#Micro-Utilities

[andybogdanbindea]

Andy Bindea's Bold Mission to Revolutionize Haiti with Micro-Utilities

Discover how Andy Bindea’s groundbreaking approach to micro-utility infrastructure is transforming communities in Haiti, bringing clean energy access, local empowerment, and sustainable development to areas long underserved by traditional utility models.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Mitsubishi Minicab Truck, 1966. The LT30 was Mitsubishi's first cabover kei truck. It was powered by a front mounted air cooled, 2-stroke, 359cc ME24 engine and was available with cargo gates on three sides (high bed) to simplify loading and unloading. There was also a low-bed version with fixed sides and a rear tailgate.

[xettle-technologies]

Is Payment Gateway Integration Suitable for Small Businesses?

In today’s rapidly evolving digital economy, small businesses are increasingly seeking efficient and scalable solutions to handle financial transactions. One of the most transformative tools available to them is payment gateway integration. But is it suitable for small businesses? The answer lies in understanding how this technology aligns with their operational needs, growth aspirations, and customer expectations.

What Is Payment Gateway Integration?

Payment gateway integration refers to the process of embedding a secure, digital payment processing system into a business’s online platform or point-of-sale system. This technology enables businesses to accept payments from customers through various channels, such as credit/debit cards, digital wallets, and bank transfers. By facilitating smooth and secure transactions, payment gateways ensure that both customers and merchants have a seamless experience.

For small businesses, integrating a payment gateway is not just a convenience; it’s becoming a necessity. The rise of e-commerce and digital payments has shifted consumer expectations, making it essential for even the smallest enterprises to provide flexible and secure payment options.

Benefits of Payment Gateway Integration for Small Businesses

Enhanced Customer Experience Payment gateway integration allows small businesses to offer their customers multiple payment options, including digital wallets, UPI, and net banking. This flexibility enhances the customer experience by making transactions quick and hassle-free.

Improved Security Payment gateways use advanced encryption and fraud detection technologies to ensure the security of customer data. For small businesses, this level of protection builds trust and encourages repeat business.

Streamlined Operations Integrating a payment gateway reduces the need for manual transaction management. Payments are processed automatically, minimizing errors and saving valuable time that can be redirected to other aspects of the business.

Global Reach A payment gateway enables small businesses to accept payments from international customers. This capability is particularly valuable for businesses looking to expand their market reach.

Cost-Effectiveness Modern payment gateway solutions often come with flexible pricing models that cater to the needs of small businesses. Some providers even offer pay-as-you-go plans, ensuring affordability for startups and smaller enterprises.

Payout Solutions: Simplifying Financial Management

One of the complementary services that often comes with payment gateway integration is payout solutions. Payout solutions allow businesses to automate payments to vendors, suppliers, and employees, streamlining the flow of funds. For small businesses, this functionality can significantly reduce administrative burdens and improve cash flow management.

By integrating payout solutions with payment gateways, small businesses can achieve end-to-end financial automation. This integration not only saves time but also provides transparency and accuracy in financial transactions. For example, a small business owner can use payout solutions to manage payroll, refunds, or vendor payments with just a few clicks.

Micro ATM: A Complementary Tool for Small Businesses

In addition to utility payment solutions technologies like Micro ATM are gaining popularity among small businesses. A Micro ATM is a portable device that allows merchants to accept card payments and provide basic banking services, such as cash withdrawals, to customers. This solution is particularly useful in areas where digital payment adoption is still growing and cash transactions remain prevalent.

Combining Micro ATM services with payment gateway integration provides small businesses with a comprehensive financial toolkit. While the gateway handles online payments, the Micro ATM ensures that businesses can cater to customers who prefer or rely on cash transactions. This dual approach bridges the gap between digital and traditional payment methods, making businesses more versatile and customer-friendly.

Challenges and Considerations

While payment gateway integration offers numerous benefits, small businesses must also be aware of potential challenges. These include:

Initial Setup Costs Although many payment gateway providers offer affordable plans, there can be initial setup costs associated with integrating the system into existing platforms.

Technical Expertise Small businesses may need assistance in integrating and maintaining a payment gateway. Partnering with a reliable technology provider can help overcome this hurdle.

Regulatory Compliance Businesses must ensure that their payment gateway complies with local and international regulations to avoid legal complications.

Choosing the Right Provider Not all payment gateways offer the same features or pricing models. Small businesses should carefully evaluate providers based on their specific needs.

Xettle Technologies: A Partner for Small Business Growth

One example of a provider catering to small businesses is Xettle Technologies. Xettle offers scalable payment gateway integration services along with advanced payout solutions. Their user-friendly platforms are designed to meet the unique challenges faced by small enterprises, ensuring a smooth and secure transaction experience. By choosing a partner like Xettle Technologies, small businesses can access reliable tools that support their growth and streamline their financial operations.

Conclusion

Payment gateway integration is not only suitable for small businesses but is increasingly becoming a cornerstone of their success. By providing secure, efficient, and flexible payment processing, gateways empower small enterprises to meet customer expectations, expand their market reach, and improve operational efficiency. When combined with technologies like payout solutions and Micro ATM, these tools offer a holistic approach to financial management.

While challenges exist, they can be mitigated by selecting the right provider and leveraging innovative solutions like those offered by Xettle Technologies. As digital payments continue to dominate the financial landscape, small businesses that embrace payment gateway integration will be well-positioned to thrive in a competitive market.

[angelsecretgirls]

utility pocket bags

[sw5w]

A Jedi's Weapon Revealed

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:37:40

[molinaskies]

I don’t think we have a canon, official answer to this, but I like to believe that they live in such a lawless land that Sonic and Tails don’t need a license to fly. This is actually implied to be the case in Sonic X.

While they’re on Earth, all the animals have to get legal documentation. They all get passports (which I guess means they fast-tracked immigration LOL), Cheese (Cream’s Chao) gets registered as a pet and they’re both super offended by that, and Tails gets an official pilot’s license, among other papers that let him basically be a tech genius and fighter pilot worldwide. The animals are really thrown off by all this bureaucracy, implying that they don’t have anything like it back home.

But as for mainline canon, I just assume that Sonic taught himself or even that someone no longer in his life taught him. Especially given the fact that Sonic’s known to fly a plane by the start of the series. If anything, I think there’s even a chance that Sonic taught Tails how to fly, but that Tails completely overtook Sonic in terms of ability and technique.

I love them so much! What amazes me most about the Sonic and Tails story is that Sonic was a kid himself when he decided to take on such responsibility. And I'm sure Sonic had to change his lifestyle one way or another. But... where did Sonic get a DAMN PLANE???

[naturalscientist]

Unlocking Geothermal Secrets: Low-Grade Heat Power! #sciencefather #geothermalenergy #scientist 

Utilizing low-grade heat from geothermal micro-seepages 🌋 for thermoelectric systems offers a sustainable and feasible approach to clean energy production ⚡. These naturally occurring low-temperature sources, often overlooked due to their modest thermal output 🌡️, can be effectively harnessed using thermoelectric generators (TEGs), which convert heat directly into electricity without moving parts 🔌. This method promotes environmental sustainability by reducing greenhouse gas emissions 🌱 and reliance on fossil fuels ⛽. Moreover, the feasibility of such systems is enhanced by their scalability, low maintenance, and potential for off-grid applications 🏕️. By tapping into these dispersed and abundant energy sources, we can empower rural and remote communities while supporting a transition to greener energy solutions 🌍✨. 

Natural Scientist Awards 

Nomination Link: https://naturalscientist.org/award-nomination/?ecategory=Awards&rcategory=Awardee 

Visit Our Website 🌐naturalscientist.org 

Contact us support@naturalscientist.org 

Get Connected Here: 

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/natural-scientist-466a56357/ 

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[crypto28ro]

Tokenizarea serviciilor publice în sănătate

Politicile de sănătate publică se confruntă deseori cu obstacole precum lipsa de implicare a cetățenilor, dificultatea de a monitoriza progresul unor programe de prevenție și structurile birocratice ce întârzie sau limitează implementarea la scară largă. În mod tradițional, proiectele de sănătate (campanii de vaccinare, screening, programe de nutriție, prevenție a bolilor cronice etc.) sunt…

[audliminal]

Thinking about this in relation with Biz Barclay's snapewives video...

I’m glad ppl on tiktok are doing ok

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Mazda K360, 1959. A 3-wheeled micro-truck powered by a mid-mounted air-cooled V twin engine. The K360 remained in production for a decade during which time 280,000 were made

[sigorahaiti]

Sigora Haiti: Microgrids Changing Lives

In underdeveloped nations, Sigora Haiti constructs and manages renewable energy microgrids to provide sustainable power solutions to marginalized people. Their efforts are a ray of optimism, propelling advancement and constructive change. Discover how they are changing things by clicking the link.

[sw5w]

Fallen Jedi

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 02:00:03

[quarterlifekitty]

König and Domestic Silk Moth Hybrid!Reader

Due to popular demand (about 4 people)

Context: in this one, I’m having König stay human and having hybrids in a pet role. As an insect hybrid, I’m making her small AF (like 2-3 ft tall). I did consider making her Barbie sized tho 👀. So this is gonna have size kink bordering on micro/macro just so you know!

König is stuck on medical leave, and pretty damned miserable. He sustained a break that’s put him out of commission for a while. He’s never spent so long in his empty home, and it’s driving him insane. He’s spent basically his entire adult life married to his work, so he’s woefully unprepared to keep himself entertained.

And despite being something of a loner most times, he misses the noise. He misses the bodies and conversation. He and Horangi have a phone call every so often, and text as frequently as the work allows, but that only takes up so much time in the day.

And it’s Horangi that suggests a hybrid.

That’s something that he could throw himself into to keep occupied, as well as giving company. And unlike a pet, a hybrid would be able to be mostly self sufficient whenever he returned to work.

(Horangi doesn’t want to say if he returns. But König is not a young man, and has sustained a serious injury. There’s a chance that even if he heals, he won’t be the same as before. Combined with his rank, it won’t be huge surprise if he’s pressured or forced into retirement if his utility is limited.)

König is apprehensive— so he doesn’t want something quite as needy as a cat or dog hybrid, where he’d have to deal with heats and noise. And Horangi happens to have an old friend, retired, who raises domestic silk moth hybrids with his newfound free time. You’re picked to be offered up, freshly cut from your thick silk cocoon.

And for König, it’s love at first sight.

You’re very pretty. Fluffy white fur, big, dark, eyes. And so small. You barely come up to his hip, and raise your arms, asking to be lifted. It’s only then that he learns domesticated silk moths are flightless, their wings are pretty but unable to fly. It makes him feel a little bit of kinship with you. Restricted movement, denied purpose.

And basically his life revolves around you from that point. König doesn’t have many involved or expensive hobbies, so he has a lot of time and resources to devote to your care. You’re something of a niche pet, so it’s a little difficult to find things made for you. He resorts to commissions. Don’t fucking look at his Etsy purchase history.

You live your life perched on his shoulders or in his arms (you’re much too small to keep up with him). He’s a little afraid of letting you in his bed at night, he doesn’t want to roll over and crush you by accident, but you keep crawling under his covers anyways. You can’t help having cocooning behavior.

He’s constantly sitting you on ledges. On the sink while he shaves, on the counter when he cooks, on his desk when he works. You’ve always gotta be within arms reach for petting purposes.

And the petting, the kissing… he’s so addicted to the contact. He’s been alone for so long, and you’re so soft.

And that just leads to him getting more and more curious about your body. You don’t mind— you love him! And he loves his little Seidenmotte.

He’s beyond delicate with you. You’re so small— he has to work you up quite a bit before he can even fit a finger into your cute little pussy.

God it makes him hard how he can pin you down by the stomach with just one hand. And you make these little pips and squeaks when he fingers you— it’s just too cute for words. He totally shares some pictures with Horangi as thanks. (Which might lead to a couple of other colorful character asking to see pictures of you).

Usually he fucks your soft, fuzzy thighs to get off. He’s so warm and heavy against your clit, his cockhead practically reaching your chest. He paints your tits with white, pearly ribbons that glisten against the fuzz of your chest.

If you’re on top, he likes watching your useless wings beat while you slide your wet little cunt over him, the ridge of his head making you shiver when it bumps against your clit. You usually end up making yourself cum once or twice, and when you’re too tired and sensitive to move yourself he’ll grab your waist and grind you against him, using you like a toy to get himself off.

You don’t spread your wings often, but when you do, it leaves a little bit of moth dust behind from the tiny scales you shed. König thinks it’s so cute to see it against his bedsheets— it’s like glittery fresh snow, proof of how excited he made you.

[galedekarios]

Dragon Age: Veilguard | The Ultimate Preview Summary

shinobi602 on twitter shared this amazing in-depth summary of all new information about the game that we have so far:

Coming to PS5, Xbox Series X and PC in Fall 2024

Consoles: Quality and Performance modes (60FPS)

Photo mode is confirmed

Fully offline single player, no EA account linking, no micro-transactions'

Play as a human, elf, dwarf, or Qunari

Choose your backstory, 6 factions to choose from when you create your character, all with "deep roots in Thedas": Antivan Crows, Grey Wardens, Shadow Dragons, Veil Jumpers, Lords of Fortune, The Mourne Watch

Each faction offers 3 distinct buffs each, like being able to hold an extra potion or do extra damage against certain enemies, and the odd reference in dialogue

You can customize your Inquisitor from Dragon Age: Inquisition in the character creator and "make a few key decisions that will impact how The Veilguard begins"

There are some "killer cameos" from past games that show up

Warrior Class: Use a sword and shield or two handed weapon to send enemies flying

Rogue Class: Utilizes quick movement and reflexes. You can wield a bow or dual swords with "powerful, precise strikes for lethal damage"

Mage Class: Use magic to incinerate, freeze, electrocute and crush. Some cast from afar, while others prefer close quarters combat

Each class also has 3 sub-specializations, such as duelist, saboteur, or veil ranger for the Rogue

Classes also have unique 'resource system's, for example, the Rogue has "momentum", which builds up as you land consecutive hits, and each will always have a ranged option

One Rogue momentum attack is a "hip fire" option we saw for the Rogue's bow, letting you pop off arrows from the waist

Another momentum attack for the Warrior lets you lob your shield at enemies

Quests are more handcrafted and mission based, curated with alternate paths, secrets to discover and optional content

There are also open ended explorable areas

Party size of 3 during combat, ala Mass Effect

Combat is focused on real-time action, dodge, parry, counter, "sophisticated animation canceling and branching", using risk-reward charge attacks designed to break enemy armor layers

Enemies have elemental weaknesses and resistances, and you can chain together elemental combos for extra damage

One example is a squadmate using a gravity well attack to suck enemies in, another slowing them down, and the player then unleashing a big AOE attack

You don't take direct control of companions like past Dragon Age games, but you can still pause and issues ability commands for you and your allies

There is a hub area for the player like Skyhold and the Normandy, called The Lighthouse

Companions can eventually start romancing other characters if you opt not to romance them

Each companion also has unique missions tied to them that play into the larger story

Nudity confirmed - romance scenes can get "a little spicy"

"Incredibly deep" character creator: 5 categories including: Lineage, Appearance, Class, Faction, Playstyle

Players can also choose different body sizes and shapes

Dozens of hairstyles to choose from, with "individual strands of hair rendered separately and reacting quite remarkably to in-game physics", pulled from EA Sports

Character creator lets you adjust the lighting so you can be sure your character looks good

The team wanted to balance the look of the game with both light and darkness. "When everything is dark, nothing really feels dark. For this one, we really wanted to build that contrast again."

Skill tree is "vast", you can also set up specific companions with certain kits, from tackling specific enemy types to being more of a supporting healer or flexible all-rounders

There are tarot cards you go through during the character creation process that will let you choose decisions from past games to implement into Veilguard

The team teases you may lose some characters during the story

[cece693]

Okay, I just got this idea and I couldn't get it out of my head. So, you know how Hannigram's whole thing is about understanding and feeding into one's dark/immoral side (I can't find the words to explain my brain process, but stick with me). What if Hannigram has a third partner that sees that and enjoys it, but to a sick, obsessive, self fulfilling way. Like, don't get me wrong, they find Hannibal and Will attractive and fuckable, but what gets them going and keeps their relationship alive is murder and tableaus (basically the reader wanting to have a murderer show them their significance through blood and gore.) Don't know how this idea comes across to you guys, but that's how this fic was born.

MURDER IS OUR LOVE LANGUAGE

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: matthew develops an attraction to the reader, hannigram doesn't like this, jealousy, reader doesn't get his hands dirty, that doesn't mean he's innocent though, reader is such a tease, no explicit mention of cheating, but emotionally cheating can be discerned

You always thought love should cost something. Not flowers wilted in a vase or rings crusted with diamonds, but weight—bone‑heavy, irreversible proof that someone scraped the marrow of their soul out just to show you its shape. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham understood that language better than anyone else. That’s why you’d slipped so easily between them: a harmony stitched from hunger, empathy, and rot.

Tonight the three of you stand ankle‑deep in snow that glows foxfire‑blue beneath a half moon. The tableau is simple—almost quaint by their standards. A hunter strung from an ironwood, his ribcage cracked open like a cathedral door; lungs spread and frozen into two translucent wings. “Psychopomp,” you named it, because Will taught you words have gravity, and Hannibal taught you gravity can be bent.

Will kneels to photograph the crystalline blood‑flakes dusting underneath the hung corpse. His breath fogs around the lens, eyes shining with the fever that once scared him but now feels like prayer. But Hannibal watches you instead, catching the little tremor of fascination that runs through your fingers.

“Do you approve?" he asks, voice velvet over steel.

You drag a gloved fingertip along the cold cartilage, feel it click like piano ivory. “Approved, stamped, and filed under ravishing. You boys really do know how to flirt.”

A crease of satisfaction ghosts across Hannibal's mouth. Will rises, cheeks pinked by cold and arousal alike, and slips behind you, arms looping around your waist. “Then give us our grade.”

“Ten out of ten for artistry.” You lean closer so they hear the grin in your voice. “Eight for theatricality—you’re slipping, Doctor Lecter." Hannibal’s answering hum thrums down your spine. He adores being challenged, more so when that guarantees your place beside them.

Murder isn't just a bond you three share, it's the foundation of your relationship. You found Will and Hannibal handsome, fuckable, even lovable—but that wasn’t why you stayed. You stayed because every tableau, every splatter, every shuddering breath drawn in front of carefully displayed viscera made you feel seen. Loved in a way words would always fail.

Yet lately, you've felt that ache of familiarity creeping up your spine, whispering about routine. Hannibal notices first, of course, though he doesn't voice it. He simply adjusts his compositions, each kill growing more extravagant, more desperate to retain your awe. Will sees it too, reading your disinterest in the micro-tensions of your posture and the subtle way your attention strays.

And then you meet Matthew Brown.

Having gone to congratulate Alana on her position as the new director at BSHCI after Chilton's 'tragic' demise, you walked down the corridor with a bottle of Folle Blanche to celebrate the news, but was stopped by a man.

He appears out of a utility alcove like a conjured spirit—tall, muscular, with hair the color of autumn leaves cropped close to his skull. His badge reads BROWN, M. but his grin is all teeth and appetite. “Doctor Bloom apologizes,” he says, voice pitched just above a purr. “Her meeting is running long. I'm tasked to bring you to her office."

You don't speak, rather studying him the way you study every living thing: searching for the fracture lines where something tender might leak out. He meets your gaze without flinching. There’s a brightness in his eyes you recognize—an ember forever looking for oxygen.

“Oh,” you murmur, stepping into his orbit, “That's unfortunate. Please, lead the way."

The corridor yawns ahead—white‑tile ribcage, fluorescence buzzing like flies in bone. Matthew’s stride is loose and confident, a man perfectly at home among the medicated damned. “You bring brandy to a psychiatric ward often?” he asks without turning, voice velvet over a razor.

“Only for promotions.” You watch the flex of his shoulders under the thin cotton scrubs. “Most people settle for flowers. I prefer spirits—they keep better company.”

A low chuckle. “I imagine you’re excellent company yourself.”

“Depends how you define excellent.” You let the words hover, bait‑sweet. He bites.

“I like stories that end in blood.” He glances back; the grin widens when you don’t recoil. “Does that qualify?”

Oh, darling, you think, the ache of routine already easing under your sternum, that’s the prologue. After a few minutes, you reach the elevator meant for administration, yet Matthew guides you down a maintenance stairwell that reeks of bleach and ancient rust. He taps an access card; a steel door unlatches with a hiss.

“Short‑cut.”

Inside, the room is nothing more than storage: linens, old restraints, crates of expired morphine ampoules. But also, there's a patient transport gurney parked beneath a bare bulb, mattress stripped, its straps unbuckled like a half‑dressed lover.

Matthew steps close enough that you feel the heat of him through winter wool. “I’m a fan,” he murmurs. “of your work.”

You arch a brow. “My work?”

“Cathedral wings in Minnesota. ‘Psychopomp’ in the ironwood grove.” He names them unerringly, each syllable dripping reverence. “You leave fingerprints in the stitching, you know. Empathy that’s inverted. I study it. I want—” He swallows, lashes flicking down. “Lessons.”

It takes effort not to shiver. “How thorough a pupil are you, Mr. Brown?”

“As thorough as you need.” His breath ghosts your cheek. “Show me a cut; I’ll make it sing.”

Some distant part of you registers risk—Alana two floors up, Hannibal and Will somewhere in Baltimore most likely feeling the shift in your attention like changing barometric pressure—but the greater part thrills. You lift the bottle, letting the neck trail down the line of his sternum until it settles against his belt buckle.

“Earn the toast.” you whisper.

Matthew’s eyes flare. He reaches behind, produces a folded surgical towel already blooming rust‑brown. Inside: a scalpel, clean and eager. “Patient tried to gut me with that yesterday,” he says, offering the handle. “Barely nicked skin. Shall we finish the gesture?”

You test the weight—balanced, hungry. “Where?”

His hands frame his own torso, bare stretch of forearm exposed. “There’s an anatomy lab one level below. Cadavers, tools, no cameras.” He leans in. “We could write a first chapter.”

You imagine formalin fumes, greenish light, bone saws waiting like choirboys. Your pulse pounds, but jealousy is currency, and you are a banker.

Sliding the blade back into his pocket, you lean forward, lips a mere inch apart. "Soon," You promise. "But first, show me something worth teaching."

Matthew’s pupils dilate—dusky rings swallowing color—yet he nods, swallowing whatever reckless plea trembles on his tongue. The promise of soon burns hotter than a kiss. He slips the scalpel away, tucks the towel back into the linen cart, and straightens as though dismissed by royalty.

TIME SKIP

You arrive home late—Hannibal still with clients and Will whisked away by the FBI—giving you time to set your plan into motion. Matthew speaks about death the way priests speak about God, reverent and fascinated, but never quite understanding. You find his fervor charming, his lack of restraint oddly invigorating. Matthew is nothing like your carefully refined lovers; he is raw, volatile, but most importantly—new.

Fingers trailing to your lips, you let the faint smear of his cologne linger, before rubbing your thumb across the lapel of your coat until the scent bled deeper into the weave. Matthew’s aftershave was a cheap blend—sandalwood, camphor, a top‑note of something medicinal that clung like disinfectant—but beneath it lay adrenaline, hot copper, the musk of fear edged with hunger. You could still taste it when you pressed two fingers to your tongue.

In the study you drew the blackout curtains, then laid your phone on the desk. A single new message from Brown glowed on the lock screen: Tell me what color you want the insides, and I’ll match the shade exactly.

Reverent, breathless. A priest awaiting scripture.

You didn’t answer. Anticipation was the holiest silence.

Instead you crossed to the cheval mirror and shed your coat, draping it carefully so the scent wouldn’t escape. You peeled off your gloves next, holding them flat in your palm. Their leather was dusted with chalky residue from the stairwell wall—Matthew’s back had pressed there when you’d leaned in, hemmed him with your shadow, promised soon. You lifted the gloves to your face and inhaled.

Raw. Volatile. New.

The words pulsed through you like second heartbeat.

Hannibal and Will arrived an hour later, the door downstairs making noise, yet you remained silent. Your fingers continuing to drift idly over the piano keys, letting your lovers know exactly where you are. Muted notes thumped against the keys as you let one fingertip fall, then another—toneless, more rhythm than music. Each click announced I‑am‑here and, more provocatively, come‑find‑me.

The townhouse echoed with boot steps. Coats rustled. A door latched. Still you played—click, click, click—until Will stormed into the music room like a hunting dog off leash.

“You could answer when we call,” he snapped, damp hair plastered to his forehead. Rain or sweat—you couldn’t tell, but the scent was pure agitation.

“I was occupied.” Click. You never looked up.

Hannibal followed, slower, shutting the parlor doors behind him with the finality of a vault. He removed his gloves finger by finger, gaze crawling over you. “Busy with what?” The faint tremor in his voice belonged to a man suppressing the urge to bare teeth.

“Or whom,” Will corrected, pacing a tight circuit around the piano bench. “You reek of hospital disinfectant and someone else’s cologne.”

You finally lifted your eyes, meeting Will’s with a lazy smile. “Smell is such a subjective sense. You sure it isn’t imagination?”

Will planted both palms on the piano keys, trapping your hands beneath his. His pupils were blow‑black, jealousy flicking like a lighter. “Who touched you?”

You shrugged, the gesture making your wrists grind under his weight. “A friend. We talked anatomy.” You cocked your head, letting your gaze drift down Will’s throat—tracking the jump of his pulse. “He’s enthusiastic.”

“Matthew,” Hannibal supplied before stepping closer. “The scent matches his locker in the sub‑basement.” He inhaled at your hairline, lips almost grazing your crown. “Camphor and old fear. All that just from a hug?”

You laughed, breath warm against his cheek. “A near‑kiss, maybe. I could feel his pulse through my coat. Like a rabbit between a wolf’s jaws.” Your words were soft; their effect was napalm.

Will’s grip closed, bruising. “Did he taste you?”

“Not yet.” You slid one trapped hand free to trace the seam of Will’s lower lip. “But he wanted to.”

A flash of motion—Hannibal’s hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so your throat arched. “You allowed desire to linger on your skin,” he murmured, jealousy silky and cold. “Why?”

You hissed at the delicious sting. “Because it’s a mirror. I watch you watching me, and I feel alive.”

Will’s fingers left the keyboard to clutch your waist, hauling you off the bench. The piano stool clattered aside. Your spine kissed the baby‑grand’s polished edge; Hannibal’s body pressed from behind, sandwiching you. You sensed the taut reins of their control fraying. “Have you pictured him alongside you?” Will’s voice was an acid snarl. “A new toy so you can discard us?”

You let a breathy laugh slip, tilting your head just enough that Hannibal’s lips skimmed your pulse. “Discard you? Darling, I’m not insane. Even the gods keep their oldest monsters close.”

Will loomed closer, the twin lines between his brows cut deep. “Then why entertain him at all?”

“Because first kills taste different,” you whispered. “Don’t you remember? The bright, copper rush before skill dulls it down to routine? Matthew carries that thrill in every heartbeat. I want—” Your lashes fluttered as Hannibal’s teeth grazed skin. “—to taste it again.”

Hannibal’s hands slid down, thumbs hooking your belt to keep you still while he spoke against your ear. “Do you crave novelty or worship?”

“Both,” you confessed, arching when Will’s thigh crowded between yours. “He’d bleed a rosary if I asked. Maybe I’d let you string the beads.”

Jealousy cracked across Will’s face—equal parts fury and hunger. He grabbed your jaw, forcing your gaze to his. “You belong to us.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, lips curling. “Stake your claim before the altar-boy rings his bells.”

The provocation snapped the last thread.

Will’s mouth crashed onto yours—open, savage, tasting of storm. Behind you, Hannibal set his teeth to your shoulder, most definitely leaving a mark in case you decide to give into Matthew.

Your breath stuttered, pleasure and mischief tangling in your throat. You could feel the bruise blossoming beneath Hannibal’s teeth—a violet signature no cheap cologne could mask. Will’s hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head back until the chandelier light flooded your vision.

“Say it,” he growled, lips a razor’s breadth from yours. “Whose?”

You swallowed a laugh that tasted like lightning. “I’m yours.”

Hannibal’s tongue soothed the bite, the low rumble in his chest equal parts pride and warning. “Pluralize, beloved.”

“I’m both of yours.” Your gaze flicked between them—Will’s eyes blown black, Hannibal’s molten gold. “For now.”

Will’s nostrils flared; jealousy flashed like sheet‑lightning. “For always.”

“Convince me,” you whispered, deliberately arching against Hannibal’s front, grinding spine to mahogany and hips into Will’s thigh. “Make me feel it.”

Will answered with teeth, biting the hinge of your jaw—claim staked in living flesh—while Hannibal’s palm slid to your throat, a velvet collar of intent. “You feel this?” Hannibal’s thumb graced your pulse, languid as a garrote. “That’s our music. We dictate the tempo.”

“And if I prefer a faster rhythm?” You let the taunt drip like warm resin. “Matthew’s heartbeat was—”

Will cut you off with a brutal kiss, swallowing the name like poison. “His heart stops tomorrow,” he hissed against your lips. “Yours keeps playing for us.”

“You’ll stain it ultramarine?” you panted, half‑mocking, half‑pleading. “The shade of a drowned lung?”

Hannibal chuckled, dark silk. “We’ll give you a cathedral of blue—lungs fanned like wings, every vein a ribbon for your hair.”

A ripple of desire shuddered through you so hard the piano strings thrummed in sympathy. “Then show me now,” you dared, voice hoarse, “how a maestro rehearses before opening night.”

In a single movement Will gripped your thighs, hoisting you onto the piano. Wood groaned beneath sudden weight. Hannibal pressed in from behind, caging you between bodies and black lacquer. “Hands on the keys,” Will ordered. You obeyed, fingers splaying across ivory. The cold bite of the keys grounded you—one wrong twitch and you’d crash a cacophony through the quiet, an exquisite risk.

Will leaned forward, breath searing your ear. “Play something.”

“What?”

“Anything,” Hannibal murmured, lips ghosting your nape. “We’ll accompany.”

You struck a hesitant chord—D minor, aching and unresolved. Will matched the rhythm, mouth descending to the hollow of your throat, sucking a bruise in perfect meter. Hannibal’s hand slid lower, fingertips tapping your ribs in sync, each note an incremental invasion.

Another chord—A minor. Will’s teeth. Hannibal’s palm cupping you through fabric.

You gasped, a discordant trill that made both men smile—predators harmonizing over prey willingly caught. “Keep playing,” Will commanded, voice a rasp of thunderclouds. “You stop, we stop.”

Challenge accepted.

Your hands shook but you kept the melody staggering forward—something baroque and broken, exactly befitting three monsters starved for novelty.

Hannibal’s free hand found your chin, tilting it until you met his gaze. “When the lungs bloom blue,” he promised, “we’ll lay them here, across these keys, so every note tastes of devotion.”

Will’s answering hum vibrated against your sternum. “And you’ll play us a love song on them.”

Your pulse hammered wild arpeggios under Hannibal’s thumb. “Then I’ll need a full octave,” you whispered, voice frayed with want. “Both lungs together.”

“Greedy,” Hannibal chastised, though delight shone in his eyes.

“Insatiable,” Will corrected, teeth grazing your ear. “Exactly how we like you.”

You struck another chord—E minor—and let the resonance wash through the room. It was met by the low, feral sounds of your lovers devouring jealousy and turning it into worship against your skin. Tomorrow, Matthew’s lungs would sing ultramarine under moonlight. Tonight, the three of you composed the overture—each gasp, each bruise, each trembling key a promise that art would always cost blood, and love would always demand more.

[suzukiblu]

Day thirty of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut, the final day!! Eyyyyy, gang, we did it! Full month of daily updates for this one, haha. Ended up writing about 24k, give or take a few hundred words. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The alert on his communicator goes off again, and then again a few seconds later. Tim represses another frown. Nobody double-texts him on Tim Drake’s phone. The only people who ever would are Dick and Steph, and Dick never texts Tim Drake’s phone outside of emergency situations where Tim’s not suited-up and Steph doesn’t have Tim Drake’s number at all; they just use burners and the occassional dead drop. So who . . . ? 

The alert goes off a fourth time. Tim definitely doesn’t panic, but also definitely turns his wrist in his lap underneath the fall of his cape and taps the little armored pocket where he hides one of his micro-receivers for situations where he can’t pull the full-sized one out of his utility belt without being obvious about it. Cissie’s distracted with whatever’s distracting Cassie and neither of them can see his eyes behind the lenses of his mask, so it’s not difficult to slip it into his palm and out from under his cape to glance down at as he thumbs it open to wake up the tiny little screen. Four text alerts, and the caller ID is scrolling “UNKNOWN NUMBER” across the screen. 

Okay, so his civilian number is getting spam texts now. Jesus, he was worried, that’s so–

The actual number of the unknown number scrolls across the screen after the text. Tim . . . blinks. 

. . . that’s Kon’s number. Specifically, the number of the phone he bought Kon. Who is literally right outside, according to Cassie, and . . . texting somebody. While he’s out there. While he’s out there, and Tim is in here, and is being Robin. 

Tim has literally no idea how he feels about this situation, and honestly neither does Robin.

He opens the text log, and there are, in fact, four texts from Kon in it. 

so like 

superweird questin 

liek uh rly superweird tbh but uh 

cn u wish me luck babe??

Tim stares blankly at the messages. “Wish me luck”? That’s–what? 

Good luck, Kon, he texts back after a moment, figuring it’s the logical response anyway and assuming that using the other’s real name will help him feel better about whatever he wants the aforementioned “good luck” for. He’s going to have to try and get a read on him when he comes in, see if he can’t work that out. If it’s something to be concerned about . . . 

thx, Kon sends back with a blue heart emoji and literally nothing else. 

Blue, Tim thinks, yet again having to repress a frown. What the hell does a blue heart mean? Does that mean anything? 

He barely bites back the question, because it’s way too risky to ask even if if anyone knows what different-colored heart emojis mean it is definitely a teenage girl and if he texts Steph with a random question with no context attached and then doesn’t stick around to talk she’ll get annoyed and might leave another glitter bomb in their next dead drop. 

He really doesn’t wanna have to explain glitter in his cape to Bruce again. Or worse, explain glitter in his cape to Alfred. Alfred did not appreciate the glitter tracked all over the cave last time. Very, very much did he not appreciate it. 

Maybe Kon just picked it because he likes blue. Or maybe red seemed like too much to him? Or maybe– 

“I’m back!” Suzie announces excitedly as she spills into the room, and Bart bolts through her smoke trail a moment later and stops on a dime right next to the kitchen table. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, wrinkling his nose down at Cissie and Cassie. “Are you crying? Is it because your wig looks weird? It’s not that weird. I mean, kinda.” 

“That HeroWatch magazine thinks it’s your real hair!” Suzie offers brightly. “So it can’t be that weird.” 

“I am not crying and HeroWatch thinks what?!” Cassie demands, whipping her head up to stare at them both with a horrified expression. “It’s not even real hair! It’s like, synthetic! I buy the stupid things off Amazon!” 

“You should stop doing that,” Tim advises reflexively. There are so many ways for that to end badly for her secret identity. Genuinely so many that he doesn’t even know where to start, in fact. 

“And do what instead, exactly?” Cassie asks with a sullen scowl, leaning back just enough to fold her arms. “I can’t just clear out Spirit Halloween every–” 

She cuts herself off and stiffens, then jerks to her feet very quickly and straightens her wig and jacket even quicker. Tim has half a second to remember that while Cassie’s hearing isn’t super, it’s definitely enhanced, and then Kon walks into the room. 

“Yo,” he says, half-waving a hand at the table and then making a face. “Shit, I’m the last one here? Figures.” 

Tim . . . blinks. Blinks again. Cassie looks downright agonized, and Suzie and Bart both tilt their heads in opposite directions. Cissie raises both eyebrows and looks him up and down. 

“Jesus Christ, Kon, that is borderline indecent expo–” she starts incredulously, and Cassie immediately claps a hand over her mouth and leans down to hiss into her ear: “Cissie, you are my best friend and I love you and shut the hell up right the hell NOW.” 

Tim attempts to make his brain work. It needs to, like–do things. Be usable. Functional. Brain . . . able. 

The problem with that is the fact that Kon is currently wearing the tiny little jean shorts that first made Tim aware of the existence of the other’s thighs and the S-shield crop top that people really should have more respect for Superman than to have made and sold commercially with his usual leather jacket and sunglasses and a pair of heavy black boots that Tim also bought him, plus the sapphire stud earring from their last date with a little bit of eyeliner and chipped black nail polish and . . . thighs. Just–thighs. Kon is very, very much wearing thighs right now. 

. . . thighs.

Tim suddenly understands literally everything about the way Cassie came in acting and literally everything she’d said on top of that. Also, he isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe this is worse than the changing room was? Like, this might be worse than the changing room was. Because Kon’s not posing to show himself off like he was there, and “Tim Drake” isn’t here for him to be showing off for. So Kon is, presumably, wearing this outfit just because he wants to be wearing it. 

Tim needs a minute. Or a year. Or maybe a hard reboot and a new identity and a new reality to move to. Not permanently or anything, just until he can remember how to function like a reasonably-normal person again or he needs to send Kon his allowance, whichever comes first. 

It’s going to be the allowance, he already knows. It’s definitely, definitely going to be the allowance. 

“Huh,” Suzie says, looking a little perplexed. 

“Oh, is that what hormones are?” Bart says, looking surprised. “Weird.”