#how to spend my imaginary fortune

[jssangel]

All I want in the world is more brewpub fics. Like if I won the lottery, I would have a number of brilliant scribes on hand, churning out brew pub fics for a base pay of significantly more than $15 an hour.

Eliot on Hardison’s brew pub purchase for ronandhermy.

[changbunnies]

Crave, Part 1 (18+)

♡ Pairing: Romantic Demon!Hyunjin x Human Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: supernatural au, demon au, age gap relationship typical in monster fucker fics, intended to be porn with plot but atm there is more plot than porn lol

♡ Word Count: 3.6k

♡ Summary: "The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain." - Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy. In which Hyunjin, a demon from the nine circles of hell, finds himself impossibly infatuated with the very human he once set upon himself to destroy.

♡ Warnings: don’t read if you’ll be uncomfortable over talks about religion from the perspective of a demon!, themes of sexual purity in the context of religion, a lot of immoral behavior and thoughts + ideas from hyunjin, supernatural abilities, themes of possesiveness, the seven deadly sins are brought up multiple times, hyun is thousands of years old so take that as you will lol, hell's structure is based off dante alighieri's depiction of it in the divine comedy but knowledge of it isn't necessary to enjoy this fic!

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): there isn't really any overt smut in this first part it's more like referenced sexual activity, masturbation, voyeurism (hyun is watching reader while they're unaware he is there), porn watching

♡ Notes: after receiving feedback, i'll now be posting my long fics in multiple parts as i finish them like i do on ao3 instead of waiting until it's finished to post here! i'm taking a break from my royal au series to finally write out this fic i've had rattling in my brain since last september but never got around to writing until this past month :') idk how long this will be in the end but i'm planning at least 3 parts! i hope you stick around till the end <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There are many things in this world, the world of humans, that even a monster such as Hyunjin was born to desire. A primal want, weaved into the very fabric of his being, designed to be etched into his soul- if he had one, that is. That is what initially brought him here; the heart of one of the world's most populated cities, his territory an otherwise unoccupied luxury suite in one of the many skyrises that line the bustling streets.

It was an ideal place to be; there wasn't much in the way of furniture, given that it's a new development with no human occupants, but the amenities it held were sleek and pristine. High windows that overlooked the entirety of the city rife with sin from what was nearly the top floor, marble countertops that screamed sophistication and elegance, and well equipped with security of both the physical and digital kind to keep out those who may want to chase the thrill of wandering where they do not belong. Hyunjin, who could simply float about wherever he wished, had no need for human things like beds or sofas.

In this space, he already had everything he needed- an ideal vantage point, isolation from the world until he himself chose to interact with it, and easy access to the myriad of damned soul that walked the streets beneath him. It was perfect, and it was his- until you showed up.

Hyunjin was no stranger to dealing with potential renters overtaking his territory- it was only natural for those with wealth to be ready to spend a fortune on the newest availble luxury apartment that catches their eye. While Hyunjin had never once been seen; he was certainly known; rumors abound of an evil presence in suite 13, that left even non-believers fleeing in terror, leaving as quickly as they came. "Evil" felt a bit extreme of a description from Hyunjin's perspective, but what would humans truly understand of him? 

He always felt as if his actions were completely justified; after all, why should a being with immense power such as him bend to the will of a measely human whose life was akin to a grain of sand in the desert of immortality that was his own lifespan? Regardless of his justifications and thoughts on what is evil and what isn't, he welcomed the fear humans have towards him- it made his life easier if they feared him and stayed far from his domain. 

And yet here you were, seemingly ignorant of the fearful reputation this apartment held (not that he expected that the building's landlord would have informed you of it, of course- their only goal is money, at the end of the day.) Hyunjin didn't care for the rules of humans- whether or not you'd supplied the necessary money to purchase your way here or were deserving of it made no difference to him. It was his until he decided otherwise, and you were trespassing on his territory by being here.

When he'd first arrived back after a long outing back in his home within the second circle of the nine hells, only to see you filling his space with your things, walking about the apartment as if you owned it, blissfully unaware of his presence- it was infuriating. He had half a mind to scare you out right then, forever scar you by showing you his true form, send you running as he'd done to countless before you who tried to be here. But no, that wouldn't be enough. It would be letting you off too easily for his liking; this was different than scaring off someone who might intrude on his home- you already had.

What he wanted was more than his territory back- he wanted to make you suffer the most egregious torment one could ever endure for intruding on it, something far worse and much harsher than whatever a demon below his stature could muster. You deserved worse than that of mild terror, or to be able to flee from his space without repercussions for your transgression. No, he would only take back what was his after he'd turned your mind into a den of paranoia and hysteria. You needed to know true terror, true loss, true suffering, by his hand.

So he settled for observing you- it would be a longer process, one that could easily take months to reach true fruition, but the reward would be well worth his patience. He watched carefully, intently, his presence always concealed but unmistakably there. You would feel it sometimes, unbeknownst to yourself. A sudden chill up your spine, the subtle feeling of being watched making you turn your head, only to be met with nothing unusual in your line of sight. Funny, how humans were so attuned to the supernatural while simultaneously being so oblivious to their reality.

Your routines became committed to his memory, your every step and every action becoming increasingly familiar to him. Boring at times, but necessary if he wanted to learn the ins and outs of what makes you you, taking in every detail and memorizing them fully, so that when the day comes for him to turn your life into a miserable tragedy, forming you into a shell of who you once were, you'd have to beg him for forgiveness, for his mercy.

What were your fears? He'd easily make them reality. What did you hate? He'd make sure you suffered it. What broke your heart? He'd subject you to that pain over and over, until your heart was left shattered into a million, microscopic pieces. And it was only then, when you were mentally destroyed, the lowest you could ever possibly be and unrecognizable in your despair, that he'd appear before you, triumphant as he made you apologize for ever having stepped foot in his domain.

But as he observed you, he came to realize something strange- something he had never once found himself thinking about a human before. You were so... good, the closest to perfection a human could ever possibly be. And not perfect by the bullshit puritan standards set by the "heavenly creator," because you were as touched by sin as any human is, but perfect to him specifically.

Your sins were few and far between, with only one making a substantial impact on your purity; but it was the most important, most delicious sin of them all, the one that made Hyunjin's body seethe with delectable desire. You weren't envious, nor greedy or gluttonous; you lived in a luxurious penthouse suite, that was true, but greed to have the best of everything isn't what brought you here. The pride you felt for your accomplishments didn't go anywhere near sinful levels- you were proud of yourself, but not in such a way that you looked down on others while you sat atop your high horse.

You weren't slothful, brought to your current position by your own hard work and tireless efforts, and you weren't wrathful either, your emotions toward your fellow man always sweet, compassionate, and gracious. That only left one sin- just one that impacted your soul, that barred you from reaching true, godly purity.

Lust.

It wasn't an unhealthy amount of lust by any means, but any at all is enough to damn an unmarried woman's soul if she gives in to the temptation- an unfair ruling that has cost many their rightful place in paradise. And you certainly did give in to your temptation, and that is what made you perfect to him. You had none of the avarice of other humans, none of the undesirable qualities that made them foolish and arrogant and insufferable to deal with, instead held closely by one desire, the most important desire.

Was it a coincidence, he wondered? That he, a demon born of lust himself, found one such human that seemed to adhere perfectly to what he enjoys most? Hyunjin often felt himself above that of the sins his brothers were born to pursue. Violence did not suit him, emotions such as greed, pride, and jealousy often went beyond his comprehension. And not because he was some lowly, ignorant creature who was only capable of thinking with his dick, but because those feelings simply never came to him to begin with.

What was there to be jealous of? If he wanted something, he could have it, he could take it, as simple as that. Was he prideful? Sure, one could say he was, say that he had an ego, but he would argue that there was a clear difference between the arrogance that often comes with pride, and simply having confidence in one's own abilities and joy in their accomplishments.

He knew he could feel other emotions, indulge in other sins, if his brothers' conquests and actions were any tell, but he simply.. didn't. Lust was all he knew, was all that he enjoyed, but at the same time, he wasn't some low level demon who was consumed by lust. No, he could control it quite easily if he wished, was more than capable of waiting for the most ideal moment to finally savor in the addictive dance two bodies can share. (Or more than two bodies, should one prefer that.)

Lust was all he ever knew, but unlike the sex-starved beasts he ruled over and observed in his circle within hell, he was very much in control of himself. Make no mistake, it never went away, he always felt the gnawing craving for more and more and more- but it never addled his mind. That was the perk of being a demon with a higher consciousness than that of say.. an imp. He had complete control of his compulsions and desires. 

It was this control over himself that led to Hyunjin savoring the lust that poured from human souls in only the most ideal conditions. There were many different kinds of lust, each with their own "taste" so to speak, and while Hyunjin found them all enjoyable to at least some degree, there was one in particular that was the most intoxicating to him, one that never failed to light a fire within him, the one that was always, always, worth waiting for.

The lust between two lovers, whose care for eachother was true, and good, and special- such as you would see from couples sleeping together for the first time, full to the brim with nervous excitement. Or maybe from long-time lovers reigniting their spark with a romantic night spent together after a warm, candlelit date. Especially delectable was the sweet consummation after making an eternal promise under God to be together forever, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part. Those are just a few examples of the sort of lust that gave Hyunjin the best, sweetest taste.

The irony of being an immoral entity who gained the most enjoyment out of love and romance wasn't lost on him, but his preferences weren't built on some misconceived notion that he could aspire to feel those things himself. Yes, Hyunjin knew he would never feel the human emotion that was love, but he could understand, at least on a superficial level, why it tasted so sweet, and why humans seemed to fight for that feeling above all else.

Perhaps he existed to be a hypocrite, sowing seeds of chaos and turmoil while valuing true love, contradicting that which humans believed they knew about demons of lust such as himself. After all, was it not the very nature of a demon to confuse, contradict, and twist the human condition? And was it not utterly against his being to indulge in a feeling that was considered sacred by God? It didn't matter either way; if there was one thing that Hyunjin knew for certain, it was that sweet tastes were the best, and it didn't matter where it originated from or how- he just knew he liked it.

And oh, how his proverbial heart jolted when he sensed it on you the first time he saw you touching yourself. It was a surprise when, after a long day of unpacking and arranging furniture, you let your hand travel sinfully between your legs with a heady sigh- and far be it from Hyunjin to deny himself the opportunity to feed on a human's lust when it's practically being delivered to him on a silver platter. You hadn't been touching yourself for long, barely got your panties down your legs when he tasted it- subtle, but familiar enough to Hyunjin that he could recognize it anywhere.

It was hard to explain the sweet taste in human terms- there were really no words that could come close to describing it, as the "flavor" itself didn't exist within human understanding. Suffice it to say, it was something entirely unique to his kind, and something any demon would be able to distinguish with ease should they be in close enough proximity. It was unmistakable- you loved someone. That was information that could serve him well, something that he should be delighted to know he could ruin you with. And yet, for the first time in all his thousands of years, the feeling of lustful love left a bitter taste on his tongue.

You were in love.. And you envisioned that person while your fingers were buried between your legs, as you bit your lip and made your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Who was it? Why did you love them? Were they even deserving of someone as perfect as you? Did they deserve to touch you? To feel you? Hyunjin grit his teeth, fists clenching into tight balls as an unfamiliar feeling began to permeate through the entirety of his being.

Is this.. what envy feels like? A rage beyond comprehension at the thought of someone else having you when it should be him? He should be the one you desired to have touching you, the one you imagined marking your unmarred skin, the one who made you cry out and tremble with even the simplest of touches. Would they even indulge in the sweet taste you radiate like he would? Would they even understand what perfection it is you offer simply by being? His, you should be his, only his, his, his.

The realization hit Hyunjin like cold water over hot skin- he wants you. And not just for one night, not superficially, not with needing to part ways afterwards. He wants you to love him, wants the feeling of love-drenched lust that radiates off you to be because of him, wants you to belong to him and him alone. You don't know him yet, but you will. And he'll make sure you're left wanting him, and only him, by any means necessary. Because it's what he wants, and he always gets what he wants.

Hyunjin wants to say it's simple curiosity that leads him to carefully stealing your phone off your nightstand once you've fallen asleep, or that's acting with the desire to know how to ruin the target of his ire more succinctly, but that simply isn't true. No, he is scrounging through your phone not with the intent to learn your greatest fears and hates, nor does he scour your messages to discover your darkest secrets.

It's a different purpose that has led him here, an unfamiliar ache that drives him to search your phone for something more. In hindsight, going through your phone to learn about you is a simple, easy act he could've, should've, done already, but he's a bit of a traditionalist in that regard. (Or maybe he just doesn't want to admit how much he's liked watching you these past few weeks.)

Who is that you love? And why? It would've been easier for him to find out had you truly let yourself go, allowed yourself to be loud and moan their name to your heart's content, but you hadn't. And maybe that was a good thing, as hearing someone else's name leave your lips in such a moment would've definitely sent him into a dangerous hate spiral, but that also meant he was left with nothing to go on as a clue.

He was much too stunned, and then seething with anger and jealousy, to read your thoughts in the moment, and if he tried to do so now, while you were sleeping, all he would do is catch a glimpse of your dreams- not helpful in the slightest, unless you happen to be dreaming of the object of your desire. (Which you weren't. He already looked.)

Unlocking your phone is easy, as he's seen you put in your password several times over at this point. Unfortunately for him however, (and fortunate for the one undeserving of Hyunjin's wrath,) he finds nothing that makes the object of your affection explicitly obvious. Your texts with friends all use the same tone, you talk about mundane things like what movies are coming out or how you wish you could go on a vacation for a while.

Your photo gallery is relatively small, filled mostly by screenshots of things you wish to remember or keep for a laugh, and the occasional selfie. There's nothing that screams "this is the person i'm in love with!" no matter where in your phone he looks, and if it wasn't for how intensely he felt the emotion radiating from you as your fingers sped up and release built, he'd think he must have imagined it.

What interesting this he does find, however, are the differen't porn links littered through your incognito tabs, all that paint a very vivid picture of what you find most appealing, or in more vulgar terms, what gets your pussy really fucking wet. He skims through your collection of favorites and private bookmarks, and quickly comes to realize they all hold a similar theme- love, romance, and doms who are soft even when being rough with the sub's body or speaking condescending words.

Various videos and audio files, with titles such as "roommate gets railed after confessing her secret feelings," "pov: boy next door accidentally confesses and then fucks you passionately," and "soft dom makes his good girl cum hard: boyfriend asmr." There's even an entire erotic movie, much to Hyunjin's surprise, with a 2 hour run time and dedicated plot in your recent bookmarks.

He decides to watch it, for research purposes of course- what better way to get to know the object of his desire than by watching the porn she consumes for himself? It's rather generic as far as ideas go- childhood best friends confessing their love before going away to college, with sweet, sensual but desperate fucking and a promise they'll be in love no matter the distance put between them. A cliché plot, by human media standards. 

However, he has to give it due props- it's obviously not an amateur production. It's acted well, has better cinematography than one might expect for a film produced by a porn studio, and the dialogue never crosses into cringe, overtly fake territory. Despite it all, something about it feels real, as if he'd taken a genuine glimpse into the lives of two young people in love, rather than a manufactured video meant to make the people who watch it unbearably horny.

Hyunjin continued through your collection after that, eager to see what other gems lied in your favorites, waiting to be watched by him. They're all the same fundamentally speaking, your preferences and biases easily shining through with each video watched and audio listened to. Emotionally charged, romantic confessions, sweet "i love you"s, soft, caring doms who take good care of the submissive one, making them feel desired, beautiful, and secure.

The person you're in love with, the one who lingers in your mind when you watch these videos and your hand travels between your legs- this is what you want them to do. You want them to love you passionately, to make you fall apart in the sweetest of ways, to take care of you so well that your thoughts can linger on nothing but the way they make you feel. You want them to sweetly tell you they love you while they fuck you, to speak filthy words in your ears in a soft, saccharine voice as they make you cum. To fuck you dumb, to ruin you, and then expertly put you back together with a tender touch. 

Carefully, he puts your phone back in its place, looking at you once he's done, still sound asleep in your bed and without a clue in the world that there's a demon standing before you, close enough to touch. You've lived with Hyunjin for weeks now, but you don't know who he is, don't know that he's there, don't know that you have unexpectedly become the reason for a demon's strange and new complex emotions. Isn't it funny? How a demon as powerful as him has become infatuated with you despite you not even knowing he exists.

It's illogical to desire you, truly. Humans are fickle, subject to corruption and irrationality, their lives impossibly short. What one man works his entire life to obtain, Hyunjin can have in mere moments with a fraction of the effort. To a being that has lived thousands of years, the life of a human happens in a mere blink. You grow old, you get sick, you die, your accomplishments fade to nothing, forgotten as the next wave of humans walk the earth in your stead. You're beneath him, he's better than you, and yet..

Why does he still crave you so? Maybe he's no better than the humans he's looked down upon, considering them lesser for their innate hypocrisies and irrational actions- because Hyunjin is about to do just the same. His feelings for you are hypocritical, irrational, foolish, but also the most real thing he's ever felt. And if it's romance you want, that will make you fall head over heels for him, then he'll be the most romantic demon the nine hells have ever known.

[coeurcanelle]

☆Baby, the stars shine bright☆pt1

pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4,pt5

inspired by the 'kamikaze girls',♡ always had unconditional love for lolita fashion and nothing else but when she met ellie,an auburn haired girl whos part of a gang with a dad's fashion sense ,her love for clothes begins to compete with her growing feelings for ellie

strangers to friends to lovers,love-hate friendship,ellie is into reader♡ but reader♡ shows no interest (in the beginning),opposite aesthetics,early 2000s

fluff,wlw

Frilly pink dresses,strawberry cakes,sunny days,classical music and tea times made you the happiest being alive but again,your happiness only relied on external things because deep inside you felt rotten. But at least it was better than feeling totally empty right?

Everytime you felt horrible about yourself you'd think of your parents. 

Your dad was rejected by his gang because he could never hold a gun properly (he would cry in vain after shooting someone) and your mother heartlessly cheated on your dad with her gynecologist right after you were born.

Your mom had crossed boundaries and you assumed it was hereditary when you started to gaslight your dad for money so you could build your dream closet.

"My best friend is in the terminal stage of this very rare, deadly disease."

You looked away, pretending to drop tears, not just because of the act but also because guilt was slowly enveloping you. You continued with your fake emotional tone, "She's so young, but she looks so tired and sick. Fortunately, the doctors found a cure."

This statement made your father stop crying and cover his mouth in surprise. He believed every single word coming out of your mouth.

"And they have to perform a surgery that will cost-" It was like a reflex; your dad burst into tears again before handing you 2000 bucks. It wasn't to save your imaginary friend from the disease but to fuel your will to live. You covered your smile with your hand before taking the money and thanking your dad, already imagining the kind of dress you would buy.

The next day, you woke up before your alarm went off, not wasting a second to go to your favorite place.

You walked all the way from home, which was in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, to the train station.

You wished you lived in Tokyo because then you wouldn't have to add the cost of the train ticket to your expenses, allowing you to spend all your money on dresses. But going there once every month prevented you from emptying your wallet every day, so it wasn't all bad.

Relief hit you when you arrived at the train station early. You took a seat, but then you heard people screaming and arguing from afar.

It was your dad doing his 'new' job after leaving his gang. You thought you were good at gaslighting him, but he was certainly better. He was selling fake luxury brand clothes to a group of oblivious people, arguing with him to get a 90% discount. No matter how stubborn you are, you don't think you could ever fool an entire group of people. It made you wonder how your dad believed all of your made-up stories in the first place.

Little did you know, the dress you bought that day would be the last one you bought with your father's money. Karma got both you and your father, almost bankrupting him. The old gang your father was in denounced his actions, leaving him with no job and no money to fund your wardrobe.

When you looked at the fake luxury clothes in your hands, you wondered how people even fell for this. It was just basic white t-shirts with a brand name; not even your alter ego could like this.

But to your biggest surprise, the scam your father had pulled off hadn't reached everyone's ears. Luckily, you soon received a letter that looked like it was written by an 8-year-old:

"Hi, I saw your big tracksuits when I was walking by the city, but there were too many people buying everything. I was wondering if you still have some left for me. Wait for me at your house at 8 am."

And so you did. You stood at your front door, waiting for the child to arrive. You convinced your father to keep his fake clothes for whatever reason, so you could continue what he was doing in secret.

All you had to do was sell fake luxury clothes to afford your dream ones. With no gang to ever snitch on you, you could set your own prices and stop depending on your dad's money.

You spotted a motocycle and squinted your eyes when the person riding drove towards your home

Was it one of the childs parents ?

The person drove closer blowing some dust before parking their motocycle next to your home, they didnt even wear a helmet for security

You realised she was a girl when the dust disappeared but she didnt look like a mother at all

You didnt realise you were staring that long until the auburn girl came up to you and told you to stop

"hey, I told you im looking for the seller where is he ?" her deep commanding voice made you remind the letter, it wasnt an actual child's writing,she was just writing like a child !

"he's not here, but I'm taking his role,"you said the auburn girl looked you up and down inspecting your elegant lolita dress.She was blocking the sun, so you couldn't clearly see her facial features.

"are you messing with me?" You could see her features better when her face got closer to yours, attempting to intimidate you. She didn't believe you, even though she had no idea those clothes were fake. She turned her face away to spit on the ground, and you noticed golden writing on her large jacket's sleeve.

This girl was definitely part of a gang, you thought.

"stop spitting," you retorted in disagreement with her behavior. It was obvious she was doing all this to let people know she's not playing around, but still...

She raised an eyebrow at you, a bit surprised. But before she could do or say anything, you carelessly opened the front door of your home, which was about to turn into a place of business.

[dei-lab-assistant]

Nothing Builds a Friendship Like a Crisis

Co-written with multifandoms27 Summary: You wanted to work in peace, but a certain CEO wanted you to take on a job for him. Dub canon plus a version of DSOD. Female Reader. Set maybe two years post DSOD. Fun fact: I always write my Reader character with personality and specific description. This means she may not be as generic as is customary for this type of story. Each reader character also has a specific place in the Yu-Gi-Oh world, and is basically an OC with set connections and feelings about the various canon characters and other reader characters. This is reader B, who is immune to the siren song of romance, cheap, eccentric, logical, and hands-on. Word count: 1,100 You never intended to become friends with Kaiba. You'd heard too much about him from Joey over the years to think such a thing was possible. But... It felt lonely after Yugi and his friends’ graduation. Over the course of the three prior years, while you had worked at Kame Game, Yugi had slowly pulled you into his friend group. Always slow to form emotional connections, you found you were no match for Yugi’s bright smile and quiet nudging to join in the fun. And despite being four years older, you had been well integrated by the time Yugi graduated—although, truth be told, you were only marginally aware of how much you had come to delight in spending time with the group. At least, until it ended, then you became keenly aware. Téa left to study in New York. Tristan was working full time in his dad’s factory. And Joey spent his days working a collection of odd jobs and chasing down his dream of becoming a professional duelist. And then Joey started dating your younger sister, and it felt like losing two friends at once. Fortunately, you and Yugi grew closer, starting Pharaoh Games together, designing a few games which the two of you sold for a slight profit at a small scale. And Mokuba started to swing by; he latched onto you, quickly becoming close. It was Mokuba who hired you and Yugi to design the proof of concept game for his older brother’s new solid vision holograms. And that was how, amidst a whirlwind year and a half project, you met Seto Kaiba. He was the most interesting human you had ever met, he designed incredible things, and he loved his little brother—the three shortcuts to winning your favor, all in one person. You and Kaiba worked well together—which Mokuba encouraged��and to your surprise, by the end of the project, Kaiba was going out of his way to talk to you, tell you about his plans, and ask for your advice on specific elements of scenario design for his own Solid Vision projects.

You even tried to help Kaiba win a bet with Pegasus, and although the two of you eventually lost, it did help create a true bond between you, (especially when it came time to pay up.) Still, once the Solid Vision game was completed, Kaiba moved on to other projects, and you were left with nothing to return to but quiet work at the game shop. It was a good job, a good life, and Yugi was a good friend; but you missed spending time with someone smarter than you, someone who built imaginary worlds from light, someone with impressive dreams for the future. It felt like, after years of hearing about Yugi’s adventures, you had been swept up into the edges of something grand, only to be dropped again back into the mundane—and there were fewer friends to share it with now.

Still, the Kaiba brothers both kept in contact in their own way, and you had low social needs, so it all seemed like it would work out. 

While working alone at the game shop, you flipped the radio on. An old fashioned trumpet fanfare blasted out of the speakers as you scrambled to turn the volume down. You were all too familiar with the melody—the theme song for a rapidly ascending game company, Knightly Rook, which had been in an advertising blitz for almost a month now. From your admittedly biased perspective, the company seemed more hype than substance, but it was the company’s snide, barely concealed jabs at Kaiba Corp that irritated you. Still, there was a lot of talk from the company’s popular president that Knightly Rook would soon go public, so for the moment, even the news was covering their rise to prominence.

At your hip, your cell phone went off, playing the Kaiba Corp theme. Switching off the radio, you popped the phone out of its clip and answered it. “Kaiba?” 

“You’re taking Mokuba to Kaiba Land tomorrow.” Kaiba rarely bothered with the customary social dance that defined most people’s conversations.

Had you forgotten about a plan made months ago? You switched to your calendar app, “No, I’m not. I’m working tomorrow.” You liked jumping straight past the niceties too. “Besides, I don’t remember asking you to plan my schedule.”

“You should. You wouldn’t make yourself a long-term plan if I paid you to do it.” Kaiba gave a harsh little laugh. “Yugi can run the shop. I want to hire you to assist Mokuba for his park inspection tomorrow.”

“Don’t you usually do the monthly park inspection with Mokuba?” You switched your phone to speakerphone, setting it down and grabbing a box cutter. “Besides, Yugi’s out of town this week.” Cutting open a few boxes of supplies, you began to check the contents against the provided invoices.

After a moment’s silence, Kaiba gave a little growl, “Why is Yugi in New York?”

He must have checked Yugi’s duel disk location. “He’s visiting Téa.”

“Fine. I’ll pay Mr. Muto to give you the day off.”

“Honestly, just wait a couple of days and—“

“Do you think you’re not up to the task? Is that why you’re turning this opportunity down?” 

“Hey, we both know I’m capable of keeping up with Mokuba. I’ll be available in a few days. You don’t even have to pay me.”

“I’d rather you did it tomorrow. And I’ll pay you. The last time someone other than me did the inspection with Mokuba, he ended up covered in wet paint and quit.”

Not surprising. Mokuba could be something of a feral gremlin with anyone he didn’t like. You sighed. “What time will a car be picking me up?” You weren’t going to pay for parking at Kaiba Land if you could help it.

“Nine. I’ll have someone fax you your W-4. Fill it out and have it ready for tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You marked off the last of the supplies on the invoice. “Anything I need to read up on tonight?”

“I’ll send you the latest security protocols. But be sure to destroy the papers after you read them.”

“Security proto—Kaiba what’s going on?”

“I’m handling it. But I don’t have time to accompany Mokuba tomorrow. Just keep an eye out.”

You sighed again. Why did Kaiba have to be secretive? “Fine. But I’m not a bodyguard. I don’t have the right training.”

“Mokuba will have guards with him.”

You set down your pencil. “That’s good. Will we see you tomorrow?”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, I’ll keep Mokuba out of trouble.”

“Bye.” Kaiba hung up. Abrupt as always. Hopefully, you wouldn’t make any embarrassing mistakes tomorrow. If Kaiba trusted you, then you had no intention of letting him and Mokuba down. Part 2

[shinakazami1]

Give me a 12, 13 and 22 for rhys, soldier 🫵

FELLOW RHYS ENJOYER (krotiation I LOVE YOUR ART TOO SM GAAAAH THIS FANDOM HAS SUCH GREAT ARTISTS)

12. What's the funniest or craziest AU idea you've ever come up with?

I have in total, three AUs I have to finally write anything for fhasfsa (I do plan on posting Tales AU first chapter this week tho!!). 1) RHYS AI AU is something you saw me post snippets of - in general, it's an alternative version of Borderlands 2, where Jack kills Lilith and Roland very quickly and survives. Due to mourning for Nisha, Wilhelm and Angel, he one day writes code for a companion based on an imaginary friend he had but also, gives him some trait of each one of those he misses. While Rhys was going to slowly become the silly personality we know and love, this was my typical 'give the character therapy when they don't want it, and end up with them hurting someone else and trying to change'. 2) JUST WING IT AU is my Tales AU that starts with changes in ep 5, with how Rhys handles the news about Jack wanting to get that exoskeleton in him and focusing on exploring Jack's loneliness and adding him as the third character, making sort of second season for the game. The additional driving point would be that Loader Bot would be able to grab Gortys and run off with her, so the search for Vault would become longer Yet the AU I really hope to start exploring in the future, is this one: 3) Loss of what once happened but never before AU. It's a Borderlands 3 Rhack au that would focus on Rhys finding out he is a siren with huge time-travelling powers and the costs that come with it. He would turn back in time, when Jack was still known as John during the nights, and watch some of the consequences happen in the present during the day. He doesn't know though just how strong the butterfly effect will be...

13. What's a character or ship you haven't written/drawn yet but would like to someday?

Characters: Timothy, Angel, Nisha, Zer0, Katagawa, Axton, Moxxi, Lilith, Roland

Ships: Rhysothy, Rhack, JackxNisha, MoxxixTimothy, Rhysagawa, Axton x Turret (cus she is my wife I luv her)

(The list prob isn't finished cus I still have to finish playing the second game and play the third one oifhaiof)

22. Give us headcanons for Rhys

He actually likes fashion and likes casual official style in general.

He has a sweet tooth but pretends to like spicy food in college.

He actually had a heterochromia before the echo eye and decided to keep it.

He admired Jack a bit but he laughed at psycho fans, as he has some critical thinking.

Even a few years after getting Atlas running again, he still tries to make some guns himself, even if he doesn't have as much time.

He was the one dumped by his ex girlfriend even if he didn't like their dynamic because he was actually scared nobody else would be into him.

He spends a lot of time in the morning preparing his hair. It's quite wavy which gets visible in wetter climates but fortunately for him, he lives mostly in dry ones.

He met Katagawa and at first, couldn't believe he had a fan even if he had some boosted ego but felt something off about him. He turned off an invitation to Zanara because he still thinks about his talk with Vaughn about being good at faking cool. That's why he is even more awkward in future games, since while chasing the younger years, he wants to show he matured, hoping that maybe that will bring Sasha back. That's also why he got the moustache - to show he is becoming more serious. Which fails miserably.

He seemed the most confident in his new Atlas CEO stage because he had to look like it. There was nobody else to help him at the time, so he tried his best to do what he had done - acted the plan out.

He still imagines his plans the same way he did in Tales - with fantasies.

[bethanydelleman]

Margaret Dashwood: Is it canon?

Short answer: Margaret Dashwood basically isn’t in the book, so it’s all fanon. She is mentioned 36 times total. Compare that to Mrs. Jennings at 234 and Mrs. Charlotte Palmer at 62.

Margaret Dashwood has a tree fort, a favourite atlas, sword fights with Edward, wants to be a pirate, has a pony, does puppetry, hides under things, etc.

Fanon (I’m using this term to cover adaptations and JAFF), not canon.  Here is the sum total of stuff we know about Margaret: Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne’s romance, without having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.

Margaret Dashwood literally has no possessions mentioned in the novel. Also, unless he actually paid for it, Edward stole that atlas.

Margaret Dashwood bonds with Edward

Fanon, not canon. The only time we know that Margaret even speaks to Edward is when she opens the discussion on what they would do if they were all rich. Edward never actually replies to Margaret and he only mentions Marianne and Elinor in his speech

“I wish,” said Margaret, striking out a novel thought, “that somebody would give us all a large fortune apiece!”

“Oh that they would!” cried Marianne, her eyes sparkling with animation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of such imaginary happiness.

“We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose,” said Elinor, “in spite of the insufficiency of wealth.”

“Oh dear!” cried Margaret, “how happy I should be! I wonder what I should do with it!”

Marianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point.

“I should be puzzled to spend so large a fortune myself,” said Mrs. Dashwood, “if my children were all to be rich without my help.”

“You must begin your improvements on this house,” observed Elinor, “and your difficulties will soon vanish.”

“What magnificent orders would travel from this family to London,” said Edward, “in such an event! What a happy day for booksellers, music-sellers, and print-shops! You, Miss Dashwood, would give a general commission for every new print of merit to be sent you—and as for Marianne, I know her greatness of soul, there would not be music enough in London to content her. And books!—Thomson, Cowper, Scott—she would buy them all over and over again: she would buy up every copy, I believe, to prevent their falling into unworthy hands; and she would have every book that tells her how to admire an old twisted tree. Should not you, Marianne? Forgive me, if I am very saucy. But I was willing to show you that I had not forgot our old disputes.”

Margaret is not mentioned again in this conversation.

Margaret is rude to Fanny Dashwood

Fanon, not canon. Margaret doesn’t even have quoted speech until the Dashwoods are settled in Barton. I can’t even find an instance of Marianne being rude to Fanny or John, though we know she dislikes both of them.

What the heck is canon?

Margaret plays a few important roles. She that lets slip that Elinor has a lover left behind at Norland whose name is “F” to Sir John and Mrs. Jennings. Margaret is also the one who saw Willoughby request a lock of hair from Marianne, which she tells to Elinor. Margaret is also the one walking with Marianne when Marianne falls and is saved by Willoughby. She is the one who romantically calls Willoughby, “Marianne’s preserver”.

Her presence at home allows Marianne and Elinor to travel to London without leaving their mother to be lonely.

I think it is clever to use Margaret to make Edward more of a fleshed out character, but it’s not actually in the novel. Edward only says one single line of speech before the Dashwoods leave for Barton, this is it: “Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And to what part of it?” For a visual medium, this just doesn’t work. You need to do something with Edward and both 1995 and 2008 used Margaret to help with the Edward problem.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

From Monsters Under the Rug to Aliens in the Sky: This Is How I Found Myself Through Science Fiction

The town where I grew up was stereotypical small town U.S.A. No more than 3 square miles encompassed the entire town. We didn't even have our own high school or busses; you either walked to school, rode your bike or got a ride from mom. When someone had a baby or got married, you could be fairly certain that everyone would know about it within an hour or two, or be part of the celebration. It meant block parties, town-wide celebrations on Main Street, riding bikes to the lake to swim in the summer or ice skate in the winter. It was some real Mayberry kind of livin'.

To me, small-town life meant intense scrutiny, invasion of privacy, and ridicule, but that was because I was the "weird" kid. I tried to participate in sports and even tried out for cheerleading because I thought it might make me more like all the other kids. But, I was wrong. It just made me feel more out of place. I would have rather found a quiet place under a big shady tree to sit and read or write and talk to my imaginary friends. Real friends were scarce, and those that did hang around me did so more to see what the weird kid did for fun, not because they enjoyed my company.

One of the most vivid memories of those years happened in third grade. My teacher, Mrs. Thompson, had presented us with a contest hosted by the local bookstore that was open to the whole school, grades Kindergarten through eighth grade. We were tasked with writing a short story, any kind of story we could create, and the winner was given a $10 gift card to the store (in 1987, that was like having a fortune to spend), as well as having our story on display in the store.

My story entitled, "The Thing Under the Rug" won the prize, as well as looks from the other kids and townspeople that read it. I was a ten-year-old writing horror, and that didn't go over well in Mayberry.

Fast forward several years, to when my family moved out of that town and to a larger one that not only had its own high school but had TWO high schools! I thought myself and my weirdness would be more accepted since the population of the school there was more than four times that of my elementary school. Nope, wrong again. I was just as ridiculed and singled out there for my unusual style, drawings, and stories, as I was back in third grade, writing my award-winning tale of terror involving a thing under a rug.

There was a lot of isolation, tears, and feelings that there was something wrong with me because I didn't want to talk about what my peers did or do the thing they wanted to do. What I didn't realize, was that I was about to meet the friend I had been waiting for my entire life. His name was Fox Mulder.

No, unfortunately, Fox wasn't a real person, but the main character on a new show called, 'The X-Files'. He was a young, determined F.B.I. agent in pursuit of the truth about the disappearance of his sister, aliens and government conspiracies. His partner, the stubborn, level-headed Dana Scully eventually became a friend too, because she showed me that you can disagree with what someone believes, but still respect them enough to hear them out, and at least hold palaver about it.

Mulder and Scully, as well as the show itself, became a big part of my life right from the pilot. Mulder's peers called him "Spooky Mulder" and cast him down to the basement with a file cabinet of cases that were filled with crackpot accounts and alien abduction stories. I could relate to that in my own way. They would disparage him and laugh at him at every turn. I could relate to that too. But Scully, she was there for him even when they didn't agree. That was something I wanted to be able to relate to.

As the first couple seasons aired, a funny thing started to happen. I learned a lot about myself, the most important of which, was that I didn't care what my peers thought about me anymore. I was done feeling bad about myself because I didn't like shopping and makeup. I enjoyed oddities. I read Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King. My favorite movie was 'The Exorcist'. I liked reading about ghosts. I believed in monsters under the bed and in the existence of aliens.

On a much deeper level, I had already begun to question the religion I was raised in; never having felt like it fit for me. Dana Scully also struggled with her faith throughout the series, and even though the circumstances were obviously much different, I took solace in knowing that it's not a bad thing to ask questions. Regardless, if it is about lights in the sky or the cross you wear around your neck.

It prompted me to start writing more and writing material that I truly loved and believed in. I dove deeper into finding myself as an artist, as I watched these two characters also dive deeper into uncovering truths about themselves. 'The X-Files' opened a door that I didn't know existed, and when I walked through it, I discovered a community of people, albeit very small, that was like me. They were the misfits, the cast-offs, the ones who questioned everything.

Having this show in my life, and by extension, this group of people, allowed me to slowly crawl out of my shell and be more social. We held weekly dinner nights to get together to watch the show, all the way up to the series finale. When the revival aired last January, you better believe we got together online, since we are now scattered throughout the country, to talk about it and watch together.

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I love who I am now. I am a mom, a writer, a ghost hunter, T.V. binge watcher, alien truther and an X-Phile for life. I can only hope that as my kids grow up, they never fear to ask questions, and always stay true to themselves. Should they ever veer away from that, I guess I will have to introduce them to my good friends, Fox and Dana. After all, they are now only a DVD away.

[houseofbrat]

You hate William, and William doesn't need the traitor Harry for his reputation, quite the contrary. From there we realize that you are pro Harry and Charles. Fortunately, there are people who speak impartially. You block comments, leaving no room for debate. For months, even years, have you been inventing an imaginary pregnancy and you want people to believe you? Let me laugh. Charles, obsessed with his reputation who has liked to chat with the press for years, even to the point of using his sons to save his ass, should interest you ah but no… you definitely shouldn't touch him!

"Blocked comments"?!

Honey, I have my comments setting set to those who have followed me for at least one week. It keeps the crazies, such as yourself, out of my inbox whining about how reality isn't being kind to The Cambridges.

Somehow EVERYONE is a Charles uber fan because you Wales cultists have no idea what a general royal watcher is.

Keep whining about how Charles is "obsessed with his reputation," honey, because your faves' reputation are about to hit the dirt before Kate returns to official duties. You should spend more time worrying about Will & Kate's reputations than Charles'.

[lavezzariromina]

INTEGRATED PROJECT

Definitions:

Story: Story is a narration of a chain of events either true or imagined told or written in prose or verse and usually less detailed than a novel.

Tales: A tale is a story, especially one that's full of creative embellishments. You can read a tale from a book, or tell a bedtime tale to the kids you're babysitting. Tales can be true or fictional, but they generally consist of a narrative, with a beginning and an end, made more interesting and exciting with vivid details.

Science Fiction: Science fiction, popularly shortened as sci-fi, is a genre of fiction that creatively depicts real or imaginary science and technology as part of its plot, setting, or theme. The fiction part of science fiction means, of course, that it's a fictional story—not a real-life account.

"Preserving the Flow: A Water Conservation Crusade"

This is the story of how my friends and I traveled back in time in order to save water. 

I was hanging out with Renato, Juan Pablo and Arturo, my all-time best friends. We went to an Italian restaurant in Guayaquil looking for something good to eat. I got a lasagna, Renato got some pizza, Juan Pablo got some spaghetti, and Arturo got some gelato. 

After hours of eating and talking, we asked for some water to digest our food, and we couldn’t believe what the waitress told us.

Uhm, haven’t you watched the news? – the waitress said – We ran out of water because of its irresponsible consumption.

WHAT? – I asked, not getting over what we were just told.

When did this happen? – Arturo asked.

Today in the morning – replied the waitress. 

We went back home, still in disbelief. Fortunately, the year is 2050, and time machines aren’t something new. Renato and Juan Pablo brought up the idea of travelling back in time to Guayaquil in the year 2020 in order to make a campaign to save water.

Then we went to a time travelling station, bought four tickets for six-million dollars (too expensive), and traveled back in time. After spending that money, we were afraid to mess everything up and fail in our mission, but we went on anyway. 

Firstly, we went into a gas station to buy some water bottles for us to drink (it felt incredible, and it tasted better than the water in our future). Secondly, we planned our campaign and gathered everything we needed. Thirdly, we started our campaign, went to busy places and made people rethink their actions. Water is a necessary resource that, unfortunately, is finite. 

Subsequently, our hard work paid off. People agreed to save water and consume water responsibly. After that, we decided we were done with our mission, and it was time to go back to our future. 

Finally, we arrived in the year 2050. We asked people about water, and they said we didn’t run out of it. In conclusion, we succeeded. Our campaign prevailed through time and people helped us save water. After all, it only takes good action to make good changes.

References:

Mazurek, D. (2022, September 20). What is science fiction? The elements that define sci-fi. Dictionary.com. https://www.dictionary.com/e/what-is-science-fiction-sci-fi/

Story. (n.d.). Cambridge.org. Retrieved October 12, 2023, from https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/story

(N.d.-a). Collinsdictionary.com. Retrieved October 12, 2023, from https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/story#:~:text=forms%3A%20plural%20%2Dries-,1.,less%20detailed%20than%20a%20novel

(N.d.-b). Vocabulary.com. Retrieved October 12, 2023, from https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/tale#:~:text=A%20tale%20is%20a%20story,and%20exciting%20with%20vivid%20details.

IA IMAGE: I created this image with Canva, that is supposed to be me returning from the trip after the town has water and everyone is happy because the problem is solved. It means that it manages to raise awareness and change the future of all citizens of the planet.

[cedenoarturo123]

Integrated Project

DEFINITION:

Story: A story or narrative is a connected series of events told through words (written or spoken), imagery (still and moving), body language, performance, music, or any other form of communication. You can tell a story about anything, and the events described can be real or imaginary.

Tales: It is a genre of narration with a fantastic or magical story taking place in a real or magical world in which both real and fictional characters can act . The author can raise moral, social, aesthetic problems of history and modernity.

Science fiction: Science fiction is a genre of speculative fiction that contains imagined elements that don’t exist in the real world. Science fiction spans a wide range of themes that often explore time travel, space travel, are set in the future, and deal with the consequences of technological and scientific advances

''"Preserving the Flow: A Water Conservation Crusade"'' My name is Arturo, I'm from Equator and it's December 22, 2064. I used to enjoy spending time with my friends and relatives until the massacre broke out. One day, I woke up as usual, ready to carry out my daily routine, but for my surprise there was no water. Not a drop in my house, or anywhere else in the world. The implications were clear; our ecosystems were collapsing, and life, as we knew it, was hanging on the brink of extinction. I couldn't accept this as humanity's inevitable destiny. Desperation led me to seek out some friends: Pablo, Pepe, and María. Together, we embarked on an arduous mission, working relentlessly for sixteen hours straight. Our goal: to construct a time machine that would transport us back to the year 2023, a time when water was still a plentiful and vital resource. We decided to name our project "AquaGenesis’’. We rounded up equipment and materials, relying on scientific knowledge and intuition. With limited access to water, we used every drop wisely, recycling and reusing as much as we could. The project was finally designed, but we started arguing about what we should do next.- So, guys… Time is running! What we should do know that the machine is done? I said. -''Just give up and accept our destiny Arturo, we’re tired and also thirsty'', said Pepe, in a sad way. -''Chill out Pepe don’t say that, with this machine we’ll be able to travel to the past in 2023 to sort out this big problem'', I said. -''You are right Arturo; however, how do we ensure that the machine works, and how do we convince people from 2023 that what we are saying is true if we’re clearly teens'', María added. -''Don’t worry Maria, when people can see us with a time machine they won’t have option, they’ll trust us. Just in case, get your phone out to take some pictures of the landscape'', said Pablo. -''Great Idea Pablo! Now, let’s team up to save our planet and figure out a solution'', I finally said.

For our surprise the machine took us directly to 2023, the first thing we did was drink up a lot of water. After that, we called everyone’s attention with our time machine, pictures and identity cards. Fortunately, All entities around the world heard us and they set up campaigns and projects in order to preserve water, when we traveled to our future, everything was fixed up and I kept enjoying to spend time with my friends and relatives.

APA 7TH EDITION REFERENCES:

-Story. (2018, November 3). Literary Terms. https://literaryterms.net/story/

-What is a literary tale: definition, examples. (n.d.). Unansea.com. Retrieved October 13, 2023, from https://en.unansea.com/what-is-a-literary-tale-definition-examples/

-(N.d.). Masterclass.com. Retrieved October 13, 2023, from https://www.masterclass.com/articles/what-is-science-fiction-writing-definition-and-characteristics-of-science-fiction-literature

AI PICTURE RELATED TO THE STORY:

I ask AI in canva to create that picture for my presentation, I describe the image as I wanted in order to give the reader an idea of how the main characters look like.

30 SECONDS VIDEO:

[uwmspeccoll]

Science Saturday

Today we are highlighting an early 18th century book titled Astronomical Dialogues Between a Gentleman and a Lady: Wherein the Doctrine of the Sphere, uses of the Globes, and the Elements of Astronomy and Geography are Explain'd in a Pleasant, Easy and Familiar way: with a Description of the Famous Instrument called the Orrery by John Harris. Printed in London by T. Wood for Benj. Cowse, at the Rose and Cross in St. Paul's Church-yard in 1719.

As the long title suggests the book is a back and forth conversation between a man and woman about various principles of astronomy. The author John Harris notes in the preface that it is an imitation of Conversations on the Plurality of Worlds by French author Bernard le Bovier de Fontenelle, published in 1686. Harris also wrote about how it was the great pursuit of his life to engage persons of “birth and fortune” to spend their leisure time to “useful and real learning,” and to “detach some of their happy leisure from being lost by sports, play, or worse avocations, and dedicate it to the improvement of their minds.” Astronomical Dialogues Between a Gentleman and a Lady uses Fontenelle’s work as a jumping off point, where the woman says that she read Plurality of Worlds and did not understand some of the concepts and asks the gentleman to explain.

John Harris (1666-1719) was a English scientist, clergyman, and Fellow of the Royal Society of London. He is best known as the editor of the Lexicon Technicum: Or, A Universal English Dictionary of Arts and Sciences published in 1704, one of the earliest alphabetical encyclopedias written in English.

Astronomical Dialogues also includes an illustration of an orrery, which is a mechanical model of the Solar System that illustrates or predicts the relative positions and motions of the planets and moons, usually according to the heliocentric model. The illustration is based off an orrery made by John Rowley, “Master of Mechanics to the King.”

On a good-humored note, the title makes me think is is the early 18th century version of “Mansplaining.” Especially because in the introduction John Harris wrote, “I don’t perplex my fair astronomer with anything but the true system of the world: I mislead her by no notions of crystalline heavens, or solid orbs: I embarrass her with not clumsy epicycles, or imaginary and indeed impossible vortices, but I show her at first the celestial world just as it is.”

View more Science Saturday posts.

–Sarah, Special Collections Graduate Intern

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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[imaaa]

pov: you had very few but impactful encounters with someone, and now you won't get to see them again.

i have been thinking about you a lot these days. it's not the conversations we shared is that i think about. i don't think about any of the moments we shared either. what i think about is just you, without any added thoughts or memories. my mind has this reminder set where after every other while it reminds me that you exist. but i'm afraid of thinking about you. not because i am scared of these incomprehensible feelings. but because i dread what your reaction would be if you'll find out that "i" think about you.

i'm not sure how reasonable my "opinions" are that are about you. maybe you're way better than what i think you are. or maybe, you're not entirely what i've assumed you are. but the thing i want to say is that whatever way i've perceived you (it doesn't matter how accurate my perception is) has impacted me in numerous ways.

i have got to know a bit about you (or maybe that's what i think). and i'm certain, there's much more that is left to be known about you. but the truth is, i'm content with whatever bit i got to witness. because i am not quite ready to encounter what more you may have gotten to offer. you are like a simple statement that leaves me with complexities to solve. your simplicity makes me question my complexities. your simplicity ends up overwhelming me.

what i'm saying is that you're like a book that is immensely captivating and every page of it carries something impactful. but you can't read it in one go because you're not prepared for what it can bring to you. so what you do is you take a break from reading that book and put it back on your shelf. after that, you sit down and spend time trying to process whatever pages you've read so far. and then maybe you pick that book up again when you think you're ready. now that could be a day, a month, a year, or an indefinite period.

but well, here, the case is different. probably i will not get to pick this book up again. how do i explain? you're the book that i found in a library at a place where my stay was brief. i got to read a couple of pages, got overwhelmed with its impacts, and then the time came when i was supposed to leave the library. now, i may not be able to find that book again somewhere else. but i am contented with the few pages that i got to read. i am grateful that life gave me the fortune of reading you, even if it was a small bit.

thinking about you often follows with me unconsciously speaking to your imaginary figure, and telling you either of the two - "i will remember you" or "i will miss you." some days, i am focused on remembering you. and other days, i am pained by the thought of missing you. but what's the difference between the two, i wonder. it's that moment for me where one speaks something first, but its meaning hits them later.

so what do i mean when i say "i will remember you," and what's going on inside my mind when i say "i will miss you." after a few minutes, my mind answers a brief answer: it's your magnificence that i witnessed in the past is that i will remember. and the lack of it in the future is what i will miss. and i combine the two and experience a neverending bittersweet present.

[sundaysundaes]

My Words, Your Thoughts (Teaser)

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut | Soulmate AU, Friends-to-Lovers AU

Part of the beautiful ‘Aubade’ collaboration hosted by @hyucksie​

Synopsis: As an introvert, you are familiar with the silence. Drowning yourself deep in your thoughts has been a habit you’ve become addicted to. Your life begins to change, however, ever since the day you turned twenty. Suddenly, there’s this song that’s stuck in your head, and no matter how much you yearn to hear your thoughts or be comforted by the silence, it keeps on playing. You only get to find the answer to your problem when a young, cute barista hands you a cup of coffee one day, with that song’s lyrics written on the side. And you realize that you’re not the only one who’s been hearing voices in your head.

Warnings: explicit sex, expletives, mentions of physical abuse and astraphobia (not for the main characters)

WC (Teaser): 4k

Release Date: June 27, 2021, 10 AM KST

It’s weird. It’s so weird.

It’s weird that you’ve been hearing this song replaying over and over again in your head when you’re sure you’ve never listened to it before. It’s also weird because sometimes the song sounds like the ones you often hear about on the radio—complete with instrumental accompaniment and everything—but most of the time, it just sounds like someone is humming to it. Sometimes quietly, but more often than not, vehemently like they’re having a concert in the shower, not caring if the neighbors might hear.

As someone who rarely listens to mainstream music, you don’t keep up with the trend these days but the tunes are catchy enough that you think, maybe, it’s one of those Justin Bieber’s songs people always talk about. You’re not fond of it, though, so even if you’ve heard it somewhere in a cafe or a mall, there’s very little chance you’ll be humming it in your head.

And yet, it keeps on playing.

It gets worse when it goes on for a whole day—a whole fucking day—that your brain feels like it’s seconds away from bursting into pieces. It doesn’t even sound like your voice. It seems like it belongs to a male, a bit light and a pitch higher than most. Though it sounds pleasant, the voice is unfamiliar to your ears and that’s what bothers you the most. 

Trying your best to escape, you plug in your AirPods to your earholes, choosing one of the most beloved tracks from your playlist—today, it’s Bloom by The Paper Kites—to help you relax as you lie down on your bed. But no matter how many times you turn up the volume—it’s practically turning you deaf, ironically—you can still hear that one goddamn song playing.

“Oh my God,” you groan, projecting a murderous glare at the ceiling of your room before you shriek all of your heart’s content to your pillow. “Make it stop!”

This has been going on ever since your twentieth birthday and it’s been three months since then—three months of suffering, to be exact. Fortunately for you, you haven’t been listening to the same song for those amount of time—God, you would’ve killed yourself if that was the case. The song changes without warning. It can change ten times within a day, or stay the same for ten days. You have never heard of these songs except for the popular ones, and even then, you only ever listened to snippets as they don’t suit your taste. 

So… It doesn’t make sense that you could recite the whole lyrics, does it? 

And yet, you can. 

Somehow, you already know every word, every tune, even every ad-lib in these songs and it both amazes and creeps you out. It’s as if somebody else is singing about it in their mind, and you, somehow, are mentally connected to them.

But that’s surely not the case, right?

With more days passing by, as your brain deteriorates little by little, you start to think that maybe that is the case.

Or maybe you’re just going crazy.

It’s nine in the morning and your eyes are bleary from how you involuntarily skipped sleep last night. With the loudest sigh and your half-charged MacBook sitting still in your backpack, you let your wobbly legs carry you to the nearest coffee shop. There’s a new Starbucks store opening just a couple of blocks away from your apartment and it’s perfect since you’re going to pass it every day on your way to college. 

You’re not excited though, not when you have Michael Jackson’s Man in The Mirror playing in your head for the, approximately, thirty-fifth time that day. And it’s only nine in the fucking morning.

When you enter the coffee shop, greeted by a cute Christmas tree and festive decorations spreading all over the place even when it’s still three weeks away from the holiday, you almost weep in joy when the song stops playing in your head. It does happen from time-to-time, sometimes it stops for a few hours before it starts again with the same song or an entirely different one. But in most cases, it only pauses for a few minutes which just doubles the torture whenever you’re trying to concentrate on your paperwork.

“Hi.” You display a timid smile at a female barista, slightly wincing when the song in your head starts blaring again, as expected. It’s still the same song this time—so that thirty-sixth by now, Jesus Christ—but instead of someone humming it, it’s the original version that plays. You’re having trouble focusing on her greeting when the sound of a synthesizer echoes through your ear, stridently so. “I would like a tall skinny latte with a double shot, please.”

“Would you like anything else to accompany your drink?”

Perhaps a gun to blow my head off? “No, thanks. That’d be all for me.”

“Is that for here or to go?”

You take a quick scan of your surroundings. You still have an hour before your first class starts and since the place isn’t that crowded, you figure you might as well just spend some time here. “For here.”

You tell her your name and slide down your card to complete the payment. “All right. We will call your name once your order is ready.”

“Fantastic. Thanks.” As the female barista takes an order from another customer, you drag yourself to an empty seat in the corner of the room, next to the glassy window where you can glance at passersby. You lay your head down on the table, cheek pressed against the wooden surface, lower lip jutting out in weariness. You’re drowsy and you want to think about the snow that’s probably gonna fall sometimes near Christmas’ Day and maybe the sight of a warm fireplace where you can cozy up with your imaginary boyfriend (also known as Jung Jaehyun—that one perfect boy who lives just across of your hallway), but no, unfortunately for you, you no longer have any space left in your brain since Michael Jackson is performing a damn concert and it doesn’t seem like he’s gonna stop anytime soon.

“I’m starting with the man in the mirror…” Great, now you’re singing it. “I’m asking him to change his ways…”

The music in your head abruptly stops again but before you can close your eyes to finally enjoy your silence, a familiar voice chimes in.

“It’s a great song, isn’t it?”

Shocked, you quickly lift your head to identify a male barista placing down a cup of your ordered latte on your table. You swear you recognize his voice but his face doesn’t ring a bell.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling a bit sheepishly. “I don’t usually bring orders directly to the table but I think I misheard your name so I couldn’t call you out from there.”

“That’s, umm, that’s okay…” You hide the bottom half of your face behind your scarf as you’re not used to talking to a stranger, especially one that looks overwhelmingly pretty. “What did you think my name was?”

“Umm…” He rubs the back of his nape awkwardly. “I don’t think you want to know. It was a bit… inappropriate.”

“R-right…” You glance at the cup. “It says ‘Michael.’”

He chuckles but with only a slight hint of amusement in it. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had to come up with something and it was the first thing that came to mind.”

“And it has…” Your eyes widen when you notice the words he’s written on the side of your cup. It’s not a greeting, it’s not a motivational sentence, it’s the fucking lyrics to Michael Jackson’s Man in The Mirror.

“Yeah, okay, so—” Noticing the appalled look on your face, he hurriedly tries to reason out. “I’ve had this song stuck in my head all day long—I just listened to it a minute ago while making your order—and the lyrics are just so inspirational so I decided to write that down. I hope that’s not too weird.” Then he laughs a little, a tad more genuinely this time. “But I heard you singing that song just now. What are the chances, right?”

You swallow hard. He’s been thinking about that song too? Listened to it a minute ago? What are the chances of this is happening? Is he the one whose voices I’ve been hearing in my head—

The male barista abruptly takes a step back, his tray nearly slipping out of his hold. He has a hand pressed against his ear, eyes blinking several times in disbelief. “Holy shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You—” He splutters, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

“What?” The way he seems like he’s looking at a ghost sends goosebumps all over your skin. “What is it?”

“Think about something.” 

“Umm—” What is he talking about?

This time he gapes, his jaw dropping low. “Holy shit, I can really hear you. Think about something else—think about me.”

“Look, I don’t know you and you’re being weird.” The sudden change of conversation baffles you but when his words sink in, you can’t stop yourself from thinking about him as he orders. He’s cute, his entire features are cute—you’ve noticed that from the first second you laid your eyes on him, but what catches your eyes the most is his lips—the way they’re shaped so beautifully, like a cupid’s bow—

“You’re thinking about my lips? Seriously?” He asks, but might as well splash cold water to your face. “If you said something about my eyes, sure, I mean, they are attractive. One might even say that God Himself took the stars from the sky and put them in my eyes—but my lips? Huh, that’s new.”

You loudly gasp when you’re finally aware of the situation, hands flying to your face to cover your gaping mouth. “You can hear my thoughts!”

“And you can hear mine too!” He points out, and as startled as you are from the previous realization, you instantly frown upon his words. 

“I don’t think so,” you reply. “I can only hear—”

“Donghyuck-ah!” Another barista comes to interrupt from the other side of the room. “We didn’t pay you to flirt, come back here!”

“I wasn’t flirting!” He shouts back, tips of his ears reddening. When he turns to you again, he has a prominent scowl on his face which makes you squirm on your feet. “We need to talk about this. My break is in an hour, do you think you can wait?”

It sounds more like an order than a request. “B-but I have a class in an hour.”

“Skip it.”

It takes all the strength in your body to be brave enough to retort back with, “Why don’t you skip your work?”

“I’m already half-done with my work, I can’t bail out now.” He rolls his eyes. Suddenly, his courteousness just vanishes without a trace. “Look, I’ve been hearing your thoughts for months now and I have a lot to complain to you about.”

You grimace. “It’s not like I can control my thoughts—”

“I know, I’m not blaming you.” He picks up the tray, his gaze softening but only slightly. “I just want to complain. You’ve been driving me crazy these past few months.”

You glance away, pouting. Wow, he surely knows how to befriend a stranger.

“I can hear you, you know.” He sighs as if talking to you is exhausting, when it should be the other way around. “Look, I’m sure you’ve been going through the same thing. Don’t you want this to stop?”

You’re not wasting any second. “Yes, please.”

“Then wait for me. We’ll talk this through.” He pivots on his heels, his tray glued to his side. When you can finally breathe properly, exhausted from the social interaction as you sink back to your seat, the barista—Donghyuck—adds, “Oh, as you wait. Can you please stop thinking about my lips? Or just how cute I am in general? It’s sweet but I gotta concentrate so I won’t write another Michael on my next order.”

You slam your forehead down the table, face aflame. “I-I’ll try.”

“Thanks.”

***

“You just can’t stop thinking about my lips, can you?” Is the first thing Donghyuck states out as soon as he’s approached your table. He runs a hand through his brown hair, which looks out-worldly fluffy that you begin to wonder what kind of hair product he’s been using. “Or my hair.”

Mortified, you mumble out, “I’m sorry,” with half of your face covered by your hands. The more I try not to think about his lips, the more I do—shit, is he hearing this too—

“Yes,” Donghyuck says, but this time with an amused smile. “Man, I didn’t know my lips were that appealing to ladies. You’re gonna make me blush.”

Well, he’s making you blush for sure. “Would it be too much to ask for you to stop listening to my thoughts?”

“Believe me, woman, I’ve tried.” He groans, taking his apron off before he sits in front of you. He loosens up his collar, unbuttoning two buttons of his white shirt—which is two more than necessary to your liking—and you have to gaze away before another thought forms inside your head about a certain part of his body. 

“Sorry if I came on too strong before. I’m Lee Donghyuck,” he introduces formally, offering you his hand. You reply with your name but you’re reluctant to shake his hand since you’re sure you’re breaking into a cold sweat, and an overly sweaty palm doesn’t really scream attractive—

“It’s literally just a handshake,” he says, stifling down a laugh. “I’m not gonna start judging you about it. You’re cute, sweaty palms or not.”

You nearly choke. “If I can’t ask you to stop listening to my thoughts, can you please be quiet about them?”

“That’s also impossible since talking is an integral part of my charm.” He leans back to his chair. “I’m pretty good with my mouth.”

That was… a poor choice of words, you think, as you stare at his lips and can’t help but wonder what can that mouth do other than talking. You take a bite of the bagel you just ordered, desperately trying to avert your attention.

“It wasn’t a poor choice of words.” He winks. “I did mean that in every way possible.”

This time, you really are choking.

“Okay, so what’s happening to us?” Donghyuck questions, after you manage to shed a tear or two during your attempt in relieving your throat. “Why have I been hearing your thoughts? I don’t even know you.”

“Same here.” You’re still going through a hard time keeping eye contact with him, but with more seconds passing by—and him pronouncing every bit of your thoughts out in the open—the knots inside your chest begin to loosen. “Ever since I turned twenty, I’ve been hearing these songs playing in my head that I’d never even heard of.”

“Never heard of?” Donghyuck snorts. “What, you never listen to Billboard’s top forty?”

You weakly shrug. “I prefer indie music better. Or instrumentals.”

“I would say that you have a soul of an old lady but the way you’ve been thinking about my lips reminds me of my sister who’s going through puberty.”

“Okay, this isn’t fair.” You shake your head, ashamed and tired of being humiliated over something you can’t fix. “Why can you hear my thoughts but I can’t hear yours?”

“Believe me, you’re much better off this way.” His face contorts in pain which makes you feel somewhat sorry if he’s not constantly being an ass about it. Hearing your insult, he notes, “Also, I’d prefer to be called with terms of endearment in the future, if that’s okay with you. Something like Babe or Darling.” The way he raises his eyebrow is just strictly illegal. “And in return, I’ll call you Sweetheart.” But before you can say anything—or run toward a running bus to put an end to this endless humiliation—he questions, “Wait, when you hear the songs I’ve been thinking in my head, does it sound like the original version of the song, or like me singing it?”

Finally, a proper conversation. “If you’re listening to the actual music, I can hear the original song as if I’m hearing it through my headphones. But when you’re just thinking about it, well, I‘ve never heard you sing, but,” you decide to tease him back—which startles you from how blatant you’re being. “From how amateur and pitchy this voice sounded in my head, I think I’ve been hearing yours.”

“Cute.” He scrunches up his nose. “Okay, let’s try again. Can you hear what song running through my head now?”

You stiffen, sitting in silence. After a few seconds pass by with only you exchanging stern stares at each other, your eyes gleam with a spark of hope. “Wait, I can’t hear you. Does this mean it stops? Because we’ve met in person?”

“Sadly no, because I was just thinking about how silly you looked when you choked over your food earlier.” He chuckles to himself and sends you another wink when you degrade him in your head. “Okay, let’s try again.”

“For real this time?”

“For real this time, Sweetheart.” He closes his eyes, holding back a smile when he catches how you flinch a little at his pet name for you. This time, you really do hear him humming inside your mind. “Don’t tell me by words,” he immediately adds, “Just think about them.”

Heaving a sigh, you close your eyes too. I’ve heard this song somewhere.

“If you’ve never heard about this song, I will literally cry and apologize to the world on your behalf.”

Be quiet, please, I’m trying to concentrate.

“Worried that you’d be thinking about my lips again?”

You almost fall from your seat. Almost. Okay, you’re singing to… You knit your eyebrows together as you provide your best effort to remember the tunes. You’re singing to Super Mario Bros theme song?

“Correct.” He taps his fingers to the table, simpering. “This is actually pretty cool. We can be, like, partners in crime or something.”

You shudder. “Please don’t tell me you’re an actual criminal.”

“If looking this handsome is a crime then I am, yes. Guilty as charged.” He makes a kissy face when you think about throwing the rest of your bagel to his head. “You look like someone who writes fan-fiction about their idols having sappy first kisses in your spare time but you’re actually pretty wild in your head, aren’t you?” He loves seeing your reactions, you know that, so you give your all in trying to act nonchalant. “Now, let’s try again. Did you bring your headphones with you?”

You check your coat’s pocket. “I got my AirPods.”

“Perfect. Put them on and play something from your phone.” As someone who’s pretty carefree, he can get serious at times. “Play as loud as you can until you feel like you’re going deaf.”

“I’ve tried that many times.” You nearly wail at the memory. “But it’s hard to drown your voice since it comes from inside my head.”

“Yeah, I know that. I’ve been hearing your thoughts too, remember? Don’t you think I would at least try something like that?” You narrow your eyes menacingly at him but he simply waves you off. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m trying to do. Put them on and you’ll see.”

He’s ordering you around. He just met you and he’s ordering you around. Socializing with people in general already zaps your energy pretty quickly, so socializing with a brat—

“I’ll grow on you, don’t worry.” He smirks and you take a mental note to really learn how to control your thoughts this time.

You follow his lead, as requested, connecting your AirPods to your phone and play something relaxing—because God knows how desperately you need it—as loudly as you can bear. Okay, go try… whatever it is that you want to try.

He smiles and shifts slightly on his seat, facing the window. His eyes glimmer under the light when he parts his lips, mouthing some words—no, singing something that you can’t hear.

Wait. I can’t hear?

Donghyuck glances at you, a grin breaking further on his lips upon hearing your thought. He gestures to you to take your AirPods away and you nod. Vacation Manor’s You promptly fades as his voice enters, and it’s weird because you’ve heard him sing in your head so many times yet it doesn’t do justice to how beautiful he sounds in real life.

It’s almost angelic, the sound he makes, which is kind of ironic for a little devil that he is. His honeyed voice is soothing, almost like the patter of rain on your window at dawn, lulling you back to sleep. You’re no expert in music but to you, he sounds impeccable that you run out of words to describe how pleasant his voice is to your ears. It’s so distinct, soulful—

Donghyuck giggles. “Thanks.”

—and annoying. “Okay, so what happened?” You try to divert the topic. “I can’t hear you when you’re singing out loud, but I can hear it when you’re thinking about a song?”

“I guess so.” He furrows his eyebrows, deep within his thoughts. “I figured it out when I couldn’t hear your thoughts whenever you spoke out loud. I think we can work from this?”

“So instead of thinking about what I have to say, I should focus more on saying what I want to say?” You shake in horror. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“What, you don’t like talking?”

“I’m…” You swallow your breath. “I’m not really good at that.”

“You’re talking to me just fine now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, because you make it so easy.”

“Aaw,” he purrs, a lopsided smile painting his face. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

“No.” You hold up a hand. “I mean, since you can hear my thoughts, I have no other choice but to speak. Also, you seem like you’re the type who just says whatever that comes to mind without worrying too much about my feelings—”

“Hey, now you’re just making me sound rude—”

“You are rude,” You emphasize. “But it works well with me because then I don’t have to hold myself back and pretend to be somebody else.”

“Why do you have to pretend?” He frowns. “Because you’re afraid people are gonna hate you? Judge you on your words?”

“It’s…” You look away, nibbling on your bottom lip. “I just… I’m trying to be a good person so people will like me—”

“I like you,” he says casually as if he was talking about having a cute Pomeranian as a pet, and there you are, almost fainting in your seat. “I mean, in the last forty minutes I’ve known you, I think you’re great the way you are. You don’t have to be good, you just have to be you.” He shifts closer, crossing his arms on the table, and lays his chin on them, gazing up at you with a soft smile that doesn’t match well with his previous attitude. “Don’t you think it’s great if people accept you the way you are?”

You hurriedly take a sip of your coffee, pretending to swallow even if it’s already empty. “You’re… not so bad yourself.”

“What was that?”

“Okay, well I think I should go.” There’s no way you’re gonna repeat that. Donghyuck titters, taking a hold of your wrist when you’re about to stand up from your seat.

“We still have loads to talk about.” You observe the way his fingers linger around your arm, his sun-kissed skin feels silky smooth against your own. “Why don’t we have lunch together? My treat?”

“D-don’t you have work to do?”

“I’ll make an excuse.” 

A barista with the word Jeno written on his name tag walks by and slaps Donghyuck on the back of his head as if it’s something he’s done on a daily basis—probably is. “You’re not going anywhere, asswipe, get back to work.”

When the brunette boy turns to you, he winces. “Or maybe you can give me your number so we can meet up later?”

***

A/N: I’m both nervous and excited for this as this is my first collaboration. Thank you so much, Denise, for having me on this wonderful collab!

[starsinmylatte]

Tease (1/2)

Reader is fed up with the lack of attention from a certain Grand Admiral. To force his hand, she decides to send some pictures to tempt him while he's away, but things don't quite go as they were planned.

Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Tags/warnings (for part 1): lingerie, m@sturbation, slight dom/sub undertones

AO3 link here

Author’s note: Here’s the smut I promised! I’ll either post the second chapter tonight, or a different smut prompt partially inspired by @pala-din-djarin ;)

Let me know if you enjoyed it <3

Ch’eo ch’itiseb- my sweet

In the beginning, the plan was to tease your lover ever-so-slightly. Grand Admiral Thrawn had been away from the Chimaera for a week, and you were in no mood to be the last person in line for attention upon his return. Sady, Thrawn had been so busy the week before his departure that he had very little time to spend with you.

As a Commander, you, of course, had your own duties to attend to in his absence, but there was no denying you missed his touch a little more than usual during the unrelentingly long week. It was more than understandable for Thrawn to be busy; he was a Grand Admiral, after all, but it couldn’t hurt for you to remind him exactly what he was missing……

You would never do anything to jeopardize his ongoing mission. Still, he was just on Coruscant visiting the Imperial Palace, and you weren’t exactly above sending some choice pictures to him through an encrypted communication line. Did you know exactly what you were doing by putting on the fine, lacy lingerie he had gifted you but never got the chance to see? Absolutely, but then again… that was the whole point. You wanted him to feel exactly as desperate for you as you did for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you slipped the final stocking into place, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection in the mirror.

Ah, this should do nicely.

Red, lacy lingerie, which perfectly matched the shade of your lover’s eyes, trailed across your skin like flames. The bralette was mostly sheer, but it offered the perfect amount of support and framed your décolletage in a way you knew Thrawn would find delectable. The matching panties hugged your hips and were partially hidden below a thin belt made from the same lace, which circled your waist and connected to the stockings in the front and back.

You laughed mischievously as you turned to see how the outfit looked from the side reflection in the large mirror, “Oh, this should definitely work well.”

The stockings themselves rested perfectly on the soft swell of your upper thighs, a place you knew Thrawn loved to kiss and mark as his, and they framed your ass beautifully. You were beyond resplendent, a piece of art that he couldn’t have, and you were going to use it to tease him as much as possible. However, if you were actually going to do some real damage, the pictures needed to be convincing.

“What better way to make this authentic than to do it in his bed,” you mused out loud. Fortunately, the datapad could both take and encrypt the pictures, so all you had to do was prop it up on the bedside table and set the photo timer.

The setup was fairly easy for the first few pictures, but all your ideas for poses were running out before long. Then, another exciting thought crossed your mind.

I’ll just set it to video! I can freeze and save sections of it as the pictures; that’ll be absolutely perfect.

You reached up and set the datapad to the necessary specifications before returning to the edge of Thrawn’s bed. Taking the pictures had been building sensual anticipation under your skin, and it went straight to your core as you imagined your lover’s reaction to them. Just the thought of Thrawn, breathless with want and worlds away from having his hands on you…. Well, it was more than enough encouragement for you to hit the record button on the datapad.

The silken black sheets on his bed caressed your soft skin and added another layer of sensation to your already stimulated mind as you lay back down among them. You took a deep, tentative breath in; Thrawn’s intensely masculine scent seemed to be everywhere. It completely surrounded you, drawing you further into the seductive depths of your mind and triggered vivid memories of all the ways he’d taken you on top of them.

One such memory was his powerful form pressing your back deep into the sheets, fucking you at a relentless pace, and worrying the tender skin of your neck with his teeth. Another was of Thrawn bending you over the edge of the bed, pinning you in place with his strong arms as he ravished you from behind, all while whispering filthy sentiments in Cheunh into your ear. Finally, your memory turned to his head dipping between your thighs to drink you in as he drew his true name from your lips like a prayer to some forgotten god….

You glanced to the side, and the mirror on the opposite wall showed a glimpse of just how beautiful you looked, displayed like a prized possession in the middle of his bed. No extra persuasion was needed for you to begin trailing your hands slowly and sensually over your curves. You lightly traced down the bothersome seams of the lingerie, following the path Thrawn’s own hands would’ve taken, before resting one hand at the apex of your thighs and placing the other on the ample swell of your breast.

By this point, the self-sufficient, capable Commander of the Chimaera was all but gone. Your breathing was ragged with desire and coming in short bursts; you would’ve willingly torn the world apart if it meant Thrawn could be in the room. It was all too much. Thought of him, his scent, his imaginary voice in your ear commanding your every move … Your cunt absolutely throbbed with desire. Arousal pooled between your legs, soaking through the lacy fabric and drawing a needy groan from your lips. With a gaze half-lidded and hazy from lust, your head lolled to stare directly into the camera, and you pleaded like it would bring him to bed, “ Thrawn….. please….”

You were so far gone that you hadn’t even noticed your hands were moving of their own volition. At the utterance of his name, two fingers pushed aside the interfering fabric and slipped deep inside your cunt; the other hand pinched down hard on a peaked nipple. Your back bowed off the bed, and stars danced behind your eyes as a broken moan fell from your mouth.

At this point, heady lust had completely taken over. Gasps and cries of pleasure rang out in the silent room as your fingers moved to circle your clit, driving you closer and closer to a shattering climax. You screamed Thrawn’s name when you came, digging your fingers deep into the sheets and searching desperately for stability as the intense orgasm rocked your body.

You stopped the recording on the datapad and laid still for what felt like an eternity as you tried to regain your senses. Finally, you were recovered enough to actually retrieve the datapad from the bedside table. The screen had gone dark, but when you brought the device back to life, something wasn’t quite right; the video was nowhere to be found.

As you checked through all of the possible places it could be, your stomach did a flip as you finally realized what had happened. The video was set to send automatically after it was filmed, so when you hit stop……

One quick glance at the message history confirmed your theory. However, you were so much more preoccupied with the flashing notification button. With a trembling finger, you clicked on it, and an audio file popped up. Thrawn’s voice, usually so soft and collected, was now heavily accented and barely concealing a feral tone, “Ch’eo ch’itiseb, you know you really shouldn’t tease me like this.” He sounded ready to eat you alive.

Sith hells, you were in trouble.

Tagging some friends: @handbaskethell @mittheresabosen @pala-din-djarin @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @bluecynadi

[dreamingofyouthemanyone]

When They Wonder Why You Chose Them - 11

SCREAMING HHAHAHAHA. HIII IT'S BEEN A WHILE HAHA but omg the game is about the come out, we're finally here, and we've hit an obstacle but we're gonna have faith!! Thank you everyone for sticking up until the end! AHHH IM SO EXCITED!

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Featuring: Members of the Sweeper Guild | Hound Sweeper

Type: Headcanons

Prompt: Each character musing over why did you pick them to be your first partner in this journey

Warning: Pre-Game Launch Character Assumptions

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Amused is one way to put Shiharu’s opinion of the entire situation.

Even since the beginning, he wonders what exactly had drawn him to you. He knows that many see him as a ghost—willowy, translucent, and certainly as vengeful as one if wronged—and he muses if that’s something you find interesting. To prefer a ghost instead of a sun.

He treats you cordially enough at first, close but not so, keeping an imaginary abyss between the two of you, and he doesn’t expect you to take the leap, because why would you? What are your reasons for doing so? Why make the effort when it will bring you neither fortune nor reward?

It’s best, in the end, to keep a certain distance, or else you’ll get dragged into something that you’ll regret and he’ll later have to do damage control for.

Yet, no matter what he does, you’re always there to spend time with him. You attempt to get closer to him beneath the cover of guidance and seeking his help on matters that pertain to your requests. He can see your endeavors in creating a bridge through that bottomless abyss that he’s tried so hard to keep permanent between the two of you, and he protests.

He doesn’t outright ignore you or shut you down, because that would defeat the purpose of him being a catalyst for your future. He wants to help you, not delay your progress, so he does what is needed of him but politely refuses any situations that are superfluous, even going so far as to point out the reasons to support his case.

He doesn’t know whether he should feel frustrated or incredulous when you merely find loopholes against his reasons.

If he doesn’t want to spend more money eating out? Then you can go and buy groceries and make something together at the guild! If he doesn’t have the time to do so? Then you can help him with other matters so that he’ll have more time! And if he tells you that you might not have the skillset for that? Then you inform him that he can always teach you so that the guild will be more effective as a whole in the future!

It drives him somewhat insane, just how persistent you are, and he reaches his tipping point one day and nearly snaps at you—why go so far just to get close to him? His purpose is to support you, to help you reach your full potential by achieving your dreams, and you can’t accomplish any of that if you turn your attention to him, someone who doesn’t even deserve to be considered a person after all he’s done.

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s done, and an apology is already prepared at the tip of his tongue but he’s interrupted by hands coming up to cradle his face.

There’s a heartbroken expression twisting your features, one that he wants to wipe clean off your face, but that determined light comes back to your eyes and you tell him, explicitly, your reasons for choosing him.

Suffice to say, he’s floored by the truth, and something on his expression must show the chaotic jumble of emotions he’s feeling deep inside of him because you embrace him, bringing his face into your shoulder. And, for once, even if it's with reluctant arms and a shaky heart, he returns the gesture.

“Even if it’s me, would you still be willing to hold my hand? … No, you don’t have to answer me. I can already tell by the look on your face. Thank you… From now on, if you need anything, I’ll go and fetch it for you. No matter what it may be.”

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Alma is indifferent to your decision.

And why wouldn’t he be? It doesn’t exactly change anything, aside from having more work to deal with, but even that isn’t too big of a problem. Things have been getting boring as of late, and he appreciates anything that’ll keep him from getting antsy.

But he can’t deny that it’s fun to relive what he’d thought he’d long since given up. Being able to have a reason to journey to places he’s only heard rumors of, to experience the difficulties of travel and the luxuries of a warm bed and meal after a hard day’s at work, and to meet a bunch of strangers that you have no idea if they’ll be a friend or a foe in the long run.

It helps that you’re there too. Your company is surprisingly pleasant to be in, even though you pester him whenever he feels like sleeping in, but you’re fun to talk to and you don’t care all too much about getting a bite of whatever he’s fancying for dinner as you two go over your reports. He feels more energized whenever you’re there, like he has even more reason to fulfill his job, which is something that he both sighs and smiles over.

Karma, on the other hand, feels inconvenienced by your decision and in turn you.

He prefers to stay hidden beneath the stillness of Alma, loath to have any sort of interaction with you, but he forces ripples upon the surface and makes an appearance when you get in the way of his job, sneering at you that it isn’t any of your business, that you have no right to intervene into any of his affairs with confessors.

To him, your requests have been disrupting his duties, making it less and less likely for him to hunt down the guilty and hear their cases before he executes judgement upon their souls. And it’s not as if he can just abandon his duty to you. He’d made a promise to you, and he’d be a hypocrite if he went back on it due to personal reasons, so only you have the right to break it.

Both sides of him can see the bewilderment that appears on your face whenever he switches between his personas, but the desire to understand is there, so he sits you down one night and explains it to you, holding your trembling hands the whole time.

He doesn’t expect you to understand, doesn’t expect anyone to understand why he copes in this way, but his heart does flip into itself when he sees that you’re trying to. He squeezes your hands, unwilling to let go, but the words are out of his mouth before he even knows it—it doesn’t have to be me.

And you understand him, judging by how eyes snap wide open. In any other situation, he would have smirked at how easy it is for the two of you to read one another, but this isn’t just any situation so he gives you a tight-lipped smile. (10)

What seems like hours pass by between the two of you before he sees you clench your jaw, a flash of indignation passing by your the curl of your lips, and before he knows it, you have a hand on his braid, tugging him down to your level and making him hunch over. You tell him, in words that ring out fiercely in his head, that you want it to be him, and whatever thoughts he’d had, whatever thoughts that Karma had of your weak resolve, they crumble just like that.

Why? He’ll ask on another night, because it seems like full moons are the perfect setting for a serious conversation between the two of you. And you’ll look at him as if he’d grown a second head before chuckling, your hands finding his, and this time, it’s you who does the explaining until he understands.

“Aha! You should see the look on your face! Ah, but don’t worry! I won’t drop you, see? I just wanted to try carrying you, but man I didn’t think you’d weigh this much… Kidding! I’m just joking! Aww, don’t give me that look! … You wouldn’t! You promised me that we’d get to try out that barbecue restaurant! I already said I was sorry—!”

----------------------------------------

Lykos can see it as clear as day—another obligation to add alongside the shackles lining his limbs.

At the very least, your intentions seem to align well with his objectives, giving him no reason to reject your offer. If you, too, are in the pursuit of foiling whatever schemes evil has in store, then it would only be right to support your cause.

With Shiharu’s permission and assurance that he’ll be fine on his own, he goes out of his way to help you out whenever he can, from day-to-day tasks and up to life-threatening ones. He prefers the latter, and he knows that it shows whenever a conflicted expression appears on your face as you give him the requested details to take care of a harmful entity hellbent on threatening the lives of civilians.

More often than not, these days, he has to resist the urge to pat you whenever you look worried, to offer some means of comforting words to you, but he holds himself back, unwilling to cross the line of professionalism. For all he knows, your concern may be directed to only the civilians in the line of danger, and it would be presumptuous of him to assume otherwise.

His mind is eventually put to rest when you seek him out one day, brandishing a protection charm from who knows where only for you to give it to him with a firm look and an even firmer promise extracted from that he’ll always have it on his body.

He keeps it in a hidden slit on the belt wrapped across his chest, letting it rest against his heart so it’s there where he can first feel the warmth of its magic when it activates.

After that, it’s laughably easy for him to return your gesture. No longer does he shy away from patting your head or giving you kinder words, now that he knows you wouldn’t spurn him like so many others have.

He allows you to worry over him, staying quiet as you fuss over any injuries he sustained in battle that day and letting you run your fingers through his fur as a means to distract you whenever you’re stressed. He finds himself wishing that he can bring peace faster, so that you don’t have to spend so much time tiring yourself out in this battle, but even he’s realistic enough to know that it’s an impossible dream and that the best he can do is to protect you from harm’s way.

He enjoys being with you, more so than he could have ever imagined, and it’s precisely so that he lets you see the more vulnerable sides of him, even if at his own expense. Even now, he can still remember the look on your face when the two of you had visited the orphanage he frequents to in order to donate what spare coin he has and all the children had come running up to him, asking for tosses and climbing all over his body as if he were a playground.

It’s because he trusts you so much that he asks you, as the two of you are staring up at the stars after a long day, why you chose him.

The way your eyes had looked when you’d turned to him could have put the moon itself to shame at that very moment, but as much as he’d want to lose himself in them, he keeps his ears open for your words, raptly listening to you.

He feels even more at ease after that, knowing that even if many gazes look his way and don’t see someone willing to die for their protection, you at the very least will always know. And that’s enough for him.

“You should take this. It’s going to be a chilly night. … Hm? Me? Don’t worry about it. I have my own coat, don’t you see? I’ll be fine…. You do know that we don’t have to share? … If it puts your mind to ease, alright then. But keep close, we don’t want you getting sick.”

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The first thing Daste does when you make the offer to him is to complain.

If it were up to him, he would have outright shut you down. Better to not waste either of your time, right? But Shiharu’s gaze in itself feels like a piping hot brand even across the room, and he’s not stupid enough to ignore what is basically an unspoken command.

He doesn’t make it easy for you, no, because if anyone’s adjusting, it’s definitely not him. He’s already done his part, agreeing to this kind of trouble, and it isn’t as if he rejects any of your requests or goes out of his way to sabotage them. He’s not that much of an asshole.

In the end, he isn’t made to be indestructible nor has he ever wanted to be. It takes time for him to warm up to you, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s grown attached to you until you don’t show up one morning on a day of the week that you usually do and he’s getting fidgety to the point he would have nearly blown up his workroom if not for his mind telling him to doublecheck his mixture of chemicals.

When you drop by the next day, he’s instantly at your side, shooting questions and generally fretting over you. He catches himself when he sees how your expression shifts, and he clamps his mouth shut, getting all red in the face because of his actions.

It’s a turning point in his relationship with you, for him to know just how much he cares for your wellbeing, and he awkwardly stumbles through it in the beginning, not quite sure where he stands in your life because he’s been a total ass to you.

It’s only when you take the initiative to reach out to him once more, this time with the both of you truly open to the idea, that he realizes that all this time, you’ve only really just been waiting for him, and what else can he do but catch up to you and make up for lost time?

And boy, he really does try to make it worth your while. Suddenly, stilted conversations become full of life and grand gestures that it’s hard to remember anything from the past. He shows you all of the combustibles and explosives he has in store, both the ones used for work and the ones used for pure aesthetic, and he offers to show you each one of them with an excited grin and anticipating heart. (9)

The minute you give him the go, he knows exactly what he’s going to show you and he sets it up quickly, telling you to clear up your schedule for tonight, and he’s practically vibrating in his skin as he sits by you, far away from the stack of fireworks he’s arranged in the center of the empty field. He glances at you before lighting the fuse that’s just at his feet.

Seconds later, an unimaginable number of colors burst into being in the night sky, illustrating wide-petaled flowers that trickle down as if drawn with actual paint that hadn’t been given the time to dry. It’s a sight that still makes it feel as if his heart is imploding upon itself, but he risks looking at you, wanting to see your expression.

His breath hitches when he sees the look on your face, something taking hold of his lungs and squeezing it mercilessly. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but when the sounds from the fireworks die down a bit, he can’t help asking you just why had you picked him. Just why had you still chosen to stick around.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard by the suddenness of his question, but your surprise softens into something, dare he say it, loving and you take your hand in his, intertwining your fingers, and you give him your answer. At the end of the night, he can say for sure that it isn’t the fireworks that had made his day.

"Oi, oi, oi! Don't just go around touching things! It's dangerous in my work bench. Give me your hands! ... Okay, good, at least you didn't hurt. Don't do that again, okay? You had me worried for a 'sec there, sheesh."