(Not sure if this will post properly, but I ended up writing a thing for @whumptober? You can read it here if you're interested!)

dried flower !

Gallagher x fem! reader, angst, not proofread, written prior the 2.1 update but published on the exact day of it. inspiration; "Crabs" && "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. word count; 772. tags; @karagatan02.

note. Gallagher come home istg- also, this is kinda rushed sorry 😭

The past fabricates the present, the present is a sequence prolonging to a destiny full of potential, wherein demise is either today or tomorrow.

Time is an archaic thief—it robs the current abruptly and tosses bequeathed memories of serrated edges in the back of the mind. And reminiscences are remembrances. Remembrances are warm; they flicker hazily with such ardour and nostalgia, akin to The Remembrance’s melting candle.

Warm.

A foreign sensation emits from the lighter's flame—something that scintillates vague reminiscences within Gallagher's memory.

Some individuals harbour reminiscences, others are plagued by them. And Gallagher is left to recuperate.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him waned—a lily of no dampness, no sunlight, an aroma of an absent lover.

‘Gallagher…do you promise never to forget me? Never to forget that I existed by your side someday?’

Once, long ago, when you and he were still young, when the memories were far more vivid than they are now, the question looms in the atmosphere for a while, and Gallagher allows it to sink in.

Gallagher observes as you run a hand over the cold steel, the other remains inside your parka. You pause your faint steps, soft eyes, deep their transparent clarity, lock into his.

The motionlessness of the Rooftop Garden added to the silence, overlooking a thousand towering buildings yonder.

Gallagher regards you in return— something about that gaze pours an unfamiliar, lonely, helpless sort of feeling. Something akin to searching. Something akin to an attempt to convey something, something that is formless, something that you could not grasp within, and therefore, had no hope of ever turning into words.

‘I'll never forget you,’ he grabs your hand and places a gentle kiss. ‘I could never forget you.’

Though these reminiscences within began to dissipate; of course, you knew it all would evanesce along the fleeting of time. This is precisely why you begged not to be forgotten, to remember that you had existed.

The thought fills him with an almost intolerable despondency; you never loved him.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him was once refined, lush smooth, and luxurious.

Once, long ago, when you and he were still young, when the memories were far more vivid than they are now, Gallagher would walk along by your side occasionally, whenever he was done with his shift as a bartender.

You would often walk pressed against his arm; your arms entwined. Or you would cram your hand in his pocket, or, when it was really cold, cling tightly to his arm, shivering. None of this felt momentous as he resumed walking with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Delusion.

How Gallagher thought this route could persevere— the way his gaze would briskly catch your distanced figure in the bar as he works, that would urge him to pause his duty right away, to enjoy yet another stroll with you.

And in the absence of understanding, the world felt out of kilter— he could hear as it creaked through this new orbit. something has happened, and the world has changed, out of order, never to be the same.

Everything had changed, and all he could do, is watch it as it proceeded along the altered destination.

Please, Gallagher says, desperation lacing his tone. We can figure this out.

You love him, yet to remain is to endure further heartache, to be a burden. No, you manage, I cannot tolerate this inconsistency. My inconsistency. You’re better off without me

His breath hitches in his throat. He composes himself and reluctantly releases your hand, surveying you in stifled purgatory.

Hence, the relationship approached its estimated epilogue. No catastrophised bellowing matches, or dramatic wails; a silent compromise.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him waned. You relinquished it and deemed it a sequence for a euphoric future. Whilst, Gallagher stores it at home— its stem sagged, white petals shrivelled on the dry soil.

Something major has been extracted from his life, confining him to a devoid solitude.

It's foreign— your tender kisses planted on his scars, your assuasive gaze, your captivating voice, your indulgent caresses on his skin. It's no further part of his life, replaced with desolation, a hollow in his heart, and a touch that lingers, akin to a ghost.

Time is stagnant as it elapses without you and he wishes to wake up someday, and never bear this sensation.

He could barely detect you at the bar, though when he does, he wishes, that you both worked it out in, perhaps, an alternative universe.

jemvia, 2024. do not copy, share, repost, or re-upload my work on any website without prior consent.

Arcane Hunger as Chronic Pain

I always wondered why in Astarion's case the tadpole "changed the rules" but it didn't do the same for Gale. This is such a small hint, but it's still there. It was hinting since the day one that Netherese magic was involved. I believe that because Gale's Orb is a result of a weave that was created with Netherese magic, the tadpole changed with the same magic only exacerbates the disease. Hence why feeding the Orb with the artifacts suddenly stopped working as it should. I can't even imagine how terrifying that must have been for Gale to see that the treatment he used for so long suddenly started failing him.

The very same magic that for Astarion made him be able to walk in the sun, enter houses and cross rivers, while I suspect for Karlach it was responsible for keeping her alive, for Gale was a literal death sentence. If Mystra in her infinite assholery didn't decide to stop the clock on the Orb for the sake of using it as the ultimate weapon to kill both her ex-boyfriend and the Absolute, Gale would be in great pain in Act 2 and Act 3. (Albeit I must admit it's kinda big decision considering that Mystra is Weave, so when she lets the Orb feed of her weave it's like some kind of magical cannibalism that can hurt her or can even kill her if prolonged? And ok, prop's to her for sacrificing herself like this for the mission, but still, telling your ex to kill himself is not good and in the end she groomed him, so this whole situation with him trying to impress her was kinda her fault too when she ignored her godhood and the imbalance in their relationship and didn't realize that unequal relationship is not something that anybody could accept. She as a goddess should have known this relationship is doomed simply by the fact that to her Gale will never be her equal, always be her subject, hers to command as one of her Chosen and always lesser than her, and should have just ended it before Gale got stupid ideas OR not get together with him in the first place as a responsible fucking adult).

If you traveled with Gale in your party, it was very much visible how much pain the Orb caused him when it inflicted Arcane Hunger on him. It's a miracle that he managed to walk through the entire Act 1, considering how quickly the artifact treatment failed him. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility if for the half of the Act 1 Gale was bedridden due to chronic pain (I'm seriously surprised I didn't see any fanfics using this idea for some angst yet). But because it's a game, and he is a companion, he had to be able to accompany you, that's why Arcane Hunger status stops appearing after the 3rd Artifact fails to sate the Orb, and you have the Conversation with Gale about his affliction for real. If it was not a game after this Gale would either have to try to consume even more artifacts to sate the Orb (which doesn't happen, he never asks you for more after the 3rd one fails) or he would be in constant pain, barely able to walk. Lying in his tent and suffering in silence while the party got increasingly worried about his state.

Reunion. Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, Chrollo is awful here Big Time oh lord oh god oh no, unbalanced power dynamics. Word count: 2.3k.

It was a testament to the poor quality of your company when every red light you received felt akin to personal torture.

Optimism, that’s what you need. Some adjustment in your mindset that will allow you to view this glass as half full rather than half empty. Optimism. How you loathe the word. You felt optimistic this morning, while eating warm pastries from the hotel’s continental breakfast on your room’s balcony. At lunch when you visited a café and found your drink was already covered, another customer had paid it forward. There was no way you could’ve predicted the sweet taste of the day turning dry and sour a few short hours later.

He’s saying something, you think, spinning pretty words from the loom that is his mouth. You pay him no mind. Rather, you find interest in the shifting landscape of your hometown, as observed from the passenger seat’s tinted windows.

The video rental shop you looked forward to visiting every Friday has been replaced by a liquor store. Your favorite diner is gone now too, the land bulldozed and the signs standing upon its grave promising ample warehouse space as soon as next year. How odd, since the day they promised potential leasers the project to be complete passed about five years ago. A waste, what a waste. 

“Are you intent on ignoring me all night? That isn’t very mature of you, [First].”

Maybe you’d think better of it if you were in a clearer state of mind, since alcohol’s pleasant buzz holds you prisoner now, but you respond with unbridled antipathy.

“Did you expect me to be in a talkative mood?”

“When there’s so much to discuss, yes.”

He’s not wrong on that front. You’d rather cut your own tongue out than admit it, though.

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” your rebuttal comes swift. Panicked. “I just want to get back to my hotel and sleep.”

“Hence my driving you, dear.”

“No, you’re driving me because my mom insisted—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat and you make no effort to free them. It isn’t right. For him to be here, where you grew up. In the town where you got your first part-time job, begged your older sibling to drive you to the mall on the weekends so that you could hang out with your friends, crushed over a cute boy from your class who worked at the movie theater. Chrollo didn’t belong here. It’s intrusive, a violation, a breach of your personal privacy to the highest degree. If your body rejects foreign pathogens that would seek to do you harm, it only makes sense that you would give him the same treatment.

Home is supposed to be your sanctuary — his presence is defiling that. Corrupting and warping it as if to say you could never be rid of him. It didn’t matter if you locked the doors and held them shut. He would always find a way in. Always.

“Did you lose your train of thought?”

“Yes,” you lie without hesitation. He knows it, you’re certain he does, but he’s already claimed victory. In the aftermath of a battle, the victor takes inventory of what they’ve gained. That has to be what he’s doing now. Sorting through the spoils and gloating. 

“A pity,” Chrollo confesses. Though you don’t look at him, you can tell he’s smiling by his voice alone. “I would’ve loved to hear your thoughts.”

“Somehow, I’m doubtful about that.”

Yet again, in another show of mockery from a cruel and indifferent universe, the traffic light overhead turns red upon your approach. Just like its predecessor. And the one before that. You’d think it was rush hour by the traffic lights alone, but it’s eleven o’clock at night, and you haven’t seen another car in minutes.

“On the topic of your family…” he trails off, purposeful in prolonging the silence, so that your suspense might accumulate. You grip your clutch tighter. “I wish I’d gotten to meet them sooner. We never got around to it, did we? Ah, the stories from your childhood were especially a delight. The senior photo in your father’s wallet was too. You’ll have to tell me what quote you picked sometime.” 

You don’t want to think about it, you don’t want to think about it. How a murderer shook hands with your father. Made pleasant small talk with your mother. Discussed cars and current events with your brother. All the while you sat sinking in the restaurant’s booth, your appetite lost, forced to regurgitate some flimsy excuse about why your family had never met your oh-so charming ‘friend’.

“To think I’ve been your first boyfriend in such a long time, too. Your ex still lives in this town, doesn’t he? Working at that… hm, what was it… gas station. I wonder if I’ll get to meet him as well.”

“We are not dating, not anymore,” you remind him, aghast. “And that’s a respectable occupation, anyway.”

“By your father’s tone, he certainly didn’t seem to think so.”

That’s right. What an excellent job Chrollo did at establishing himself as appealing in every prospect, from the choice sports car sitting in the parking lot for them to ogle over, to paying for everyone’s dinner by the night’s end. How they must’ve thought reciprocating his affections would be a no-brainer. Still, you place no blame on your family — everything is his fault from beginning to end. There was a time when you were similarly so blinded by his presence that you assumed there was no darkness to be found.

“You have zero business judging the employment of others with the line of ‘work’ you’re in.”

“Perhaps. And yet,” with the hand not on the steering wheel, he motions to your person. “You have no problem wearing a dress I obtained from my despicable ‘line of work’.”

Heat rises to your face and situates itself there, letting you know it won’t be going away anytime soon. 

The garment had already cast guilt on you. After discovering the truth behind Chrollo’s weeks of absence and seemingly endless pit of money, you rid yourself of every material item he’d ever given you. Bags, jewelry, purses, shoes, and clothes; they were either donated or thrown out as looking at them for too long nauseated you. This dress was the lone exception, not that arguing this point would do you any good. You were reminded of your cousin’s wedding and the subsequent need to fly home for it while ridding yourself of his gifts.

The high-end places you’d undoubtedly be attending for such an event spurred you to save one, just one, of his expensive presents. Never had you expected to “coincidentally run in” to him and be subjected to his torments over the moral ambiguity.

After what feels like an eternity, he turns into the hotel you were able to reserve on a limited budget; a potential light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe he’ll part ways with you here. Sever whatever connection bound you in the past, giving you freedom to pursue a future without him in the picture. He should feel satisfied over the agony he subjected you to this evening. For months, if not years, you’ll endure questions from your family about that fascinating stranger who happened upon you that one night and proved himself a desirable bachelor. 

“Did you not work out? Have you ever thought about contacting him again? Maybe smooth things over?” Queries such as this would be your personal agony, handcrafted by the man in question himself.

“There’s no need to sit there and pout,” Chrollo reassures, though his words promise the opposite of that. “You look lovely in it. And as you said, I have no business judging others.”

He doesn’t, but he’s going to anyway. 

You shrink into yourself when he places his arm behind the passenger seat, a habit you noticed he has whenever he backs up. Before, it birthed life to butterflies in your stomach, but now, you want to create as much distance as possible. No space would ever feel like enough.

He turns the keys in the ignition and the car’s humming falls silent.

For some time, the both of you sit there, neither moving nor making a sound. Your eyes remain firm on your lap while you can feel his stare searing into your profile. You’re agitated, at a loss on what to do, and most pressing of all, you’re tired. His presence promises more than ill-timed appearances and caustic words meant to eat away at your high defenses. Considering this, your stomach twists painfully. No amount of faux bravado on your part can hide your apprehension from him. He smells it out, like a shark sensing blood in water.

All you had in your arsenal were words, sharp yet ultimately harmless words. What he boasted in his… you dread the thought.  

“What do you want, Chrollo?”

It’s not that you want to ask, but that you feel there’s no other option available. This was a merry-go-round ride that would keep spinning until one of you fell off, and if anyone was going to fall, it would be you.

“I’ll let you decide that.”

He sounds sincere, however, you know better than to believe that. Suspicion must be written all over your face. He takes your hand in his and you let him. You wonder if he knows it’s his hands you fear the most, rivaled only by his hollow eyes that at times appear omnipotent. As they do now. At any given moment, he could see all of you, while you saw a mere fraction of him. 

Maybe it’s a blessing he revealed only so much. If you witnessed the full depths of his depravity, you might never surface for air again, drowning in a vat thicker than tar. 

How can so much darkness permeate from another human being? It was times like this where you couldn’t be certain if he was one.

“I’ll either stay or leave by your discretion,” he announces, causing your eyebrows to scrunch together. Just when you thought you’d taught yourself to expect the unexpected with him, he finds new ways to throw you off-balance.

This has to be a trick. Something is hiding in the fine print, and you’re intent on finding out. “What does you staying look like?”

“You were always quick on the uptake,” he’s pleased, evidently, a factor he makes known by pressing a chaste kiss to your hand. All your self-control goes into not pulling yourself free. It may have been intuition or paranoia, but something told you he’d sooner let you dislocate your shoulder than allow you to pull away. Not after he’s waited months for this. 

“We’ll get out of this car together. You’ll let me into your hotel room — your bed — then your life. Your parents invited you to breakfast tomorrow, didn’t they? I’ll come with you. I’ll see your childhood home, look at old photo albums at your mother’s behest and laugh at the stories she tells me from your youth. I’ll compliment the arrangement of the furniture, how the colors go together just so. She’ll be simply taken with me. Your father, too, naturally. I’ve already begun to make excellent progress on that front.”

You don’t think you could breathe if you wanted to.

Chrollo leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper that made your earlier dinner want to claw back up your throat.

“I will attend your cousin’s wedding this weekend as your date. I’ll charm your aunts, impress your uncles. Play with your nieces and nephews. You can introduce me however you like. A friend, a colleague from work. They’ll know. They’ll read between the lines. They’ll ask when they can expect to see you walk down the aisle to me someday in the future. You can cry, if you so please, but they’ll simply mistake it as a maiden who is head over heels in love. I’ll tell them to keep their calendars free next June, and they’ll laugh, perhaps you will too.”

He squeezes your hand to anchor you. Otherwise, you think your mind would’ve given you the reprieve of going someplace else, someplace safe and sane and anywhere but here. Hell itself may be preferable, if you weren’t already there. 

“I will insert myself so deeply into your life, that to cut me out, you’d have to slice into yourself as well.”

You’re trembling now, like a leaf caught in a hurricane, with no hope of ever reaching solid ground again. Pushed and pulled by the whims of a being that so plainly outclasses you in every category.

What could you do? What could you say? Did it even matter what approach you tried to take? The web was spun and you were caught. The more you struggle the deeper embedded you become. 

So you play by his rules and voice yet another question you don’t really want to know the answer to. 

“And…” your lips are dry, so terribly dry, as is your mouth, “If… if I ask you to leave?”

He pulls back — not that it matters. It still feels like he’s there, the warmth of his breath, the woody notes of his cologne. Haunting you. Dominating you. Asserting that this nightmare isn’t over, oh no, it’s just getting started.

“That’s simple,” Chrollo takes your pallid face in his hands, stroking your cheek, gazing down at your through thick eyelashes. What gleams in his lifeless eyes, you can’t say for certain. You think it might be best if you remain ignorant to it. “You’ll come with me.”

A kiss to your cheek. He lingers this time, you’re in no position to protest. He savors the closeness he brought by interlocking you to his person with ironclad handcuffs.

“So, what will it be? I stand by what I said earlier. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Be a dear and share them with me.”

Romance and a Rendezvous | pjm, jjk

Pairing: veterinarian!jimin x veterinarynurse!reader, bestfriend!jeongguk x female!reader, chapter fourteen of Tails of Love {written}

Genre: angst, smut oops, fluff, socialmedia!au, f2l!au

Word Count: 5,271

Warning(s): profanity, angst, smut, dirty talk, mention of alcohol consumption, rough sex, m!dom, protection/mention of a condom, hair grabbing/pulling, secrecy, different positions, smutty kissing; Rated: 18+

Tag List: @ficlibrarie , @gukniverse , @emwy11 , @theceraunophilegirl , @yoonoclock @xxxanimangxxx​ @juju-227592​

The sheet vinyl floor gleams beneath the light of the bathroom; your heart drums against your ribcage as you stare at your phone screen. You swallow the lump persistently remaining along with the nerves shooting through your shaky fingertips. Your ex-boyfriend, who is now a veterinarian, is about to walk through the front doors of Bangtan Veterinary Hospital, where in the past year you have gained some of the best friends you could have ever asked for. Despite what one would assume, there is an underlying reason why you left the original veterinary hospital that you had shadowed at during college, and it is not specifically due to the breakup with Jimin, although losing Jimin was part of why your heart was so shattered. Slipping your phone into your scrub pocket, you squeeze your eyes shut as you hug yourself tight, breathing in and out slowly for some form of comfort.

You moved out almost a month into starting your job here at Bangtan once your finances were enough to pay for bills, and Monnie happened to become your roommate, who also became the sister you never had. Being in tech school, it was hard to work a job and balance homework at the same time, hence why you lived with your parents until graduation- your dad, Dr. Yang, one of the top veterinarians in your country, you were inspired to be a part of the field because saving animals’ lives was something you strived to do. Plus, your father was your best friend, and you wanted to follow in his footsteps despite his eager tendency to convince you to go full on and just become a veterinarian versus a veterinary nurse.

However, the relationship is strained because of what happened, and when your nose burns from the tears welling in your eyes, you hate admitting that you miss your parents. Especially their guidance.

But, there is someone you also have missed more than anything in this world, someone who made your heart melt- someone who shared similar passions, and would risk sneaking secret kisses behind any door until your lips were bruised; someone who gave you the adventure highs of a lifetime finding new places to explore, new foods to try, new scenes to visualize, or simply laying a blanket out under the stars and talk about the dreams you both hoped to reach. Together.

You can’t face him, or so you think, and he is still unaware of why you left him to protect him, and the shame of the breakup is enough to make you want to run and hide anywhere that is not in this restroom. The fear of Jimin not understanding your side is still planted within your mind- a seed that never stunted in its growth, and you thought for the past year or so you were safe from ever having to reveal it. And maybe you still will not have to.

‘You know I don’t care if our friends know right? I think you were more concerned than I was. I don’t regret any of it. I mean that.’

Wincing, that is yet another thing you will never know how to keep secret from Jimin. Jeongguk’s text was in the early hours of this very morning when you confessed that you told Namjoon over the tipsy filled weekend. Of course, what happened between you and Jeongguk was months after you left Jimin, but Jimin was your first everything. Jeongguk and you had become very close, and one night after much alcohol consumption, but not enough to take away the memory of it all, you leaned over and kissed him. There was a pause of prolonged silence and his widened, doe eyes stared back at you in complete surprise.

Humiliation dawned over your face from the realization of what you had done, and it dripped down your chest in thick trails while you jumped from the couch and turned into the kitchen. Your head was hazy from the drinking, but you were well aware of what just happened. And he wasn’t Jimin. He wasn’t the man you were still holding onto. Something about the way Jeongguk’s hair fell into his face, and the way his tattoos peeked from his long sleeve, the way he constantly made you laugh, you felt the hint of lust. You felt the attraction deeper than you wanted to admit, but you were also filled with emotions you had never let out. All of it was dangerously tempting and you could punch yourself for giving into it all. And you were thankful Monnie had been out with friends at that time.

You were standing in front of the oven when your ears tuned into the creaking floor alluding to Jeongguk’s soft footsteps. Your arms were crossed, and you hadn’t noticed that you had been crying. Hardly lifting your eyes to him, his countenance was shy, but you slowly turned to fully face him, stammering for words. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. Thoughts of Jimin spiraled to infinity in your mind even more than before.

Jeongguk nodded, swallowing softly. He proceeded to take the short trail to stand in front of you, and you could feel your heart pounding through your temples because as much as you wanted to avoid what just happened, part of you just didn’t want to care anymore. Your heart had been through enough. What could this one night with this wonderful human being really cause? Nothing. You convinced yourself. Nothing. Jimin was gone. Jimin wasn’t coming back. Or so you thought at the time.

Your eyes flitted to stare into the innocence of Jeongguk’s gaze while he tried to read what you were thinking. Your arms uncrossed in preparation to reach for him because right now your lips were tingling for his amidst the doubt of your sorrows. It was then Jeongguk’s arm wrapped around you while his other palm touched the back of your head when his lips crashed to yours. Your body responded immediately while you hummed pleasurably against his lips; your back pressed against the oven while the tip of his tongue met yours briefly. Instinctively, your hand clutched the strands at the back of his neck letting his kiss take you away. Letting him be the escape you have needed. Begged for.

“You’re so hot,” you whispered against his mouth while you fumbled to find his belt.

“I try,” he murmured. You immediately unbuckled his belt then, looking down momentarily to unbutton his pants before you dropped them to his ankles. The couch was not far from the kitchen, and at this point, you were ready to get the motion of the ocean going. This dazed escape was going to be everything you could have asked for despite the endless picture of Jimin’s face haunting your brain. Jeongguk suddenly paused, leaning back as if to stretch.

“Are you okay?” You asked, arching an eyebrow. Jeongguk exhaled as if to whistle.

“I’m very grabby with the face and neck,” he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut as if chagrined.

“I mean…” You contemplated. “You can pull my hair?”

Jeongguk didn’t get a chance to reply or think about your words because your fingers were now bundled into his shirt while you dragged him toward the couch. “Wait, hold on, hold on-” He panicked, trying not to trip. “My pants!” You stifled a giggle when you realized he hadn’t kicked his pants off from his ankles and almost face planted onto the floor.

“Oops!” You smiled, but he caught up with you just fine, and he lifted your sweatshirt from your frame while kisses were shared in between. At this point in time, his pants and underwear were completely off while your bra and sweatshirt were tossed somewhere in the living room, yet your shorts were still clung to your body while his shirt remained untouched.

You weren’t sure how you got there, but you were led to another part of the sectional where your back was pinned against the cushions and Jeongguk slid your shorts and thong down your legs. He then reached to take off his button-up where your eyes got to visualize the entirety of his tattoos decorating him beautifully while your mouth guiltily watered. “Holy shit, your tattoos,” you breathed, fingers outlining them.

“Yeah, I got a few,” he teased knowing it was much more than a mere few. His large hands grabbed your legs and placed them on either shoulder as he struggled to unwrap a condom before sliding it on. You could feel how aroused you were and you forced yourself to feel as though you were ready. When he entered you, you gasped, especially when his strong hand first gripped the strands of your hair tautly causing you to cry out erotically. The feel of him was more than you anticipated, and you could feel the gush in your heat as he thrusted, especially when one of his hands slapped the top of the couch to squeeze it while he moved within you. Your moans were fueling him. It all was happening so fast, and you reached to grasp his hand, then his bicep, and you couldn’t stop yourself. You didn’t want to.

“Turn that ass around,” he demanded which turned you on even more. You loved the dominance. You loved that he took control of this intimacy, so you didn’t have to. Because now you don’t want to stop. You were obedient and positioned yourself. Once his length pushed into you, your teeth sunk into a pillow to mute your pleasurable whimpers while he thrusted. You forgot how much you liked it rough. You forgot how much you enjoyed sex despite your misery. But this wasn’t Jimin. This wasn’t the man you were still in love with.

Before you could let the emotions and guilt spring to your eyes, Jeongguk’s hand tangled into your hair and yanked back all while pounding into you while you moaned. You couldn’t say Jeongguk’s name. You couldn’t. In all honesty, you almost screamed Jimin’s name from how much you couldn’t stop thinking about him and what you had just done. But this was all so fucking hot.

When climaxes were reached, you cuddled into Jeongguk while his hand traced upon your bare back. You tried not to cry because now the guilt consumed you in all its entirety. “Whatever you do,” you had whispered. “You cannot tell a soul about this. Please.”

Jeongguk kissed your forehead tenderly suppressing the wonder of why you asked this, but he understood. He figured you didn’t want your friends to freak out. “I promise.” He swore. No matter what, he was going to be your friend, and he knew in his heart you would be his friend in return regardless.

“I promise, too.” Your voice broke.

A small knock on the door makes you jump and every thought you were reminiscing vanishes instantly. Your eyes enlarge as your arms unfold to lay next to your sides. “I- um, uh just a minute!” You call, your temples pounding as you shuffle to find some excuse as to why you have been in the bathroom for God knows how long pondering your past.

“y/n?” the gentle voice beyond the door nicks your heart, you grit your teeth whilst you shudder in reaction, because that voice is one you have yearned to hear, but never worked up the courage to call. “y/n…. it’s me,”

Fuck. You know that he knows that you are hiding from him, and you wonder if Monnie may have told him where you are considering you and her are some of the only technicians who work in the canine and feline department. Taking a quick look at your Apple watch, 8:55 am shines back at you in a reminder that the first appointment will be checking in soon, and from the vacancy of the red dot that signifies notifications, you assume that Monnie nor has anyone in the group chat been able to message due to the busyness of the morning chores.

With a quivering, cold hand, you will yourself to remain calm, turning the knob slowly, inching the door open to see coffee brown irises staring back at you in evident concern mingled with the same nervous tension you hold. His full lips are slightly parted as if he wants to speak, but neither of you can find words. Slim fit in some khaki pants and a nice dress shirt tucked in- a white doctor’s coat hovers around his frame, making him look as official as his license prompting your heart to feel a wave of pride for how hard he has worked. Park Jimin has returned to your life in the most unexpected way, and you don’t even know if you want to run or pull him into the longest hug you have wished for on countless nights when his face would haunt your dreams.

“Hi,” you manage to muster, almost inaudibly, closing the door behind you after flicking off the light.

“Hey,” he replies, lips pressing together, the silence that follows afterward bringing the most awkward feeling, yet you try to avert your gaze enough to not relish in how heavenly he is. If the clients are already head over heels for Jeongguk, you cannot even imagine how they will be when they see the new veterinarian that has been hired. Honestly, Dr. Seokjin gets quite a lot of compliments from the women who fan their hand in front of their face after he leaves the room- which yes, you undeniably work with some very handsome men, but with the talk of a new employee, people are going to want to witness it.

“Uh, Dr. Park?” The pair of you, in pure surprise, whirl your heads around to see a vividly uncomfortable Monnie, whose index finger is held in the air. “Sorry to interrupt, but Taehyung just checked in the first appointment.”

“Oh, yes,” clearing his throat, Jimin shares a quick nod with you before stepping in the direction of the treatment area, Monnie holding your eyes knowingly before filing behind him. “Oh, and Dr. Park, I meant to ask you this earlier, but do you happen to specialize in anything?”

Acupuncture and orthopedics, you answer Monnie’s question inwardly, because Jimin always spoke about his fascination with acupuncture and orthopedic surgeries, and what do you know he answers her question with what you essentially assumed. You are uncertain of what or why, but something stems- you jogging to enter where the exam rooms await. Brushing past Monnie, you grab the folder, taking a look at the name of the patient which happens to be a French Bulldog, Crowley, you helped the owner name when she brought him in as a puppy. Four years ago. At the previous clinic where you were with Jimin.

You always wanted a brachycephalic breed, with that name, but instead, you lived vicariously through the pet parent, LenLen Lee. Of course, when LenLen had heard you moved clinics a year ago, she proclaims how much Crowley loves you, she had to switch clinics and brought his records over to Bangtan Vet and has brought him here ever since. But, you also are aware of the way, her and Taehyung’s eyes flit away from each other when they catch each other lowkey staring.

“I’ll load the room,” you volunteer, avoiding eye contact to then reaching the lobby to see Crowley nestled in front of LenLen’s legs while he pants anxiously amongst his snorts. Taehyung is quietly talking into the phone of whoever called at the front desk, staring at the computer screen that holds the schedule for today, though his gaze flickers frequently toward LenLen. “Crowley!” You coo, LenLen smiling widely as she ushers her dog to be seated within the exam room. Crowley pelts his front paws at you in excitement at your presence as his nubby tail wags.  

You immediately ask how LenLen’s day has been before covering what Crowley is due for wellness wise, discussing whatever concerns she may have for her pet. It totals up to about seven minutes, and she gives permission for Dr. Park to examine Crowley in the treatment area admitting to having an important phone call she hasn’t been able to make yet.

It doesn’t take long for you to weigh the dog, jotting down the number the scale reads. Searching the counter, you reach for the ear thermometer, Crowley shaking his head in response and you are happy to see his temperature is running within the normal limits. To finish out his vitals, you place your fingers on his femoral pulse, located on the medial side of his back leg, counting each beat in fifteen seconds, multiplying by four to receive the answer of his heartbeat per minute. Due to his panting, you are unable to gather an accurate respiratory rate, so when you carefully lift him to place upon the treatment table, Jimin reaches to pat Crowley’s wrinkly head, sliding the folder with the dog’s information to his view.

You keep your gaze downward, paying as much attention to Crowley as you can to keep from blushing at the man standing before you. Monnie steps over just to peek at what vaccines are needed, turning to draw them up for you while Jimin reaches for the stethoscope hanging in plain sight on a hook nailed into the wall.

“Any concerns?” He asks, trying to be as professional as possible though his heart is aching just as much as yours is.

“No concerns really other than his seasonal allergies, but she’s fine with continuing his allergy shot, she said he started itching again about a week ago.”

“Okay good.” Jimin looks around the table helplessly, drawers are beneath him, and you realize he may be looking for something specific. “Erm, where do you keep your ophthalmoscopes?”

“Oh!” You want to smack yourself from how jittery you are being, but you can’t help it. Jimin is here right in front of you. “Second drawer,” you point toward it, him sliding it open, retrieving the scope, screwing on the head piece before shining the light in Crowley’s eyes to check for any abnormalities. He continues the exam, palpating the abdomen, looking into the ears, checking lymph nodes, as well as maneuvering Crowley’s limbs to make sure he doesn’t admit any pain response. Though you keep a guard up, you hold your hands lightly around Crowley’s head, Jimin’s fingers only brush yours a few times, your heart leaping annoyingly that you wish you could disappear.

When returning Crowley to the exam room, you realize LenLen isn’t there. Instead, you discover a flirty Taehyung as he giggles along with LenLen, and your eyebrows raise in amusement. You have always known Tae may have had a little crush on the woman who excitingly greets her dog while it paws at her knees. Taehyung briefly shares a widened look with you as if he has been caught red handed, but you can’t help but respond with a knowing wink before wishing LenLen a good day and she gives you a swift hug. Quickly ducking into the exam room, you shoot a text toward Taheyung asking when he is going to ask LenLen out already.

“Hey,”

“Oh!” You gasp, immediately looking up to see a smirking Monnie although her eyes cloud with concern. “You scared me!”

“As I should, it’s part of my job.”

“I will get you back-” You try to breathe, bringing a hand to your chest.

“No, you won’t.” She teases before a seriousness falls into her smile. “How are you holding up? Aside from almost urinating yourself.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Very. You know you can’t keep hiding from him forever. I know running always seems like the best option, but from the way he looks at you, I’d stop and smell the roses.”

“He is quite amazing…” you murmur because he is. And you miss that. You miss him.

“Just try to remain calm. Don’t shut him out so fast. Plus, you and I need to talk about what happened because you still haven’t told me.”

“Whine and wine?” You smile, watching the grin rise on Monnie’s face.

“Whine and wine. Now let’s continue cuddling these felines and pooches. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been refraining from looking for Yoongi because all I wanna do is boop his button nose!”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Chuckling, you and Monnie swap with each appointment, and though you force yourself to fight it, your head still spins profusely because what happened between you and Jimin is nearly eating you alive. Trying to find ways to preoccupy yourself, you maintain your attention on every patient that you bring back to the treatment area hardly looking your ex-boyfriend in the face. The conversation with Monnie seems to echo in the crevices of your conscious; you know she is right; you need to let your guard down and at least try.

“I was- um, I was looking to see if this dog has cataracts, but it doesn’t seem to, and I will say she doesn’t act as if she is blind. She strutted beside me like she knew where she was going.” Brushing your thumb cautiously along the medial canthus of the Bichon’s eyes, you notice that she does not seem to have lenticular sclerosis either, rather, a blue, foggy shade covers the majority of her corneas.

Jimin chuckles, reducing the anxiety smothering your chest, his eyes squint as he stares through the ophthalmoscope. “She can definitely see.” He murmurs. “Honestly, I think it’s edema. How old is she?”

“Eleven.”

“Ah, okay, she looks really good for her age,” standing straighter, he switches out the eye piece for an otoscope piece to look within the dog’s ears. “Do you happen to remember the technical term for this particular condition?”

Pausing, a nervous curl of a smirk graces your lips as you remember the fun in quizzing each other when it comes to the veterinary education. Jimin helped you immensely especially when studying for tests, and though your heart has not settled into a slower rate, you try to relax the rigidity plaguing your shoulders. “I- I think so.” You swallow, racking your brain, but instead, you deadpan. “Do you?”

Watching someone become caught off guard by your antics has always prompted you to stifle laughter, but if Jimin remembers anything about you, is that you can be a smart ass when you feel like it. Awkwardly clearing his throat, a habit he tends to do when he feels cornered, he shifts the otoscope to the dog’s other ear to visualize the eardrum. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Corneal Endothelial Degeneration. Must I go on?”

A small smile remains planted on his plump lips, before his eyes meet yours, holding your gaze for a few seconds after he sets the otoscope aside. “You can. But I’d love to hear it over a much-needed cup of coffee sometime.”

“I-” Somehow, in your peripherals aside from the enormous jump of your heart, you thought you saw Monnie smiling in satisfaction along with Min Yoongi at your attempt of civility even though deep down you know Jimin had not done anything wrong. Unfortunately, you did not get a chance to answer him because Namjoon comes back with concerns involving a boarder, so Jimin quickly gives the plan regarding the Bichon for you to relay to the owner to then turning on a heel behind Joon. Humorously enough, Monnie and Yoongi retreated around the corner after Jimin left, and you can’t help but shake your head playfully at their precious nosiness.  

The morning seems to drag otherwise, and the mini start of a headache pounds at the corner of your forehead from the stress of everything, and when lunch rolls around, you gather your lunch box to head in the direction of your car. Normally, you spend your break with whoever happens to take it at the same time, but with the events of today, you would much rather spend it alone. Suddenly, you feel a gentle hand touch your back, leading you into the storage room that holds the prescription foods and parasite preventatives. Your eyes sporadically search to find a frantic Jimin who runs a slow hand through his hair.

“Jimin!” You gasp, but keeping your voice low enough to not be heard. “Jimin, what the hell are you doing?”

“Look, y/n, I know this is sudden. I-I tried reaching out to you when I first saw that you worked here. I just- we need to talk-”

Sadness clouds your features, and with the way your heart is racing, you would do anything to take a chill pill, or a tequila shot. “Okay,” you run a swift tongue over your lips, your mouth dry. “Talk.” The word comes out more of a croak than an actual voice, and though your fingers grip the handle of your lunch box, you feel the panic looming around your chest. What is frightening to you mostly is that you want to take him up on the cup of coffee, wrap him in your trembling arms and bury your nose in his chest to breathe in the scent of him that you have missed. So much. But the guilt consumes faster than your inward wishes can become a reality.

“I know we have a history, and I’m not sure who all is aware of it, but I just want us to be okay.”

“Me- me too,” you whisper, swallowing hard. “I want us to be okay, too.”

Jimin’s eyes scream desperation for the truth that has plagued him all year long. He deserves closure, but where do you even start? The betrayal of you is one thing, but the betrayal of another individual Jimin looked up to including you leaving him could stir emotions you do not want him to have to cope with. And, even now, standing awkwardly, you hardly can formulate a sentence in your mind to speak springing an already nervous Jimin to scan the shelves as if searching for a script to help him speak clearly. “I guess I’m still processing everything because your dad recommended Bangtan Vet to me, but never mentioned that you work here.”

Furrowed eyebrows ornament your gaze at the sudden mention of your father, because what did Jimin just say? Your lungs feel like they are not getting enough air at this news and the utter disbelief smothers your brain to the point you feel lightheaded.

“My- father referred you to come here?”

A frilly whistle sounds outside the door before it is pushed open causing you and Jimin to freeze to now seeing the dark strands of Jeongguk who halts in immense surprise when he sees the pair of you- in a storage closet- alone. Jeongguk’s lips are still poised as if whistling, but no sound emits. Though this is not the first time you and Jimin have hidden in a small room before, this is, in fact, the first time you two have been caught.

Holy fuck.

You freak, dropping your lunch box as it clangs to the ground. Leaping forward, you grasp Jeongguk’s scrub shirt while the burn in your biceps proves how hard you tug your friend as he stumbles forward. “Guk!” You close the door behind him with a thud before his back pins to the wall beside it. “What are you doing in here!? Aren’t you supposed to be feeding, I don’t know, the bearded dragons!?”

“Well excuse me for doing what Dr. Seokjin told me to do, you cake slice! He asked me to grab a flea preventative for his patient! And for your information the dragons have been given a bountiful amount of kale and juicy crickets-”

“Well feed them some more! Where are the meal worms-?”

“Okay, but can I grab the prevention for Dr. Seokjin first? I have a job to do, ya know?” Gulping, Jeongguk, who stares like a deer in the headlights, flits his gaze from your crazed expression to a Dr. Park who is stunned at the view he is now witnessing, arms outreached as if to help, but remain stiffened. Breathing heavily, you try your best to remain neutral, but the last thing you need is for everyone and their mother to know that you and Jimin were a thing. Or, for Jimin to find out that you and Jeongguk had a one-night drunken fling.

Releasing a long sigh, you reply. “Okay, but whatever you do, do not tell anyone that you found us in here,” maybe the scar from your father is why you are so afraid but protecting Jimin is what you aim to do regardless, even if it means destroying your own heart. And, with this new information you have learned about your dad mentioning Jimin working where you are is still fogging your spinning brain cells, and you know it will be a bridge that you eventually will have to cross, and for now, you try to suppress the thought. But you also know from the secret Guk has kept about your drunken rendezvous is that you can trust him, too.

Fingers bundled in Guk’s shirt, you loosen them, stretching the digits to relieve from the hard grip you had. Jimin asks which prevention Jeongguk needs and searches the shelves for his reply, handing the box to him once found.

“Um,” Jeongguk counters, flipping the box like a microphone. “At least you weren’t hiding in the bathroom this time.” You grimace at his valid point, him stepping aside to introduce himself officially to an ajar mouthed Jimin before continuing despite Jimin just handing him the prevention a minute ago. “I’m assuming the two of you have some catching up to do, and no worries, I’ll guard the door.” He winks turning back to you, he mouths silently. “Is that the guy?” Referring to the ‘guy’ you were still in love with a year ago. Nodding slightly, you whisper. “Thank you, Guk,” shoving him, “And please tell Monnie and Yoongi, if they are anywhere out there that I will put crickets in their sandwiches if I catch them being nosy again.”

“Will do. But mealworms are better-”

“I- Huh?”

“Oh!” He bellows as he turns halfway in the now opened door, an index finger held up. “If I hear reasons of why you may need apricot lube, I’m interrupting-”

“Agh! Guk!” You can hear Jimin’s chortling behind you and flushing a deep shade of red, you push Jeongguk out of the storage room, wanting nothing more than to melt into the floor.

“Apricot? Lube?” Jimin cocks an eyebrow in interest as you shamefully turn to face him.

“I may have tried a dollup?” Realizing how you sound, you panic, “But not on someone! It was a taste test! I just wanted to see what it tasted like! I’m not promiscuous-!” Damnit.

Maybe a hint of relief etches in Jimin’s eyes, but it doesn’t peel the deepened shade of red burning hot upon your chest gliding slowly to your face. “Ooooh! Don’t act like you are so innocent. You and I both know this isn’t the only time we’ve hidden somewhere secluded in a hospital.”

“I know…” Jimin bends down to retrieve your lunch box, gesturing it to you, surprisingly calm despite your panicked outburst. Your fingers touch when you reach for the item, a gentle smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” With a knowing smile, you finally stare into his eyes for a full minute. Finally.

“I don’t think I will either.” 

WIP Wednesday!

Tagged by @mareenavee ! Thank you, dear. And I know you tagged many people I might also tag, so I'll try to pick new people.

Tagging @kookaburra1701 @dirty-bosmer @viss-and-pinegar @moriche @expended-sleeper and @skyhon

---

So, I started in on this wip mostly because it was just a scenario that I wanted to see playing out in my brain. Isn't that how all writing begins? I'm not sure where it will go, if it'll ever be its own story, or anything, really. But I'm borrowing muldezgron's One-Eyed Teldryn from this fic, because he and Elanwe technically, exist in the same universe. On a collaborative technicality. Elanwe is from my fic "Hollow Men". And, of course, my unintentional muse, Kordin belongs to DirtyScrolls, who has so graciously given me their blessing to do whatever I want to him lmao. Wip below the cut, plus some art at the end:

--

“We’ve crossed paths before you know,” Elanwe said without making eye contact. Her gaze remained locked on her half-empty cup of ale. “In Windhelm. The day I–or, at least, I assume that was you. Same armor.”

Teldryn ran his tongue across his teeth then huffed a humorless laugh. “Ah, the mystery of the missing Thalmor prisoner. I was there, yes.” He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You have quite the memory, sera. My memories from that day are… hazy, at best. Intentionally obscured by my own mind, at worst.” He drummed a finger against his own cup in agitation. “Kordin was… changed after that day. It probably goes unsaid, but he was unused to having his–” The word stuck in his throat, the hand on his knee tightening into an involuntary fist. “–his possessions taken from him.

She seemed to turn pensive, then took a long drink, draining the cup. “Did you know?” she asked sharply. “What he was doing?” 

Teldryn waited for her to meet his eye, then nodded. “I believe you know well by now what his preferred type was.”

“I’m gonna need more booze for this conversation,” she said, the skin around her mouth drawn tight, stretching the scar across her lip until it turned pale and bloodless. 

“That makes two of us,” Teldryn muttered to himself. “Get me one while you’re up. Greef, though. None of that Nordic swill.”  

Elanwe returned with two large bottles of greef, twisting the cork free of one and filling Teldryn’s cup. He offered a soft Dunmeris ‘cheers’ in response before taking a sip, letting the liquid rest against his tongue. He supposed he might as well talk about it. There was no one else to listen, as it stood. No one else who even wanted to, really. 

“I was in his service for three years,” he began. “Of course, if I’d known–” Another humorless laugh. “Well, it’s complicated.”

“Hence your prior hesitance to take on a new long-term patron, I take it.” 

Teldryn just nodded with a tight smile. “And we don’t have to dance around the subject. I know the way you Altmer are. Yes, he had his way. As often as he could. And I let him.”

Elanwe’s grip around her cup tightened. The soft curve of her lips twisted into a snarl, the corners of her eyes wet. “I wish I could kill him again. I wish–” Her jaw worked around the unsaid words.

“Like I said,” Teldryn continued after a beat of silence. “It was complicated.” 

He took a long drink, breathed through his nose, wiped his mouth on his netch leather bracer. Elanwe said nothing, the snarling distaste frozen on her face like a death mask, as if she could transmit the feeling through Teldryn and into the realm of the dead. 

Or wherever Kordin was. Teldryn was relatively sure he was in Coldharbour. 

“It wasn’t all bad, believe it or not,” he said after her prolonged silence showed no signs of ending. “Unlike your friend, I was not a literal prisoner. I had a modicum of–”

“Bullshit,” Elanwe spat. “I don’t want to hear it. So don’t even start.”

Teldryn managed to keep the surprised look from his face, and instead shrugged as casually as he could manage. “I suppose you’re right. There was always a part of me that hoped he’d… come to his senses, maybe. I was always searching for those moments of empathy. Some hint of regret… Anything.” Teldryn sighed and took another drink. “A fool’s hope. Something in that boy was broken long before he found me. But he was the Dragonborn…” Hollowness settled behind Teldryn’s sternum. “And now he’s dead.” 

Another doomed world without a prophet.

--

And now they're all I can think about... WHOOPS.

Prompt 2: Unexpected Challenges

Pairing: Vincent Valentine/Veld|Verdot

Vincent tried to brush his hair... It didn't go well. Thankfully, he has Veld.

Vincent hisses, a grimace accompanying his pained noise. Veld sighs deeply at this, feeling a slight tug in his chest as he stops pulling at the brush.

“I'm sorry Vincent, but you shouldn't have tried to brush this mess without doing anything to it first!” Veld says with slight exasperation, Vincent’s slight scowl of annoyance causing him to exhale once more before continuing to gently try to detangle Vincent’s hair from the bristles.

There's a prolonged moment of silence between them, only occasionally broken up by the sound of Vincent's wild hair resisting Veld's hands… hence why Veld is a little startled when Vincent utters a soft “sorry”. Veld promptly recovers from this surprise, though: unable to resist the urge to smile.

“You are a piece of work, Vinny… I do love you though. You know that, right?”

There is a feeling of relief that flushes through Veld’s body when Vincent nods. He lets go of the brush for now, instead opting to wrap his arms around the slimmer waist of Vincent. He rests his chin on his partner’s shoulder, speaking to Vincent in a softer tone.

“We should probably try and wet your hair, love. That'll make this a lot easier.”

With a soft groan Veld would consider somewhat dramatic, Vincent agrees with a low “fine”. Veld rewards him with a peck on the cheek before standing up: a grin pulling at his lips as he spots the slight blush on Vincent’s pale cheeks as a result.

Their fingers intertwine as Vincent gets to his feet: a secure hold. Veld's warm hand squeezes Vincent's gently; long used to the cooler palm of his partner… though he'd be lying if he said he didn't squeeze his hand sometimes, just to make sure it wasn't too cold. He'd be lying if he said he didn't glance over every once in a while, just to make sure Vincent is still breathing.

They take their time, going down the hall; their shoulders pressed together.

“How did you even manage to get that brush so tangled, Vinny?” Veld asks softly.

Vincent hums. “I suppose I wasn't paying much attention.”

“Your mind was elsewhere?”

Vincent nods as they finally reach the bathroom door; his crimson eyes lingering on Veld's face. As his partner turns his head to meet his stare, those eyes a brown so deep he could drown in them, his breath catches in his throat. The taller man turns his head away from Veld, only to feel his cheeks warm abruptly as the brunette's lips gently press against his cheek.

“We'll fix it. Don't worry.” Veld says, pulling Vincent into the bathroom with a light tug.

“...I know we will.” Vincent utters.

the result of me mulling over mr. chidouin & kai's dynamic has manifested as... this, with a few other fics that are still much messier drafts than this.

the context being that kai wakes up from a nightmare, but unable to admit that, he leans further into restlessness as his excuse to search out comfort.

Ah, Mister Chidouin is certainly still awake at this time. Perhaps…

He presses to call before he can truly think it over. Exhausted apprehension echoes through the silence as he awaits the dial tones, settling into his tense nerves. The hand holding his phone still trembles from the aftershock of his nightmare, only fueling the quiet frustration building within him. There is no manner of addressing his senseless reaction without recognizing the immaturity behind its every impulse—of which he weakly abides.

"Hello, hello!" Chidouin warmly sings his greeting, but quickly settles down with a laugh at his own expense. Behind the receiver, Kai hears the clink of ice in what he can only assume to be a shot glass. However, as Chidouin often prefers, he quickly cuts to the chase: "Can't say it's not pleasant, but I thought you'd be resting by now, Kai."

"I…" Kai begins, but his voice immediately hitches. He glances away from the phone in his hand, quietly laying his head down on the bed. "I couldn't rest, hence… ah, I pray it's no trouble."

"No, no, none at all," Chidouin emphatically insists. Even without seeing him, Kai can imagine the dramatic flair of his hand as he dismisses his concern, instead landing it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. Although physical affection is evidently his preferred method, he hardly lacks in any other fields of comfort—his words alone have brought solace to Kai, shining light upon a perspective he's never before allowed himself. A forgiveness Chidouin may not be fit to grant, but one Kai selfishly cherishes. In each heavy, careful confession, Chidouin never once loses faith in him, choosing to hold these hands bloodied in sin.

…Kai slowly pulls himself away from that painful line of thought, refocusing on Chidouin's words.

After a moment, he clicks his tongue thoughtfully: "You worried about anything in particular?"

"No." However, he quickly urges Chidouin elsewhere, "How is everyone?"

"We're doing just fine.” A beat, and his voice lowers. “I trust there aren't any developments with the organization, yeah?"

The organization. Kai’s heart nearly stops in his chest. Naturally, this abnormal call would be enough cause for concern, but it’s further justified with the last update he could provide being of Asunaro voluntarily wiping a large portion of their database. Not only archived files of discarded assassination reports, but various politicians’ personal profiles, obstructor projects’ failsafe codes, and many other pieces Kai had carelessly considered irrelevant at the time they were available. Though he may assume they’ve simply been redacted for clearance levels four and above—which he’s officially been removed from—without Michiru, he has nothing. Their past conversations remain untouched by this sudden purge, but any attempts to contact her only bring a deactivated account’s error.

Any initial frustration toward the information Kai failed to keep completely dissipated upon that realization. It carved through his heart and left a hollow dread aching for confirmation Asunaro would never provide. Familiar routine became torturous for the time it left his mind to wander. Kai was left to idly dredge up their few, final interactions; ruefully tracing every mistake and nuance possibly crafted to betray Michiru in the end. Where his execution should’ve given her the opportunity to flourish, his newfound life only damned her. Perhaps her heart was too soft after all, or perhaps he asked too much of her. All too involved in the present facsimile of peace, he made the sore mistake of neglecting the truth: this is his prolonged punishment and nothing more. This Satou’s existence is an omen, promising to damn those unfortunate enough to stay. For the Chidouins, for Michiru, for the countless lives sacrificed so he could live.

"Kai," Chidouin’s voice is firm. "Answer me."

"No…. None that I know of," Kai manages at last, quietly adding: "Please forgive me."

"Hey, hey…" he coos, "I'm not angry, I just want to know what's goin' on. Ringing me up like this, this late—it's just not like you."

Kai falls quiet, weakly turning onto his left side and moving the phone just beside him. The only light comes from this phone. Even so, apprehension ruins his senses. Kai draws a sharp breath, "Sir, I have a request."

Without missing a beat: "I'm listening."

[It's selfish. This entire thing is selfish. Kai should've gone back to rest without bothering him.]

"Talk to me… please," he softly whispers. "Anything. I'd just like to hear you."

"Heh, you'll make the other two think I love the sound of my own voice." Chidouin sighs, and Kai catches the quiet creak of the chair as he leans back. "Sure kid.”

11 - Seisub

The problem with sharing too many prompts is that I never know which prompt is number addressed to. I assume otp prompt since topic suits then to the T

11 - do they hide their emotions if upset? Does the other still know?

Yes and yes.

After all things that happened between them Subaru would never trust Seishirou completely, especially not with his vulnerabilities and emotions.If something upsets him that isn't a minor thing (which he most likely would share) and isn't directly related to Seishirou, Subaru would keep quite about it; mostly bc relying on Seishirou reminds him of how naive he was during bet year; nor it bodes for anything good to give Seishirou weapon he could use against him if anything went wrong between them.

Nonetheless Seishirou knows something is bothering Subaru and he'd be like 'idc' while actually caring but mental gymnastic-ing to himself that he's just curious. Yea sure Seishirou, keep lying to yourself you 33yo on emotional level of 5yo. In the end he'd figure out what's the deal (anyhow) and say a thing or two to Subaru that cut straight to the core of the issue. Subaru would gradually get of of melancholia.

If Seishirou did something to upset Subaru then it's the whole different story :D either Subaru has extend an offer olive branch or disaster would eventually occur worstest bestest dysfunctional ship

If by some miracle something manages to upset Seishirou "I have no emotions" Sakurazuka he sure as high hell would conceal that from Subaru. Now, I don't think Subaru would figure everything out on first try, especially if Seishirou lashes out on him or is purposely cruel like he has potential to be; or maybe puts distance between them, depending on why he was upset in the first place. But after some time Subaru would learn to see underneath the surface and detect Seishirou's subtle changes in moods.

Sadly Seishirou is type of man that sees emotions as vulnerability hence he wouldn't appreciate being consoled at all. There won't be much Subaru could do beside offer Seishirou space he needs. Or eventually after Seishirou calmed down a bit from whatever struck him (look, he's not used to being upset, he doesn't deal with intense emotions on regular basis like most of us; therefore he'd would have take them far worse bc he lacks basic psychological assets how to deal with prolonged negative emotions), Subaru could try some physical affection like cuddling, going out on date or just spending time together in silence. By no means should he bring Seishirou's mood shift up

So, I had a thought-

What if MK could continue to talk with LBD? I'm sure someone else has done something similar already, but I said to hell with it and wrote anyway.

Granted, this fandom has given me more inspiration than I've had in *years*. Hence, the writing is likely less than stellar.

ooc, pacing problems, etc.

(I will gladly take constructive criticism if anyone is willing)

This just happens to be one of the conversations between the two that came to mind. There's really no other "context" other than the concept itself.

____________________________________

"Dealing With The Devil"

___________________________

"Tell me,"

The boy is torn from his trance as his head whips forwards the voice, instantly regretting his decision with a wince. He rubs the nape of his neck sheepishly before allowing his hands to fall back into his lap.

"Why do you continue to speak with me, child?"

MK shifts his stare from the demon to his palms in contemplation. His eyes become clouded, distant as if recalling a memory lost to time. A prolonged silence stretches between the two beings; the quiet is louder than any bellow one could muster. In the stillness of it all, the demon almost renounces her inquiry when-

"I think everyone deserves a second chance." His voice is quiet, more akin to a murmur than regular speech; yet not unsure. Regardless, his words easily pierced through the silence of the void they currently inhabited. His eyes remain unfocused as his voice continued to ring out.

The demon only gazes at the boy.

"We... I've met a lot of people these past few months. More often than not we had different views and opinions and- well, we were enemies." His voice slowly grew in strength as he spoke. All the while, his mind supplied thoughts of Red Son and his parents. He was all but unsurprised when Macaque too, came to mind. "But at some point, we put our differences aside. We worked together as a team." MK felt the corners of his mouth quirk up and let himself smile. "We've all grown as people, and we've grown closer together! All because we gave each other a chance." His words were firm, absolute. An unapologetic grin tugged at his lips, hazel orbs alight.

"And I haven't regretted it for a second."

The Lady Bone Demon seems to consider the boy's words before he begins to speak once more.

"And if you want an honest answer..." He pauses for a moment, shortly pondering his words. "I think everyone is capable of change," he finally lifts his head, eyes shining with unadulterated mirth, "even you."

Not that he'd admit it, but MK lets himself bask, just a smidge, in the demon's look of absolute bewilderment. Having never seen such a genuine reaction from her before, he committed it to memory. Unfortunately, though expectedly, the moment is short-lived and her expression briskly turns sour.

She lets out a sigh before her gaze hardened once more.

"Then you are truly a fool, much like that mentor of yours." Though her words were cold, her tone was one of factuality Rather than scorn. If MK didn't know better, he'd almost say she sounded...sad.

"That naivety of yours will surely lead to your ruin."

A humorless laugh escapes the boy, "Maybe," his voice steady, maintaining a hopeful quality, "but I stand by what I said."

The Lady hums in response, considering the boy before her. Headstrong just like his predecessor, but much more compassionate than Sun Wukong when he first embarked on his journey. Naive the child may be, but there's undeniable potential to be had. Perhaps he's not as ignorant as she had been led to believe. If destiny was as malleable as this boy suggested...

Well, only time will tell.

Against her better judgement, a fleeting smile made its way onto her lips.

"I see."

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Chapter 5

Summary: What if Harry wasn't the only extra student called upon to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Far from the most popular candidate, Draco not only has to take on the trials but also deal with his unexpected feelings for Hermione. Will he be able to face the challenges as well as follow his heart?

Chapter length will vary. I'll be referencing both the books and movie versions. Some things from what I've previously written will be mentioned, all of which you can find here.

And for those who asked to be tagged: @dayane245love

Hermione found herself in great displeasure of Moody’s class, regardless of Harry and Ron’s expressed interest. Using the Unforgivable Curses for a lesson was unethical and she stated as much as they walked down the spiral staircase. To kill a spider right in front of Harry the way he did (even she couldn’t bring herself to glance down at her desk after the jet of green light silenced it) she saw the aftereffect however silently it fractured beyond his eyes.

He brushed it aside for appearance’s sake. The temptation to voice a question of his wellbeing prodded her, though she didn’t ask him. She knew Harry and he’d only supply a simple answer then somehow bring up another matter entirely.

As for Hermione’s time in the library, she kept herself busy, enthralled in research. Show up for food, eat quickly and leave. All week the schedule remained the same, shy a few days, given it being Thursday and all. Ginny kept her company for two afternoons, Harry once and Ron never bothered, but she hardly minded. She tended to talk more with others around, distracting her from making sufficient progress.

Hermione clutched her book closer to her chest as they descended. She skimmed a couple of chapters of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection for nothing apparently. Moody told them to put it away, clearly aiming to go off his own agenda when it came to his teachings.

Her fingers grasped the hardcover tightly due to Draco’s voice echoing at least a semi-circle above them. His complaints proved, in any case, that others weren’t overly fond of the method exhibited today either. His precise words eluded her thanks to Ron’s ongoing positivity about the experience.

Harry’s hand tapped against her arm, nearly grabbing her sleeve to stop her from walking further, gesturing towards their friend. Neville looked ashen-faced, his eyes glued to the stained-glass window. She knew the Cruciatus Curse bothered him, hence his reaction. She wondered why it casted a prolonged impression.

Before Hermione voiced her concern, Draco spoke, having reached the crowded landing. “What’s everyone standing around for? Some people actually want to get down the ruddy staircase.”

“Then feel free to walk around everyone,” Harry remarked, waving him onward. He attempted to block Neville from view, seeing as he knew Malfoy never missed an opportunity to reticule him.

Which did him little good, Draco was already wise to his intentions.

By now he ought to know better than to go around willfully antagonizing people with stupid jabs, yet he couldn’t help himself. “What? Were the Unforgivable Curses too much for you to handle, Longbottom? Hit a little too close to home, did it?”

“Ignore him,” Ron advised prior to facing the other. “I bet you seen them already anyway. It wouldn’t surprise anyone, especially after the World Cup.”

“Real original. What’s next? Potter’s going to accuse my parents of being Death Eaters again?” A smile similar to the one he held that night took over his features. “If you’re interested in talking about something even more noteworthy, how about what happened to Neville’s parents. Judging by the looks on your faces, he hasn’t told anyone.”

Hermione never said a word to him since Monday and she had a funny feeling (though she drew no real logic from any assumed reasoning) that he was avoiding her.

In any case, she refused to allow him to disclose a personal matter. He opened his mouth to speak, only for Hermione to interrupt. “Honestly, don’t you have anything better to do?”

He refused to look at her, which chased away the nervous electricity bouncing inside. Instead, irritation hit. Which came across ironically because she spent the past couple of days priding herself on keeping her cool whenever he happened to be around.

Well, she never assumed it’d last forever.

Hermione pushed her way into the small space between her friends and Draco, too close physically, nonetheless the boldness born from exasperation slingshot the deeply rooted crush she harbored from her mind. “Why must you always make everything worse? It’s not your right to say whatever you please. Clearly, Neville doesn’t want to talk about it. Can’t you just leave him alone?”

He still said nothing, not a single word. And he knew his silence angered her.

Draco shut down his emotions to the best of his abilities. Sure, he managed a convincing glare and struck the precise tone to emphasize the right amount of malice. The very fact of having to do it whenever Hermione involved herself threw him off kilter.

“My sentiments exactly, Miss Granger.” Moody’s growling voice boomed in the background, causing a sudden halt in confrontation. “You, come along. I’ve got something to show you.” Neville dejectedly went up the steps, almost frightened of the man. “And, Mr. Malfoy, come along as well.”

Draco suppressed a protest filled groan, narrowing his gaze at Harry and Ron for their smug looks, getting the impression he was in trouble.

He entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, told to wait as Neville and Moody talked in his office. After twenty minutes, Draco’s impatience took a sharp climb. Not only did it seem like he’d miss dinner, he still had a pile of homework to do for Divination.

He lingered near the table Hermione sat at, letting his fingers trace the surface, briefly giving himself the permission to think of her. The way she approached him. Once he would’ve complained about the lack of respect, which held true despite being unable to get the words out.

Her fury held no bounds. It caused her eyes to glow vibrantly, so very bright, identical to a flame bursting alight. Maybe shining beautifully ––

Pretty in any regard he regrettably admitted, but beautiful?

Draco spent way too long getting her out of his head to simply go on thinking about her in an attractive sense. Those of the Malfoy family don’t fall for people such as Hermione Granger. He could imagine the uproar in upmost clarity.

How he wished he gave a scathing remark. Anything to shove her further away. But he knew from experience she’d continue to push back. What an annoying trait.

The door finally opened and Moody’s wooden leg clanged against each step. Draco moved, nearly flinching – for a second the noise turned into the banging of a cane. The apprehension of awaiting a form of punishment of scolding at school rivaled when he endured at home.

Neville hurried past, holding onto a large book, not keen on lingering, though he appeared less sulky.

Draco rolled his eyes. Sure, scurry past like a frightened rabbit. Did Neville think he’d do something in retaliation? In front of a professor, as if he’d consider it.

“I bet you’re wondering why I wanted you here,” Moody announced, coming to the front of the classroom. “I think that little display of yours is deserving of detention, don’t you?”

His typical coldness in tack, Draco fell into complaint. “You’ve got to be joking. It’s not the least bit deserving of anything of the sort.”

Moody took a long sip from his flask, head shaking before he addressed Draco again. “You have no respect for others. Still, you think yourself worthy of it. Just like your father. The apple certainly doesn’t fall far from the tree. Knew who you were the second I laid eyes on you.”

His bright blond hair tended to be a telling sight.

The mention of Lucius brought about a spark of anger. “Congratulations, you can see. Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Moody’s abrupt turn caused Draco to stiffen, more intimidated by the man than he’d admit. The moniker Mad-Eye fit well, his abrasive personality matched the stories he knew of the wizard.

“Your father is a poor excuse of a man, walking around freely after all he’s done.” An unexpected tone of hatred clung to the professor’s voice.

“I didn’t realize you wanted to chat about my family. Is that what this whole thing’s really about? You being another person who hates us for no reason.” What an excuse he was for a pure-blood. Akin to Ron and the entire Weasley household.

“No reason, you say? I’ve got plenty.” Much more than Barty could declare while in disguise. “Loyal to You-Know-Who only when it benefitted him. Bellatrix Lestrange, as I’m sure you’re aware, is imprisoned in Azkaban. Unwavering Death Eater, she is.”

Draco tilted his head, picking up on something, however, not quite able to pinpoint the cause. “Odd really. It almost seems like you’re praising my aunt, all the while chastising my father.”

Moody took a long pause (for in reality any of those who abandoned Voldemort or renounced their allegiance were a disgrace to the Dark Lord’s name). “It’s your very aunt and uncle who used the Cruciatus Curse to torture Frank and Alice Longbottom until they went insane.”

“I’m not saying they deserved it, though I do have to wonder what all the fuss is about,” Draco mentioned, knowing the story of the attack well. Educated enough to know Barty Crouch Jr. and Rabastan Lestrange joined in too. “But it has nothing to do with me.”

“Yet you mock him for it.” He brought out his wand, starting to advance forward. “How you’d like being cursed yourself? Bet you wouldn’t be so smart-mouthed then, would you? That cowardly father of yours, he’d do anything to save his own skin. How about it? Going to turn tail the second you’re threatened?”

The sudden surge of anger caught him off guard. Draco shuffled his feet backward; every sentence brought the other closer. He hit a table, the legs stretching against the floor. The wand lingered too close to his throat. He turned his neck away as much as possible.

His whole body tensed, expecting indescribable pain to strike. Moody merely kept still, unbeknownst to his student, trying immensely hard not to say the words. After a moment he recollected himself, slowly drawing away.

Draco remained frozen in place, his gaze following the professor.

“Lines I suppose,” Moody said after putting a little distance between them. Perhaps he couldn’t curse the boy, but he brought along something fitting to take its place. “You’ll be using this new quill, just came out this year. Invented by Dolores Umbridge herself. Made in a way it doesn’t require ink.”

He took it while kidnapping the real Alastor Moody at his home. Barty didn’t question why it was there, assuming he acquired the dark object to examine it further without prying eyes. The Ministry surely possessed more.

Barty decided, however, Harry’s name wouldn’t be the only one he’d place in the Goblet of Fire. Voldemort never said anything against addressing a personal vendetta, he might be pleased. Lucius turned on them, not once bothering to search for their master. The punishment seemed fitting given he chose family over the Dark Lord.

Draco slowly returned to a normal stance, losing the ability to fight back. He knew Moody disliked him, but now the impression came across more antagonistic. Maybe he should consider being mindful of the professor’s presence.

As for the punishment, he could manage writing the same thing over and over despite thinking his actions barely warranted a detention.

Moody tossed a stack of paper on the table, some pieces fluttering to the floor as he muttered to himself. “Let’s see. What to have you write.” He disappeared up the stairs, returning with an extremely sharp, black feathered quill. “How about this. I must learn to respect my fellow students. I think that about sums it up.”

Draco begrudgingly pulled out a chair and sat down. “How many times?”

“Until I say you’re finished,” he snapped, handing over the quill. “Get started.”

Although not really wanting to, Draco picked up the utensil and wrote the words across the top of the first page.

He felt a sting of discomfort on his left hand. The sentence emerged on the parchment in red while simultaneously etching into his skin. He curled his shaking fingers into his palm, pressing his lips together to not vocalize the pain.

Draco immediately understood the intention of the newly made device. The Ministry used it for torture, no doubt. Blood in place of ink. He stared down, caught at an impasse – risk abandoning the task (because who’d willingly sit there silently subjecting themselves to such a cruel penalty) or fulfill it until completion. He put into perspective Moody’s aggressive behavior, fighting the urge to give him the satisfaction of asking questions or complaining.

He repeated the process and the searing sensation returned, cutting deeper into his flesh. But he forced himself onward, tolerating it to the best of his abilities.

Every sweep of the quill dug in deeper, making every incision more excruciating than the last.

He persisted until he got through the first page, shoving it to the side. He glanced up expectantly, hoping to be allowed to stop, seeing as he could barely keep his injured hand steady, only to be instructed to keep going.

Moody spent the duration pacing and quietly speaking to himself. Draco had difficulty catching the mumbling verses. Not like he found it easy to focus on much of anything while the pain started to cloud his head.

It took about halfway into the third page for Moody to interrupt his progress.

“Have you learned your lesson yet, Mr. Malfoy?” the professor asked, glancing at the work done. “Or do you require more time?”

“No, I think I got it quite well,” Draco responded rather curtly. “Can I go?”

Moody approached and tapped his finger on the parchment. “You should take that as a warning. If I catch you messing with Neville Longbottom again, you’ll be at it twice as long.”

Draco didn’t delay his leave after being dismissed, desiring nothing more than to get away from Moody. He descended the long spiral staircase in a hurry.

He inspected his hand further once on level ground. It almost appeared to be in the process of healing, holding a clear indication of a forming scar. The letters remained a light red in hue, slightly blood-stained and puffy along the outside of the sentence. It still burned, throbbing so relentlessly he almost considered going to see Madam Pomfrey.

He couldn’t get himself to do it.

She’d ask what happened and tell Dumbledore. As much as he’d love to get Moody kicked out, Draco got the feeling the headmaster wouldn’t be overly inclined to fire his friend.

Too distracted to even hear his own footsteps along the corridor, he banged into someone while turning around the corner. A box hit the ground, sending S.P.E.W. badges across the floor.

Of course, out of everyone in the entire school he walked right into Hermione.

Tips On How To Setup An Asic Bitcoin Miner In Three Easy Steps

Though GPU and CPU mining rigs depend on elements which have more than one perform, ASIC miners are designed for the sole purpose of mining cryptocurrency. This singular focus makes an ASIC miner far more powerful and energy-efficient than a comparable GPU miner. ASIC miners are specifically designed for the singular function of mining cryptocurrencies and aren't versatile like general-purpose computer systems or processors. They are constructed with highly specialized hardware tailored to carry out the complicated calculations required for cryptocurrency mining.

Some of these blocks are already out there available in the market and can be utilized in your ASIC immediately and some might require growth (they are referred to as IP cores). Many are mistakenly pondering that ASICs are a super solution for tech companies. In fact, right now, any non-tech product can be “smart” if it has a small brain and wireless connectivity. ASIC miners are specialised digital currency mining machines that have been custom-built completely for the aim of mining. Unlike the majority of CPUs and GPUs, ASIC miners are, therefore, probably the most efficient and highly effective machines bitcoin and altcoin miners can use of their mining operations. Many miners join a mining pool to extend their probabilities of incomes bitcoin. Mining pools normally pay shares of rewards primarily based on a miner's hashrate and work contributed. Cryptocurrency mining is required by a proof of work (PoW) blockchain like Bitcoin to hold out its operations. The mining process involves fixing a block's hash by randomly generating numbers till reaching a number under the target difficulty quantity. Thanks to the low hashrate, it means you get to mine for prolonged durations. The largest contributing issue is how a lot a mining operation is paying for electrical energy. If the quantity it prices to mine a Bitcoin exceeds the price of the Bitcoin, then the mining operation is mining Bitcoin at a loss. It’s widespread knowledge that it has become very troublesome for particular person miners to get entry to the most effective machines and the cheapest electrical energy rates. Bitcoin farms that operate at scale use these advantages to maximise their returns. Unfortunately most older machines are actually now not profitable even in China. With a lower hash rate, you'll have to wait much longer to mine 1 block and hence obtain the crypto reward, particularly if the problem increases frequently. Computers used to browse the web, launch Microsoft Word and a selection of other countless purposes all comprise what known as a central processing unit (CPU). These devices control how commands on a pc are processed and executed. Due to the lack of miner competitors in bitcoin’s early days, the computational energy required to create new blocks and earn mining rewards might be simply processed on CPU devices. Zuoxing Yang, a Bitmain chip-design director who was pivotal in creating the Antminer S7 and S9, left the agency 2016 over a compensation dispute. He discovered his personal ASIC miner company MicroBT, and was sued by Bitmain for IP theft as MicroBT grew to problem Bitmain's market dominance. Hosted mining is just if you own an ASIC, however it is set up in a remote facility. IPollo is a newcomer to the mining area, however it has already produced impressive outcomes with BTC, ETH and GRIN miners. The B2 stats match those of the S19 Pro, nevertheless this miner is dearer. For example, a miner silencer field could be constructed out of steel, wooden, and even an ice chest. But be attentive to the machine’s temperatures when testing out a brand new miner box in order that it doesn't overheat, and make changes accordingly. Soundproof insulation that's fireproof, like rockwool, could also be used to quiet a mining field or room. If there is a drawback with certainly one of these bullet points, you will want to troubleshoot. Sometimes doing a protracted reset (off for 2 minutes), or shifting a machine’s position to enhance airflow may help. We get into details about troubleshooting and repairs on the finish of this article. As https://outletminers.com/terms-of-service/ of the pooling of mining assets, smaller mining farms can compete with one another. Read our comprehensive comparability article for more info on the top Bitcoin mining swimming pools. Of these considerations, electrical energy distribution is essentially the most harmful and least understood. Interestingly whilst Antminer had been downsizing chips, Canaan as an alternative worked exhausting to enhance its 16nm ASIC efficiency. Canaan were capable of get the specs of a 16nm down to the equivalent of Bitmain’s Antminer S15 which uses a 7nm chip. But this extended R&D on the A1047 could have lead Canaan to lose a few of their market edge, as most industrial miners only want the most powerful machines out there. Powered by the Ethash algorithm, the Jasminer X16-Q delivers spectacular mining efficiency. High effectivity and a steady hashrate of 1.845Gh/s guarantee optimal productiveness. Adhering to beneficial working conditions and sustaining a noise level of forty decibels, this miner offers a quiet and environment friendly mining expertise. Based on our experience, the most effective ASIC miner is the Antminer S19 XP. It is a powerful and efficient mining machine designed to optimize your crypto-mining experience. In the ever-evolving world of cryptocurrency mining, discovering probably the most worthwhile ASICs (Application-Specific Integrated Circuits) is essential for miners seeking optimal returns. DragonMintT1 is the newest mining rig from the Chinese tech company Halong Mining. DragonMint T1 carries 189 built-in circuits, two highly effective cooling fans, and boasts a sixteen TH per second hash fee. It produces solely 75 dB, which is surprisingly quiet in comparison with other rigs. Most miners agree that DragonMint T1 is nice as it ensures a optimistic ROI. In terms of vitality effectivity and hashrate, the new gadget is slightly weaker than the Antminer S19 but prices almost the identical.

How does a soundproof server cabinet reduce environmental noise

Although the digital world we live in today is enhanced in innovation and progress, there are certain annoying aspects we cannot avoid—for example, the constant buzzing noise from the equipment in a server room. Prolonged exposure to such noise in a high-technology workspace can lead to a loss of productivity. It can also lead to depression and hearing impairment.

A solution to reduce noise

The soundproof rack is an ideal option to minimize this sound since they are equipped with active noise-cancellation technology, which is highly effective in reducing low-frequency noise. In addition, a soundproof server cabinet is designed to reduce noise created by high frequency waves by blocking or absorbing these sound waves. This is achieved through several different mechanisms:

Sound-absorbing materials: The cabinet is lined with materials that absorb sound waves, such as acoustic foam or fiberglass insulation. These materials are designed to trap sound waves and prevent them from bouncing inside the cabinet, reducing the amount of noise that escapes.

Sealing: The cabinet is designed as per IP50 rating, with sealed edges and doors that prevent sound from escaping. This helps to create a barrier between the noise inside the cabinet and the surrounding environment.

Netrack’s Acoustic racks

Here it must be mentioned that the advantage of an acoustic rack lies in the reduction of the noise drastically to a level of 30 dBA, which is below the audibility level in an office space that varies between 48 dBA to 78 dBA. It is explicitly designed to eliminate the equipment noise through multilayer acoustic material within the inner surfaces to achieve a superior level of noise reduction from high-frequency noise. The ASFT (Active Silence Fan tray) in acoustic racks reduces the noise produced by auxiliary fans and installed equipment noise to the surrounding noise level. It is considered the best soundproof rack empowered with a fire retardant. Hence, it can be mentioned that the Acoustic Racks manufactured by Netrack are a desirable solution for such noise issues.

These acoustic racks are designed with efficient thermal and airflow management to prevent the equipment from overheating or any fire outbreak. These racks are very popular among hospitals, airports, hotels, educational institutions, banks, and R&D labs. The acoustic rack enclosures offered by Netrack use passive foam to draw hot air from the dust filters. This ensures that the airflow remains undisturbed as it enters from the front and is expelled at the rear. Such airflow management through passive cooling can handle up to 7kW of IT load. The best part about these acoustic cabinet enclosures is that they are easy to set up and can be customized to suit the aesthetics of a workspace.

Final word

Overall, a soundproof rack is designed to create a controlled environment for the servers while minimizing the impact on the surrounding environment. Reducing environmental noise can create a more comfortable and productive work environment while also improving the overall efficiency and performance of the servers themselves.

Netrack offers a soundproof rack that reduces environmental noise by using materials that absorb and block sound waves, creating a barrier between the noise source and the surrounding environment.

Childhood Musings

During my middle school years, I developed a peculiar habit that I maintained each new school year. It seemed impractical to hold onto friendships with classmates from the previous year if we wouldn't be in the same grade again.

My approach was to search for the quietest person in class, preferably someone seated near me, and cling to them. I would ask their name and inquire about their interests. Candidly speaking, I didn't particularly like them or people in general. My primary concern was avoiding the label of a lonely child who ate lunch alone.

Since a young age, I had a keen sense of what was expected of me and what wasn't. However, my parents were not fully present during my childhood, as they had their own unresolved issues to contend with. Being the middle child, I struggled to understand the deep bond shared between my two sisters, which often led to teasing.

As a result, I didn't engage much with other children my age. Instead, I sought solace in films and TV shows, emulating their expressions and imitating certain behaviors. In a way, television became a surrogate parent, imparting lessons on how relationships were meant to function.

Loneliness became an ever-present companion throughout my childhood. I harbored a profound fear of teachers, being called upon to answer questions, authority figures, the spotlight, raised voices, and even prolonged gazes directed towards me.

Hence, I consistently sought out the quietest child as my preferred company, as it provided a sense of safety (although this wasn't always the case). Together, we would share the silence while sharing a bench and enjoying our lunches.

Eventually, these temporary companions would forge connections with others, and I would seamlessly join them. They would engage in conversation and play, while I quietly consumed my meal and absorbed the surrounding environment.

Strangely enough, I look back on those moments with amusement. I resembled a ghostly figure, quietly following along as they conversed, seldom asking questions or participating actively. My role was that of an observer, finding solace in the security of silence—a protective cocoon that enveloped me during those formative years.

- Solivaga

Synopsis

Dead Silence follows Claire Kovalik, the team lead for a beacon repair crew on her last voyage. Her job is becoming obsolete, and after this flight, her assignment will change to a desk job. Claire can’t think of anything worse. While getting ready to report back, the crew receives a distress signal. Realizing this will buy her more time on her flight Claire convinces everyone to follow the signal. The crew comes upon the Aurora, a luxury spaceship that went missing 20 years ago. The crew decides to explore the ship because this type of salvage claim could bring in a substantial amount of money and change their lives. They come to find the task won’t be easy, and possibly dangerous. On board the Aurora is a disturbing scene, carnage, and a mystery they begin to unfold. The danger that caused this tragedy isn’t over yet. The crew starts to believe someone or something may still be lurking in the shadows.

The Atmosphere

There’s something undeniably creepy and thrilling about horror novels that take place in space. The isolation, danger, and unknowns of it keep you on the edge of your seat in this novel. If I could describe the atmosphere in this novel with one word it would be claustrophobic. The crew exploring a ship filled with preserved dead bodies in deep space is enough to make anyone feel dreadful and tense.

The Protagonist

Claire Kovalik is the team lead of a beacon repair crew. Her job is the only thing keeping her relatively sane, and she was about to lose that peace. Hence she makes the selfish decision to prolong the mission so she doesn’t have to go home despite protests from her crew. This decision puts her crew’s lives in jeopardy. Although she is a flawed character who made a bad choice, I couldn’t help but like her. She has a difficult and traumatic past that haunts her. I think her struggle with mental health was relatable and well-depicted. Even though she made this selfish decision, Claire truly cares for her crew and would do anything to protect them. So she doesn’t lack admirable qualities by any means. As the book progresses, you become further entangled in the troubled mind of Claire and her hallucinations. I even began to question how reliable of a narrator she is. The crew’s descent into madness was thrilling and left you wondering what reality is.

Final Thoughts

The book was an enjoyable read that I breezed through. It lived up to the hype of being The Shining meets Titanic. The twists and turns were actually unexpected, which I loved. I feel that some parts dragged on a bit, but that was just a minor issue. I rate this a 4 out of 5.

Want more? Check out my blog: Cozy Coffee Library

ABOUT ANGELUS DESDEMONA.

"No bandage can stifle an eternal wound… and there will be a time where its influence will bleed through."

•⠀name: angelus desdemona.

•⠀age: twenty-eight (28).

•⠀pronouns: he / him.

•⠀orientation: demisexual.

•⠀species: miqo'viera (seeker of the sun, raava).

•⠀occupation: funeral director, occultist, black market merchant.

•⠀residence: the goblet.

Owner of DANSE MACABRE, a funeral parlor situated in Western Thanalan.

Danse macabre looks like your average funeral parlor, but it is a front for many sketchy things. their top dealings being soul stone smugglings. their job includes collecting corpses of adventurers that haven’t dissipated and taking their soul stones to replace it with replicas that are difficult to differentiate from the real deal. they put the genuine articles up for auctions. of course, soul stones have the high chance of not functioning if not compatible with the new owner, but it doesn’t stop certain people from dabbling into said scheme.

There are certain organizations within eorzea that they’re contracted to and for reasons unknown, they’re able to escape the gaze of the syndicate. danse macabre also has a secret unit that deals with assassination for known contract breakers or any untrusted individuals, hence the funeral parlor remaining under the radar. 

trusted clientele are given a sigil called “charon’s toll”, which is only honored to very few in numbers. when a toll owner passes away, their sigil is immediately destroyed as it cannot be inherited. likewise, transactions do not come in the form of gil, but with special currency dubbed as a ferryman’s coin and can only be obtained in their seasonal auctions. -taken from @senetaf because he worded it beautifully.

PERSONALITY.

Angelus’s intensity was known long before the Eureka expedition. It showed clear in his every word and action—the shadows lining his furrowed brow, the heavy-handed scratch of pen against endless pages of notes.

His many detractors accused him of even intense daydreaming; however, the truth of Angelus’s frequent, prolonged moments of silence was far simpler. Rather than daydreaming, Angelus was theorizing, because even greater than his intensity was, and remains, his loyalty. To what? His studies, firstly, and after that, his unyielding belief in their importance. Likewise, those who’ve managed to capture enough of his interest to warrant a feeling not unlike “care” are often subjected to this grasp of loyalty as well, whether they realize it or not.

And yet, despite how much Angelus cares about the history of the world, he also—to the frustration of many—has taken a laissez-faire attitude towards most events.

Others have labelled this outwardly calm demeanor as cold. Cruel, even. But reality once again proved far simpler than conspiracy: to get involved in other peoples’ issues could derail his own goals. That’s all. For Angelus, negative descriptors like “cold” and “cruel” didn’t exist. All that existed, all that continues to exist, is progress through whatever means necessary.

And if that progress, that scholarly interest— that answer to the itch of fearful curiosity felt when faced with an answer to his obsession— could be found through the sacrifice of a few gleaners and money exchanged for darkness, then to Angelus, there was only one proper response:

"So be it."