#too lazy and unambitious

[bilestat]

the way people talk about unemployment like it’s a moral failing is actually sickening

#acting like unemployed people are Wrong and Bad or lazy and unambitious #shut the fuck up!! #that includes jokes about people being jobless when you think they spend too much time online #cut that shit out. I am bopping you on the head with a newspaper #to be deleted

[feeder86]

Taste

Mike could remember how his breath caught in his throat when he saw Bruno for the first time. Having always been so slim and athletic himself, it was as if all of the blood in his entire body rushed down into his groin and he felt lightheaded; his heart racing with lust for the man in front of him. Bruno was the epitome of Mike’s dream man: taller than everyone else in the bar, large and very, very fat. He was flaunting his chubby physique with pants that were clearly too small; his butt crack on show, as well as the lower half of his gut that pushed out over his belt. There was a buzz around him at the bar. It was rare that a man so large came in here and it was obvious, from the twitching hands of the bear-loving guys around them, that there were many who wanted to touch his remarkably overfed body.

Mike stood behind him at the bar, waiting to be served, feeling like he was invisible in the wide man’s shadow. Even the scent of him, slightly sweaty in the humid environment, was turning Mike on; his large love handles shimmering gently as the bodies crowded around. Finally, with a space opening up at the crowded bar, Mike squeezed himself next to the big man, waiting to be served as well. He looked to his side and smiled shyly, without speaking. Even then, the eye contact, however brief, made Mike’s hardness flex in a way that made him hope he wouldn’t be served too quickly in order to allow the bulge in his crotch to calm down.

“Mine’s a beer,” the big man stated confidently to Mike.

“Sorry?” Mike spluttered back, surprised that he had been spoken to.

“My drink. I’ll have a beer,” he repeated expectantly.

“Oh… I wasn’t…” Mike mumbled, full of embarrassment. “I guess I…”

“Geez, relax, would you! I’m just joking,” Bruno chuckled, raising hand and finally ordering his own beer. “And what would you like?” he offered Mike, as if by way of an apology for causing Mike to get in such a fluster.

Mike accepted the offer and found himself following the heavy man out of the bar queue moments later. It seemed as if the big guy had come here alone, leaning against a small, high table where he could view the entirity of the bar. “Are you a chaser?” he asked Mike in his usual plain manner.

Wishing that he could act cooler, Mike mumbled once again, unsure how best to answer. “I’m not sure,” he lied. “I guess I could be.”

“You’re cute,” Bruno smiled, after formally introducing himself. “Do you want to touch my belly? Most guys in here seem to want to.”

With a free pass to feat his eyes upon Bruno’s large gut, Mike wasted no time in admiring it’s size and shape. He checked with the big man one last time, then let his electrically charged fingertips spread over the fleshy skin. Pure heaven.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Bruno nodded in approval. “Gentle. Sensual. I bet you’re good at giving a massage.”

“I’d be happy to work on your whole body if you like,” Mike shot back, unsure where his sudden boldness had come from, and immediately feeling a little embarrassed by it.

“Maybe,” Bruno chuckled. “If you play your cards right tonight,” he added, leaning into the table and seemingly about to take some time to really invest in finding out a lot more about his new admirer.

It was strange to think back on how shy Mike had been that night. Although Bruno still never failed to make him feel flustered and aroused, he liked to think, nine months later, that he at least managed to keep a cooler head around him. Being in a relationship with someone that he found so attractive should not have been as much of a challenge as it had seemed to be. His parents and friends had taken one look at Bruno and allowed their sizeist prejudices to rise to the surface. Mike had heard no end of slanderous things about Bruno that had been said to him: that he was lazy and greedy, selfish and unambitious. It was all based entirely upon his weight, and Mike knew it. They seemed to hate how much Bruno felt comfortable in his own skin. It was as if they were offended by it; believing that Bruno should feel ashamed and insecure, just like every other 400lb man of his stature. How dare he simply not care about being so fat?

There were sighs whenever Bruno went to grab Mike’s hand and show him affection in front of others. Perhaps it was the way that Bruno dressed that most irritated people and made them feel embarrassed in his company. He enjoyed his clothes being overly fitted and figure-hugging. For him, a t-shirt shirt should be over-long and tucked into his tight shorts, displaying the full arch of his gigantic gut, or else it should be too short, allowing the fat of his underbelly to show through and catch the breeze as he walked about. However, it was also his grotesque appetite that Mike knew his dad in particular found especially repulsive. He wasn’t wrong in saying that Bruno was always eating something or searching in the cupboards for snacks. He found it cheeky and rude how Bruno would help himself in their kitchen, and when he once upturned the milk bottle to chug it straght from the refrigerator, Mike’s dad had raised his voice in a way that Mike hadn’t heard since he was small.

Mike’s friends and family didn’t understand though. They didn’t realise how far Bruno had come to be in the sort of shape he was in now; how he’d always wanted to be a big man. Back when he’d started college, Bruno had been incredibly slim, and even lanky, given his great height. He’d documented his body well by taking lots of pictures during those early days and continued to do so as he began pushing his appetite to the extreme. His body had responded in just the way Bruno had wanted, as a doughy belly began to form on his slim frame. 

Mike felt an arousal he’d never experienced before as Bruno guided him through all of the pictures of him over the years: the time when he’d started to get love handles, the first signs of his double chin beginning to show. Even from quite early on, his butt had started taking on a fair amount of fat. Bruno had said this had been down to the way he’d tried to limit his exercise so much and make those calories as effective as possible when fattening his body. It had taken time; especially at Bruno’s height. Even when he’d left college, his fat stomach had still been faily easy to conceal under baggy clothes. It was only once he’d started working and had his own place that Bruno’s overeating and weight gain really started to turn to very obvious obesity. Bruno recalled with glee the time when his weight started impacting his everyday life: when he’d become too heavy for store-bought clothes, the stairs becoming more intense to walk up. He’d embraced each one of these changes, accepting the fact that his lovers would now purely be confined to those who enjoyed his fatter body. He’d taken on several feeders, of all shapes and sizes, but he’d never committed to any of these other guys in the way that he had to Mike. 

Sometimes Mike would pick up the guy’s empty clothes off the floor and just admire the sheer size of them, hardly comprehending how lucky he was to have such an oversized and greedy boyfriend. Twenty to thirty pounds a year, that was Bruno’s steady gain rate, realised by maximising his opportunities to overeat and consume as often as possible. As Bruno himself had said, fattening his skinny college body had been a lot simpler than pushing the fat on now he was well over four hundred.

Mike often wondered what it was that Bruno saw in him. Whenever they were out at some sort of bear event, it was obvious how much attention the big man could command. Mike had become accustomed to the grumpy stares of jealousy as he held his enormous boyfriend’s hand. Bruno claimed to like how constantly aroused Mike was for him. He could submit and take a pounding, yet also take the reins and feed Bruno far beyond his daily calorie goals. Not that such a mission was often required. Bruno was, if nothing else, highly motivated to overeat, and always so very self-sufficient. Despite the many hours Mike had spent feeding Bruno in the past, he knew that the big man would most likely be just as big, even if he was still single. Everything to him was so erotic, from the new stretch marks and shape, to the retirement of old clothes and the reactions of those who had not seen Bruno in some time. Every last little chance encounter was a reason for the guy to get aroused, and that horniness was more than infectious.

With Bruno’s birthday approaching, Mike began to feel a little anxious about what to do for it. Last year, they had only been dating a couple of months, and so he hadn’t gone too overboard. However, four months ago, for his own birthday, Bruno had arranged an entire weekend away to visit Mike’s hometown; the one that his family had left when he was just eleven. It was incredibly sweet and thoughtful, not to mention remarkably satisfying to show off the town he knew so well to the man that he had fallen so helplessly in love with.

Mike thought about buying an enormous cake, or an entire banquet of food to surprise Bruno with on the big day. However, when considering  how much Bruno ate in a normal day anyway, he didn’t really feel that he could make it all that special. Bruno’s hobbies weren’t any help either. There weren’t any special video games coming out anytime soon and the hot summer sun was zapping the large chub’s energy levels daily.

“What would you like to do for your birthday?” Mike finally asked, having exhausted his entire creative reserves. However, Bruno dutifully denied needing any sort of fuss, claiming that birthdays were nothing special for him.

Mike persisted. With only a couple of days remaining, he was feeling desperate for an idea to delight his lover for his birthday. “I guess maybe there is one thing I might like,” Bruno began cautiously, as if he had been thinking of the idea for some time.

Breathing a sigh of relief. Mike nodded enthusiastically, wanting to hear Bruno’s thoughts.

“Well, maybe we could try a little role reversal that night?” he asked tentatively.

Mike furrowed his eyebrows. “Role reversal?” he asked. He already thought they did that, having quite an active, versatile sex life.

“I mean… maybe I could feed you for a change? Just for one night,” Bruno added hastily, trying to express the idea in baby steps. “I used to be quite good at it, back in the days when I played around with lots of different feeders and gainers. They all said I was good at it.”

Mike mumbled awkwardly. Despite the length of time he’d been with Bruno, he’d never anticipated the man making a request like this. “I thought you loved my body how it is?” he asked, knowing how hard Mike worked at the gym classes he attended.

“Oh, I do!” Bruno nodded emphatically. “I love all body types. It’s just a one-night kinky idea I had.” He shrugged, then laughed at how ridiculous this scenario was. “It’s not about changing you, and if it’s not your thing, it’s fine. I’ll think of something else.”

Mike considered for a moment. “No, wait…” he mumbled; his brain trying to catch up. “It’s fine,” he shrugged. “It’s for your birthday,” he nodded, feeling that a little sacrifice like this would help show Bruno how important he was to him. “Let’s… let’s do this.”

The bus-worker strikes had completely messed up Mike’s day as he arrived home late on Bruno’s birthday a couple of days later. It was nearly half seven already and he’d been out of the house for almost thirteen hours. He apologised profusely, but Bruno already knew how much chaos the strikes were causing on the city, having seen it on the news. He could see the tiredness in Mike’s eyes and offered to forego his birthday treat in order to let Mike head to bed. However, Mike was having none of it. He tried to rally himself, heading for a shower and coming back in, feeling more refreshed. They ate a normal meal and chatted about much of the same things as they usually did.

“Come sit down,” Bruno smiled, patting his extra large, personal chair in front of the TV; a wicked, horny grin plastered across his face.

Mike did as he was told. He never sat in Bruno’s chair and it felt strange to him now; so roomy and worn-in. He stood briefly once again as a hugely fat Bruno kneeled on the floor in front of him and pulled down his pants so that he could play with him more effectively. Right away, the fat man’s expert tongue set to work, making Mke take huge long sighs of pleasure. He put his hand on Bruno’s head for a moment to stop him. “Honey, it’s your birthday. I should be doing this to you,” he worried.

Bruno shushed him and set back to work, making Mike’s legs twitch as he came close to cimaxing at least a couple of times. Then, just like that, Mike suddenly felt a long, chocolate cream cake getting pushed between his parted lips. He chuckled, having been caught off guard completely. He’d almost forgotten about this part of their horny evening. Where had his kinky boyfriend even hidden those cakes? Still, he chewed and swallowed, having accepted this would be exactly the sort of thing he would be getting up to that night.

Bruno’s demeanor was entirely different. His hands caressed and stroked Mike’s body like he was a precious, god-like being; his large, chubby hands stroking his flat stomach and fondling Mike to keep his hardness as he pushed in another cream cake, then another. Yet, still Bruno was edging him, making him think his time had arrived, then pulling it away.

Mike had never felt such a rush of different emotions. At one point, he would feel dominant and pampered, being hand fed and pleasured by his lover. But then, the next, Bruno would stop everything and chuckle at all the food smeared around his face, declaring him to be a ‘greedy boy’, before resuming as before. 

Mike’s stomach was getting tight and yet he still hadn’t climaxed. The shape of it was distended as Bruno rubbed his giant hand over it with a wicked smirk plastered across his face. Mike stared at his boyfriend’s chubby hands as they gathered the fattening foods and felt as those wide, sausage-like fingers he had long admired, now stuffing it all into his open mouth.

“You’re such a good little piggy!” Bruno teased him as it was clear just how full and aroused Mike was at that moment; those expert hands now whipping his erection up into a dangerous frenzy that could tip him over the edge. Mike stared down at his body, having never seen himself so bloated, nor felt his stomach quite so full. Then, that was it, the moment that Bruno chose to let him climax, just as his eyes settled on the little swollen midsection that was now his stomach. The feeling was intense; more so than Mike had ever encountered before and he let out an embarrassing multi-toned moan that only highlighted just how caught out he had been by the whole experience. He felt utterly spent and withered like a dead flower, being taken to bed by his enormous lover.

The next morning was much the same as any other. Bruno thanked Mike for indulging his kink to let him feed him, and chuckled as he apologised for how bloated and full Mike felt, right up until dinner time that day. But Bruno hadn’t stopped lamenting about how much he had enjoyed it and how well Mike had eaten. He recreated the moan Mike made when he climaxed as if it was the sexiest sound he had ever heard, eating more than usual, as Bruno tended to do when he was aroused.

Perhaps it was the way that Bruno recounted that night over and over that made sure the experience never left Mike’s mind, but now, even the thought of it was making Mike feel horny. His memory was crystal clear as the image of his bloated stomach came back to him each and every time he ate.

“I see you guys are still very happy,” commented Danny, one of Bruno’s gainer friends that Mike had been introduced to when they first started going out.

“He’s wonderful!” Bruno gushed, rolling his big arm over Mike’s shoulders. “I’ve never been this happy with anyone before.”

Mike blushed and smiled, always enjoying how open Bruno was about his affection for him. “Thanks,” he mumbled shyly.

“Mike also had his first, er…” Bruno began cheekily, looking across to Mike as if to gauge whether he should share these sorts of intimate details. “He had his first feed the other week,” he finally finished.

“Seriously?” Danny laughed aloud, his jaw dropping in surprise. One look at Mike’s athletic form and no one would ever have suspected that he would be open to try feeding.

“No… it wasn’t like that,” Mike tried to explain, feeling that Danny was suddenly seeing him in a whole new light. “It was just a little birthday treat for Bruno. That’s all. I didn’t want to do it.” 

“He fucking loved it!” Bruno went on; full of excitement to explain; like this had been bottled up inside him ever since it had happened. “He ate like a pig and then squirted absolutely everywhere afterwards. Shall I do the noise you made when you came?” he asked Mike with a cheeky smirk. 

“No!” Mike shot back with blood rushing to his face.

“Well, well, well!” Danny smiled to himself. “I never would have picked you for a gainer!”

“I’m not!” Mike tried defensively. “It was just a one time thing!”

“Sure,” Danny teased him. “That’s what they all say!” He winked and laughed, letting Mike know that he was only joking with him. Then the conversation changed, leaving Mike feeling surprisingly disorientated as they went back to discussing more mundane affairs. His heart was racing. Was he annoyed at Bruno for sharing their intimate secret like that? Or was it something else?

A few more weeks passed by. Bruno had made some significant progress with his weight, to the point where his tummy was starting to fall out of the t-shirts he had worn when he and Mike had first gotten together; arousing them both beyond belief. Bruno had wanted to celebrate, getting high on some weed and stuffing himself full, just as he had done in his early days, back in college. 

“I fucking love you,” Bruno growled, barely able to focus properly. He slapped his big gut and grinned. “I’m getting so fucking huge with your help, and I love it!”

“Well, I’m very pleased to be of some assistance,” Mike chuckled back, in much the same way any sober guy would, speaking to someone so high.

“And you know what else I love?” Bruno asked mischivously.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Mike smiled back, indulging Bruno with his attention, despite the fact that he knew the big man would never remember any of this in the morning.

“I love how chubby you’re getting too!” Bruno whispered as if not wanting to be overheard by a thousand invisible people that surrounded them.

“I’m not getting chubby,” Mike laughed, rolling his eyes at how far gone Bruno was by now.

But Bruno simply threw his head back and smiled with complete joy and happiness. “Oh, I love that!” he moaned with pleasure. “I love how you don’t even realise it! It’s so fucking… insanely hot! You’ve got a little chubby paunch and you haven’t even noticed! It makes me so fucking horny. If you only knew how much fucking butter… and cream… and oils I throw into your food when I cook! Oh, you’d be so fucking mad if you knew!” he giggled to himself; still with that blissful smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Mike stood up, resisting the urge to touch his body and feel. His heart was beating with a peculiar speed, considering how little attention he usually paid to the ramblings of Bruno when he was high. Calmly and without speed, he took himself to the bathroom and shut the door. He saw his face in the mirror, much like every other time he was in here. Pragmatically, he lifted his shirt from his body and dropped it onto the floor. He realised quite quickly that he hadn’t scrutinised his body in quite some time, especially given how quickly the mirror steamed up in this tiny bathroom whenever the shower was running. And yet, the shape of him was all wrong. Since when had his stomach looked so swollen? As he brushed with his finger against his belly button, he noticed a strange, alien fluttering beneath the skin. Unlike the sleeping Bruno in the next room, he hadn’t just gorged himself to create such a bloat. No, underneath his skin was an entirely new, and surprisingly thick, layer of fresh blubber. He grabbed it and pinched at it, surprised at how much he could hold between his fingers and thumb. He turned to his side and noted with horror how very much the shape of it curved out enough to look like a paunch, just as Bruno had said. 

Throwing down his sweatpants and underwear, Mike turned and inspected his rear, only to discover peculiarly plump glutes where his tight butt had once been. His fingers delicately traced the marks on his skin around his waist where his underwear had been quietly digging into him and he bounced on his toes, seeing a ripple of fat flutter through developing love handles. 

Just what had happened to him, he thought with horror, pressing his fingers into his face and realising that there was indeed a little padding of fat growing under his chin. His body was so altered and he hadn’t even realised it! His focus had been so squarely on Bruno, it had left him blind to all else. 

Yet, there it was, as he prodded and poked, grabbed and jigled: the very thing that had led him here, into a kinky relatioship with an ever fattening 440lb man; his raging hard-on, pumped full of blood and throbbing with lust at the sight of his own reflection. Mike’s hand reached for it, as if from pure instinct. Then, with very little time needed, he stroked it up and down, up and down, until it ejaculated with a violent force all across the mirror.

The next morning, Mike awoke to the smell of frying bacon. Bruno was always up early after a session like the one last night, and he generally consumed more than usual the following day. The big man re-entered their bedroom with a grin, passing a large plate of greasy goodness to Mike; it’s hefty portion cleverly camouflaged by the more extreme size of Bruno’s own plateful. 

Instinctively, Mike accepted it, only remembering Bruno’s confession from hours earlier as he was halfway through. Just as he had anticipated, Bruno didn’t remember much from the night before. Once he’d finished the box of doughnuts, he claimed that his mind was a blur, and Mike knew there was no point in bringing up what had been said. However, he did notice, for the first time, how much Bruno was casually glancing over to check on his lover’s progress with the food, inexplicably eliciting a surge of blood into his groin. Throughout the day, Mike also noticed how much Bruno’s eating and snacking habits were rubbing off on him. Whenever Bruno headed to get something for himself from the kitchen, he would always return to the couch with something small and seemingly insignificant for Mike as well. How long had Bruno been doing that without him even registering how these incidental, accidental calories must have been bloating his usual diet?

There were other revelations as well. When Mike went for dinner at his parents’ place one evening, he noticed straight away how small their dinner plates seemed in comparison to what he was now so used to, living with Bruno. He ate it all up, yet his stomach still churned with hunger, even as he left to head home. Then there was the night that he went out for food with his friend, Martha. He’d worn something loose and relaxed, given how much he was starting to notice his paunch in all his other clothes, yet Martha still picked up on a differene to his eating, laughing at how quickly he ate and how full he filled his mouth. Mike blushed. The way Martha described the way he was eating seemed to be exactly how Bruno gorged himself. It had been one of the traits that had turned Mike on the most about his huge boyfriend: the way he ate so ravenously, taking enormous mouthfuls that filled his cheeks and then swallowing it all down and starting again. But had it become a habit that Mike had subconsciously picked up himself as well? Was he now eating in a way that was reminiscent of his 450lb boyfriend?

There was an easy solution to all of this confusion that Mike felt. All he had to do was ask Bruno what was going on. Was he noticeably fatter than he used to be? Was Bruno overfeeding him, as he had claimed that night when he was high? However, Mike had never been particularly great at facing issues head-on. In fact, he found the silence and the ‘not talking about it’ to be strangely comforting. He could forget it was happening and attempt to convince himself that it was all just a kinky little fantasy that was playing out in his own head. That was, until the obvious strain of his pants, underwear and t-shirts started to become too much. Mike remembered how flustered he had been when someone in work had called him out on his weight gains, prodding an outstretched finger into his middle and laughing. He remembered the plethora of emotions within him: embarrassment, shame, disappointment. However, it also supercharged his libido to an insane extent, giving him a boner that he had hardly been able to shift for a whole week.

Upgrading his work pants became the logical strategy, not wanting to generate too much attention to his new shape, nor rip them open if he were to bend over. Likewise, his shirts could look unprofessional if they were to strain any more than they currently were. Mike looked in the mirror and nodded in approval. Yes, these would work well. His new body shape was nicely concealed with ease if you could ignore the slight puffiness to his face. It was certainly something he could learn to live with without too much worry. But that was before the fat started to build up more in his chest. He’d noticed a slight bounce under his shirts for a few days, but it was only when he stood in the mirror that he realised how pointed and full his nipples now appeared. They began to show through, even when he wore his most flattering of shirts and t-shirts. Then Mike could see Bruno staring at them hungrily, knowing exactly what he was doing, and loving every second of it.

It was only a few weeks later, when the concert tickets arrived that Bruno had booked for Mike as a Valenetine’s Day treat, that the enormous Bruno made his next big move. Mike had been gushing about what an amazing gift his thoughtful boyfriend had surprised him with, and kicking himself instead for having forgotten Valentine’s Day altogether.

“You really didn’t get me anything, huh?” Bruno asked with a bemused smile.

“I’m so sorry. I just don’t know where this month has gone. It feels like yesterday we were taking down the holiday decorations,” Mike tried as an excuse.

“That’s okay,” Bruno smiled, grabbing Mike’s butt and rubbing it suggestively, as he tended to do quite often these days, having become seemingly very obsessed with the shape and feel of Mike’s glutes. “I’m sure you can think of a way to make it up to me.”

“I’m positive I could,” Mike smiled back suggestively, turned on by his lover’s chubby hands touching his softer body; his shirt being lifted off.

Bruno headed straight to his target; his tongue sliding over Mike’s nipple with an expertise unkown to Mike beforehand. 

As Mike moaned, Bruno’s hand massaged it’s way into Mike’s groin until the increasingly thicker legs parted to grant him better access. “It’s time you had another feeding,” the enormous, horny man whispered as he lifted his head to kiss Mike.

“Another one?” Mike asked, as if it hadn’t been months since his last one.

“Another one,” Bruno nodded, leading his porky lover to the big chair by the TV and sitting him down. “Right now!” he stated with a smirk.

Deciding not to argue, Mike waited patiently as Bruno disappeared and then returned with mountains of supplies. Where had he hidden all those things? 

Mike sighed and let his head flop back into the chair. Bruno had clearly orchestrated the whole thing, knowing that Mike would forget all about Valentine’s Day, given how busy he had been in work. “All right… Just this once,” he chuckled, surrendering. After all, he really should have remembered their Valentine’s Day. No excuses

This new feeding was kinky from the offset. Bruno’s hands rubbed and pinched at Mike’s extra pounds more than usual, and he pushed in the food with a lot less compromise than he had last time. “What a greedy little pig…” the man whispered between sucking Mike off and pausing at just the right moments to prolong the experience.

There was a swirl and great gushing of chemicals and pleasure in Mike’s brain throughout the entire process. He thought he would climax, then not. He thought Bruno’s teasing couldn’t get any better, and then it did. He’d almost forgotten how arousing his feeding had been last time, and then it all came rushing back with ten times the original intensity. 

“Are you going to keep getting fatter for me, Mike?” Bruno asked, expertly stroking his lover’s hardness as if he really might let him climax this time.

Mike moaned. The answer was obvious. “Yes,” he nodded submissively, desperate to feel that final pleasure.

“Say it. Promise me!” Bruno ordered.

Mike inhaled as much as he could as the orgasm built and his legs twitched with the impending climax. “I promise. I’ll get fatter for you. I’ll eat whatever you want me to!”

“Are you a gainer?” Bruno asked, suddenly deadly serious.

“What?” Mike asked back, completely thrown by the word and the thought of it being deployed to describe him. He looked down at his body, so completely altered and swollen, not just with the food he had eaten that day, but with the pounds and pounds of pure blubber he had amassed over months and months. He’d let it all happen to him without so much as a second thought. His gym subscription had been a pointless outgoing from his bank account for weeks now. He really was… a gainer.

“Say it!” Bruno demanded, knowing that he had taken Mike over the edge and he was running out of time before he would squirt everywhere.

“I’m a gainer!” Mike shouted as he came. “I’m a gainer!”

The smug smile couldn’t be wiped off Bruno’s face over the next few days, even as Mike had panicked and asked if they could take this new direction of his quite slowly. Bruno had agreed, without any sincerity whatsoever. Mike found that his portion sizes had almost doubled overnight and Bruno immediately began experimenting with new pet names for him, like ‘piggy’ and ‘hog’. They’d also had more sex than even in the early days of their relationship; both allowing the eroticism of food and bloating to overtake them.

As Mike’s paunch swelled into a full gut, he hardly recognised his own kinky reflection. He’d started adopting items from Bruno’s old wardrobe from the time when he’d just finished college. The comments on his weight from colleagues and friends had stopped, just as Bruno had warned him they would; the seriousness and speed of his rapidly increasing weight startling them all into silence. Aside from eating a little bit more, Mike could hardly understand why it was all happening to him so quickly. Pants he had bought only weeks before, were now unable to close; the buttons on his shirts straining to contain the expanding flesh behind them. 

Likewise, Bruno had packed on weight at a greater pace than usual, gaining his annual 25lbs in only three months of Mike becoming an official gainer. His double chin had continued swallowing up his neck and his remarkable gut had a new, more extreme width and sag to it than ever before. The gainer bug inside of him was more ravenous than it had been in years - and it showed!

“Look at you two!” laughed Bruno’s gainer friend, Danny. “Fuck!”

Bruno smiled proudly, lifting his enormous t-shirt up to show off the huge expanse of skin and faint stretch marks across his own monstrous stomach. Meanwhile, Mike held back, unused to such attention and merely smiling at how delighted Bruno was to have gained so much weight.

“And look at you!” Danny marvelled, seeing the stout stomach that was pushing its way out of Mike’s torso. “I hardly recognised you!”

“He’s still a little shy about it, aren’t you?” Bruno grinned at his boyfriend, giving his wider butt a little pat at the same time.

“I can’t believe you finally let Bruno have his way with you!” Danny smiled at Mike. “He’s been wanting to fatten you up ever since you two met.”

Mike looked across at Bruno with surprise. “Since we met?” he asked in alarm.

Bruno smirked, despite the truth slipping out. “Of course I did,” he laughed. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I just knew that with a little time and patience, you’d make the perfect piggy for me!”

“Piggy, huh?” Danny chuckled, watching their interaction with more than just bemusement.

“He loves it!” Bruno smiled back excitedly; his tone full of mischief, just as it always was when he was about to overshare. “If he’s eating something and can’t quite finish it all, all I have to do is…”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Mike jumped in, full of embarrassment.

“Take a look at his butt too!” Bruno insisted, spinning Mike slightly so that Danny would see.

“Jeez!” Danny marvelled, seeing Mike’s previously tight glutes now so overwhelmed with the fresh fat that had both widened and rounded out his once pretty little rump. “Not to mention those love handles!”

Mike’s face flushed.

“He’s at that stage where everything is starting to jiggle, all over his body. Such a turn on! In fact, he’s already gained his first hundred pounds!” Bruno boasted.

“First?” Mike asked to clarify, trying to keep his composure and hide the erection that the seemingly throwaway comment had just given him.

“It looks like this fatty really got to you, didn’t he?” Danny chuckled, proudly throwing his arm around Bruno’s big shoulders, like he had acomplished something monumental.

“Yeah,” Mike nodded in agreement, looking on at the man he knew he never wanted to be without; the man who had changed his life in multiple ways - and all for the better. “I guess he did…”

[mamamittens]

I haven't the slightest idea when I'll pivot back around to Worst Isekai so I thought I'd leave this here.

Just a small taste and hopefully one day it's liked or reblogged and reminds me of it enough to commit/start/finish it.

The locket is from your dearest friend.

The most humble, loving friend that inspired your dream to find comfort in normalcy. To want that.

They sucked at baking bread but tried anyway.

Over and over again, learning and growing at (perhaps) a slow rate. But it was a labor of love and showed you how some things are worth the struggle. It didn't come naturally to them but they did it anyway.

And they were happy, so damn happy, to do it all over and over again. Joy found in failing and getting back to it. Scrapping, regrouping, experimenting and just trying even when it looked like they were doomed to fail.

Maybe you loved them in the simplest way possible. With your whole heart. Silly baker with a crooked smile. So lackluster and ordinary and breathtaking.

You could see a seed of greatness inside them, ready to bloom. But they saw no need for it. They didn't want to bloom into legend.

And somehow, more baffling than this unambitious want, was that they saw something in you too. Something humble and gentle. Kind like moist dirt in the spring. Snowdrops peaking out under powder. Sunshine on a worn, wooden porch stretching across the lazy barn cat on a cool summer's eve.

They looked at you like you could be anything you wanted. But that it would be infinitely more rewarding to be happy.

And you loved them all the more for it.

Their picture kept in a locket resting over your heart a reminder of how close you could be to real peace. True happiness that didn't crush you in a cold, unyielding grip. Pressure all around you, making your bones creak in protest.

You don't need greatness.

Or glory or fame or power.

You wanted to be happy and perfectly ordinary. Loving all the humble gifts the next day would bring without tears and blood as penance.

Just like them.

And in it's own, deeply ironic, way, that was the most extraordinary thing of all.

#the worst isekai #one piece #mittens rambles a bit for nothing but guilt #thats right #mc has backstory #with hands

[rigil-kentauris]

elpis was beyond my wildest dreams i mean i spent years wishing to speak to so much as one other ancient fr a perspective on their life and culture and HERE IS A WHOLE FUCKING BASE OF THEM now. that having been accomplished. i would like to meet a Normie ancient. they cant all be overachievers. where is the ancients who just sort of laze about all day shooting the breeze on the sidewalk and maybe catch a debate in the evening and create some food in the creat-o-wave because theyre too lazy and content to remove themselves from the side of their equally unambitious partner on the oversized and plush balcony furniture

#ffxiv #endwalker spoilers

[libbee]

Self development series: It is almost impossible to know how others perceive you.

For a trauma survivor, social circle can be a tough nut to crack. Whether they are in classroom or with family or on a date or on social media, they are always worrying what others think about them. They would not consciously know but their behaviour shows they are trying to impress others/mould their opinion/desperate for likes dislikes views. What happened in offline world before is now visible on social media clearly. When their self esteem is terribly low, no achievement or external validation is ever enough. They are always unsure of themselves. Even for a non trauma survivor, people's perception is impossible to find out. Some might think that this post and blog are thoughtful or deep, while others might think that I am a complete dumbass and a noise. Even my choice of words, language, tone of writing and your own life stage, experience, perception will affect your judgment - it is that multidimensional how mind works.

While it is important to trust your own perception about the world, it is, at the same time, very hard, or even impossible, to know how others perceive you. You might think in your mind that others look down upon you/think you are boring/think you are ugly/think you are lazy, but do you actually know what they really think of you? A tyrannical parent is someone who controls their children, tells them lies about the world, tells them lies about themselves. "You are not that good", "You could have done better, there is nothing to celebrate", "Yeah, I see you got that degree, you must be too proud now". The parent does not even know they are downright invalidating their child, they just think that they are normal. A low self esteem girl is hungry for male approval. She will put down other women, compete with other women, but live in complete denial of her deep seated insecurity.

I have read through many resources but could not find one legitimate answer for "how to know others' perception of me?" The only answer was "ask them". Well, how would you ask others what they think about you? They might lie. And how many people in the world will you approach? You are barely around 100 people in daily life. You are only left with assumptions about YOURSELF.

Different people have different priority. Scorpios want deep intimate partner so they might think fwb situation is risky and stupid. Gemini want fast intellectual stimulation so they might think that quiet people are boring and uninteresting. Aries are leaderly and dominating so they might think that spiritual ones are lazy and unambitious. How many people will you "prove" yourself to? If your self esteem is low enough, you might as well overcompensate for it by really getting out of your way to flaunt, show off, sneakily post that shiny car in your story.

When we act out of low self esteem, we think that we have actually done something - while we may have just made a fool of ourselves in reality. For example, when I was in school and was the queen of gutter-land-self-esteem, I would be class clown, sarcastic, quick, witty (I am gemini moon). I made others laugh and that gave me massive validation... for 2 minutes. Then I would again wait for the next opportunity to tell jokes and feed on laughter for validation. So on, everyday. Validation seeking at school took so much of my energy that when I came back home I would be exhausted, tired and had mood swings.

If scientists invent a mirror in future that somehow answers "tell me, mirror on the wall, what does xyz think of me?" I think this gadget will break the market. Until then, we just have to live with self development and inner work. Recent example is Andrew Tate. All of us who are self aware would know how insecure this man was. His self improvement talks were just not enough when his complete philosophy was so self destructive. He might appear rich, give confident facial expressions, do podcast by citing biological instincts of men, but we can see how hard he was trying to manipulate other people's opinions about him. This is a case of unevolved person, someone who is unaware and in complete denial.

I can see insecurities in Andrew Tate because I have been there, done that. Same for any other celebrity who appear wise on social front - but are terribly insecure on personal front, when they are alone by themselves.

This underatanding will set you free and give you more time and energy to focus on your inner life. You might as well break the intergenerational cycle. Knowing the limitations of your brain will set you free. I believe that active imagination might help one to see how their character appears to others. You are, after all, collective unconscious, but that would require years of inner work.

#astro community #astro notes #astro observations #astro placements #astro tumblr #astroblr #astrology #astrology blog #astrology and mental illness #astrology notes #astrology observations #dark astrology #self improvement #shadow self #self development

[shepherds-of-haven]

Hello, the first thing I wanted to say is that I love SoH! your writing, characters and story are so good that I just can't stop playing ❤️ Also not sure if someone asked this before but even though something like this wouldn't happen in-game, who do you think each character could be attracted to/make a good match with besides the mc? For example I think Halek and Riel would make a good match because Halek could cook for Riel since he's is awful at it 😂

Hi there, thank you so much for your very kind words!!! ❤️ I truly appreciate it! This question is actually asked and answered in the FAQ as well as the #Shepherd couples tag! :) Sadly, Riel would never be interested in Halek (too lazy and unambitious lol) and vice-versa, Riel's not Halek's physical type! Thanks for your question!

#Shepherds of Haven #redirect #FAQ #shepherd couples

[theslowesthnery]

sorry it’s just one of those days when i feel really bad and downright hopeless about my art. like i want to draw, but my head is completely empty and trying to force myself to draw regardless isn’t really helping because nothing i try to draw works out and it just makes me feel worse. but not drawing also feels bad!

and i usually don’t have a problem with my age and skill level because it’s not like i want to be a professional artist or anything, but every now and then i just get this terrible feeling that this is as good as i’ll ever be and i won’t ever get better, that it’s Too Late for me. i don’t hate or fault anyone who’s younger but better at me at art, i’m happy for them, it’s just soul-crushing sometimes to see people so much younger and so much better than you because it’s like “well if they can do it, why couldn’t i? what’s wrong with me that i couldn’t - and still can’t - be that good?”

anyway the answer to that is because i’m a lazy, unambitious, undisciplined loser who hates leaving their comfort zone lmao

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Marked By Despair

(that was the only gif of Despair I could find I’m sorry)

After the deaths of Karube and Chota, Arisu falls into hysterical grief, unaware that the Queen of Despair is watching him. 

CW: self-harm, suicidal thoughts

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So apparently my way of venting out all my stress and anxiety yesterday was writing an angsty fic lol I guess if it works it’s not stupid. This is a crossover of the Sandman and Alice in Borderland, the two shows that have consumed my life lately, because I thought this was an interesting idea. Hope you guys enjoy! This is also posted to my Ao3 account if you wanna go give it some kudos <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She watches through her mirror as he stumbles out of the botanical gardens into the empty parking lot. He is still crying. Tears blur his vision and burn shamefully on his cheeks. But he would rather feel his tears than the blood that hasn’t been wiped off his face.

She watches as he trips over his bloodstained shoes, grabs hold of a railing, and vomits into the flower bushes below. He sobs pathetically, shaking so violently he idly wonders if he’ll fall apart. He wonders if he wants that. He decides he does. It’s no less than what he deserves for what he’s done.

Despair digs her hook into her cheek in time with the fresh stab of guilt that grabs Arisu Ryohei’s heart and strangles it. The Borderlands have proven to be a landscape full of such delicious misery. Humans watching their fellows die day after day after day, sometimes by their hands, forced to keep doing it over and over again if they want to live. She’s watched so many of them go mad with despair. Some of them try to save as many as they can. Some of them try to get used to the trauma to stay alive. Some of them have been driven to taking their own lives. Some have found they enjoy the thrill of playing for their lives and surviving. She wonders what path this boy will take. He’s already lost all he had.

She watches him half-heartedly wipe his mouth on his sleeve and keep running, away from the botanical gardens and away from his friends. “You’re leaving them there,” she whispers, knowing he can hear her. “You’re running away. After what they did for you, you didn’t even bury them. It should have been them who survived, not you.” She drags a fresh cut into her cheek with her hook, knowing his heart is being strangled with more grief and misery. Such sweet misery…

A guttural sob escapes him and he keeps running, a little faster this time, as if he thinks he can escape his mind—escape her—if he runs fast enough.

But humans cannot run forever, especially those who play video games all day, and eventually he slows down. He stumbles a few more feet, then finally collapses to the pavement. He curls up in a fetal position, as if that could protect him from his despair, and cries. He is no longer letting out guttural screams of sorrow like he did in the gardens—his throat is too scratched up for that. But the sobs still come, even after crying for so long. Mortals and their capacity to cry is always so interesting.

And it is then that he appears in her realm. He is unaware that he’s done it—mortals usually are—but he is there, curled up in the fog like he is trying to disappear, bawling like a newborn.

In spite of herself, she did feel a slight pang of sympathy. She could see the memories of his two friends whirling through his head, memories that used to bring such joy but now only brought pain. They were his best friends; his only friends, really. The only people he had that cared about him and didn’t see him as a failed waste. His father and his brother called him lazy, unambitious, stupid, talentless, a failure—but not them. They made him feel loved, cared for, and happy. And now they were gone. And wasn’t the loss so much more beautiful when he was the only one left alive?

She reaches out and her fingers ever so lightly brush his hair. “What lovely friends they were,” she says softly. “The brothers you always wanted.”

An ugly sob is wrangled from his chest. “I should have died!” he wails into her realm’s abyss. “It should have been me!”

“It should have been,” she murmurs, happily digging her hook into her arm. She knows he can feel the pain it creates like it is his own, even more so because he’s so close to her. It cuts through his heart like a knife, tearing it painfully apart.

“Karube,” he whimpers pathetically. “Chota…” Then he screams, “WHY AM I ALIVE?” He starts beating his fist on the floor that his conscious mind registers as pavement. “WHY DIDN’T I DIE? WHY DID THEY HAVE TO DIE AND NOT ME?”

“Karube was going to propose to his girlfriend,” she whispers, smiling as she feels the remorse and shame pressing down on his chest. “Chota wanted to take care of his mother. But they’re gone now. Because they chose to die for you. Why you?”

“WHY ME?!” he screams, tears rolling fast down his cheeks. Then he just lets out a long scream—because words have failed and all he can express is a sound of pure sorrow, shame, and self-loathing.

“Why indeed,” she murmurs as his moment of strength ends and he collapses again. His voice is steadily growing hoarse from all his crying. She watches his body shake from his misery, jabbing her hook into her leg.

What cruel irony, she thinks with a mean smile, that he now has seven more days to live when he so desperately wants to die.

“I want to die,” he cries, as though in response. He weakly hits his head against the floor, like it will be enough to break his skull and fulfill his wish. “I want to die…”

She idly wonders if Desire can sense his desperation. Her sibling has been having a wonderful time in the Borderlands ever since they were created. They had gleefully told her of one particular place there that was rampant with mad desire and greed (though they did say the humans could have picked a better name than one so simple and unexciting as the Beach). They never mention those like Arisu, who feel the desire to die. It’s not as exciting to them, she supposes. Oh well—more for her to enjoy.

She is unsure of how much time passes (time is rather vague in her realm), but eventually the young man in front of her falls silent. He is too exhausted and broken to cry anymore, and instead becomes a quivering, sniffling mass on the floor. He will leave her realm soon, passing into sleep that he will hope to be a small reprieve from his hellish waking world. She hopes her older brother will not be so rude as to give him good dreams. No, she thinks with some satisfaction as she grazes her hook over her arm. He will not have good dreams for a very long while.

She continues to watch him, even as his form fades out of her realm and his unconscious returns to the Borderlands. He has not fallen asleep yet, but he doesn’t get up. He has no strength anymore.

“Stay there,” she whispers, knowing he can still hear her in the back of his mind. “Perhaps if you stay there, you will die. And then you can be with them again, and beg them to forgive you.”

She smiles in victory when his mind, clouded with exhaustion, decides that yes, he will stay here. Just for tonight, it weakly offers, even when it knows that is a lie. Just for tonight, because he cannot go back to the mall they were camping in just yet. She knows that’s a lie, and that he knows it too. He is definitely hers now, and with luck he will stay that way.

Despair gleefully stabs her cheek as she watches Arisu finally pass out from his exhaustion. Heart games are her favorite, she decides.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfic #the sandman #sandman netflix #arisu ryohei #despair of the endless #angst #fanfiction #crossover #like and reblog to give arisu a hug because arisu i'm sorry i did that to you sweetie #ryohei arisu #my writing #hope you enjoyed! #thanks for reading! #sandman/aib crossovers #imawa no kuni no arisu #aib netflix #aib fanfic

[jhope-jchokeme]

writers in the dark | part 2

summary: you are secretly one-half of a famous author duo. he's an international superstar. when he wants to produce the music for the television adaptation of your book, you jump at the chance to work with him. will you be able to keep yourself compartmentalised, or will your facade crack the moment it's under scrutiny?

pairing: hoseok x reader (nicknamed)

genre: fluff, angst, smut (later chapters)

rating: M [+18]

word count: 4.6k

warnings: list is for this chapter. [ overthinking | low self-esteem | angst ]

notes: hi yes hello i see that it's been two months since i last posted chapter one, so here's chapter two that i just breezed through and finished. sorry about that!

links: [ part 1 ]

2 | I KNOW A PLACE

Calm, brewing like a storm on the horizon. Dark clouds in pink skies at sunset. These are the things you’ve always been. You’ve always tried to tame the chaos, but the chaos always finds a way to consume you. Chewing you up and spitting you out like gum, relentless in its nature.

Your mother always told you that you bloomed out of her, like a flower. The second in line, punctual as ever. The correct day, shortly before lunch. Everything appeared to be in order — ten fingers, ten toes, no tail. The bare minimum. Any parent would be thrilled, and yours were. 

Your first memory involves your sister. She’s higher in the pecking order, but only ahead of you by two years. You’re at the bottom of the food chain, and she reminds you of this whenever she can. Always on the honour roll, always blaming you for her misdoings, always right — always, always, always.

When she left for university, it was as if you could finally take your first breath, sixteen years too late. Had you been without oxygen for so long? The damage had already been done. You were already the problem child, the black sheep, the unambitious, the lazy one. 

You always dreamed you were a galaxy — bottling up your emotions before exploding and reaching out into the ever-expanding universe. Coated in stardust, voice hoarse from begging to be appreciated. You always ascend, then descend, then fall into restless sleep. From one side of the earth to the other, you now struggle to find balance; harmony. Life became a constant sine wave — an unrelenting up-and-down, ebb and flow. When uncontrolled, you’re the force of a midwestern storm over the plains: bubbling up from nothing and flattening entire municipalities. When you’re down — towards the bottom — it’s hard to find your ground, to pick up the tiny fragments and put them back into place. 

Sometimes, it lets you breathe. You kick to the surface, coming up for air; gasping, choking, gagging on every horrible thing anyone has ever said and done to you. Everything around you seems to descend further into chaos. Your room is the best display of this — the floor is strewn with laundry (clean and dirty), trash, a suitcase from a trip you went on months ago; the bed is half covered with journals and cat hair; every surface holds the clutter you can’t seem to expel from your mind.

Even your love is chaos. It whispers doubts and faults from the dark corner in your room – a scared monster, and when you turn on the light it's you, staring in the mirror, whispering to yourself. There's nothing, and then one night you keep the light on in the darkness, and the monster can't sleep, and she cries, and you cry. You wake up in the morning, exhausted. Sometimes she takes a vacation. Some days, you can wake up well-rested and face the day with a tight-lipped smile.

Between the chaos and order you create, there is that sweet spot. That seat in the auditorium that can feel the energy of every note, where everything melts together and the person sitting in that chair becomes the music. It's the liminal space between worlds. where even humans can feel the buzz of magic, because art is magic to them.

You drift in this veil, often. The ups are great, and the downs are low, and sometimes you wish the two extremes that rock you would let you sleep. Sometimes, though, when the sun sits on the horizon just right, you can find it in yourself to clear your mind. The chaos, the order, the nothing.

In the between, you can curl up in the sun on the window-seat in your apartment, you can take your shoes off halfway up the stairs, and leave your dish in the sink until you're ready to do dishes. Things in the between are bright, but blurry. Fleeting moments, until you decide to go up or come down. But the between is your favourite state, because the between makes you feel like you can do anything.

Perhaps that’s why you got on so well with your ex-husband, Joel. He loved your highs, your lows, your in-betweens. He provoked them and enabled them, whipping you into a whirlwind frenzy. It was no surprise that you fell head-over-heels for the man who brought out your best and most toxic qualities. He loved showing them off at parties, pressing all of your buttons until you overloaded and unloaded on him in front of your friends and family. He drove them further and further away from you, until you had no one left on your side.

The years you spent with Joel made you feel crazy, and when he left you after you lost your daughter, it wasn’t a surprise. You had failed him in every way. Why wouldn’t he leave you? What else did you bring to the table? He took everything on his way out – the cat, the house, the car, the money. You and your suitcase were the only things left on the curb. He didn’t even want those things, he just didn’t want you to have them. His face still haunts you, his almost-menacing laugh at your misfortune still repeats like a fever dream. You still haven’t found your in-between again.

Reuniting with Lala, after the divorce and moving back in with your parents (who still blamed you for all of your own misgivings), had saved your life. She had steadfastly stood by your side through it all, and though you had drifted apart briefly, she was always making sure you received the love you deserved. Running into her at the gas station, on the night you had planned to end this miserable life you had carved out for yourself, gave you a reason to keep waking up in the morning.

She also kidnapped you and made you spend the night at her apartment, so she clearly knew something was up. To-may-to, to-mah-to.

Yesterday had been a burst of confidence, but now the reality was settling in. It gripped your heart and squeezed it, forcing the blood to rush erratically through every vein and artery. The mean-spirited bitch who lived in your head rent-free and criticised everything you did had woken up from her hibernation, and she was chittering in your ear like she was paid to do it:

He’s going to see your fat arms and run for the hills. Why would he agree to go to this with you? Did he think this was a charity gala in your name? He’s just being nice. He doesn’t actually like you.

It was enough to paralyse you. Sitting on the couch with half of an iced latte precariously held in your slack hand, staring at your reflection in the dark TV screen, you barely registered your partner-in-true-crime trying to get your attention.

“Earth to Lulu. Come in, Lulu,” comes the dulcet trill from Lala. Her hand waves slowly in front of your face, and when that doesn’t work to get your attention, she gently places her hands on your cheeks and tilts your head to face hers.

“You’re panicking, aren’t you?” she asks, following your gaze until she initiates eye-contact. All you can manage is a slow nod.

“Get up,” she says — it’s firm, but with a smile. “We’re going to go for a walk outside and then we’re going to get ready to tackle the day.” She sets your coffee on the side table and pulls you up to a standing position.

“It won’t help,” you protest, but she pushes you towards your room.

“Put some pants on, brush your hair, and grab some comfy shoes,” Lala instructs and knowing your protestations are futile, you comply with her gentle commands.

Once dressed and outside, you have to admit that you do feel better. You won’t tell Lala that, though. She’s always right, and you like to keep her humble. The pair of you take a leisurely pace through the streets, window shopping and chatting easily about silly memories and making your reflections in the storefronts ‘wear’ the clothes on display. 

“We should have hired a stylist,” you say, looking at the perfectly styled plastic mannequins.

“Probably,” Lala responds, taking a few pictures of herself and the two of you together. “But, we didn’t, and it’s too late now.”

“I was fine with what I was going to wear like two days ago, and now I’m going to look like I’m wearing the finest generic garbage bag, and he’s just going to be so effortlessly good-looking,” you whine the last bit, leaning against the brick exterior of a storefront.

“Don’t be silly,” Lala says. “It would at least be a name brand garbage bag,” she laughs.

“And Miss Lulu, who are you wearing tonight?” she asks, mimicking a red carpet reporter.

“Well, Maria Menounos, I’m wearing GLAD’s spring line in ‘lavender fields’, and the matching signature seasonal scent,” you reply in kind before the two of you cackle, spooking a passing mother and child who quicken their pace. 

The two of you finish off your walk with a stop by the coffee shop before heading back to get ready for the long day ahead of you.

You’re hangry by the time lunch rolls around, the constant incessant chirping of Alexa confirming and changing and re-confirming the day's schedule was starting to grow less exciting and more unbearable by the minute. Having only coffee and anxiety in your system wasn’t a great way to take care of yourself, but food always impeded the caffeine adsorption and you needed all the energy you could get today.

“And then after the remarks, then you will do the reading,” Alexa says, scrolling through the updated event itinerary on her tablet, hardly sparing you a glance as she juggles the day in analog and digital form.

“Hey Alexa,” you say, and both your personal assistant and the artificial-intelligence device respond, and you can’t help but smile. “This ‘going over the draft itinerary every five minutes with changes’ is going to rot my brain. Can you play some spa music?”

Alexa (the human) huffs, as Alexa (the AI) plays a soft spa melody in the background. 

“Why do I have to do the reading?” you ask, glancing between Lala and Alexa in the mirror as you try to wrangle your hair into something resembling an up-do.

“Racism,” Lala says, not looking up from her phone. “And I did the majority of the audio book.”

“But I have a lisp,” you whine.

“No, you don’t,” Lala responds.

“And I’m bad at reading aloud.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I don’t want to do it?”

“We already printed the posters,” Alexa says. “Think of it this way — doing the reading will really impress those boys,” she says, taunting you with the thought of being interesting to Hoseok and Yoongi. Did Alexa understand the hype around BTS? No. She was a woman raised on classical opera and chamber music and never deviated from it. Did she understand the appeal? Well. She had eyes, so she must have.

“Fine,” you relent.

“Now, will you let me bring in the hair and clothing stylists so you don’t look like someone who stands in a field all day and scares the crows away from the crops?” she asks, already sending off the message to have them come up.

“Only if they bring something edible with them. I’m starving,” you pout, sitting back in the chair in front of the mirror.

“It builds character,” Alexa says and crosses the room to let them in. “I will leave you two to get ready, and I’ll send up some food later. Remember — the car will be here at four to pick you up. If either of you are late to this, so help me God …” she says.

“We won’t be late,” you affirm to her, before heading over to the hotel coffee maker to get some fuel for the day. “As long as you send up food,” you add just when Alexa feels safe and satisfied with your previous answer. She makes an animalistic sound of annoyance before leaving the room, and leaving you and Lala in the capable hands of Trudy and Charlie for hair and make-up.

The hours between when Alexa leaves you and the food arrives has left you ravenous. Trudy specifically waited until you and Lala had eaten before moving past the base layer of foundation, leaving the two of you sitting around like corpses in formal wear. You eat with your hands — sandwiches, please, you’re not a complete animal — and you can feel a bond between yourself and your very early primal ancestors.

Though you weren’t a stranger to food scarcity, the nervous energy you carried in your stomach exacerbated the hunger you felt. Those earlier thoughts were starting to creep back into your head to bounce around with every bite, chew, and swallow. Refusing to spiral, you brushed them aside to deal with later. It was getting close to three, and that meant you only had about half an hour before Hoseok and Yoongi showed up to attend the launch party with you.

Teeth brushed, very fancy clothes back in order, you let Trudy finish your make-up while Charlie puts the finishing touches on your hair.

“You ladies look lovely,” he says, fixing a curl by your ear. 

“Only because of all the work you did,” you say.

“Well, they do call me the Magician of London,” Charlie says. Trudy rolls her eyes.

“Literally no one calls you that,” she says.

“My mother does,” he cuts back. 

There’s a knock at the door that causes you to jump. A chill runs through all of your extremities, and you feel yourself break out into an imaginary sweat. This is it — the moment that will make or break your night. Will Hoseok see you and full-body laugh with how ridiculous you look? Yes. Definitely. You can hear your heart thundering in your ears, and you glance at Lala in a panic. She gives you a reassuring smile, rolls her eyes, and crosses to open the door. Your protests go ignored, and she doesn’t give you enough time to hide.

Perhaps having that sandwich wasn’t a good idea. Maybe Alexa was right — starving to death in a hotel would build character. All you can feel is nausea as your stomach clenches. It’s just nerves. In your books, in your screenplay, this would be the moment that the main character’s love interest sees her all dolled up for the first time. The two lock eyes, there’s a tasteful music track playing, and all the audience would focus on would be the two of them in awe of each other. Then, the plot would move along. They would dance at the ball, or go to dinner, and live their little lives.

You did not feel like the main character. Well, you do, a little. But in the kind of story where the main character is bullied at every turn and then dies at the end of her own book in the most deeply unsatisfying way. Caught in the garage of a serial killer and as you run through all of your mistakes he starts to cut off your —

“You look great,” Hoseok’s voice cuts through the bullshit rambling in your mind. He has a genuine smile on his face. He must have been able to see the gears in your head moving, and the smile is the result of knowing that he stopped them. You think you’re about to pass out. Breathe, bitch. 

“Th-thanks, you too,” you manage to stutter out. Real smooth. The smile on his face never falters.

“Lulu, you have to move, sweetie,” Lala reminds you. Oh, right. You’re going somewhere. You nod and finally stand up, Hoseok’s arm is offered, and you make sure you have all of your things before taking it — thankful it’s there, otherwise you’d be flat on the floor.

“I hear you’re doing the reading,” Hoseok says.

“Yeah,” you say, as if trying to catch your breath.

“You’ll do great,” he says with a smile, before covering your hand on his arm with his other hand. You can only manage a nod as the four of you wait for the elevator.

“What does a book launch party entail?” Yoongi asks, once the elevator door closes, trapping you all inside.

“Well, a bunch of people have bought tickets to attend,” Lala starts. “Some of the tickets include a signed copy of the book, some of them include an un-signed copy of the book, and some of them only include a reservation for the book to be purchased separately at the party,” she continues.

“But it’s mostly fans coming to support the author, hear a reading of the first chapter, and then mingling with some food and drink until midnight when they can get the book and then leave so they can read it in one night,” you add, with a laugh. “I used to do the same, before the rise of the internet.”

“And there might be some music, but it’s not really as stuffy as it sounds,” Lala assures them. 

“Only about half as stuffy as it sounds,” you say. The nerves in your stomach have finally settled, and you’re only now aware that you have a death-grip on Hoseok’s arm. He’s either too polite to say anything, or you aren’t as strong as you thought. Slowly you, loosen your grip and he turns his smile back to you. Wow, his teeth are so nice.

“You both said Namjoon is a big fan?” you ask.

“A huge fan,” Yoongi says. “He’s been calling every night with questions about book two.”

“I’ll see if Ducky can send along another signed copy for him,” you say. 

“Oh, he’ll lose his mind,” Hoseok says. “He loves all of the little philosophical things and the magic she throws in —“

“They,” you gently correct again. “Ducky is non-binary.”

“They throw in,” Hoseok quickly corrects himself. “His favourite character is Endymion.”

You’re about to respond that Endymion is also your favourite character, when the elevator opens on the ground floor. Alexa sits waiting in the lobby, fingers flying over the keyboard on her phone as she cements a few last-minute details. Her face lights up at the sight of all four of you as you approach.

“Don’t you all look lovely?” she muses with a once over of both you and Lala. “The limo is outside, and remember –” 

“Don’t say anything to a reporter that you wouldn’t say to your mother,” you cut her off with a cheeky grin.

“Yes, that too. But, if you’d let me speak, you gremlin, remember to have fun,” she says through gritted teeth.

Alexa was desperately in need of a raise, and when the money for the adaptation rolled in, you’d give her a hefty one. Without her, you and Lala wouldn’t be where you are today. This is how rich people made time for leisure – personal assistants. Alexa was a pro: she anticipated needs before they became critical, was always three steps ahead and looking back to make sure you kept up. She was yet another lifeline in this miserable life.

“Will do,” you respond.

Arriving at possibly-the-fanciest-bookstore you’ve ever seen, you find yourself a bit underwhelmed by the turnout. Despite the fact that the four of you had arrived on time, the crowd seemed a bit lacklustre – sparse. You, Lala, Yoongi, and Hoseok pose briefly for a few photos outside the front door before heading inside where things don’t seem much better.

“It’s a weekday, and people are just getting off work,” Lala’s voice drifts to meet your ears. “More will show up. The posters did say the party goes until one,” she’s always reassuring you. 

You’re not convinced nor reassured this time. Alexa’s command over you turning up on time, the dress, the hair, the heels you couldn’t walk in, the skin exposed, the reading – none of it seemed to amount to anything. A handful of people, most of whom couldn’t have been bothered to dress up after leaving the office, mill around like this party is their watercooler and they’re gossiping about who microwaved fish in the communal microwaves.

The air seems to dissipate, leaving you to suffocate in the glass case you had built for yourself: performance art. Everyone could look in and watch you struggle to breathe until at last you laid down and –

“Hey,” comes Hoseok’s voice, tearing through the internal chaos. “It’s okay,” he says. He pats your hand and you realise you have his arm in a death-vice again. You slowly relax your hand and release him. “The fans will show up. I promise,” he says with a smile. He would know that better than anyone, but the thing was: his fans were absolutely nutty. (You can say that, you’re one of them.) They were ride-or-die loyal. Comparing the two fan-bases was like comparing apples and pick-up trucks: they had absolutely nothing in common.

“Let’s get a drink,” he offers. You nod silently, eyes scanning the room for Lala, landing on her and Yoongi laughing. She, with an open book in her hand and the confidence of a lioness; He, with two flutes of wine with berries and all the fondness of a childhood friend. They looked like they had known each other for a decade (in a way, that was kind of true), while you felt like you were being held hostage at an office Christmas party where they fired everyone at the end of the night.

Hoseok pulls you across the room to the drinks, every bit the master of parties, ceremonies, and hosting. He places a flute of white wine in your hand, and the two of you find a quiet space to sit. You can tell he’s trying to make sure you don’t spiral, or maybe he’s regretting the decision to come to this party. Maybe he’s just regretting coming to this party with you and your fat arms. 

“Who’s your favourite character?” he asks, once you’ve both settled into two plush armchairs near the poetry section. It takes you a moment to register what he’s talking about, but once it processes you feel your smile grow across your face.

“Definitely Endymion,” you say. “In the first book, you only ever see him through someone else's eyes, and it creates this multifaceted portrait of someone you’ve never met or spoken to. Sometimes he’s regarded as a hero, or a traitor, or a pillar. Both a prince and a pauper,” you feel yourself rambling and slowly trail off. “What about you?”

“So far, I think I have to go with Seven,” he says, the smile fading from his face. “It almost feels like he’s who I would have become. Lonely, wanting his friends and family close but unable to be with them, passing away alone and angry …” he trails off, pensieve, and you try to remain still, afraid of interrupting his thoughts. He suddenly turns to you and flashes his bright smile again, downing half of his wine in one go. “I think more people are arriving,” he says, gesturing at the door.

You turn and look, and sure enough, there is a line of people waiting for their pictures to be taken so they can enter the venue. The sound level has risen from “Christmas Lay-off Office Party” to “Movie Theatre Lobby After a Summer Blockbuster”. Light music starts to lilt through the air, unassuming and inoffensive to the guests of the party. While you know you should go and mingle, be seen, and be a good host … all you want to do is sit here in a plush armchair and talk to Hoseok for a little longer.

“I should go play host,” you say, watching the door but not making any move to get up and do just that.

“They’ll be fine. The party goes until one, remember?” he says, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.

As if he’s given you explicit permission to skip your own party, you turn back to your glass of wine – and, in turn, him – and down the flute in one gulp.

“What time is your reading?” he asks, and you grimace at the thought.

“I think it’s at eight,” you reply.

“We have a few hours, want to get some air with me?”

Nothing would make you happier. 

Time feels different on the rooftop plaza. The sun grazes the skyline of the city, glowing red and casting a soft-light on the concrete and brick buildings. The windows all reflect this light in different directions, making each building below appear to be made of jewels and gold. Higher up in the summer sky, a moon in waning gibbous hangs in the periwinkle sea, while clematis- and quinacridone rose-colored clouds float towards the horizon.

You and Hoseok are the only two out here. The rooftop was blocked off to party-goers, but considering one of you is an international superstar, you were able to bribe security to let you through. There’s a soft breeze, and for the first time that day, you feel like you can breathe easily. From below, you can still hear the party getting started. The chatter of friends, fans, and family alike muffled by the distance. The music cuts through it all, and you find yourself wanting to dance – even though you have two left feet and couldn’t find a beat if you had a map to one.

You both stand at the railing and look out at the city. Something nags at the back of your mind, and the harder you try to repress it, the stronger the urge becomes.

“Look Simba: Everything the light touches is our kingdom,” you recite the urge dramatically, and Hoseok’s body twists as he full-body laughs. You’re thankful the reference transcends language, you’re devastated that you couldn’t repress the urge at all. Always saying the first and only thing on your mind, never sparing a critical thought before it spills out of your mouth.

As the sun continues to dip low nearer the horizon, you and Hoseok enjoy the silence between you. Your mind zips through pleasant, unintrusive thoughts like a hummingbird, pausing at one every so often to drink its nectar. Your nails tap on the metal railing absently, sending a clicking-metallic echo into the silent twilight.

“Thanks,” you say. The word almost startles you (even though you said it), but Hoseok only turns to look at you, confusion rising like flood water on his pleasant placid face.

“For what?” he asks.

“Calming me down, getting me out of my head, bribing the security guard into letting us come out here, et cetera,” you say.

“I know a spiral when I see one,” he says and leans in with a smile, nudging your shoulder with his. You feel yourself leaning in closer, and he closes the gap with his soft lips pressing against your forehead. “I think you have a reading to do,” he says. 

You grimace, but nod in agreement. The two of you join arms and head back downstairs, and for the first time that night, the butterflies in your stomach and the honey bees in your heart take a well deserved rest.

#hoseok fluff #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok drabble #hoseok imagine #jhope fluff #jhope fic #jhope fanfic #jhope imagine #jhope drabble #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #writers in the dark #witd #lulu - short for delulu

[howards-alicee]

florence pugh, bi-sexual, female + she/her ― hey look, alice howards! she’s twenty-four years old, she’s lived in shrike heights for ten years, and she’s currently working at showtime. i heard she’s pretty abrasive, but i think she’s so loyal at the same time. can she make it out alive?

The words to describe Alice Howards are pretty hard. Many people (mainly her father) question where it went wrong. Was it the divorce when she was 12? When her mother ships her off to her father two years later? Or maybe it was growing up being an emotional weapon between her parent's constant arguments... No one can pinpoint the moment when Alice Howards simply decided she didn't care.

She was born to a wealthy surgeon father and her mother, a former beauty Queen who now spent her days in bed watching soaps and popping Xanax. Alice came into the world with little fanfare, her mother barely paying attention to the baby and her father working long hours at the hospital; Alice was raised by a slew of nannies until her father left, and suddenly there was no one there to care for little Alice, especially her mother who quickly shipped her off to her father two years later.

It wasn't until she moved to Shrike Heights at 14 that things started to get really bad. Expelled from an all-girls boarding school for spiking the communion wine with actual alcohol to being caught smoking on the grounds, it was then that her mother shipped her off to her father. It wasn't long until she made a name for herself in town either; lazy, wealthy and seemingly unambitious, she spent most her days ditching class and finding the next exciting thing whether it be partners or a party.

It wasn't that she was a lousy student, quite the opposite; it was under-stimulation that caused Alice to act out. From throwing ragers while her father was at Vespers to emptying an entire bottle of detergent in the town centre fountain, it seemed Alice's father was always getting a call from tired cops or the school principal.

Perhaps her father was too lenient or his lack of presence can help explain the way Alice has always behaved. Little care for those around her or who she hurts in the process. Graduating with a barely acceptable GPA and no college prospects, she mainly spent her time at home at the behest of her exhausted father.

It was only six months ago when she totalled her sixth car in four years that her drained father finally broke; cutting up all her credit cards in front of her and demanding she starts paying her own way.

Along came Showtime! Perhaps it was her thorough knowledge of film, about the one thing she has consistently enjoyed, she managed to charm her way into a part-time job but can old habits truly leave?

Only time will tell.

#shrikeintro

[stxriesfromash]

Summary of a Muse

Abraham Thompson

Born January 1st, 1988 in London, England. He grew up believing that Alexander Thompson - the head of the legal department of a hospital - was his biological father ; even to this day, he is completely unaware that his mother, Elizabeth Thompson (nee Peters) once had an affair with Alexander's younger brother Augustus Thompson that resulted in Abraham's conception.

Abraham was highly doted on by his parents and had been completely spoiled by them - he could want for nothing - something he would eventually come to resent as it meant that he could not earn anything on his own. His mother was very protective of him, especially when it came to her son being around his Uncle Gus.

Augustus and Alexander were estranged for a very long time before and after Abraham's birth. Gus had always been labeled as 'lazy' and 'unambitious', and in his teenage years had dabbled in various degrees of criminal activity. Despite this, Alexander did his best to repair the damaged relationship with his troubled younger brother, completely oblivious to the affair that occurred between Gus and his wife. Elizabeth had never liked or approved of Gus being around, believing he would be a bad influence on her and her husband's future children - if they were to ever have any, at that time.

For years after marrying, Elizabeth and Alexander continuously tried and failed to conceive a child, which put a lot of stress on the both of them and began to strain their marriage. On a night where one heated argument that lead Alexander to storm out to go to work, leaving an emotionally exhausted Elizabeth alone to nurse her feelings with wine occurred, Gus had shown up to the house looking for his brother only to find an inebriated Elizabeth. Feeling desperate, Elizabeth drunkenly seduced Augustus, leading her to fall pregnant with his child. She never told anyone of what happened between her and her brother-in-law and paid Augustus off for his silence and non-involvement once he learned of her pregnancy.

But Gus wouldn't so easily be chased away. With his relationship with his brother on the mend, he seized the opportunity to be a part of his son's life all the while agreeing to keep the truth a secret (although he never turned down the chance to 'remind' Elizabeth of his 'kindness' should she attempt to cut him out of Abe's life completely).

Though Alexander's relationship with his brother was improving, Gus’s life choices were not. Abraham began to fall under the influence of his uncle's 'wisdom', and Gus soon took him on as a protégé in his own illegal activities. Abe was a fast learner, becoming quite good at pick-pocketing and conning people out of their money and goods. In time, Abe’s parents realized the effect Gus had on their son and quickly tore them apart. But his parents weren’t going to stop Abraham. The moment he turned 18, Abraham left home, following his uncle as Gus migrated all around the UK and eventually America. Elizabeth tried several times to convince many people - including police - that Augustus had brainwashed and kidnapped her son; unfortunately, nothing was done about her complaints or pleas. Abraham's father, Alexander, eventually even wrote both his son and his brother out of his will, severing the final ties that both men had been chipping away at for years.

Abraham now lives in America, not staying in one place for too long, making his living as the con man and thief that his uncle had raised him to be.

#studying the thief (abraham's headcanons) #tw cheating #tw infertility #trigger warning mentions

[hoghtastic]

I just watched his new short movie and it confirmed my belief that Alex's talent is so wasted in Denmark😩 I mean, the movie was very interesting and enjoyable to watch (even though I didn't understand a word of it😅) but it's a pity that he limits himself to very short films or unambitious roles. Especially since he said many times that he has a lot of offers but he only pays attention to the valuable ones. After his choices I don't think it's completely true but I wouldn't call him lazy like the previous anon. He seems to be very ambitious and hard working but when he chose to work in Denmark he crossed out his possibilities. If it wasn't for Ole Bornedal Alex wouldn't even have a chance to star in a real movie. I'm curious if he had a chance to show more of his acting skills in "Call Me Dad" but even if not, creating his own series is a huge achievement in itself. I just hope he doesn't turn into a typical failed actor whose career is based on a relationship. This is the perfect way for someone like Johanne, Alex can afford more.

I agree with you, anon. 😊 I do feel like he's shown an enormous potential in Vikings and could have been offered much better roles after that. Maybe it was his choice to remain in Denmark, working only on the projects we've seen, or maybe those better roles were never offered to him. And although I've also enjoyed this short movie, it feels a little like Alex is now being type-casted. This new character, Jonas, reminded me a bit too much of Bjørn Jepsen from "Darkness — Those Who Kill", even the situation he's in is somewhat similar, seemingly in trouble and questioned by the police. His expressions/mannerisms are also the same. And if he keeps playing the same characters, there's not much room for him to improve as an actor or show new, better skills. Which is a shame, really. 😕 And as about "Call Me Dad", while I agree that it must have been exciting to create his own series and it might have allowed him to develop other skills behind the cameras, I don't think it must have been such a huge challenge for him as an actor. As it’s mostly a comedy series, and we’ve all seen how playful and goofy Alex is with his friends, this role might have come naturally to him. But let’s wait for the series premiere, so we’ll have more material to base our opinions. 😊 Regarding Ole Bornedal’s new movie, let’s hope it will achieve the same success as its predecessor and hopefully open new doors for (maybe international) new, better projects for Alex. Although I’m not too hopeful, since his role will be pretty small as well, so it’s unlikely that many people other than his fans will pay much attention to him, unfortunately. 😔

#anon asks

[ahb-writes]

Book Review: ‘HIGEHIRO’ #2

Higehiro: After Being Rejected, I Shaved and Took in a High School Runaway, Vol. 2 (light novel) (Higehiro: After Being Rejected, I Shaved and Took in a High School Runaway by Shimesaba My rating: 4 of 5 stars Sayu, frantically running away from her past, has run so far and so fast such that she has forgotten to allay herself of the benefits of having run away in the first place. That is not to say she hasn't indulged in the freedom of movement and behavior; rather, she has neglected to explore the emotional latitude one often earns for oneself when finally unshackled by the presumptions of home. HIGEHIRO v2 pivots, holding Sayu responsible for her actions and forcing her to confront the fragility she hides with five different dishonest smiles. Also, Yoshida's work life is getting more hectic. Also, Sayu snags a part-time job and makes new friends. Also, more folks within Yoshida's inner circle are clued into his home situation. Also, an adulterer barges back into Sayu's life. More and more developments layer the precedent, and readers are left to wonder how long it'll be until Sayu, or Yoshida, or any of the supporting cast, breaks down. HIGEHIRO v2 is about surviving the fiery backdraft of emotions left unattended for far too long. The novel isn't a tearjerker, but it's definitely heartbreaking on multiple accounts. It's a reality check, and nobody emerges unscathed. The expanding number of characters with baggage and a hustle and misconceptions about social propriety grows with each chapter. This novel series' premise hasn't changed. The tale of a "nice guy" office worker trying his best in spite of the world's emergent ills remains the primary theme. But the deeper readers wade into Yoshida's life, the more they come to find he's an aberration in more ways than one. In HIGEHIRO v2, Yoshida butts heads with characters whose perception of the world is falsely colored according to what they desire most. Airi Gotou is still the object of the young man's affections, but the woman's pretentious virtue nearly wrenches their whole dynamic off course. Mishima, Yoshida's kohai, still pines for her do-gooder colleague, but her indecisive disposition marks her for one who can never attain what she needs because she never voices what she wants. This is a character study on down the line. New characters are not immune to these clashes with reality. Asami Yuuki, for example, is a casual gyaru and one of Sayu's coworkers at a local corner store. The girl is a brilliant high-school student whose home life is the telltale consequence of neglectful parenting. The connections she makes, and the ruptures she inveighs, are direct consequences of these experiences. HIGEHIRO v2 tips its hand a little, strongly implying that Yoshida has found himself dead center in the most undesirable harem in the history of humankind: a gorgeous prude, a lazy and unambitious sidekick, an immature runaway, and a mature latchkey youth. Whether the man will acquiesce to one of these rotten desires, or fold his cards and walk away, is as of yet unknowable.

Light-Novel Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

Browse insta for more comics and book reviews.

#higehiro #light novel #review #shimesaba #yen press #childhood trauma #coming of age #social commentary #sayu ogiwara #definitely heartbreaking #3 of 4 stars #high school runaway #yuzuha mishima #yoshida #hige o soru soshite joshi kōsei o hirou #ひげを剃るそして女子高生を拾う #five different dishonest smiles #characters with baggage #misconceptions about social propriety #goodreads

[mundrakan]

Good Omens - more than a drabble

The day Aziraphale was replaced as angel responsible for London on account of being “lazy and too unambitious”, three churches burned, one of them to the ground, and all by arson. The next day there was a major riot and the day after someone flooded the local soccer green of a children's club during the game of the 6-year-olds, prompting a long-lasting feuds between the parents of the opposing teams.

Aziraphale's successor was quickly replaced.

Alas, to little avail. A priest killed his own bishop in front of running cameras, accusing him of child abuse, a politician got caught with some prostitutes and strangely in an old monastery a group a teenager's very nearly opened a portal to hell.

From there it only got worse. Man-made catastrophe stained each new angel's reputation from the first day on, soon a layer on natural disaster is added on top, making each more unlucky, less successful than the last.

Finally heaven relents. If everyone is failing, at least they might take an angel whose reputation is already stained, an angel with the only ambition to live the simple live and eat good food. Alas, on the day they send him back, the sun is shining over London for the first day in months. The birds are singing, the bobbies are piping their favourite songs, swinging their batons only through air, while strolling around in their best mood. On top of it all, a politician admits to his misdeeds and swears compensation to the good people of Great Britain....

The day Crowley was replaced, Prince Charles founded a charity for parental advice, helping troubled families through their perils and thus improving the life and future of thousands of children. The next day a priest in one of the biggest divine services of London preached so convincingly, each person leaving after, did at least one good deed. Their was no traffic jam in London and not a single subway was late.

Suddenly the governmental workers were nice to everyone and people gave smiles and thank you's to salespeople.

But that was just the start. Thousands of illegal weapons were suddenly handed in to police stations, people all over the country realized, that professional help for their mental health would be in order and miraculously found exactly the right therapist, who on top had time for an initial appointment. The church of England declared their utmost respect for all sexualities and genders and the prime minister wrote a note to apologizes for all the past atrocities committed by British citizens towards indigenous people.

It wasn't that, what broke hell after all. It was the quiet confession of the very latest poor demon send to London that after only two days, he wanted to hug someone desperately – and that he wanted a teddy bear. After that, Crowley was send back. If someone was able to deal with the angel that brought proper demons to heel, enough that they remembered the urge for.... cuddling, it was clearly him. He had done so for a few thousand years already.

At the very least he would bring the traffic jam back – and wasn't that something?

#good omens #drabble #writing #aziraphale #crowley #maybe I should AO3 this

[corvidshipping]

something i have recently gained self confidence in is surprisingly my intelligence. which is like the last thing i ever expected to gain self confidence in, for two reasons.

those being that i’ve kind of lived most of my adolescent and adult life thinking of myself as pretty average intelligence at best (i kind of thought of myself as super smart as a kid but i honestly chalked that up to me generally having a big ego when i was young). and tbh that’s a common thing for ppl with adhd so that may be part of it bc my own adhd always made me think of myself as this lazy, unambitious, unmotivated, unintelligent person before i had the words to describe it and tbh even still having the words and knowledge to explain it. but it’s also an inherent thing. like people called me smart and stuff but i didn’t believe them bc i figured they said that bc i read a lot when i was a kid (as in i would literally get in trouble for reading TOO much when i wasn’t supposed to. and also why did i read the dictionary for fun), and i was good at english/language bc it came very easily to me and bc i could spout information but tbh that’s not being smart imo, it’s just remembering things. and ppl would be like you’re smart bc you learned japanese on your own without any tutor or anything, or bc you memorized jabberwocky when you were 10, or bc you would have full conversations when you were like 7 about the symbolism and foreshadowing in h*rry p*tter. but tbh? id always be like “thank you” but in my head kind of diminish it because like. it’s been a decade and im still not anywhere close to fully fluent in japanese, let alone even passing my JLPT5, and memorizing one seven stanza poem is honestly not exactly going to get me into mensa. and i always passed the latter off as me just spouting the things i would hear other ppl say back at my mom so i discredited it. and the other reason is that being very smart is just not my main goal. and holy shit please don’t take that as me saying being smart isn’t good or anything, obviously it’s valuable and a good goal to have and we should always seek to improve our knowledge and you should only stop learning when you’re dead. but like. while it’s something i value it’s just? not my main goal. if i had the ultimatum between being really really smart but not a very nice person, or being kind of dumb but being a good hearted person, i would always pick the latter. my main value is just Being A Good Person, seeking to do right even if you don’t always do perfect. being kind to people and being someone ppl can trust. i do think intelligence is a good, great thing to have but honestly it’s not even the thing i seek out most in other people. like i really would prefer anyone i hang around to have basic common sense but tbh? if you aren’t that book smart or maybe you kind of don’t make connections in your head all the time it is really not something i notice unless it becomes like, a genuine problem that prevents you from advancing or you somehow hurt other people. i really would rather hang with someone who’s at their core a kind person than anything else. so like it kind of hurt to think of myself as not smart but i really tried not to think abt it much bc in the end it is not my main goal or my foremost core value.

but like i’m kind of meeting more ppl lately. and i’ve been like, less sheltered for a while now like since i was 16 so idk why this is happening more NOW but ever since i moved states it feels like i’ve been realizing this more. i’ve been meeting a lot of different ppl especially at my job and like. given where i work you’d expect a ton of crazy smart people to come through and they definitely do, lots of fascinating conversations about culture and art and im realizing that i can actually hold conversations with them and i actually get what they’re saying even if it’s not about something i already understood. which is part of it. but also. oh my god this is gonna sound so mean. but i’m realizing that i am also… smarter than a lot of people i encounter. and i’m realizing maybe the reason i always thought of myself as not smart is because i only ever had smart people to compare myself to. because i said before i was very sheltered growing up, i didn’t really go to school (i cringe to imagine what it would have been like if i had, being neurodivergent. all the ‘smart but doesn’t apply themself’ notes id have gotten), i barely had friends (i had a few scattered playmates honestly, except for maybe one family in florida) and i never had a close one until i was 7 and never talked to them about serious things till i was 10 or 11. i didn’t know really any of my extended family. i pretty much only regularly interacted with my direct family from childhood till i was maybe 16 or 17. so like, laying it out. my mom is super fucking smart, quick as a whip and witty as fuck and she’s the reason i’m so good at language and had the forethought to speak french to me since i was a baby so even though i don’t speak it, that helped with my neuroelasticity and capacity to learn language even if she didn’t realize it. my dad is ALSO super fucking smart, spoke spanish to me like my mom did with french, knows a million instruments and always learning more and knows more coding languages than im sure of, good at math which i am very not, introduced me to a good third of my music taste (another third was my mom) which is absolutely why i listen to basically anything bc he taught me that any genre can be worth listening to, had deep philosophical conversations with me as soon as i was smart enough and old enough to start asking those questions and didn’t just tell me ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’, taught me to ask questions always even if people don’t like it. my older sisters are crazy smart in all the ways my parents are and i swear they pick up new skills the day they decide to try them. even the people i choose to hang around always tend to end up being super smart. my chosen brother is smart as hell, analyzes media like no one else his reading comprehension is off the charts. my best friend is almost through college in a fucking HARD major and every time she talks about her homework i am absolutely lost on what she’s saying and i love her for understanding it. so like. i was always thinking i was average at best because the only thing i had to compare myself to was also. other smart people. like of course i thought that. to me, my average WAS smart.

but i’m realizing basically that was really skewed. not that other people are stupid cause jesus. no. and i don’t want to seem like im putting people down or anything. im just realizing like. average is not what i thought it was. honestly even common sense isn’t what i thought it was necessarily. a lot of ppl do not make the connections i thought everyone made, or extrapolate new information based on information already given like i thought they did. because. everyone i grew up around. is smarter than me. but that doesn’t mean im stupid. it doesn’t mean anyone else is stupid. it does mean though that i had a very very skewed perception of how smart i had to be to be considered smart, and it does mean that my average is very different from other ppls. and it does mean that i am never ever letting someone try to put me down and insult and discourage me by calling me stupid or treating me like i’m unintelligent ever again. never ever again. in fact i may laugh at them bc of this.

idk. my value in life is still being nice. i’m still always gonna put that first. it’s still more important to me to care for others and share and be trustworthy and helpful and make other ppl happy than to be smart. but like it certainly fuckin helps me care for others more effectively if i’m smart cause i’ll know what to do. so i guess like. maybe i am smart

#paperheart.txt #SIGH this is long #i can’t sleep bc i keep almost getting kicked off my bed. #just a lot of realizations. growing up with stuff can really really skew your idea of the world and yourself #and the only thing that can really change it is just. going out and experiencing the world and life. #and realizing that those are not everyone else’s experiences. #i rly rly grew up thinking i was stupid af bc i didn’t know what to compare myself to and bc of a few ppl i trusted who tried to put me down

[letters-dulciloquent]

April 27th 2022

I find myself lamenting often how very...ambitious society is. I suppose, capitalism has spurred on plenty – I cannot fault them; we all must work, must produce to get paid. The world’s lifeblood has become money, it makes the world go round and makes people sick; too little and you suffer, too much and you become disillusioned on how humans function.

It’s that very daily grind mindset that has be gripping for my own ambition. Only, I question, do I have any? I have dreams and wishes, whimsical in many aspects, but I guess, that’s how I like them; play pretend like we all used to, young and unburdened by the knowledge of how we are another cog waiting to be squeezed into the merciless machine of society. The more I think about it, the more depressing it gets.

I refuse to believe we were put here upon this earth just to work. How drastic has our lifecycle changed over these millennia – born to be groomed into busy work bees, preferably with no free will and voice to speak up. Maybe this is what breaks me each time.

See, I have a rather...strained relationship with my grandmother. An elderly asian lady, who’s done nothing but work her entire life to prove her worth, to keep her children fed. Her time had been different. My time is different. The hardships we face may overlap due to our shared cultural identities, however...those similarities end there. The struggles I face in a highly industrial and capitalistic have me in a chokehold that she is blind to – I am too unambitious, too uncreative, too lazy.

I guess, being faced with these constantly at sixteen, makes it easier to believe. I tie my worth to how useful I am to this world, this society. I am in a transitional portion of my life right now without a traditional, proper job and I feel like...a waste. And I know I should not feel that way; I am a Person, I never asked to be born, but I have a right to exist.

Yet it ravages me. I feel like a tiger haunting a cage too small for its form. Frenzied, anxious, frustrated. Up and down the bars. How dare I not use this energy to be productive, to add to society, why am I so stuck – so lazy. It’s poison upon me and I fear losing the climb against depression. Useless, I think, useless to anyone. But I scream back that I deserve this break, to finally breathe after years of constant scrutiny.

Why am I so unkind to myself?

Today had been so pretty. I haven’t seen spring in my home, true home, in a very long time. The air smells like my childhood – grass-stained knees, childish shorts and light, bright tees, sticks fingers from plucking flowers in green, green fields. I told myself to take more walks, exercise and fresh air can do wonders sometimes. Instead, I watched the sun shine, intermittently being blocked by the clouds, a curious rhythm of bright spring weather and melancholic gray of foreboding.

What was the point? That’s what I thought, disassociating in my living room as I watched the weather outside. What am I so afraid of? I am so frustrated with myself. Why do I not function well? Why am I such damaged goods? How am I not normal enough, not good enough, I am a bad daughter, I am a nuisance, I am failure sister, I am ungrateful, I am a brat, spoiled, useless, unproductive, lazy, lazy, lazy.

And I hate it. I hate being so unkind to myself. I recognize myself as a person and yet I am so conditioned to measure my worth with how useful I am to society. I lost my teenagehood to harsh criticism for enjoying being young, scrutiny drilled into my head that I cannot trust myself anymore. I tremble at the questions of “What are you planning for your future? What do you want to do? What are you doing right now?”.

Nothing. I have nothing. And I am so ashamed.

But moreso that I am still unable to heal of this. I look into the mirror and apologize in tears to myself that I am not better, that I am so cruel to myself. I love me, yet I detest my reflection all the same. I am so sorry, I am sorry that I am still not kind to myself.

Bad days are like this. So I just hope, that bad days are just, well, bad days. Tomorrow, I hope to see my reflection and find forgiveness.

#a letter #mood: depression