proper civilization began again. Probably recapping the dinner and my obscene size and appetite with horrified amazement. They’d been merely passing through, tourists in my isolated bubble, visiting their friend’s or boss’s blob of a partner out of courtesy but with no real desire to bring me into the fold. They could make things more tolerable, but they’d never be any real help in connecting with the world again.

Then one day, my partner’s beat-up old pickup disappeared, and he pulled into the yard in a gleaming new one, looking unusually excited for him and expectantly at me. I was puzzled — by that point, I was already too big to heave myself up into the cab of any pickup. But then I saw the truck bed — more specifically, the crane and winch rising from the front corner. My stomach did a somersault at the sight of him rigging up a harness meant for lifting cows and pigs into the bed; it was a way to let me get off the farm, sure, but at a pretty steep price in dignity. It was as good as an admission that I’d eaten myself far too fat to rejoin the world like a normal person, probably for good.

But the temptation to be somewhere else, anywhere else, was too much. A day or two later, my partner was helping me waddle out the front door and down the steps toward the driveway. Months indoors had obscured just how much my body had changed in even that short amount of time. My legs had both bloated considerably and weakened since my last walk through the yard, making every step like having to lift heavy bags of molasses just to advance a few inches at a time. My belly hung lower and broader than I remembered, physically holding back my steps and making it harder to twist my upper body to steady my walk. My side rolls and bicep blubber fought one another for space, pushing my arms up and sending fat bunching around my neck and shoulders. I was an out-of-breath mess by the time I maneuvered myself around and collapsed into the harness.

The sensation of my weight being lifted slowly off the ground, suspended and moved by an object completely out of my control, sent a surreal thrill through me. My hundreds of pounds, cradled in the harness, wobbled and jiggled with its slow movements, and for the most part I had no choice but to be carried along with my body’s jostling inertia. Even more than usual, I was buried under my immense belly and tits, my bloated legs were lifted level with the rest of my body, and my flab-laden arms — if they’d even been strong enough to do anything — had nowhere to grasp to help stabilize my sloshing bulk. The crane and winch cracked and creaked as it labored to move my weight, lifted me over the sides and into position facing the tailgate, and lowered me onto some foam padding my partner had arranged into a kind of makeshift couch against the rear window. I didn’t fill the truck bed — but there wasn’t room to sit next to me, either.

I’ve never felt a mixture of emotions like I did on that first drive back into town. On the one hand, it felt so amazingly free — finding myself on that once impossibly-distant road, our farm receding into the distance as fields and hills sped by. Fresh air, and the wind in my hair. But then, as buildings grew closer together and we started rolling into downtown, my blood ran cold — I’m a half-ton blob taking up most of the back of a pickup truck, too fat to walk or move, coming to town like a circus attraction, I thought. People were going to react.

I’m sure a lot of it was in my mind. I’m sure I was self-conscious, reading intent into every glance and word and gesture, most of the time when it wasn’t there. But it felt like every last person in the town had turned out to stare at my huge form being paraded down main street. Me looking out over the expanse of lard occupying the truck bed and smothering my body. Blubber sloshing uncontrollably every time we turned a corner. Kids pointing at the enormous fatty passing by, their shouts being stifled by nervous and disgusted parents. Skinny people casting sideways glances at the pickup, stopped at a stoplight, as they muttered to each other amid broad grins.

And that was when I realized. It didn’t matter where I was — on the farm, in town, on stage with a million people watching. I had let myself get fattened past the point where I could exist in this world and connect with it ever again. Even when I was right in the middle of it, I was as far removed from these people as if I’d still been back on the farm. I’m never going to be walking around with them, shopping with them, just existing in the spaces they exist in. I literally don’t fit in, even if I could haul around all the blubber I’ve accumulated under my own power. And I’m just as alien to them — someone five times their weight, who can’t control their appetite any better than to get this big, someone they can deride or pity or judge with impunity.

On the drive back to the farm, under a starry indigo sky and with a backseat full of fast food from the town’s only chain, I had to wonder about my feeder. Whether he really was trying to get me out of the house. Or did he know? Had he already figured out that I was too big for it to matter where I was — that the thick rolls dominating my body and the sacks of fat hanging off my limbs would keep me his, even if I’d tried to get someone to help me leave? That this drive would do nothing more than to show me a world, a life, that my fat — his fat — would never let me go back to?

The thought lodged in the back of my mind as he gently helped hoist me, every inch wobbling and quivering, out of the truck bed. He led my bulk, step by exhausted step, back inside and to my usual divot on the couch. And as he got me comfortable, spreading the buffet of greasy, fatty food out before me, and as I bit into the first of ten thick double cheeseburgers, his too-kind smile and his gaze that lingered on my bulging gut for an instant too long told me everything I needed to know.

The farm isn’t my prison. My body is.

#extreme weight gain #weight gain fiction #ssbhm #feeder fiction #gainerfiction #gaining #gainer fiction #wg story #wg fiction #gainer stories

314 notes · View notes