#rhythm gymnastics

[sportsandlaughs]

#cvs #receipt #gymnastics #fitness #rhythm gymnastics

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

i love megamix but also it is the glitchiest of the games though also i literally cannot think of any glitches in ds or fever and the only ones i can think of in tengoku are graphical glitches-

#puppy rambles #rhythm hell #megamix #meanwhile megamix be like. big rock finish exploit. quiz show practice glitch. final remix input locking #animal acrobat/jungle gymnast getting fucked up timing if you pause a bunch #still good tho

[chellsiememmel]

Okay graces bar routine was really nice

#good rhythm and lines except that one handstand #ncaa gymnastics

[rhythmicleotardempire]

#rhythmic gymnastics #rhythm game #gymnastics

[buabloomed]

i'm not getting over that spray any time soon and if we don't get a corresponding skin i will RIOT!!!

#anyway rhythm gymnastics!Niran is A++++ #𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗮𝗰𝗶𝘁𝘆! ╳ ooc.

[selkiecoded]

ysee with the persona (inherently trans) and sumires thing about creating a selfhood beyond kasumi we could make sumire a boy. i mean her main issues are the expectations fostered upon her and her idolization of kasumi as a result of that. after all, kasumi makes everything expected of her (gymnastics or girlhood) look so easy and natural, in a way that sumire has to actively work for. theres an interesting thread in that the variation of gymnastic they compete in (rhythm gymnastics) is typically excluded only to girls - sumire failing at gymnastics can also be seen as a way of failing at womanhood. coupled with sumire not understanding her own sense of style because shes allowed kasumi to dictate it for so long... spreads my hands. the p5t dlc will be akechi (trans man) helping sumire come to terms with her own transmasculinity.

#unprompted. but it makes so much sense to me and i havent actually written it out before. #a little nonsensical i havent eaten #alongside the rhythm gymnastics = womanhood thing theres actually a pretty popular male variation popping up in japan #and i believe they got to perform (not compete) at one of the olympics? which is interesting in relation to her being japanese! #im not super into the gymnastics scene though so im not sure of all the details #the clock chimes at midnight

[vulnerasti-cor-meum]

i strut now. i am now a man who struts

#trying to be more confident and sexy #actually because (1) I saw son yeonjae (korean rhythm gymnast) walk like that before her performance and #(2) that one charactrer from vento seco from one of the gifsets I saw but have not yet watched the film lol

[arkon-z]

mm boy i sure do love it when eating a snack throws off my entire day

hungry at 11:30, eat snack, no longer hungry

now it's lunchtime

hungry?

nope. and i refuse to eat if i'm not hungry (except for after dinner)

it's not discipline, it's a mental block

alright, maybe i can just skip lunch and wait until dinner

but that's bad because my brain stops working without nutrition

What about those meal replacement shakes i bought just for this occasion?

nope, can't do it. because then i won't be hungry for dinner. can't make dinner later because i have class tonight

eat after class?

nope, can't do it, i need energy for the class

then eat a late filling lunch

i'm not hungry, so i can't eat

guess i'll have to skip class tonight since i won't meet the mental requirements

and that's how my logic works sometimes.

#i went for a walk to restore the 'rhythm' #which helped a bit #i fought with myself the whole way about buying some hot food #because that's a treat and i know i would eat it #and i kept up the mental gymnastics of my pretzel logic before finally giving up and going back home #so here i am drinking Ensure and eating chips and 6 layer dip #i hate olives in 7 layer dip so i always pick them out #and i can already tell i'm feeling more stable #and my day is reorganized but not a flop #my sour mood the whole walk should have been a clue that i needed to eat #but no #can't do it #mental block will not budge #and hunger isn't a priority to me #just not important #don't know why #i'll blame the pressure to eat right and lose weight from my earlier years tho #honestly i'd skip meals all the time if doing that didn't give me wicked headaches #just another day in Arkon's brain

[ahmed25646]

What is the best time of day to exercise?

What is the best time of day to exercise?

People participate in an outdoor workout and fitness session, June 10, 2022, in Nashville, Tennessee. ©Sara Kauss/GETTY IMAGES NORTH AMERICA/Getty Images via AFP doggie Recent scientific studies have explored the benefits of workouts and sports sessions. Depending on the person’s fitness goals and gender, mornings or afternoons may have an advantage. Atlantico: You recently published a study…

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#activity #aerobics #balance #body #choice #comfort #efforts #good practice #guide #gymnastic #nutrition #physical activity #physical exertion #play sports #rest #rhythm #spent #sport #sports #summer days #tips #welfare #will

[dqrciedaily]

day in the life, abj

a/n: first fic! also i know aggie didn’t play in the derby but i’m ignoring that x

-

“morning everyone welcome back to my channel! today i’m finally going to be doing a day in the life after so many requests to do one!”

at fourteen you started a youtube channel just like all your other friends, making random slime videos and gymnastics tutorials with your cousins. which later turned into a channel with over four hundred thousand subscribers.

the gymnastics tutorials and slime videos long gone but now were replaced by vlogs, get ready with mes and q&as.

as of late the vlogs had some cameos of the blonde girl in the background but the two of you had never explicitly mentioned that you were dating.

the city stirred with the promise of a new day as y/n woke to the gentle rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. beside her, aggie lay in peaceful slumber, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with each breath. y/n couldn't help but admire the beauty of her girlfriend, her heart swelling with affection.

the camera was already set up and ready to go catching the intimate women between the two lovers.

with a soft smile y/n leaned in to press a tender kiss to aggie’s forehead, eliciting a soft murmur of contentment from her lover. "good morning baby," y/n whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from aggie’s face.

aggie stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet y/n’s gaze, a warm smile spreading across her lips. today was special, not just because it was their nine month anniversary, but because they had both decided it was time to officially hard launch their relationship.

after breakfast prepared by y/n, the two set out for a morning stroll through the streets of london. y/n mindlessly spoke to the camera, capturing every moment of their walk, the way aggie's laughter echoed through the streets, the way their fingers intertwined as they walked, the way they stole glances at each other when they thought no one was looking.

after a quick pit stop at the farmers market the duo trudged back to their shared home carrying the heavy paper bags. their second stop of the day was aggie's football match, a london derby at stamford bridge, y/n had been eagerly anticipating for weeks. with her camera rolling, y/n cheered from the stands, her voice heard above the roar of the crowd as aggie showcased her skills.

with each goal chelsea scored, y/n’s pride swelled, her heart bursting with admiration for her talented girlfriend. and when the final whistle blew, signaling chelsea’s victory, y/n couldn't contain her excitement, rushing down to the barriers waiting for aggie so she could wrap aggie in a tight embrace, her camera capturing the raw emotion of the moment.

after the match, aggie and y/n retreated to their apartment, where they indulged in a homemade meal. as they sat across from each other at the table, their conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and shared memories. the moment was featured in the video with soft music over it.

with their hearts full, aggie and y/n settled in on the couch, snuggled up beneath a blanket as they watched their favorite movie. with y/n’s camera capturing their every shared glance and whispered conversation, they lost themselves in the comfort of each other's company, the outside world fading into the background.

as the night wore on and the credits rolled, aggie and y/n found themselves reluctant to leave the warmth of the couch. but eventually, exhaustion crept in, and they made their way to bed, where they curled up together beneath the covers, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

quiet mumbles of goodbyes and thanks for watchings finished off the vlog as in the quiet stillness of the night, aggie and y/n found solace in each other's arms, their breathing syncing in perfect harmony.

#darcie’s drabbles #aggie beever jones #aggie beever jones x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

i think when i go for perfects or do other stuff like that my brain just tries really hard to distract me with other things so that i just do it based on instincts. which i mean. fair tbh-

#puppy rambles #rhythm hell #flashbacks to when i perfected jungle gymnast and was thinking about other things for like 90% of it #and then next thing i knew i'd perfected it-

[cloudy-li]

chapter two - the circumstances of our meeting

pairing - luke castellan x reader warnings - mmh nothing much just fluff :) masterlist - found here

Inside the dark – albeit musty – rooms of cabin eleven, your hands started to shake. Violent tremors ran up and down from the base of your wrist, to the tips of your fingers.

That is of course, If your fingertips were there. You clenched and unclenched your left fist once. Of course, the only thing that was visible was a ghostly dark shimmer where your fingertips should be. You clenched and unclenched your fist, willing the shimmer to turn opaque – to turn tangible again. 

Nonetheless the dark shimmer persisted, stubbornly. There was a dark rot creeping downwards from your fingertips, threatening your knuckles. You clenched and unclenched your fist. Repeating the action over and over to the frantic beat of your heart, heavily inhaling and exhaling to the rhythm. A stray tear fell into the corner of your lips. Then another and another until the dam was broken and the water was unstoppable. Stubbornly, they sprang from your tear ducts and raced to jump from the edge of your face. You were thankful for the empty cabin. 

“Hey, uh… Are you okay…?”

Smooth and warm like honeyed nectar, Luke Castellan’s voice made you freeze. If there was one thing you hated more than unnecessary brightness, it was confrontation – specifically, talking about your emotions. You jumped up, grabbed your sunglasses, grabbed your cap and almost bolted through the cabin door, before, in the blink of an eye, Luke had grabbed the scruff of your camp shirt and twirled you around to hold you by the shoulders. “Woah, easy there, it's just me” You struggled against his grip. Right hand making a feeble attempt at prying him away. “Luke, please just let me go…” Your voice cracked. You hadn’t meant for it to scratch but it had and now the tears you had momentarily forgotten stung your eyes afresh with renewed vigour. 

Thankfully, your sunglasses covered it.

Luke squeezed your shoulders gently. “Y/N, it's my duty as the Hermes head counsellor to make sure that everyone under my care is safe and happy. And right now I think I would be right to assume that you are neither one of those things.” Luke’s eyebrows furrowed as he subconsciously started to trace random patterns with his thumbs. ‘Always fidgeting’ you observed through your tears. 

Luke’s eyes darted downwards as you clenched and unclenched your fists again. Before you could snatch it away and hide it behind your back, Luke, with gentle force gilded it back. 

“Your fingers…” he exhaled. “What…”

“I don’t know either,”

You were looking away from him, away from his eyes. “It's been like this since I was four or five, it's worse on some days more than others. I, umm…” you stammered to a halt when you realised Luke was staring at you. Straight through your sunglasses and into your eyes. There, you swear you could’ve seen that spark again. That spark of danger. Exhilaratingly addictive danger. 

Ever so gently, Luke reached up, took your sunglasses off, putting them on a random bunk and gingerly brushed the dried tear stains on your cheek with the pad of his thumb. He cradled your cheek. Your heart and stomach decided to partake in a gymnastics routine as Luke pulled you in close. Warmly, comfortingly, he hugged you. And you couldn’t help but gingerly loop your arms around his sides and basked in notes of pine and smoke and ozone.

Luke pulled back, a smile on his face. It was small, genuine. “From now on, I want you to know that you are not alone. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise it at first, but whenever something, anything happens, my door is always open.”  He cradled your hands in his and smoothed his thumbs over your palms, your fingertips had returned again, the black shimmer almost gone. “So if something like this happens again, come to me, okay? And we can figure it out together.” The trembling in your hands had subsided with Luke’s touch. You offered him a grateful smile. “Okay, I will.”

A heartbeat of silence passed before you added: “Thank You.”

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #pjo #percy jackson #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo luke #percy jackon and the olympians #cloudy-li writes #two threads of yarn #its dawning on me about what i just signed up for...

[theredofoctober]

MANNA— CHAPTER FOUR: TOAST

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, mild Daddy kink (it'll all make sense). Cannot stress the ED/anorexia warnings more strongly for this chapter guys!

This is chronologically the fourth chapter in the series

--

You sit with your back to Dr Lecter as he readies himself to leave for his morning appointments, feeling like an ancient sacrifice to some forest beast, blindfolded and anointed, its snail-fed bride; the dread of unseeing, of not knowing what he does as you stare at the wall is so clever a punishment that you comprehend entirely why more brutal forms were inflicted before it.

He is ingenious in his malice, this man. The fear of the worst of things is the stick that will make you the supplicant to his merest whim.

In cyclical paths you think of Hannibal’s attack at the breakfast table, how he had intuited your intent to cut his throat before you had finalised the thought. The gymnast's grace with which he’d caught you, the psychic recognition of revolt— he has held others captive, before you, surely.

Likely he has killed.

There are many like Dr Lecter, in the medical field, rapists and murderers in their masses, scything the weak, and allowing their names to fall through the cracks in the system, where few care to retrieve them. Already you feel yourself staggering into that hopeless black, soundless as your gaoler guides you back into the en suite by a hand at your nape.

“You may take a bath, if you wish,” he says— how had he known you’d only stood at the sink that morning? “I have provided toiletries for you. No razors, I’m afraid. If you desire to shave, then Will or I must be present, which I doubt you would prefer, at this time. Besides, I have to leave for my first appointment in a few minutes. I trust that you will enjoy the solitude.”

You keep your back to him, half-swooning under your dread of those pitiless eyes.

“I hope that you will not do anything unwise, while I’m away,” says Hannibal, into the frigidity of your silence. “There is no mention of active suicidal ideation in your records. I would be surprised if you drowned yourself; of all the poetic figures you resemble, Ophelia, in her madness, is not of their number.”

“Why?” you whisper. “After what’s happened, I should want to die.”

Hannibal’s arm glides past you, twisting the faucets of the bath until water beats a war drum rhythm against the porcelain.

“But you do not,” he says, his voice so close to your ear that you jump. “Death, to you, would be an unfortunate symptom of the habits you keep. You are ambivalent about life, at the best of times, yet your goal is not to leave it. Your inherent belief is that you can maintain starvation at such a balance that you defy both those who have hurt you and God Himself.”

You watch hot water spin the air into steam, and a tear condenses on your left cheek, quite as warm.

“Does God even exist?” you ask. “If He did, He’d get me out of this.”

Dr Lecter unscrews the top of an expensive soap bottle and pours it into the bath, smoking the room with the scent of dusky vanilla; of course, his perfume for you would be gourmand.

“God kills and aids with equal relish. Who is to say that it is not your suffering that he would prefer?”

“That’s what you want?” you ask, in a whisper like a fragment of snow. “For me to suffer?”

“No, little one,” says Hannibal, touching your quivering lower lip with a gentle thumb. “If that was so, I would have left you to die in your parents care. What I want is for you to eat, and gain trust in those that yearn to help you.”

He straightens, smoothing down an imaginary crease in his suit.

“I have prepared lunch for you to eat while I am at work. I expect to see that you have eaten it.”

Your stomach, hard with breakfast, is nevertheless hollow enough to moan.

“All of it?” you ask.

“Yes,” says Hannibal, though not unkindly. “It is only a light portion. Will is joining us for dinner tonight.”

You sit down on the edge of the bath, your voice rising to a petulant note, as though Will were an unsavoury family friend, and not a man driven to rape by a whisper in his ear.

“I don’t want to see him.”

“Nevertheless, you will,” says Hannibal. “Like hunger, he is the spectre you must face, regardless of your fear of him.”

Hannibal switches off the taps and smiles down at you, undeterred by your unchanged, fearful disgust.

“Goodbye, little one,” he says. “And be good.”

You don’t reply, refusing to turn as he pats your shoulder and quietly retreats from the room. His leaving should be a relief, but his presence drenches the house like blood through a shroud. He scarcely seems to leave it at all.

You bathe rapidly, loathing to be at one with your nakedness, seeing it through your captors’ eyes.

Another set of clean clothes has been set out for you, a perfume of further vanilla, a clear bag of cosmetics, a weighty tome by Dostoevsky, and lunch in a pristine Tupperware box, which you avoid as you would a sleeping asp.

The bedroom door is locked, the sole, small window barred— new additions, you note from the shine on the steel. Hannibal has made definite your inability to escape; the only hope left bare to you is to draw attention from passers-by.

Desperate, you write a haphazard ‘HELP ME’ message in lipstick upon the window, hoping that the letters are large enough to be glimpsed from below.

That done, you sit in a convent-goer’s silence, cowed by the enormity of danger that has found you. The only thing that protects you from the engulfing depths of your abjection is anger, defiance that Dr Lecter thinks himself dictator of what may enter your body, food or flesh.

With a reedy surge of courage you vow to challenge his every attempt on your autonomy, even if you must do so quietly.

You begin with lunch. With a percussive gusto you throw the Tupperware into bathroom bin, thinking you’ve done well to avoid another round of narcotics, and to deny yourself what you do not think you deserve, after failing to abstain at breakfast.

The pasta smells delicious, of cloves and some ingeniously mixed sauce you know would break across your tongue in a tide of exceptional flavour. You pace from the bedroom to the en suite, close to retrieving the plastic tub from the clean trash bag and eating from it, unashamed of such a low; you’ve done worse, in your time, giving in to an animal urge to forage.

You lean against the wall, breathing in and out with trembling difficulty. Then you prise the Tupperware from the trash can and empty it out into the toilet bowl, flushing again and again until every remnant of food is washed down where even you cannot salvage it.

You are exuberant in your resolve, barely weakened under the burden of your captivity.

You shouldn’t be hungry, so soon after breakfast, yet you are— not in the way other people feel hunger, the ordinary cues having been lost to illness, long ago. Your desire for food is like that of a man-eating animal, driven more by a taste for flesh than necessity to eat.

That Will and Hannibal have given you a secondary conflict to wage war against your obsession is almost a gift— there is no longer much room amidst your crowding fears to pine over the food in your stomach.

Yet, there is enough. Purging has never been your particular habit—you’ve found it too difficult, requiring water you are too afraid to drink more than a glass of for fear of the added weight on the scale.

The French toast lies upon you like a sleep paralysis apparition in its density. Hanging over the toilet bowl, you choke on acid spittle, and promptly abandon the venture. Had there been laxatives, they would have been a fair alternative, but Hannibal has kept you as simply and functionally contained as a vivisectionist’s subject, which, to him, it seems, you are.

You bow to your defeat, on this count, allowing yourself another indulgence of tears. Only the fear of the calories you must burn thrusts you back on your feet, striding laps of the room until your vision swims with sparks.

Light-headed, you sprawl on the bed—the same that you were raped in, you think, and move to lie on the floor instead, comforted by the changed perspective of the room.

As a child you used to lie on your back like this, imagining that you could walk upon the ceiling. You’d lived years in such imagined lands, and would have remained in them, still, had they not grown dark, and overgrown by infiltrating matter. As you stare at the ceiling now it seems to blacken at the edges as though with a quickening mould, or else the fingers of some unseen thing, folding over your eyes until they shut.

*

You start from unsettled sleep to the gentle purr of an expensive car drawing in at the front of the house. Recalling your lip-sticked message, you blunder in a drowsy panic to the window and rub at the glass with your dress sleeve, spitting on the hem when the cosmetic merely smudges obstinately under your ministrations.

You cannot tell if the monster in the sleek Bentley below can see the window clearly, but you work rapidly, your breath sawing a panicked melody through your throat.

Though your dress is black, the cosmetic shows tellingly on the fabric. You wrestle the garment over your head and hide it at the back of a drawer, shoving on an almost identical item as movement stirs in the house below.

You sit down on the bed, picking the skin at your fingers as Hannibal approaches. When his key clicks in the lock you start, tearing a hangnail up to the cuticle. You suck your thumb like a child to soothe the wound, aware how infantile you must look.

“Hello, little one,” says Hannibal, politely, as he enters the room.

“I ate it all,” you say, in an all too eager rush. “The food. You don’t have to punish me.”

Your jailer looks at you levelly. His eyes are crow’s eyes, clever, and gelid.

“Let me see.”

He picks up the Tupperware, examining the box. Abruptly he circles the room, then the en suite, his slow tread an axe-man’s gait.

“You have lied to me,” he says, suddenly. “Lunch was disposed of. The toilet, I presume? Please do not insult me by claiming to have eaten it.”

You stare at him, nonplussed.

“I... how did you know?” you falter.

“I have a keen sense of smell. The scent of herbs is very clear in the air. An unusual aroma, for this particular room.”

There is a humour in his voice, but of a sinister kind you know well to fear.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I couldn’t. I already ate so much, and you said I have to have dinner, so I...”

Hannibal shakes his head gravely.

“You must never waste food, if you can help it, little one.”

On a whim, you reach out to sieze one of his hands in yours.

“I didn’t mean it. Please don’t hurt me, Dr Lecter.”

He shakes his head regretfully.

“That is not for me to decide.”

You squeeze his hand as tightly as you are able, aware of how cold your fingers are in comparison to his hale warmth.

“Please, I’ll stay in solitary, or... or forfeit stuff, like they do at regular hospitals. Just don’t... touch me again. I can’t take it.”

“You discredit your endurance,” says Hannibal, smoothly. “It has presented itself as your greatest strength. It would be startling to see it fragment so early into your induction.”

You snap your hand back from him, cradling it as you would a broken bone.

“What’s wrong with you?” you hiss, and Dr Lecter releases a little grunt of amusement.

“I can only echo the interrogative. You have never opened up to any therapist about the most crucial traumas in your past. I am intrigued by their mysteries.”

You glance away, lips tightened. You will give him nothing of your secrets, not even the sheerest slip. He will use them against you, this you know.

“I must prepare for dinner,” says Hannibal. "Come along, little one. You will assist me. It will do you good to be in the presence of food through its preparation.”

*

As anticipated, your presence in the kitchen is fraught with excruciating temptation. As you grate vegetables and slice meat you often clear your throat to mask the thunder of starvation in your abdomen, which Dr Lecter politely ignores.

Though he maintains a flow of light, one-sided conversation, you know how narrowly he watches you, analysing every twitch and attempt to mentally detach from the scents and sumptuous plenty spread out on the countertops before you.

At last, he relents, an unexpected mercy.

“That’s enough. You may wash your hands and sit at the dinner table.”

You linger, gawking at him, not quite believing in your release.

“Go on,” says Dr Lecter, chuckling slightly. “I will join you presently. Our guest will be arriving, soon.”

Blinking, you say, “I’m... allowed to sit in there alone?”

With an almost fond glance, Dr Lecter says, “Certainly. You will not run, for you know that I will follow.”

Will arrives half an hour later, smelling of night rain and cologne. His expression is sullen and furtive as he greets you, his eyes floorwards, lashes fluttering behind his glasses.

You clutch the sides of your chair, silent, sickened, resentful; the man behaves as if it is he who was injured by the assault, as though the shame gnaws down to the core of him, leaving him raw and naked before you.

He sits in the chair closest to the door, whether to guard the exit or to forge the path to a quick egress you cannot say.

Hannibal sets a glass of wine before him; you he only gives water, as though you are not old enough to drink.

“The first course will be served presently,” he comments, surveying the tension at his table. “I hope that you will both enjoy it. You must be hungry, little one.”

You shake your head, afraid that if you open your mouth to speak you will only scream. This meal isn’t meant to tantalise the senses, but to torture: you know it from the unwilling reunion of his guests, of the punishment that leers from a narrow future upon you.

A quivering shrew, you stare at your untouched glass as Will clears his throat, pressed by the pains of your silence to speak.

He invokes your name, making it as foul as a curse.

“I don’t claim to be a master at first impressions, but the other night...”

“Please don’t talk to me,” you whisper, and Will flinches, pushing his glasses up his nose with bumbling fingers.

You’ve upset him, you realise, with a cold start of revulsion. Him, the violator, bruised by his own brutality, as though he’d no choice in the matter. Had he expected you to be his friend, to care for his sensitivities?

There is something wrong with Will Graham, you think, like a flaw in some creaking ship apt to annihilate the vessel, under pressure. That, or bleed all around him in his shrapnel, while he tends to their many pieces with all the moroseness of Beauty’s beast.

It strikes you that you should make him your ally, this hopeless Caliban, if you can stand it. You will need his favour, against Dr Lecter, to convince him to set you free.

Still, you cannot yet bring yourself to earn it. When Hannibal returns to set the first of many plates upon the table you are wordless in your terror, your fork as slippery as a salmon in your grip.

Will and Hannibal make conversation about a murder case in the area— both seem intricately involved in the psychology of the killer, discussing at length his motives in the poetic lexis you are becoming accustomed to, in this prison.

Still, their eyes and words wind back to you with a potent eventuality, displayed before them in your borrowed dress like a goldfinch chained to an elaborate perch.

Your food remains on your plate, flattened beneath your knife, a childish attempt to conceal your inability to eat it. There is too much weight in these scarce morsels, calories that would swell you into some fantastic horror, or so your thoughts inform you.

If you could eat, you would do so; even to save yourself it is beyond you.

Only water do you swallow, the bottom of the glass thick with a bitter sediment.

“We should talk about her, shouldn’t we?” asks Will, reluctantly, his gaze darting to your plate.

"Indeed we should," says Hannibal, his hand tracing the stem of his wine glass as he would the length of your throat. “Specifically, your response to her residence here, and to her treatment. You feel guilt for having carried out a punishment you feel was not entirely deserved.”

Will swallows, the click of saliva in his throat like the folding of a leaf underfoot.

"That's the problem," he says. "It did feel deserved. Violence for violence. There was a righteousness in defending you. I've felt it before, with GarretJacob Hobbs."

The name holds significance you cannot grasp. Who was this man, and what does he mean to your wardens?

"And like that day, protecting Abigail," Will continues, "I'm left looking at my own hands, repulsed by my own readiness to engage in a taboo and... enjoy it. But she isn’t like either Hobbs."

This, directed at you with a glance of murky guilt.

"She's unwell. Confused. And, as far as your patient was concerned, she was as in her right to protect herself as I was in correcting her."

"Stop,” you say, quietly.

Both men turn to you, startled by your sudden interjection.

"You disagree with Will's analysis of last night's events?" asks Hannibal, with interest. "By all means, tell us what you see. There is no sole analysis of any art; what picture do you glimpse from within the canvas?"

"I'm not yours," you say. "You can't correct me, like I'm something you own, that you made."

Dr Lecter examines your face with a dangerous patience.

"But we are making you. Or remaking, it you prefer. That is why you are here: a construction of what we two will define from mortar and broken glass."

You cannot respond to such unhinged logic without lowering yourself to entertain it, an undeniably clever tactic.

Hannibal brings another course to the table, another, another; Roman emperors could not have gorged like this, yet the two men—both lean, and Will particularly small—clear their plates as though swallowing mere air.

You pretend to eat, chewing food and spitting it into napkins or an empty glass when the other diners look away. It is only when Will barks at you suddenly that you realise he's been watching you, all along.

"What are you doing?" he asks, sharply.

"Nothing,” you mumble.

Will scoffs.

"Nothing? Nothing is not why you're here. You’re starving yourself. Why?"

Disgust pours from him like a vapour, tainting the air you breathe with his unearned judgement.

"Because... it's just what I do,” you say, limply. “It... helps. It's taken over everything.'

“Then stop letting it,” snaps Will; you don’t understand why he’s so affronted, why he has suddenly taken up the reigns of the game. “You're giving into this, letting it cut holes into you. You'll die trying to achieve some abstract state of being that you will never reach. Do you want that?"

Strange, the echo of your conversation with Dr Lecter by the bath.

"I— don't know,” you say, after a strained pause. “Sometimes I'm not sure if I care what happens to me. And sometimes, I get scared."

Will speaks through gritted teeth.

"So let go of it."

You could laugh at so preposterous a command, but instead you say, "I can't."

The atmosphere at the table has subtly changed, all players on the board at last.

"Why not?” asks Will, softly.

You perceive something like care in his voice, an impossibility.

"Because it makes me feel better," you say. "Stronger. I don't want it to go away."

Hannibal sits back, listening in purposeful silence.

Will removes his glasses, placing them into his pocket.

"Today, at this meal, you’ll try,” he says. “Appreciate the effort that was made for you."

At this you do laugh, a soft, broken sound.

"Go to hell. You're a monster. You did what he told you to, and— and you jumped like a dog to do it. Aren't you ashamed?"

Dr Lecter’s posture tightens slightly, and Will flounders, losing a little of his confidence.

"I know it's probably not what I should have done,” he admits. “It’s a radical treatment. And dangerous. But I— we can't take it back. And if I can contribute to you evolving from this then I'll do whatever it takes."

There is honesty in this confession, somewhere, even empathy.

"Don't act like you care about me,” you mumble, and shove your plate away from you, across the table, knocking over your glass in the process.

The effects of whatever drug was in the water are taking hold, making you feel loosely unstable, your inhibitions cast down, and forgotten.

Hannibal’s smile has fallen.

"Will,” he says, curtly. “I think you have tolerated quite enough from our obnoxious guest. I suggest that you consider discipline. She has already broken the rules in place for her today. A meal discarded, a message for help written on her window— It is fortunate that no one came close enough to the house in my absence to see it."

You stand up from your seat, swaying slightly, your heart shuttering like cards on a bicycle wheel to find yourself caught you in your efforts to escape.

"I hate you,” you say. “I want to leave. Let me go."

"Hannibal,” Will cuts in; his face is white, and greasy with anxiety. “I'm not ready to handle this again."

Dr Lecter’s expression shifts darkly.

"Then I will fulfil that responsibility on your behalf."

He rises from his seat and is behind you for the second time this day before you've the sense to run. Shunting you forward onto the table top, he tears your dress methodically up your back, his free hand holding you down with the same carelessness with which he’d handle unsatisfactory meat.

"You are sure that you do not wish to participate?" he says, over your shrieks of protest.

Will shakes his head. His eyes are rolling like a bull’s in his distress.

"No. I— can't."

Hannibal stills; you feel his hand between his belt and your behind, on the precipice of setting loose his sick lust.

"Then should I choose another punishment? There are many at our disposal."

"Don't leave it up to me to decide,” croaks Will. “I feel... precarious."

"I forgive you your uncertainty,” says Dr Lecter. “I, however, have none."

A drugged swell flows through you, looping a weird ecstasy about your abdomen as Hannibal leans down to speak to you directly.

"You are a very disobedient girl. You know the consequences, and yet you do not abandon your misdeeds."

"I'm not playing your stupid game,” you whine, dimly away of how foolish you sound. “I'm not playing.”

“Of course you are,” says Hannibal, coldly. “In time you'll forget that it was ever a game, to begin with.”

He forces himself within your cunt in a smooth and gliding viciousness, sending another brocade of sensation through your loins. The drug you’ve ingested makes the pain a most succulent wonder, playing your nerves with all the sinister beauty of the Theremin.

You sob as he fucks you, slow, and sure, and deep. It should not possibly be pleasurable, is intended only to exert power, and to humiliate— but he cannot help but create art, casting you on the stage of his design.

As Hannibal hurts you, he is looking at Will, whose face bears a quickening darkness. It strikes you quite suddenly that Dr Lecter wants the other man’s approval, perhaps even his jealousy; you understand that you are a disposable object that holds the temporary interest of these two.

It may not last.

Should they tire of you, what then? Thrown back to your parents, perhaps, more broken than you arrived. Surely not, for you may spill their secrets to the world, and ruin their lives.

Something worse, then.

You circle back to that earlier thought, and terror flies back in all its night glory.

Suddenly you twitch and shake in horrified spasms, and though Hannibal continues to fuck you something alters almost imperceptibly in his pace.

"Stop," says Will, suddenly. "That's enough."

"You cannot leave a deer half-killed, Will,” says Hannibal; glancing back over your shoulder, you are horrified by how calm he appears, even now. “Maimed, it will stumble, weakened, until another predator picks it from the herd. I must hunt her to the end, Will. It is all that can be done."

You see your tears soddening the tablecloth, mucus pooling beneath your cheek.

"Don't kill me," you whimper. "I don't want to die."

Hannibal stills a moment, pulling your head back to look into your eyes.

“We do not intend to kill you, little one," he says. "Only for you to accept what you are. You will humour what we ask of you?"

"Yes!” you cry, with a delirious bray in your voice. “I— I’ll try!"

Blue eyes, black eyes, both pairs so equally bright.

"Good girl,” says Hannibal, and resumes his use of your flesh, his cock making a gauntlet of you, every thrust grinding you against the elaborate tablecloth with such intelligent pressure you groan beneath him, juddering with the effort it takes not to come.

Will's gaze has changed, and there is colour in his cheeks. He grips the edge of the table as though to prevent himself from falling, or else rising to join his companion in your debasement.

"Please stop," you stutter out, wanting to bite your own tongue off for the embarrassment of the utterance. “I won’t be bad anymore.”

Hannibal slows deliberately, his cock withdrawing to the point it almost slips from your cunt before he sinks it in the lake of your arousal again.

"Come, then," he says, simply. "And you may go to bed."

In a wailing convulsion you climax at once, scrabbling at the floor on steepled toes as the pleasure rolls from your cunt through your thighs. Hannibal waits for your last twitch to cease before he finishes within you, utterly soundless as he leans down, kissing the back of your neck in a gesture that is curiously gentle.

He steps away from the table and helps you stand, holding you to his chest as you whimper in the after bursts of sensation.

"Are you still troubled, Will?" he asks, over the top of your head.

The other man looks shell-shocked, his pallor an almost grey.

"I'm... undecided."

You pull away from Hannibal, remembering with a flare of insane joy that you are released from the table, that you need not eat, after all.

"Then I am mistaken in perceiving another response in you," says Dr Lecter.

Will looks hurriedly away, and it is only as you push past him to flee for your room that you understand Dr Lecter's meaning. The younger man adjusts himself, flushing, sitting as close to the table as space will allow.

He is hard, having watched his friend fucking you.

Will Graham is not so repentant as he'd taken such pains to seem.

#manna fic #hannibal fanfiction #dark fic #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #tw noncon #dark!fic #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #yandere will graham #yandere hannibal lecter

[rhythmicleotardempire]

#rhythm game #rhythmic gymnastics #gymnastics #gymlife #gymbabe #gymnast girl

[choochooboss]

Introducing your station master & Magma event host!

Since there's already a lot of passengers visiting this station and I haven't spared much time to get to know my fellow submas fans over Tumbrl yet, an introduction would be in place!

I'm Jun, nice to meet you! *offers a hand for for a shake* I am a devoted submas artist & a monthly Magma event host! I go by ChooChooBoss everywhere (Twitter/Bsky/Twitch/Ko-Fi)!

This will be a long post! I will write a short intro as well which you can just skim through but here is a more in depth view how I got into submas, my other interests and life in general, in case you'd wish to know more about your conductor on this silly train!

How did I get into submas in the first place?

PLA. I met this certain mysterious & cool fellow time traveler and got curious! After the cave scene I went to read his Wiki, found out about Emmet, and... yeah. The emotional impact blasted me right out of a miserable cycle I was going through back then and set my soul on fire!! A month later I set up my first art account on Twitter, and the rest is history. They've become my greatest source of strength and inspiration and I enjoy drawing them every single day!

I love both twins very much! I tend to vibe with Ingo a little more than Emmet, but I draw Emmet more. People say I remind of butler Ingo the most, hehe. I certainly don't mind because I'm a big fan of butlermas!! In fact I got into submas & started playing Pokémon Masters EX in April 2022, a week before butler Ingo banner rolled in, so they truly got a special place in my heart ahah! (pssst draw more butlermas for me pls pls pls-)

However I don't draw warden Ingo as much as I would like to. I still get pretty emotional over his fate ahah, I can't draw him without a single tear! This sweet & kind man leading a good life and being an inspiration to others has been torn from literally everything he had for seemingly no reason apart from his name, clothes and the muscle memory and even those are barely intact. It seems like a miracle he's still standing and breathing after put through everything judging by the wear and tear on his uniform and body. Despite all that he carries a positive attitude, assists everyone in need, and does his best to help people and pokémon understand each other, unconditionally... Oh, my face is wet again...

My other interests besides submas?

Monster Hunter! Zelda! Genshin Impact! Super Mario! Trine! Crash Team Racing! And many many more! My favourite genres are platformers, kart racers, and action games, with a side of rhythm games. I'm a big fan of co-op games! I also watch my sis play JRPGs!

Monster Hunter is the dearest to me out of all. I've been hunting for well over a decade starting from MHFU. The games have charmed me with their incredibly satisfying combat system, world building, creature design, great attention to detail, character customisation and the games being nearly fully co-op!!

Other things I do:

Pokémon is practically the only turn-based game I enjoy, mainly because of the characters and collection aspect. However!! I adore Pokémon Colosseum (the first pkmn game I ever played!) and it's double battle focus, so The Indigo Disc has been a delight after the long starvation for double battles, coming up with different combinations makes the battles much more fun to me!!... I sound like Emmet here do I ahahah! We also share the fact we are both left-handed!

Shuffle dancing, daily pull-ups, and expanding my ever growing VGM collection! I also enjoy traveling and taking photos to keep as a diary! I've played piano in a music school for 9 years, and I can also play kalimba. I've done casual boxing, gymnastics, horse riding and medieval swordfighting. I used to read comics/manga and watch movies and anime but nowadays I barely do that, I just rather use that time for drawing instead of just sitting and watching, unless I have company!

I share the apartment with my anxious brother and our two sweet female cats, Laku (11, stubborn and cuddly) and Kalevi (21, demanding and full of love) in a city center. My parents are both entrepreneurs and run a farm in the countryside & I have 4 siblings with me as the middle kid!

Where can you meet me?

I am a game artist by profession, with 4 yrs of studies and roughly 7 years of EXP in the field doing game art, UI design, character/prop design, in mobile games as well as PC titles, 2D and 3D. At the moment I am looking for work; I keep up the motivation and learn new skills by running my art accounts while looking for new opportunities.

I hail from the land of darkness, snow, salmiakki, metalheads and renownly reserved people, Finland! (UTC+2)

Despite having my roots here I am pretty much the opposite of a typical Finn in almost every sense ahah! I'm a small guy who's not afraid talking to strangers and laughs a lot. And I dislike coffee for the contrary, it's very popular amongst finns.

With the inspiration from submas I've finally stepped into the world of cosplay so you can usually meet this small and excitable Ingo in the biggest local conventions, Desucon and Tracon! Come say hi!

About my social battery:

I'm both social and socially anxious ahah! I love making new friends and talking to all sorts of people and writing comments, and gathering together with my mutuals to do cool stuff together! However my social battery is very small... I often struggle with my AD(H)D and anxiety issues, so my replies can be extremely slow. I'm easily overwhelmed when life gets busy and I deal with it by withdrawing to minimise the the stimuli and then sorting my stuff out one by one. This is a frustrating shortcoming, but I'm working hard to find a balance I can maintain without getting exhausted. Please be patient with me! If you don't hear from me in a while, please don't take it personally! In fact, it makes me really happy if you contact me, for any purpose!

Which pronouns do I go with?

I go by they/them! I am also aroace, so if I appear to show any sort of romantic interest, it's definitely not that. I love meeting new people and am quite interested in people in general so I'm excited to get to know you better, but the thing is... I have been confusing people on several occassions for saying things that could be taken as flirting. I am terribly sorry for that, that's just the way I show how I care!

I don't really identify myself by any specific gender either, but rather by my roles or interests (Magma host, submas fan, game artist etc.). Submas encouraged me to enjoy dressing formally even if I'm just sitting at home, because I love formal clothing in general and wearing them makes me feel confident and stand taller! I usually wear collar shirts and black or white slacks.

More about my AD(H)D:

I don't have an official diagnosis but deal with the same problems as AD(H)D people do; poor work memory, dissociation, hyperfocus (drawing and people), sleep deprivation, impulsiveness (juggling too many things and going with the wind), getting sensory/information overloads, and feeling like I don't fit in. I figured it out after I finished school & lost my job for that I am unable to handle big tasks without anyone giving me directions. It has taken a while but I've figured out things that help me manage my daily life as well as have a medication that mainly boosts my capability to get things started which is another great struggle ahah.

How do I manage to keep myself on track?

I use a Pomodoro timer to keep up a good flow and remember to take breaks! This is what I use the most:

I should set it up on my tablet as well. I think it's really cool to see how many hours I have actually put into drawing! Last year I clocked in well over 3k hours, ahaha!

How to catch me?

Right now I have great difficulty managing replies, but usually you can reach me by DMs! I check Discord and Twitter the most often! However I must ask you to respect my current DNI status. It means I am really overwhelmed so I wish nobody comes asking for my attention until it has been lifted, unless it's really necessary. I really love talking to you all but I also have to accept and deal with my own limits strictly like this or it won't work out.

What am I working on at the moment?

Besides the holiday set I have several short comics under works as well as one big comic (100+ pages!). That one is my personal greatest goal! I started working on it in June 2022 and I have currently 40+ pages sketched and 60+ thumbnailed.

I was afraid of starting any comic projects before submas, but the sheer excitement over them carried me over that personal wall ahah!

The story's beginning and end are looking good and somewhat functional but there's still a lot to work to do and holes to fill in the middle before I dare to start fleshing out the pages. I have little experience in writing or comic making so I hope you forgive if some things don't make sense or the dialogue is a little on the nose so to say ahah!

The story will be packed with action with the overall tone being on the darker side, but it sure won't be lacking in humor! The project's main goal is to make it a celebration of all things submas & to prove to myself I can handle a big scale project despite my shortcomings!

This train has reached the terminal!

Thank you for riding my silly submas train!! I adore reading all your tags and comments! They brighten up my day & fuel my passion even more!! I hope to bring many more fun things for you to look forward to!! See you again soon!

ALL ABOARD!!

#Personal #Introduction

[jmdbjk]

Episode 7: Still Purple

Beyond the Star, produced by HYBE Media Studio

"Every single one of our performances was significant to us, they are all precious memories." – Jimin

The song Butterfly starts and I know this episode is going to be hard to watch because I'm already tearing up.

This is a long post. Apologies. There's a lot to say about it.

They are talking about what concert memories mean the most to them:

Hobi says it was their first stadium concert at the Rose Bowl which was the most significant memory for him as far as which concert was the most memorable.

Jungkook says it was Chicago when it was the first time they'd ever performed in the rain:

Jin says it's when they perform IDOL that is his favorite concert memory.

Jimin says even though fans would see what he's talking about through photos but in real life, what they see from the stage is so beautiful, words can't do justice to describe it:

They reminisce about their concert at the Olympic Gymnastic Arena and recalling the emotions they felt then, that they had reached the top in 2016 are a very precious memory to them

Concerts are what they were made to do. Their type of performance, the big choreography, the big songs... big performances... belong on the live concert stage.

And now we're at the series of concerts that were to be their last before they really embark on Chapter 2: PTD Las Vegas.

BigHit/Hybe pulled out the stops for this one. The city of Las Vegas was all in and being the party city it is, it was one of the most fun and extravagant things I've ever witnessed.

I 1000% regret not going. I didn't know it was going to be the last chance for a long time.

They get to do things like attend a few concerts and visit the Bellagio Fountain when the fountains of water are set to the rhythm of Dynamite and Butter. I know Hobi has a video of Jungkook and Tae vibing to Dynamite at the Bellagio Fountain on his camera roll! Show it to us Hobi!!

Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon went to the Silk Sonic concert.

I think it's curious that they do not mention the 2022 Grammy performance or event at all. When they left Seoul for this trip on March 28, 2022, Hobi was not with them because he had tested positive for covid prior to departure. Jungkook wasn't with them because he'd left the day before for the purpose of a work schedule but I don't remember what it was, and upon landing in the U.S. he tested positive for covid and had to quarantine until he had a negative test.

They were to perform at the Grammy Awards show on April 3, 2022. They were missing two members up until the day before the performance. Thankfully Hobi tested negative in time to catch a plane to Las Vegas:

Jungkook tested negative the day before the performance and was able to practice ONCE with the group. Here he is doing a Vlive while quarantining in his hotel room:

And after all that, they gave a performance of a lifetime during the Grammy Awards:

Anyway... I digress... just curious they make no mention of it at all...

Jungkook brought his boxing coach (Coach Tommy) and this might be the workout he was doing prior to joining Hobi, Tae and Jimin for that Vlive following one of their concerts.

Jungkook says the only thing he regrets about the previous 10 years was that it took him a while to realize certain things and then put them into practice.

Namjoon wonders what it would've been like had they ended things after ON and Yoongi reflects that they would've taken a break from November 2020, if the pandemic had not happened and they would've been on a break for about two and half years (for enlistment). They didn't expect the pandemic to go on for so long (none of us did).

Namjoon wonders if he stayed true to the lyrics he wrote in ON while living his life. He thought they were running straight ahead all this time but as it turns out, they had gone in a circle and were back at the starting line. He contemplates what to do to run forward again.

The last PTD Las Vegas concert is bittersweet for all of us. So much has happened to culminate with this.

Tae says it's time for them to organize their thoughts so they can come back with a better image and performance and they aren't saying they are done, they are saying they've worked hard and now they need the time to grow.

And then we see Jimin in the car, on the way home after their last PTD Seoul concert on March 13, 2020. He is on the phone inviting someone over. Guess who?

It looks like he's taken a shower. He shows us a pot of fish cake soup his dad made for him. Jimin prepares three place settings, fetches 3 bottles of soju, and pardon me but the fact Jimin has a can of spray cheez in his auxiliary kitchen changes everything for me.

Why is he consuming that and why does he store it above the kitchen sink in is extra kitchen? Why do these expensive apartments have two kitchens? Jimin barely needs one kitchen but he has two...

Anyway, Jungkook arrives and they proceed to eat and drink.

While they are having a conversation about what time they go to bed and wake up, Jimin says he might sleep until 4 pm and then this ensues:

When Jungkook makes the remark that he sounds like Yoongi, off-camera, you can hear someone stifling their wheezing laugh. Staff camera man is in on the joke and the documentary editors are too as they cut briefly to Yoongi eating take out chicken.

The editors were wrong for that! HAHAHAHAH!

Then Tae and Namjoon talk about and show us their living spaces and how they feel living on their own.

Namjoon is very particular about his space and he says its very precious to him. He says the way one curates their living space speaks a lot about their personality and taste. I agree 100%. He says he wants to show us his space so we can know what kind of person he is.

Tae says he decorated his own space, commissioning art pieces for it. He has an extensive collection of vinyl records and puts on a yellow vinyl disc that appears to be Betty Wright, a recording of a live performance. He says boredom can be a given when living alone and he says he looks for Small but Definite Happiness in his daily life. SDH. We should all strive to do that.

Then we're back at Jimin's and Jungkook is cooking more food, chopping vegetables. FYI, that Miele induction cooktop is about $3,500.

Watching Jimin retell the story of when one of his friends pointed out that he seemed depressed, was not himself, was one of the most revealing things we've ever heard from Jimin.

And now he feels he's in a very healthy place. I'm gonna elaborate on this in another blog post when I'm done with this series.

All in all, the members had to learn to live alone after living together for 8 years or more for some of them.

Yoongi reflects on running so hard in their 20s. He wonders if they shouldn't have enjoyed themselves more and not let the pressures become overwhelming. Regardless, now that he's reached 30, all those worries and thoughts have disappeared and he feels liberated.

I've realized some of these interviews for these episodes were conducted on the day they traveled from Seoul to Las Vegas because they are wearing the same clothing.

Episode 8 coming soon... and more.

#bts beyond the star #jimin #jungkook #yoongi #namjoon #hobi #jin #taehyung