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astralsweetness · 4 years

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Set my soul on fire (make me wild) || Hui/Reader (M)

➣ I was originally going to write a LOT more smut (I had so much planned that I never got to!!! ugh).. Maybe I’ll have to do a part 2 or something 👀 the amount of time i spent looking at pics of his studio just so that one scene would be accurate is insane Title from the song ‘Queen of Disaster’. Very briefly proof-read, so please feel free to inform me of typos!

➣ Hui/Reader | Hui drunkenly kisses the reader without explicit consent but owns up to it bcs I’m tired of every other fic that includes this trope just glossing over it | Smut warnings include: masturbation, fingering, hair-pulling (implied), biting (mostly implied), oral + snowballing, slight pain/masochism (implied), some humiliation/degradation + some praise, referenced submissive headspace, and all of them apply to Hui lmao. Also it’s mentioned that Hui isn’t strictly heterosexual and if that bothers you then idk what to tell you

➣ “He is hanging off your every word and you suddenly feel like you have a choice to make - it’s one you don’t think about for more than a second, because you realize that you don’t need to.”

Hui knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you had completely ruined his life just by existing in it.

It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. The feeling he got whenever you smiled at him, for example, was definitely not a bad thing. The way his skin tingled whenever you brushed against him was.. bothersome, but not a bad thing. The way his heart sped up and beat almost painfully hard whenever he indulged in his regular skinship with you wasn’t particularly bad, but he’d stopped doing that recently just as a preservation strategy so he didn’t die in the next year from a heart attack. (He was a naturally touchy person, and he wasn’t completely sure how he felt at having to stop that with you specifically.)

The way his mind constantly drifted to thoughts of you was starting to become an issue though, as was how he tensed up whenever you got even moderately close to him. You’d started to notice, and he had no idea how to tell you that it was happening because of that one time the rest of the boys had ‘accidentally’ forced the two of you to be pressed against one another in an elevator, and that just the knowledge that your breasts were pressing against his arm had him fighting to not get hard like some sort of teenager. He wasn’t totally sure how successful he’d be the next time if something similar happened.

Still, you were, as far as he was concerned, completely unattainable, and that in itself was a problem. He’d experienced his fair share of heartaches and heartbreaks before, but this was.. different. At least in those circumstances he’d gotten a definitive answer.

With you though, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask, had resigned himself to pining over you like a kid with a crush.

If you hadn’t ruined his life then you sure as hell had made it harder.

.｡..｡.

When Hui gets a knock on his studio door around six pm he’s not particularly surprised – lately his members had taken to dropping in to make sure he had eaten something that day. (Usually he had not.)

He is surprised to see you standing alongside Yuto when he opens the door, so he glances at the maknae suspiciously – Yuto seems perfectly innocent, but Hui wasn’t exactly sure how much of that was an act.

“Hyung, did you eat today?” The younger boy holds up a bag as an offering – it doesn’t look like the regular convenience store food the boys would usually grab for him, so Hui accepts it hesitantly.

“I was originally just going to bring food for Hyunggu, since he was apparently starving in his studio or something, but then he mentioned that you never ate either, so..” You’re looking at him like you’re vaguely disappointed, and it makes a funny feeling tighten in his chest so he pretends to be completely absorbed with looking through the bag. He’s not sure where you got the food from, but it was mostly stuff that he actually liked. “I went to a place Hyunggu wanted, but he told me what he thought you’d like from there – I hope he was right.”

“This – you didn’t have to do this.” It’s nice not being the one buying things for once, he has to admit that to himself, but he still felt a bit bad that you’d felt the need to bring him anything at all. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re right, I didn’t have to. I wanted to – just like I wanted to bring Yuto food too when Hyunggu told me he was also here.” You’ve perched on the edge of his small leather couch and he wonders if you’d ever been in here before – he honestly can’t remember, though with how hyper-aware he was of you it was pretty safe to assume you hadn’t been. Yuto’s lingering near the door quietly, watching you and he interact, and he feels like the younger is analyzing what was happening.

“Thank you for it – I should go eat it now, while it’s still warm.” Yuto’s gentle bass of a voice is almost soothing, but Hui shoots him a look anyway because he suddenly knew what was happening. His maknaes were downright masterminds when it came to plans like this, and he can’t think of any way to get Yuto to stay before you bid him a cheerful goodbye as the Japanese boy smiles at the both of you as he carefully closes the door.

“Should I go too? I don’t want to distract you or be a bother or anything.” Your question is so sincere that he just looks at you for a few moments, tries to figure out a way to say ‘Yes, you do distract me and bother me, but definitely not in the way you’re thinking’. He finally settles on a single head shake, clearing a small portion of one of his desks to place the food on.

“Did you already eat?”

“No, but I’m fine.” Your answer is quiet, and he glances over to see you gazing around his studio – he feels vaguely embarrassed, though he’s not particularly sure why. His studio is remarkably small, it’s true, but he’s not actually ashamed of anything in it.

“You’ve never been in here before?” He’s pretty sure you haven’t, but there’s no harm in confirming it. You’d been focused intently on reading the names on his soccer jerseys, but once he speaks you turn all that intense concentration on to him and his mouth goes dry.

“Nope. Not that I remember, anyway, and I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.” You’re smiling at him and he doesn’t know why that’s something you’d remember, but your smile makes him not really care about the particulars. “Now eat, Hui.”

He raises his eyebrows at the parental tone you’ve adopted but says nothing, knowing there was no way he could get out of it now – and honestly, he didn’t really want to. He was really fucking hungry, and the meat you’d brought him smelled delicious.

It’s only as he’s taking his first bite (which is excellent by the way, Hyunggu apparently had a very good taste in restaurants) that he remembers what you said about not eating and makes a stupid split-second decision. (He’s never been one to think about things like this too much before blindly doing them, which was probably a problem, come to think of it.)

“Here –“ He holds the strip of bulgogi out towards you, one hand underneath, the sound of his heartbeat a constant background theme song. “Say ‘ah’~” And it’s so easy to pretend, to act like he’s just being friendly, to tinge everything he says with a bit of aegyo – you roll your eyes at him but accept the food anyway.

It’s not easy to ignore the intimacy of an act like this, to ignore the way he’s hit with a sudden yearning deep in his chest to be able to feed you food whenever, like a real significant other could.

“Thank you, but no more! This food is for you.”

“Okay, okay.”

The silence that slips back afterwards is mostly comfortable – you seem determined to make sure he eats, so while he does so you go back to gazing around his studio. Hui feels like there really wasn’t that much to look at, but you hadn’t looked bored yet, taking in the contents of his desk and then computer monitor. He realizes belatedly that he still had the windows open for some of their unreleased tracks, but when he glances at you again you’ve already moved on from them, so he leaves them where they are.

“Are you still seeing that one guy?” It’s easy conversation, light and carefree even if the topic makes him feel a bit bitter – as much as the knowledge of you seeing other people ate away at him he knows it would bother him more if you didn’t feel comfortable talking with him about it at all. Being able to be a close friend you confided in was something he cared more about than not feeling jealous.

“Oh – no, I’m not.” Your tone is carefully disinterested, but he can see through it well enough by now. Still, he doesn’t say anything, just turns so he’s fully facing you, focused and listening. “We just had a – confliction of interests I guess you could say.” You laugh softly at your wording and he laughs too, even if he doesn’t totally understand what you mean.

“And that means, what, exactly?”

“He thought women should be submissive during sex, and I disagreed.” ..Oh. Hui’s gaze darts away as he tries to process that – it wasn’t that you talking about sex was surprising. He was used to talking with you about intimately private things like this, though that was before this annoying infatuation with you had manifested into the tiresome nuisance it was now. Still, you’d never exactly stated your.. affinities towards any one thing.

“Ah.. is that so?” He sounds much hoarser than he’d meant to, like he’d choked on something – he still can’t look at you, because suddenly all he can think about is what that meant, if it meant leather and pain or lace and sweetness, if it meant scathing words or saccharine praises.

“Are you blushing?” You’re leaning forward off his couch, grinning and trying to get a look at his face, one of your hands on his knee to keep him from turning away from you - and he realizes that yes, he is fucking blushing, and the place you were touching him felt like it was blistering with heat. “Well, at least you’re not getting all upset with me for injuring your masculine pride or whatever by being a woman who doesn’t like to –“

“Okay! Okay okay, please take mercy on me!” His slightly exaggerated whining is met with your laughter, and his face feels like it’s on fucking fire, but he can’t look away from you now that he’d accidentally met your gaze.

“Sorry – you’re just so cute when you’re flustered!” And he knows he shouldn’t take this as anything more than friendly teasing, just like whenever Hyunggu would call him ‘cute’ whenever he got scared of something, but your words still make something short-circuit in his brain and he swears to everything that you will be the death of him.

“I’m – sorry things didn’t work out with him, but you’re really going to kill me if you keep this up.” And it’s not even a lie – he is ninety-eight percent sure that if you keep talking like this without giving him time to recuperate then he was just going to over-heat and pass out.

“I should go anyway, I’ve distracted you long enough – I didn’t go too far, did I?” You’ve stood up now and are looking down at him with a worried smile, so he just shakes his head because he’s pretty sure if he tried to talk he’d say something stupid like ‘No, I definitely didn’t mind hearing you say that, and while you’re at it please tell me some more’. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Make sure you eat it all!”

He manages a “goodbye” that sounds sort of like he wasn’t dying, waving to you until you leave and his studio door beeps to signify that it was locked again.

“For fuck’s sake..” Hui forces himself to breathe deep, tries to will some of the heat to leave his face. He really didn’t know why he was getting so flustered over something like this – he wasn’t usually the type. Was it just because it was you? Because he definitely wouldn’t mind if you preferred to be dominant?

Hui curses again, a quiet ‘fuck’ that doesn’t really encompass everything he’s feeling but seems to be the best he can manage. Fuck indeed. He was so fucked.

.｡..｡.

The next time Hui’s in his studio he does his best to forget about the conversation the two of you had had last in there, tries to forget the way his entire body had lit up when you touched his leg, tries to forget the way you’d smiled so sweetly when he fed you.

It doesn’t go well.

To be honest, he didn’t do things like this often – he was busy most of the time, and if he was in his studio then he usually had something he needed to work on instead. But being in this room less than twenty-four hours after you had off-handedly mentioned that you liked to take a more dominant approach in the bedroom had him unable to concentrate on anything else, though he had made a valiant effort for an upwards of fifteen minutes.

With an agitated huff he’s pushing his chair back from his desk with more force than necessary, moving to make sure his studio’s door was locked before taking a seat on the edge of his couch. For a moment he contemplates if he’s really going to do this, runs an aggressive hand through his dyed silver hair and then curses the tingling pain it brings that he doesn’t quite hate as much as he should in the moment.

There’s a lingering feeling of shame and a much stronger feeling of embarrassment covering his body when he reaches for himself, though it only lasts for a few moments until the feeling of the rough friction of his palm through his jeans overpowers anything else.

Hui tips his head back with a soft moan before he remembers he needs to keep quiet, bites his lip when he unzips himself so he can wrap his fingers around his cock more easily. He’s rough, impatient, wants to finish fast but also likes the slight bit of pain – he full body shudders when he finally tugs the waistband of his briefs down and feels the cold air hit him, falling back onto his forearm. He knows, for a fact, that there’s a small bottle of lube in one of his drawers somewhere, but he doesn’t bother looking for it – he’s slick enough as is, and the slight pain keeps him grounded, keeps him from getting into it enough that he wouldn’t be able to monitor his volume.

There’s a slight urgency surrounding it all that is always there when doing something like this in a semi-public place, and he gives into it this time and allows it to urge him on quicker, fucking into his fist like he was going to get caught at any second.

He wants to drag this out, wants to get this over with, wants to think about anything else or feel the need to pull up some dirty video on his phone to finish, but all he can think about is you, you, you – he wonders what it would be like if you were the one stroking him instead, if you’d take pity on him or would be ruthless, if you’d whisper sweet compliments into his skin or humiliate him with biting words, if you’d bite at his neck, he really wanted you to bite at his neck and mark him up –

He orgasms with a choked off cry, hastily shoves the back of his wrist against his teeth to try to keep quiet as his hips buck sloppily into the loose circle of his fingers. He’s never been particularly quiet, and another wave of arousal washes over him as he imagines you telling him to keep it down, warning him that you’d have to gag him otherwise. He whimpers pitifully at the thought and tries to shut his mind down, feeling overstimulated both physically and mentally.

His fingers are sticky, the warmth quickly drying on his skin, and he feels much too hot, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin alongside a layer of shame. He’s not totally sure why but he feels like he’s just made everything worse, like somehow he’d crossed a line and now being around you was going to be ten times harder.

He also feels like this was inevitable though, that his attraction to you had been building for so long that if he hadn’t found a release for it somewhere then he would have gone insane.

Or maybe he’s insane now, now that he’d done something this dirty and depraved. He really didn’t know, gaze still just a bit glassy and unfocused.

What he did know was that he was completely and utterly fucked at this point, collapses onto his back and lets his aching forearm finally take a break as his eyes slide shut in defeat.

.｡..｡.

“You’re not serious.”

“Of course we are, hyung – why, do you have a problem with it?”

Hongseok is taunting him, like he always does, and Hui would usually play along and tease him back but he feels completely thrown off guard and does nothing more than blink at all of them incredulously. His lack of a playful reaction in return has Hongseok softening a bit at the edges, but Hyunggu isn’t nearly as merciful.

“What’s the problem with it? You’ve been wanting us to do something bonding like this for a while, and now we have a time to do it, a reason to do it, and someone to make sure we don’t screw it all up by doing something stupid when we’re drunk.”

“We didn’t force her, hyung, she offered when we asked.” Yuto’s trying to alleviate Hui’s concerns, but he’s way off base – still, he’s trying, so Hui manages what he hopes is more smile than it is grimace in the Japanese boy’s direction.

“We want to drink, she doesn’t like drinking, and we have a few days off because Road to Kingdom ended – what are you so worried about?” Changgu asks him, kind and sincere as always – Hui doesn’t trust him for a minute, but he can’t fight the natural urge to tell everyone what his issue was anyway. God, he hated them sometimes. (They were his family, and he supposed sometimes you just had to hate your family.)

“You all know my – my problem with her.”

“Yeah, we know you want to –“

“Date her.” Wooseok cuts Shinwon off at the last second, modifying whatever it was his hyung had been about to say – Shinwon looks both annoyed and scandalized that Wooseok had thought he was going to say anything else. Hui does his best to ignore them.

“You really thought I’d be okay with her being the one watching over us while we drank? Knowing that none of us can drink well?” He swore he could literally feel his stress levels rising – it wasn’t like he was an embarrassing drunk or anything, but he knew he had an incredibly low tolerance for it, and he also knew that if the entire group was drinking then they were just going to end up egging one another on until everyone was truly smashed.

“Well, you’re going to have to be okay with it, hyung.” Hyunggu, always the hard-ass, insists forcefully – he doesn’t say it unkindly, but he says it in a tone that brooks no room for disagreement. It’s more Kino’s voice than it is Hyunggu’s, scarily similar to when they’re in the practice room.

Hui knows he could override it with hyung or leader seniority, knows Hyunggu is watching him carefully to see if it’s actually something the elder couldn’t deal with.

He ultimately says nothing, just sighs in a way that lets everyone else know he’s acquiesced – the resulting cheer brings a small smile to his face, even if he still feels uneasy about how the planned drinking night would go. He knew that when it came to both his members and you in one building with alcohol involved there was no way he wasn’t royally fucked.

.｡..｡.

The night goes exactly as you expected it to – none of the Pentagon members could hold their liquor particularly well, which meant that after an hour and a half they were all at their limits. (It was honestly kind of funny to watch. They were all so intent on getting one another drunk that they weren’t really even paying attention to the way everyone was sabotaging each other by constantly keeping the cups full.)

Still, that meant you were mostly trying to make sure they didn’t kill or injure themselves somehow. It wasn’t too hard of a task, though you did have to threaten both Wooseok and Hyunggu to keep them from climbing on top of the only coffee table Dorm A had. You were pretty sure the glass would just shatter under their combined weight. Hyunggu had targeted you with an impressive pout after that, but he’d lost interest pretty quickly when Yuto had fallen asleep - not that you blamed him, the rapper was sort of adorable when he slept.

It also meant that when Hui got up to get water – he swore that’s what he was getting, at least – you followed him. The man was a menace in the kitchen when he was sober, you were almost afraid to imagine what he’d manage to do when he was drunk. Just his presence alone might cause the stove to burst into flames or something. He was seriously cursed.

“Why are you following me?” His question is just a bit slurred together, almost sounding more like he was incredibly sleepy instead of drunk – you figure it’s because he hadn’t had as much to drink, but you weren’t really sure. You hadn’t been monitoring how much any person drank, more concerned with keeping them alive. (They could manage to injure themselves sitting on the floor sober, so being drunk just made your job several times harder.)

“Just checking.” You murmur – he raises his eyebrows at your comment but doesn’t say anything else, turning to grab a glass from one of the cupboards. You watch him for four whole seconds before you decide he’s about to knock several of them to the floor, stepping forward to reach for it instead. Maybe you’d been wrong about how much he had drank.

“I could have gotten it..” His petulance makes you smile, doing your best not to laugh at the little “hmph” he gives you when you inform him that no, he probably could not have.

“Just let me take care of you, you big baby. At least this way I can make sure you’re getting only water.”

“That is all I was getting..” He’s still sulking when you hand it to him, face flushed from the culmination of everything he’d drank tonight. You force your gaze away when he begins to drink – even drunk off his ass he was still an infuriatingly confusing mix of handsome and cute, and you resolutely did not want to watch his throat when he swallowed.

The sound of glass hitting a bit too hard on a solid surface startles you – Hui’s set his glass down incredibly close to your hand, depth perception just a bit fucked. You want to open your mouth to scold him for the close call, but his body heat is incredibly distracting, and he’s raising one of his hands and your breath catches in your throat.

He cages you in against the dorm’s sink, one hand on the side of your neck – to angle the kiss better or to steady himself you weren’t sure – with the other bracing himself as he presses his lips to yours. He’s so ultra-hot against your body, tastes of the same fruity drink Shinwon had been pressing into his hand all evening, the metal of his belt buckle biting into your stomach.

It’s not until he gives a soft breathy moan into your mouth that you realize you’ve been kissing him back for the past thirty seconds in his own kitchen, heedless of the rest of his members in the adjoining room or the fact that he was drunk enough he could barely stand without assistance. You press at his shoulders with minimal force, missing the pressure of his lips when he instantly moves away.

“What..?” He looks immensely confused, and you feel awful for kissing him back when you weren’t totally sure he was even aware of what he was doing. “Why’d you push me away?“

“Hui –“

“You kissed me back, so why’d y –“

“I just don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret later, Hwitaek.” You hope the use of his full name will get through to him – it seems it does, in some regard, because while he chokes out a half-disbelieving and half-tormented laugh he still pauses and blinks at you slowly like he was trying to carefully choose his next words.

“You act like I haven’t wanted to do this since the first time I met you.” And oh, his voice is just a bit huskier, a bit slurred on the syllables, but he says them carefully and you know that, at the very least, Drunk Hui meant them.

The problem was that you didn’t know if Sober Hui would agree.

“You should go to bed, Hui.” You say this instead of saying all the other things crowding the tip of your tongue, instead of grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again – alcohol took away a person’s consent, and you weren’t about to take a chance to pressure Hui into doing something you weren’t sure he wanted in the first place.

“No one else has gone to bed yet..” Now he’s sulking – but this is normal, this you can deal with. You can pretend like your lips didn’t still tingle where his had been touching, can pretend like you weren’t already addicted to the feeling.

“That’s not really a valid argument considering Yuto’s fallen asleep twice already.” You counter, watching the way he bites at his bottom lip in frustration – you know it for what it is, and it still seems coy to you instead, like he’s trying to seduce you.

God, what was wrong with you? He was just pouting now, brow furrowed, and you feel absolutely pathetic for seeing his current actions as anything other than what they really were.

It didn’t matter how attractive or desirable you found him, you couldn’t in good conscience do anything while he was so inebriated.

“Come on, Hui – let’s get you to bed so I can get back to the other boys to make sure they haven’t done something stupid, like coercing Hongseok into wrestling Changgu shirtless. Again.”

“It wasn’t that stupid –“

“They literally broke a bookshelf with their bodies, be quiet.” The banter comes easily, is normal and comfortable – it’s easy to pretend like he hadn’t just been kissing you, like you hadn’t just been fantasizing about him seducing you of his own free will. His skin is warm underneath your fingertips, flushed from the alcohol, as you direct him by the bicep down the hall and to his room.

You’re rarely in here – he’s rarely in here, actually, considering how much time he spends at his studio, how often he sleeps there. Because of that his room is sparsely decorated, an incredibly faint lingering smell of the cologne he occasionally wore clinging to the edges of some of the surfaces. It’s a heady scent that you do your absolute best to ignore, because it brings to mind images of him whenever he bothered to get extra dressed up, devastatingly handsome.

He lets you guide him over to his bed with zero fuss but turns back towards you when his knees hit the edge of it, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. It’s a deceptively gentle action, and you know you should really stop him, but you don’t move when he leans in to kiss you again. Underneath the flavor of alcohol there’s a distinctive taste that is purely him, and you know if you weren’t addicted to kissing him before then you definitely were now.

When you nip at his bottom lip and he lets out a shuddering moan you realize what you’re doing, try to pull away as fast as you can – this wasn’t fair to him, when he wasn’t in his right mind – but he catches you with a hand frantically landing on your waist, dropping his head to litter kisses along your jaw and then throat. You try to ignore the way your legs go weak at the feeling.

“Please –“ It’s more of a whine than a plea, but you feel it against the skin of your neck all the same, the words dragged along your pulse-point like a searing flame. “If we don’t now, then I don’t think –“

“You need to sleep.” It takes every ounce of willpower inside of you to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs, the insistent hard press of his cock against your thigh, the way his whimper when you push at his chest vibrates along the skin of your shoulder where he presses one last desperate kiss. “We can – we’ll talk about it in the morning.” You continue to push him gently back until he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, gazing up at you through his eyelashes, flushed and looking five different kinds of wrecked. Your entire nervous system threatens to shut down at the sight and you’re not sure that you can keep your promise about talking about it tomorrow.

He’s apparently not sure of it either, expression pinched and distraught when you press him insistently by the shoulders back onto his bed. His hair is ruffled and his eyes are glazed (from the alcohol or lust, you weren’t sure), his lips slick and kiss-bruised –

You tear your gaze away and force yourself to breathe again. When you look back Hui’s thrown a forearm over his eyes, bottom lip snagged between his teeth, breathing labored.

It takes ten seconds before you’re out of the room, clicking the door shut as quietly as you can, trying to erase the imagery of tears staining his face.

.｡..｡.

When Hui wakes up it’s to a pounding head and the vaguely disgusting feeling you get when you sleep in your clothes on top of your covers. His entire body hurts and he makes the same promise he always does when he wakes up like this, the same one he’s never kept – he’ll never drink again. Or, at the very least, he’ll never drink that much again.

His whole room spins when he pushes himself up, groaning softly at the way he feels like the world tilts dangerously on its axis as he slides his legs off the edge of his mattress. It’s only because of this world-shifting that he notices Wooseok asleep on the other side of his bed, all his long limbs drawn in as close as possible, his brow furrowed in his sleep.

He wonders when the maknae had ended up here and how they’d decided on rooms while he goes to the pain-staking process of draping one of his extra blankets over the tall boy. The world is still too bright (even with his blinds shut) and every step he takes feels a bit like walking through mud, but when he sees the way Wooseok slightly relaxes after being covered it all feels worth it.

The trek from his room to the kitchen feels like it takes much longer than it should, but at the very least the suspiciously long stretch of the dorm gives ample time for his headache to shift from excruciating to manageable. He was going to find the bottle of Aspirin, take all of them, and then go the fuck back to sleep. (Okay, maybe one of those was an exaggeration, but it sure felt like he could use that many painkillers.)

“Good morning.” He almost chokes when he hears your voice, a sudden onslaught of memories causing his face to heat up – you weren’t even looking at him, busying yourself with the small skillet Hongseok kept religiously cleaned. Hui wasn’t sure if his nausea was due to the smell of food or the way all he could think about was how he had – stupidly, why the fuck had he done that – kissed you and then tried to get you into bed with him.

“..Morning.” He hopes you take his lackluster response as a product of his hangover, sliding into one of the chairs at the kitchen table so he can bury his head in his hands.

“That bad, huh? You’re going to have to learn to tell Shinwon ‘no’ when he offers you drinks, you know.” He looks up to see you placing what he assumes is an Aspirin down on the table in front of him, already turned back to grab him water. He’s not sure if he’s glad you mistook his suffering as the results of a hangover or not.

“Thanks.” He waits until you hand him the glass before he takes the medicine, downing the rest of the contents when he realizes just how thirsty he was. He can feel the weight of your gaze still on him and it makes the blood in his veins feel like ice, knowing you had to remember the exact same things he (suddenly) did.

“If it makes you feel any better, Hongseok is way worse off than you right now. I honestly can’t believe he’s such a lightweight sometimes…” Your tone is sympathetic, but all Hui feels is a slight smug happiness at there being someone else who was, at the very least, suffering more than he currently was. At least Hongseok hadn’t had the chance to do anything stupid with someone he liked last night, like Hui had. “Honestly, it’s sort of impressive.”

“Huh?” He’d stopped listening to you by pure accident, forces himself to refocus on you – which just causes his eyes to instantly lock on to your lips, face heating up because not only does he remember kissing them, he remembers what they felt like and tasted like and he has to fight to tear his gaze away. God he was so fucked.

“How many lightweights you have in your band. In a group of nine you’d think it’d be more even, but, like.. almost all of you can’t hold your liquor. It’s kind of impressive.” You’re back to focusing on whatever it is you’re cooking – he only just now notices you also have ramen boiling in their small stove to the side, the dull bubbling of the water having blended into background noise long before he’d realized it had been there.

“Are they okay?” He’s sure they are, but there’s some deeply ingrained part of him that feels required to check – the soft smile you give him in response makes him feel like he’s in high school again whenever his crush would focus on him and him alone, and he isn’t sure what to do with that feeling now that he’s twenty eight years old, so he looks down at his empty cup instead.

“They’ll be okay. Wooseokkie ended up in your room – I’m sure you noticed him.” You wait for him to glance at you and nod before continuing. “Hongseok and Changgu ended up in the same room together, which worked out well considering Changgu’s probably the only one who could sleep through Hongseok’s pitiful whining about his hangover anyway. Hyunggu and Yuto shared a room, I think – which I guess means Shinwon ended up alone. Any guess on whether he’ll be happy or upset about that?”

“It could be either.” He responds, mostly because it’s true (Shinwon’s moods were hard to predict sometimes) but partly because talking about his members was something he could easily do, something that felt familiar and normal. It felt safe and far away from the topic he didn’t want to think about. (But he was thinking about it anyway, could remember your warmth when your body was pressed against his, could remember the way you kissed him back bruisingly and made him want nothing more than for you to wreck him every day of his life.)

“Oh, right – Yanan’s in China, by the way, and Jinho’s in the military.”

“Thanks.” His response is a dry remark at the way you were trying to tease him – like he didn’t know where Yanan was and wasn’t constantly in contact with the soon-to-be actor, like he didn’t think about Jinho every single day and wonder if he was doing well. “What would I do without your incredibly timely information.”

You just roll your eyes at him and turn to the ramen – he wonders who you’re making it for before realizing it was probably for whoever woke up hungry. That realization makes a certain spot in his chest warm, and he tries to ignore it because for fuck’s sake, not now.

“I knew it was going to go badly..” He mutters to himself – you hum questioningly and he blinks, surprised you heard him and instantly trying to reach for a half-truth that you’d believe. “Drinking so much, I mean.” Not totally a lie, which meant he could say it and have it sound mostly believable. To his relief you seem to take it at face value.

A silence stretches out between the two of you – it seems comfortable for you, but he feels like his skin is crawling, waiting for the moment you spring the dreaded conversation on him. He can’t think of any more topics to bring up to stall it.

“Hwitaek.” The tone of your voice makes his heart drop into his stomach and freezes over any warmth he’d been feeling because he knows the conversation that is now seconds away from happening is going to be one he didn’t ever want to have. “I think we should talk about what happened last night.”

“What happened?” He tries to brush it off like he didn’t remember, but his voice wavers just a bit and he can’t meet your gaze and he knows that you don’t buy it for a second.

“We have to.” Your voice is soft, gentle, and he hates it because he feels like you’re trying to be as kind as possible, and that didn’t bode well for how the conversation was going to go. “Did you do what you did because you were drunk, or because you were drunk and wanted to?”

Your gaze has him pinned to the seat, his own eyes wide and brain trying to stutter through any excuse he could think of, and when that didn’t work, trying to think of some way he could play it all off as a joke, or as him just being an overly friendly drunk.

You won’t believe anything but the truth, he can tell, and he was a shit liar even when he wasn’t hungover and panicked.

“I –“ He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, probably something stupid like ‘I love you, and I don’t know when I knew that but I’ve always wanted to kiss you, I was drunk but it let me do what I always wanted to do’ but he’s saved by Hyunggu walking into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and looking a bit less like hell than Hui felt.

“I think I’m dying..” The maknae grumbles, and your attention shifts to him and getting him something to help his headache. Hui tries to feel relieved that the conversation had been dropped, but the look you send him once over Hyunggu’s shoulder says, ‘We’re not done talking about this’ and he feels sick all over again. He was so fucked.

.｡..｡.

It isn’t until he escapes to his studio later that day, having basically inhaled an entire cup of coffee to try to fight off both his hangover and his exhaustion, that he realizes that aside from all his personal problems with how the night before had went he had essentially pushed himself on you and then not allowed you an avenue to talk to him about it.

And that makes him feel even more sick, because there had been a chance you’d just wanted closure of some kind considering he had basically drunkenly assaulted you, and all he’d done was avoid the issue entirely when you tried to talk to him about it.

Fuck. Fuck, he was the worst.

He’d been so worried about rejection that he hadn’t even thought about the fact that you’d never consented to being kissed – or, fuck, being propositioned for sex – in the first place.

He runs both hands through his hair aggressively, ruffling it in the slightly painful way he usually did whenever he did something he wasn’t happy with – he feels anxiety sitting cold in his stomach, fear that not only would you hate him but that he’d ended up hurting you or breaking your trust in him all because he’d gotten stupidly drunk.

Pushing down the steadily rising nausea, he reaches for his phone and almost calls you, deciding at the last moment to text you a simple ‘You’re right, we need to talk’ instead. He’d already fucked up once, he didn’t want to force you into the conversation by calling you unexpectedly. As an afterthought he adds a quickly typed ‘I’m sorry I tried to avoid it before’, because despite how nervous the thought makes him, he is genuinely sorry. (Sorry for everything, in fact.)

He tries to busy himself with unfinished tracks while waiting for you to respond, listens to the same snippet of some demo Yuto had sent him six times without really ever hearing the notes, does his absolute best to ignore how one of the last times he was in here he’d ended up touching himself to the thought of you. With everything that had happened since he feels fucking disgusting at the thought of it.

When his phone vibrates he essentially lunges for it – it wasn’t like he’d been making progress on anything anyway – heart hammering in his throat as he opens your messages.

‘It’s okay. In person or by a call?’

He wants to fucking cry at how nice you’re being, at giving him the option to choose a less personal route – but he knows that you were the one who’d taken the brunt of the incident, that all he was really worried about was rejection and being embarrassed. His fingers tap out ‘I’m embarrassed, but it’s up to you’ before deleting the first part before sending. He didn’t want you to feel like he was trying to pressure you into one choice or the other at this point.

‘Knowing you, and seeing how you reacted this morning, I think you’d die if we did it in person lol I’ll call you’

He tries to fight the weak smile your text causes – you always make him smile, and this is no different, but he can’t tell if you’re genuinely okay or not through text and it worries him. You’d seemed fine this morning, almost painfully nonchalant – too nonchalant? He wasn’t sure if he was overthinking things now or not – but he’d been hungover and tired.

You don’t call right away, and he resigns himself to waiting out another five or so minutes in this sickening state of anxiety, selecting and re-selecting the exact same clip of audio over and over just so he can pretend he’s doing something, so he can try to occupy his brain.

When his phone does ring he slams his knee into the table in surprise, high-strung and nervous. He barely even feels the tingling pain.

“I’m so sorry.” He blurts out the instant he answers, muttering a soft fuck under his breath afterwards. He’d wanted to give you time to speak, but he was buzzing with an anxious and guilty energy that had him speaking before he even realized he was.

“What?” Your question sounds more surprised than legitimately confused, like you hadn’t expected him to just start talking immediately. He rakes a hand through his hair again and then keeps it there, fisted, trying to ground himself with the tiny bit of pain as his breathing speeds up.

“About last night – I’m so sorry, I just – I was drunk, and that’s no excuse for what I did, I wasn’t thinking and I’m so fucking sorry. Are – are you okay? Am I allowed to ask that?” He feels like he’s right on the verge of panicking and he hates it, because you were the victim here, not him.

“I –“ You only pause to collect your thoughts for a heartbeat, but he feels the moment stretch on endlessly, sees ninety different scenarios play out and discards every positive one immediately. “Hui, you’re – god you’re so sweet.”

“What?” It’s more of an exhale than a word, because you didn’t sound angry, or hurt, you just sounded slightly amused and grateful, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up but you didn’t sound upset.

“You’re right, what you did was wrong and shitty, and you suck for doing it.” You pause to breathe, and it reminds him he needs to breathe, his gaze darting along one of his computer monitors without really seeing anything. “But it’s sweet of you to apologize. You should, but most people wouldn’t.”

“I should have this morning.” He murmurs quietly, fingers gripping his phone so tightly they’ve begun to ache. “I was selfish and didn’t even think about it. I really am so fucking sorry.”

“I know, Hui. I believe you. You suck at lying anyway, if you weren’t sorry then I’d be able to tell.” You’re laughing again, and he tries to join you, but it sounds weak. His entire body feels like it’s melted into nothing – he didn’t even care if you rejected him at this point, you didn’t hate him and that was good enough. “But I kissed you back, Hui. Multiple times, actually.”

“…..what?” He can’t think of anything else to say – he had remembered you kissing him back, of course he did, but it all sort of blurred together at one point and he wasn’t sure that any of it had definitively happened. “I – I know – I mean, I thought you did, but you could have just, I don’t know, been trying.. to.. get me to go away by not resisting..?” Some drunks became irate when told ‘no’, and while he knew he wasn’t one of them – and he had a feeling you did too – that didn’t mean you hadn’t just been trying to protect yourself.

“God you’re sweet.” Your sudden, repeated statement is quiet, almost like you hadn’t meant him to hear it – he doesn’t say anything, doing his best to just breathe, doing his best to act his fucking age and not like some kid who needed instant reassurance. You were the one who deserved reassurance in this situation. “I kissed you because I wanted to, Hui. It’s very kind of you to be so concerned, but you’re about the least threatening drunk I’ve ever encountered. I could have probably pushed you off me with one hand – actually, I did push you off me with one hand, when we were in the kitchen.”

“I – you – you wanted to.” It’s a statement because he’s stuck trying to process this new information, because this wasn’t a rejection (he thinks it’s not, at least), because you didn’t hate him, because the way all the anxiety induced adrenaline had leeched out of his body was leaving him feeling even more exhausted than before.

“I actually wanted to tell you that I was sorry – since I kissed you back and all, but you were drunk so it wasn’t really like you were –“

“I wanted to – I wanted you to.” He says the words too fast, trips over them, but he knows you understood by the way you went silent on the other end. He appreciated the apology, really, he did, but not only did he not think it was needed, he also couldn’t stand listening to you apologize for kissing him back when he had been dreaming about this moment for way too fucking long.

And he wants to tell you that, but you’re still silent and he’s beginning to wonder if he somehow read this entire situation wrong.

“..I don’t know what to say now.” You admit softly, and he lets out a silent exhale when he realizes you’re just being shy. He wasn’t used to that side of you, but already he knew he found it adorable, just like the rest of you.

“You can’t be more embarrassed than me, if you are then neither of us will be able to talk.” He’s laughing quietly now, feeling.. not quite comfortable yet, but definitely on the way there. You hadn’t really made any declaration of love for him, but you had reciprocated his kiss, at the very least.

“Oh, you need me to be confident?” There’s a teasing tone in your voice that is more commonplace than the shy one from before, and he already knew just by the sound of it that whatever you’re going to say next is going to affect him in some way.

“It’d be helpful.”

“Then I’d say we need to try that whole kissing thing again, but without the alcohol. It really ruined the experience last time, don’t you think?” He suddenly can’t breathe again, mouth opening and then closing at your statement – not that you care about his lack of a response, since you continue without him saying anything. “It could have led to so many fun places if you hadn’t been drunk.” A pause, where his heartbeat pounds in his head and his mouth has gone dry. When you speak again he can tell you’re doing your best to keep up your confident façade. “..Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” He says this on a relieved breath, face still hot but body covered in excited, adrenaline filled tingles. You were really putting him through an emotional workout this morning, but at this point he wouldn’t dare complain. “Please. I’ve wanted –“

He cuts himself off before he can say anything more embarrassing, about how long he’s wanted to do something like that, to hear you say something like that, how he’s fantasized and day-dreamed about it for way too long. He flushes even more when he can hear your gentle laughter on the other line.

“You mentioned something like that last night. I wanted to ask about it actually –“

“Oh, wow, I am super busy right now doing leader things, just.. so busy. I couldn’t possibly talk to you anymore, I’m just so extremely busy.”

“Jerk.” This time when you laugh he laughs with you, a real laugh instead of the weak one he’d offered you earlier. “Okay, fine, go do your suddenly important work – but I’m definitely interrogating you about that later, it’s just too interesting to pass up. Bye Hwitaek.”

“Bye.”

It’s so like you to cut the conversation short whenever he mentioned his work – you never wanted to genuinely distract him, and it was one of the things he liked about you.

Loved about you.

Fuck. Fuck.

He can’t contain his laugh of disbelief and giddiness, setting his phone down on his desk so he can cover his face with both of his hands, running them through his hair and pushing it back away from his eyes.

You said you’d wanted to kiss him. You had kissed him. He hadn’t imagined it.

You’d said you wanted to kiss him again.

His phone vibrates and he lowers his hands to glance at it, sees it’s a text from you, and already he can feel that warm, lightweight feeling in his chest just at the sight of it.

God, he was so fucked – but with how this had turned out, he really couldn’t complain at all, nor did he want to.

.｡..｡.

Trying the ‘kissing thing’ again, as you had put it to him on the phone, turned out to be a nebulous concept – not that Hui really expected anything else, but it was a bit disappointing to finally get an answer (a positive one at that) only to be unable to meet up with you again. Not that getting to text you often wasn’t wonderful – it was, and he felt the need to make that abundantly clear (though he was pretty sure you knew that, considering he actually paid attention to his phone now just so he could respond to you) – it was just a bit frustrating to finally have permission to do the things he’d been dreaming about, like kissing you, and then be barred from doing it by forces outside of his control.

As it was, it was nearing the end of the second week since the ’confession’ had happened, and he was only just now finding time to head over to your place after working all day. It was late (nearing four am, he noticed with a groan) and his muscles ached from practice and his eyes ached from composing all day but he would be damned if he’d let another chance to spend time with you slip by him without leaping for it.

“You look so attractive.” It’s the first thing out of your mouth when you see him at your door – Hui laughs the soft sort of laugh he does when he’s a bit nervous, bending to unlace his shoes. It’s not rare of you to compliment him – in fact, you usually did, because it was true and he deserved all the kind words you could heap on him – but something about the circumstances makes it feel different this time, charges the air with a sort of excited, nervous tension.

“Really? I came over right after practice, I can’t look that good..” He trails off, shy, and you look him over again. It’s true that he looks a bit tired and run down, but the dim low lighting of your entryway paints his skin golden and throws his profile into a mix of soft shadows and gentle lines, illuminates his silver hair into a gradient of golden blonde to dusky gray.

“You look good, trust me.” It’s all you can say – everything else gets stuck in your head, muddling itself before it can get to your tongue. You hope to one day be able to properly put into words just how beautiful he is to you, but you’re in no rush to do it now, you have time. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay tomorrow?”

“If I passed up on this chance then I might legitimately die.” He says it so seriously that you laugh, and the way his expression smooths out into a warm smile has your heart beating erratically. God, he didn’t play fair at all.

“Well, if you’re sure..” You take the chance to step closer to him during the slight lull in conversation – he blinks at you once, still smiling, but the smile freezes on his face when you nonchalantly place your arms around his neck. You can feel the way he’s tensed at the new, intimate position, and it’s absolutely adorable how he clearly wants to reciprocate in some way but resolutely keeps his arms at his sides. “You –“

“Can I kiss you?” He says it all in one breath, interrupting you, rushed and embarrassed but also like he craves it, like he might die if he didn’t get your permission to do so. It’s the cutest thing in the world and a surge of heat floods your bloodstream at the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes. “Please.” He tacks it on at the end, a quiet whisper, so fucking good and sweet and perfect.

“Of course, baby.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s surging forward to connect your lips, his hands landing on your waist and a soft sound of pleasure escaping him as a sigh. The pet-name of ‘baby’ is one you learned that he liked recently, and while it had been deliciously fun to tease him with it through text and over the phone it was something else entirely to see the way he responded to it in person, the rich sunset color of his eyes softening into something more gentle and pliant.

The way Hui kisses now is slightly different than when he’d been drunk – it’s more assured, more precise, and while it still holds that level of desperation from before there’s something a bit less rushed about it, something more confident and not as nervous as before.

There's something infinitely better about doing it this way, Hui thinks, better than anything he'd fantasized about or hazily remembered from when he'd been drunk. Every single one of his senses is attuned to you and you alone, and nothing exists outside of the two of you kissing, the weight of your arms on his shoulders, the feeling of your nails lightly scraping at the nape of his neck, the rough feeling of your clothing beneath the pads of his fingers at your hips. Your lips press and slide against his constantly before parting for a few brief seconds, and he chases the faint swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip with his own, whining when you don't instantly give in to his demands.

By the time you nip at his lip he's completely given up on leading the kiss, opens his mouth and moans high and sweet when your tongue leaves a blazing trail of pure fire in its wake. His lips are kiss-bruised and tingling, the sensation imprinting on him that this was real, you were really kissing him, he wasn't going to suddenly wake up and realize it was all a dream.

When you pull away from him he follows you for a moment, stopping only when you cup his cheek in one hand and slide your thumb across his bottom lip. His gaze is glazed and he looks so thoroughly wrecked from simply getting kissed that you feel another surge of heat flood your system.

"Good?" Your whispered question barely makes it through to him, but when it does he blinks a few times to force the haze from his mind and nods, grip on your waist tightening, grounding him. You’ve never seen someone look more adorable.

“Yeah.” His voice is slightly hoarse and you give in to the urge to kiss his throat tenderly – when he tilts his head back with a sigh you trail your lips up to his jaw. “Yeah, it’s – great.”

You can feel the heat of his skin against your face, leave open-mouthed kisses from the spot under his ear (which makes him shiver in a way that you immediately catalogue in your mind) in a line down to the collar of the light-weight hoodie he’d worn for practice.

“I wish I could mark you up here..” Your lamentations are met with a literal fucking whine from Hui, one of his hands coming up to grip unsteadily at the crook of your arm like the mere comment had made him unsteady. “Oh? Is that something you’d want? For me to bruise you up so prettily that there’d be no way you could cover it?”

He nods, not trusting his own voice, head full of fantasies where you could do that, where you’d be able to sink your teeth into him, suck dark marks into his skin that wouldn’t fade and that his members would tease him about. (But even in his fantasies his members are there, a constant, and he knows that there’s no other timeline better than the one he’s currently living in.)

“Hwitaek.” You say his name softly, wrap a hand around the back of his neck to make him look at you – his gaze is disconnected, lingers on your lips before your silence registers as he meets your eyes. “I think we should talk about what we both want out of tonight.”

“Yeah – okay, okay.” Fondly, you watch as he takes a small step back and forces himself to become more present, a bit of clarity re-entering his eyes. You notice that he hadn’t stepped far enough away that either of you had to stop touching one another though, and it makes a part of your heart warm with affection. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He lets you lead him further into your house, glances around in interest but doesn’t stop you – he thinks (hopes) he’ll have more time later to become acquainted with this place.

“So, Hui –“ He perks up at you speaking to him, and it’s so cute that you have to stop just to recollect your thoughts. He peers around your room with thinly veiled interest but keeps glancing back at you like you’re the most interesting thing in existence. It’s flattering and adorable. “Considering we’ve talked about it before you know that I prefer to be more dominant, and you –“

“Find it incredibly hot?” He finishes your sentence for you, a happy little smirk on his face at your surprised expression as he darts in to kiss you once, quick and chaste and filled with delight.

“I – I was going to say, ‘you’re okay with it’, but what you said was so much better.” You’re smiling now too, still a bit shell-shocked – really, what sort of luck did you have for an incredibly attractive and sweet guy to also be down for being submissive for you? – but definitely not complaining. You cup his face in your hands and draw him towards you again for a sweet kiss – it lingers just on the side of ‘too passionate’, but neither one of you have enough self-control to reign it back in. You can feel his flush underneath your fingertips. “How did I ever get this lucky?”

“Should I say the cliché thing about thinking the same thing?” His voice is soft, one of his hands coming up to slip underneath your own, fingers curling around your palm. “Because I was.”

“You really are a hopeless romantic sometimes, you know that?” You couple your rhetorical question with another kiss – you were one hundred percent addicted to them now, you knew that for a fact. “We should really talk about what you’re comfortable with happening tonight, Hui.”

He must not be thinking clearly (he’s not, all he can think about is you and how you keep kissing him and how it’s all he’s ever wanted in his entire life) because he says “anything” in a strained whisper, breathless and needy before anything has even happened.

“Anything?” You can’t hide the surprise in your voice, though you try to soften it at the last second – he flinches anyway, like he was embarrassed with how eager he had come across, his gaze somewhere at your hip now. “’Anything’ is a dangerous thing to say, Hwitaek. What if all I wanted to do was finger-fuck you?”

He knows you were joking – he can hear it in your voice, the way you’ve tried to lighten the mood to make him more comfortable. He appreciates it, but it does absolutely nothing for him considering the effect your words had on him. “…I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Really?” Again you’re surprised, but this time you seem slightly eager – he raises his gaze to assess the situation, and yes, you did look interested. The excited, nervous little fire burning in his core feels a bit stronger suddenly. All he can do is nod, mute in the face of your presence, your power, your effortless aura that has him sinking down gratefully onto your bed at the slightest push of your hand against his chest.

Your fingers press at him, hard, and he feels breathless when they slide underneath his hoodie and t-shirt both in one go, hitch it up to above his navel. He thinks about all the marks you could leave on him there, hidden under clothing between promotions, and the sly grin you share with him when your fingernails rake a teasingly shuddering line down his side makes him think you have the exact same ideas he does.

Those two articles of clothing are lost quickly, dropped somewhere over the side of your bed as you kneel between his legs and kiss him until he can’t breathe, a wonderful feeling that has him drifting along in hazy bliss until he realizes what you’re doing.

“You’re a bit more dressed than I am, suddenly..” He tries to make it teasing but it comes out as something soft and reverent, and your lips when they smile at him are a slash of color that he can’t tear his eyes away from. He can feel your curious fingers dipping under the waistband of his athletic joggers and he does his best not to lose his fucking mind at the connotations of it.

“That’ll come. Later. Let me focus on you first, Hwitaek.” And how could he even argue with that? Why would he argue that? He’d have time to see your body later – and to be completely honest, he was perfectly happy with seeing however much of you that you were comfortable showing him.

(Still, he thinks, as you gently push him to lie down on your bed, he hoped you weren’t too uncomfortable with showing your body. As you drag the fabric of his briefs slowly down his legs he thinks about how much he really wants to eat you out, and what a shame it’d be if you weren’t comfortable with that. Regardless, he’d find some way to pay his respects to you and your body, even if his regular go-to’s turned out to not be an option.)

“You’ve done this before?” He doesn’t sound nervous, just questioning, having slung a forearm across his eyes. You let him leave it there for now, knowing he must feel a bit vulnerable in his current position.

“Mhm, I have – and you?” It’s almost laughable how casually the two of you are speaking, like you hadn’t just been feeling him up and wasn’t currently in the middle of warming lube on your fingers. When he nods you hum and use your clean hand to grip him under the knee, pulling it up high enough you can place a kiss on the inside of it. An amused laugh leaves him in the form of a surprised exhale at the surprisingly tender action.

“I have – don’t worry, I’m not new to all of this.” You can’t see his eyes but you can see the rest of his face, see that he’s still smiling – you keep a close eye on his expression as you circle his rim teasingly, watching with rapt attention the way the smile disappears as he tenses with a soft sound that’s not quite a gasp before forcing himself to relax again.

“With women or men?” You keep it casual, careful to keep your voice unaffected, and he laughs again but it’s more disbelieving this time, pulls his legs up so his knees bracket you on either side.

“Yes.” Hui simply answers, and it’s your turn to laugh, your free hand smoothing soothing circles into his bare hip. You think he looks absolutely beautiful like this, spread out just for you and you alone, a small notch in his brow from the way his expression has twisted as you carefully slip your first finger in.

“You’re really cute like this, all vulnerable and naked for me.” You’re teasing him, testing the waters – from the way he flushes though, the little hitch upwards that his hips make, you think you might have just discovered something fun. “Hui, do you like me talking to you like that?”

He doesn’t answer you right away, moves his arm so he can look down at you between his legs. Something about it must get to him, because he just looks at you for a moment or two, like he was trying to imprint the visual in his mind.

“You can add another.” He says instead, all breathy and soft like you’d already ruined him, wrecked him into pieces. It’s incredibly endearing, you think, dropping your gaze to where his cock sits red and shiny and untouched against his lower stomach, a small mess of pre-cum already smeared onto his skin. That was also endearing.

“I’ve barely even stretched you yet..” Your disbelieving murmur is clearly heard by him, and you raise your gaze to meet his as you test the waters with a second finger. It’s definitely tight (tighter than you would have preferred, if only for his own safety), but Hui just moans and shifts his hips more towards you, digging into your pillow as he tips his head back. “Oh – Hui the size queen, huh? Is that it?”

He laughs, but it tapers off into a sound closer to a moan than anything else. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“Does it suit you?” You keep one hand splayed flat on one of his hips – he’s doing a wonderful job at not moving overly much, but by doing this you can feel every small tremor that goes through his body, can feel his muscles tense each time he forces himself to stay still. “If I end up fucking you one day am I going to have to make sure it’s sized big enough to totally wreck you?” Your question is coupled with an inquisitive upwards quirk of your fingers, and he nearly kicks you in surprise at the liquid arousal that floods through his body at the feeling. (You teasingly bite at his lower calf for it, and the soft sound he makes as you press your teeth into him is definitely something you file away for later.)

“I know you’re just teasing me, but -“ He licks his lips, tries to gather his focus again as you add a third finger. It burns in such an exquisite way that it’s hard to concentrate on anything else except for the current points of contact between you and him.

“Do you want me to stop?” A pause. “Hui, look at me.”

He obeys, meets your analyzing gaze and offers a slightly strained smile as he thinks about your question – though he doesn’t think for very long, a burst of wonderful, embarrassed heat curling across his chest and through his stomach when he lets his upper body drop back down to the bed, shaking his head ‘no’.

“Oh, Hwitaek..” You sound vaguely pitying, and he hates it, but he loves it. “You’re just a little boy who likes to be teased and humiliated, is that it?”

He feels so small with you talking to him like that, like his body was three sizes too big for his skin and he was burning up from the inside out – whenever the heat becomes too much all he has to do is open his eyes and see you looking at him (you’re always looking at him, and it takes his breath away because the way you watch him makes him feel like he’s something special, something that should be treasured) and suddenly everything was okay again. It was like you were the one stoking the flames of his desire, but you could also cause that blistering heat to ebb away whenever it became too much.

He realizes he hasn’t answered you yet and frantically nods, heart threatening to dissolve into something sticky and sweet at the way your expression softens.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not going to delve too deep into that tonight without talking about it in more detail later.” He nods, because he really does understand (despite the slight burst of disappointment) and he appreciates that you want to talk out what his limits are first. “Besides, how am I supposed to talk to you like that when you’ve been so good for me this entire time? So pretty and vocal.”

He can’t help the whine that tears itself from his throat at your phrasing – it didn’t matter what you were saying to him anymore, every single word embedded itself into his skin and worked its way through his body like an electric shock.

“Oh? Sweet boy - are you an adorable whore for both degradation and praise?” He doesn’t even bother saying anything this time, just shuts his eyes tight - he knows you already know the answer, can read him so well it’s almost like his desires were written out on his skin in black ink. “That’s so cute. You’re just so responsive to everything, aren’t you? I love that - anything I say or do I’ll get a direct response to, won’t I, Hwitaek?” You wait until he nods, his eyes still shut, before taking the opportunity given to you. Your lips press a teasing kiss into the line of his pelvis, giggling softly against his skin when he gasps above you. “Yeah, just like that. So beautiful, Hui, and all for me.”

Yes, all for you he thinks, and even his thoughts are getting mixed up and hazy now because you’ve wrapped your fingers around him loosely and he is so slick already, the feeling of your thumb swiping across the head of his cock, tracing the lines of precum down the shaft to where they’ve collected on his skin causing his entire body to twitch in a mess of stimulation.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet for me already.” He can’t focus on anything, can’t think of anything, hears your voice through the haze like it’s faraway and he’s drifting underwater. He tries to force himself to be more present, tries to physically drag himself out of those depths, but you’re cooing at him sweetly and running your fingers over his cock softly, and any amount of shame he might have felt at having fallen so far into this headspace is eradicated by the sugar-laced kisses you press into his side.

“You really can’t keep quiet, can you?” Your voice is sweet but laced with amusement, and you can feel the way he throbs in your hand at the slightly degrading comment. “You sound like you’re going to cum just from three of my fingers – are you, baby? You going to make a mess of yourself before we even get to do anything?”

“Fuck..” Hui’s entire body feels like it’s on fucking fire, and when you duck your head to suck a bruise onto the inside of his thigh it’s all he can do to keep from crying out even louder. You were right, he couldn’t keep quiet, his head swimming and his fingers curled so tightly into your sheets that he could barely feel them anymore. “I’m – you’re –“ He can’t concentrate, can barely speak, and he knows his words come out more as whines anyway.

“Do you think it’ll be okay if you cum now?” You’ve stopped moving entirely and his whole body feels like it’s buzzing, his hips trying to rock back onto your fingers or up into your hand with no real success as the haze slowly recedes from his mind enough for him to be able to form full sentences

“Y-yeah.” He pushes himself up onto his forearms to be able to look down at you, groan catching in his throat when he sees the way you’re peering at him openly, watching him with beautiful eyes and a graceful flush on your face, one of your hands slick with his pre-cum and the other still wickedly deep. He’d never been more sure of the fact that he loved you than this exact moment. “If – if you give me a little bit afterwards, it’ll be fine.” He knows he sounds breathless and wrecked already, but you smile so sweetly at him anyway, like he was something precious to you, and he feels like the ground and the bed he was lying on had just suddenly disappeared at the sight.

And then you’re lowering your head and wrapping your lips around him and it’s all he can do to keep his eyes open – you hadn’t eased him into it, hadn’t given him any indication of your plans at all. One moment you were asking him about his refractory period and the next you were doing things with your tongue and mouth that he couldn’t even begin to fathom, your fingers once again brushing against that spot deep inside of him that has him keening.

He’s not going to last much longer; he knows that with a sudden certainty that has him trying to warn you but is more disjointed pleas for you to not stop than they are anything else.

One of his hands grasps for your shoulder blindly when he hits his peak, fingers curling into your skin as he spills himself onto your tongue. It’s blindingly hot and you can see the way he fights to keep his eyes open to watch, brow furrowed and mouth open almost like he was in some sort of pained ecstasy as you continue to finger-fuck him through it until he’s trembling.

When you stick your tongue out at him tauntingly and show him the mess he made Hui groans from deep within his chest like you’re torturing him, sits up abruptly and crashes his mouth into yours. It’s messy and dirty and he licks into your mouth aggressively, chasing all essence of himself off your tongue and onto his own with a moan that rattles your bones. You do your best to withdraw your fingers as gently as possible but he whimpers at the feeling anyway, drops his head to begin kissing a sloppy trail from your jaw down to your neck.

“You’re so dirty..” Your head is spinning and you feel short of breath - each time you inhale his chest knocks against yours as he heaves his own breaths, though he refuses to pull away from your skin for long enough for him to be able to recover as quickly. You think you feel him murmur a soft sound of agreement to your statement against your collarbone.

As soon as you can wrest a big enough part of yourself back under control you lean back, holding him securely away with your thumb and forefinger gripping his chin. Hui looks at you with an expression of wrecked reverence, the perfect picture of debauchery, and you know that right here, right now, at five something am in your bedroom, he would do literally anything you asked – that at this point in time it was no longer your room, with the window showing glimpses of the outside world, the sounds of cars going past. This place, this moment in time, it was now something disconnected and intangible, where he had given you explicit trust (perhaps foolishly, considering how inchoate your relationship was) to control and lead him. To take care of him in whatever way you see fit.

And you know that right here, right now, in this nebulous place that the two of you occupied, you would strive to make sure he never regretted giving you that permission.

“Hwitaek.” Your voice is breathier than you expected – you sounded like you’d been kissed hard. You sounded like you were in love. “Hwitaek, you are messy and crude – you are such a dirty boy, and you’ve hidden that from me for years.” He is hanging off your every word and you suddenly feel like you have a choice to make.

It’s one you don’t think about for more than a second, because you realize that you don’t need to.

“And, Hwitaek – you are so perfect for me.”

.｡..｡. .｡..｡.

“You know something?” Hui says it casually, out of nowhere, hand still rubbing nonsense patterns into the skin of your lower back after having crept underneath your shirt some twenty minutes ago just for the skin to skin contact. He’s not focused on anything else but relaxing in his bed at the dorm with you, thoughts about producing and writing lyrics and being a leader far from his mind.

“Hmm?” Your head rests on his chest, listening to his heartbeat – it’s a comforting sound, if not slightly faster than average, and when you close your eyes you can hear it mix with the soft (and sometimes not so soft) sound of some of his boys arguing or laughing or just living somewhere else in the dorm, outside his shut door.

He still hasn’t spoken so you lift your head and gaze at him, admire his features as he looks back at you with an expression so tender you’re almost afraid to have the weight of it on you. His hair is back to brown now, cut a bit shorter than before, and you stretch an arm out to run your fingers through it lazily, watch as he leans into it but keeps looking at you.

“I think you’re perfect for me, too.” His voice is warm, probably what sunshine would sound like if it was an auditory thing, and you blink at him in confusion for a few moments before you understand what he’s referencing, press your smile into his until it turns into a gentle, surging kiss.

It’s not quite an I love you, something adjacent to it, almost there but not exactly.

And neither of you say those words yet, just smile and look at each other and press kiss after sugared kiss into each other’s skin, interlace your fingers and marvel at the way affection seems to blossom for one another in both your ribcages at the simplest of actions.

The two of you weren’t in any rush. You had time.

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katelynn-a-fan · 5 years

Text

Screaming Hunger: Chapter 16

Masterlist

Before Virgil did something drastic, he composed a note to his friends so he would have time to do this.

Dear Roman, Patton, and Logan

Thank you for your concern about me. But need time to calm down, I can dress my wound myself if I had any supplies, so I need it from Logan. Regretfully, I do not think I can eat dinner with you all right now, but I will accept a plate of food at dinnertime so I’m not hungry. I know you still want me to be healthy.

Virgil hated he had to lie again, but it was best.

I will come down to film tomorrow, but let’s talk after that. I don’t want to distress Thomas with what happened by bringing him into it. Anything you want to give me can come through a ‘doggie door’ I have created in my door, but do not try to contact me verbally please.

Regards,

Virgil

He slid his note under his door and looked through its peephole to see what was going on in their hallway.

Through his door’s peephole he saw a figure immediately pick up his note and run out of sight downstairs waving it around excitedly.

After a little bit, 3 figures came into view in front of his door, and he saw them read it and write one of their own. A figure he assumed was Logan conjured what he could tell was some bandages and handed them to a figure that was probably Roman. Roman got their note from a figure who Virgil knew was Patton and opened his ‘doggie door’ and slid them into his room.

Their note read:

Okay, take as much bandage and time you need, but we may reapply bandages after filming, and we will not mention this to Thomas at your request. Dinner will be provided for you as requested. Please take care.

Love,

Your friends who are worried about you.

Virgil already had his response and slid a single sheet with ‘Thank you’ written on it.

After doing that he wrapped his hand with their bandages as that would help with healing, per Logan’s words.

Only then did he allow himself to become angry once more and summon who caused him all this hurt.

“Well, well, well, seems you don’t hate me after all. Finally come to your senses?” Not Him was standing in front of Virgil now in all his shadowy darkness. He was only a shadow, but Virgil knew he had a smug expression on his face.

“Never! You know exactly what you did!” Virgil snarled at Not Him.

“Oh, that little boost of adrenaline and making you trip? That was a laugh and a half how you were so scared of your so-called friends.” Not Him snarled back at Virgil in kind.

“That was uncalled for, but thank you, that event made me realize who you really are.”

Not Him seemed a little caught off guard but sarcastically asked “What, who am I really?”

“Well, for starters, Remus in our last video seemed to act similar to how you act towards me.”

“That slimy deodorant consuming fiend, ha! He’s-”

“AND! You seem to be only concentrated on me, no one has complained about a shadowy figure haunting their dreams.”

Virgil paused and Not Him was starting to actually look nervous, a first for him.

“So either you’re really focused on me...”

Silence hung heavy between them as Virgil continued.

“... Or you’re a representation of my fears to keep me quiet about my secret. Self-preservation because of my fears. Which means all I have to do is tell my friends my secret and you’ll cease to exist, because I won’t be keeping a secret anymore.”

Not Him was silent a beat before seeming to recover from his surprise. “You’ll never do that, you know when I made you fearful of them and their touch wasn’t warm. They’ll hate you and won’t love you-”

“No, I was wrong.”

Not Him was perplexed by this response and started to say something else before Virgil interrupted him.

“They will always love me no matter what, I am a part of Thomas and they love Thomas. What made their touch not work was I was scared of them. All this time I thought it was them, now I know it was me who made myself starve. you have no way out, you’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

Not Him looked utterly scared as Virgil said this, seemed afraid of Virgil this time. But somehow, again recovered and smugly said, “We’ll see about that. I’m not gone yet, so I still have power over you, you better watch out. You might do something you’ll regret. Sweet dreams, don't let them bite.” Not Him taunted Virgil in a singsongy voice at his last comment

And as quick as he had come, he was gone.

It was Virgil’s turn to be perplexed. What did Not Him mean?

Oh. Right.

I hope I can make it till then.

Virgil was going to have a long night ahead him.

Taglist:

@amazing-creepyfloof @lopaviro @silverstartbs @michaelheresblog@charakitcat @supbitchss @korsaromantic66@idosanderssidespromptssometimes@littleladynightshade @violetsanderssides @sanderssidesweirdo @ollyollyoxinfree

#thomas sanders virgil #virgil anxiety #virgil angst #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sander sides fic #anxiety sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides anxiety #angst #fanfiction #sanders side fan fiction #sanders sides fan fic #sanders sides fanfic

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

DARING DO and THE GRYPHON’S QUEST! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 16 of 19

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO

and

THE GRYPHON’S QUEST!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

and

Carmen Pondiego

Cover art by Aranel the Cyborg, now Wind the Mama Cat

29584 words

Writing begun 03/29/16

This is a Fan Fiction based on My Little Pony. Canterlot, Princess Luna and the name Daring Do are owned by Hasboro Inc.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Chapter 16. Presentation Before The Empress

The train slowed substantially as it encountered the grades and curves of the Sunset Mountains. What could be seen of the morning’s predawn and dawning sky was glorious. Rounding curves cut into mountain sides frequently blocked or revealed the changing light and clouds of the advancing morning.

Grata, watching the changeling’s eager window watching, was deeply moved. She reached out and pulled the changeling into a hug. Her crest showing her curiosity, she asked, “My friend, I have never thought to ask this before, for which I apologize. What is your name?”

The changeling gave Grata a confused look. “Name? I/we do not have a name. May I/we share mind to see what a name for me/us may be?”

Grata leaned her forehead against the changeling’s horn without hesitation. She felt the same caring and love that she had felt before, as their minds met.

The changeling pulled her head away from contact and said with assurance, “I/we are Friend. I/we are Friend to you, Friend to Daring Do, Friend to Rahak. You say Friend to me/us and we/us know you mean me/us. I/we are named Friend.”

At that moment, an Eagle veered sharply by the open window, letting the fish in its claws fly through to flop on the floor! A second fish and then a third joined it! Friend happily leaped on one and began to eat it!

A bundle of grasses hit the window’s frame and bounced in. Daring Do caught it and raised her head to where the Eagles outside, accompanying the train, could see that she had got their kind offering of breakfast. One of the Eagles swooped close and bobbed its head as it passed the window. They all heard a scrabbling noise overhead.

Rahak’s crest shot up in Gryphon grin! “Those Eagles are REALLY smart! They are riding on top of the car!”

Friend looked up from finishing her fish and stated proudly, “My/our Eagles are GOOD nymphs!”

Daring Do had to ask, “Friend, why are Gryphons and Eagles nymphs?”

Friend looked up in surprise. “I/we hatch the egg. The young comes out of the shell as a nymph. When the nymph grows well, it becomes an adult changeling. If it does not grow into a changeling, it stays a nymph. A nymph is only failed if it does not develop properly. Some of my/our Gryphon nymphs are failed. Their bodies live but they have no love. That is sad.”

Grata nodded, crest set to thoughtful consideration. “It has been generations beyond counting since your nymphs left Eagle’s Vale, Friend. Why do you still count us as your nymphs?”

Friend shrugged. “Your whole kind came from my/our eggs, that I/we loved to living forms. You have not changed in the time since you left me/us. You have not become grown changelings. You are still the nymphs that I/we loved into being.”

Grata nodded acceptance. “This will be interesting to bring out at Court. Somehow, I suspect that most of the Court will be either amused or offended. It should be fun!”

The train entered a long valley with many Aeries clinging to the steep cliff sides. At the head of the valley was an enormous Aerie, built all of stone. The Imperial Aerie.

Slowing gradually, the train pulled up to a platform of stonework with Gryphon type terminal buildings. There were terminal level warehouse doors and curtained passenger entryways. These had doors that could be sealed but were presently open. Along the front of the structure was an awning protecting a set of raised Gryphon perching platforms. One had an auxiliary raised platform with three perches, the center one highest.

Both the center and right platforms had Gryphons of regal bearing. The left platform was empty. Grata paced forward to the foot of the dais and sat, spreading her wings.

The Empress of the Empire returned the spreading of her wings, crest smiling. “Welcome back to the Imperial Throne, Grata, my strong Left Wing.”

Grata ducked her head, crest set to acceptance. “If it please your Majesty, Empress of Us All, I will reserve my ascending the Throne until I have both presented our party and given a public preliminary report of Our Expedition.”

The Empress was just starting to speak when a Gryphon wearing a purple pectoral necklace adorned with two flames done in gold, waived a fat book while screaming, “Blasphemy! This is all blasphemy! They went nowhere near to the so called Sunlord temple!”

Two burly Imperial Guards hooked his feet out from under him, dropping him flat on the platform’s stones. One clamped his beak shut with a claw, gripping like iron.

The Empress glared down at the fallen priest. “Krabee, this is Official Court business. Should you dare to interrupt again, regardless of your feelings, you will be publicly beak clamped and publicly given five lashes in every Aerie of the Empire!”

Turning back to Grata, the Empress’ crest smiled, “Pardon the interruption. Some appear to believe that their diarrhea of the beak is more important than the Empire or its rulers. Do go ahead, Grata, my Strong Left Wing.”

Grata nodded, crest showing thanks. “Your Majesty, first I would like to present Wing Commander Rahak, who made the sightings that so excited us of the Throne.

“Next, is this fine pegasus, the world renowned Antiquarian, Doctor Daring Do, of the Equestrian Royal University. Her brilliant research work formed the core of our expedition.

“Without her expertise, we would have entirely missed the existence of an ancient Sunlord supply road leading in the direction of the possible temple complex.

“Her work proved that the road dates to the earliest of times. Krabee was correct in his fact. We did not get to the possible temple. All maps of the Eagle’s Vale, up which the road went, are seriously in error.

“What showed as a fairly shallow round valley proved to be a deep crater protected from sight by randomly combining and breaking vaporized rune fragments that Doctor Do has tentatively ascribed to some huge military mage weapon detonations of the last Nightmare War.

“Much study will be needed to be certain of this, but it is possible that such mage weapon fallout may have forced our ancestors to flee northward along the Sunset Mountain range.

“We know from our Legends that they were seeking a safe place to raise their chicks. The Nighmare Wars destroyed so much else that it appears likely that they were forced from an ancestral home by that fallout.

“Wing Commander Rahak can verify that there are still parts of the Shattered Valleys that are dangerous from that same fallout. That is one reason that the Empire has not even tried to annex them.

“Doctor Do ascertained that the crater was safe to enter except for simple physical danger. The Sunlord road down the crater side is long destroyed by some ancient cataclysm. Only a few turning points remain.

“Having got our cart of artifact and relic preservation supplies down into the crater, we found the old road and some associated artifacts and relics. The opposite side, toward the temple complex, was totally impassable with the equipment that we had along.

“While there, we found this changeling who was astute enough to realize that her lack of a name bothered us. She has chosen the name Friend.

“What is important enough to bring her to the Imperial Throne? Two things. One, Eagles are believed to be bearers of good fortune. We have no way to know how many years she has lived there, raising the Eagles of Eagle’s Vale but it is a long time. Many generations of Eagles for certain. She refused to leave the clutch of Eagle’s eggs that she was tending. We brought them along in our cart. The Eagles followed their mother here, to the Empire.

“The other reason is more esoteric. As a relic of her destroyed hive, besides modern Gryphon which she she has learned to speak from us, she speaks, writes and sight reads Early Middle Equestrian. As scholars know, that is the language in which the earliest form of our Legends was written. Already, just on the train ride here, she has resolved to perfect sense, four passages that have raised huge disputes among scholars from the religious community.”

The Empress, crest raised in approval, offered, “A most concise report, Grata. Please resume your proper place as My Left Wing.”

Grata ascended to sit regally beside her Empress.

Krabee managed to free himself enough to shout, “That changeling will devour our love and kill us all!”

Before the Empress could respond, Friend raised a hoof. “Your Majesty, may I/we answer that?”

Grata chuckled, crest rippling. The Empress nodded, crest showing curiosity. Friend stalked across to the now cowering priest Krabee. Glaring down at him, she declared in a sick sounding voice, “Take Love from you? I/we would starve!”

She turned her back and returned to Daring Do’s side. Friend made the comfortable sort of crooning purr that Daring Do had only heard once before, when Friend was sitting with her precious eggs, and all were encased in her soft, loving magic.

She said softly but heard by the sharp ears of the Empress, “You are best of all for Friend. You are not changeling nor nymph but formed whole and still have love to share.

“You remind me/us of eigmatunin, I/we mean queen.”

The Empress made up her mind. The religious nuts, however dangerous, must be put into their place. Crest set to inquiry, she asked, “Doctor Do, you may omit honorifics. We, the Throne of the Empire, wish to know how swiftly you can prepare your finds and data for public viewing? Our first showing will be in the Imperial Court. After that, we shall have traveling exhibitions throughout the Empire. This work of yours moves the oldest known connections of our race back further than any other. We regard this news as vital to our Imperial Flock.”

Daring Do considered her answer carefully. “Empress, I can have something ready in about two weeks. It will be delicate work to prepare some of the relics that demonstrate the age of your race.

“If I may be so bold, there are elements who object to delving into the past. We have them show up at the Royal Museum from time to time. Therefore, let the exhibits for the public be replaceable duplicates of the originals, which can be safely preserved for scholarly study.”

She nodded, crest raised in approval. “So be it. You may have any work space or facilities that you need. Your budget is unlimited.

“Grata has informed me by magic net mirror about some of your finds. For an expedition that did not even reach its goal. You produced extraordinary results.

“You may count upon the generosity of the Imperial Throne for your labors.”

Grata whispered to the Empress.

“Well thought on, my Left Wing. Doctor Do and Friend shall stay together.”

Under heavy guard, bearing very modern weapons, the cart was unloaded from the rail car. Daring Do settled herself into the harness. Grata dismounted from the throne. She guided both Daring Do and Friend away from the railroad station. They came to a door of armor plate set into the side of the mountain. Daring Do almost expected it to be a door to the Great Library but it swung open on concealed hinges.

“Supply entry for the Imperial Aerie,” Grata explained.

Spiraling up through solid stone, they came to a very solid strong room door. As she opened it, Grata’s crest shot up into a grin. The Empress asked Princess Luna to arrange for your assistant. We can be sure of his discretion.”

From the depths of the room came a familiar voice. “Hi, Sis!”

“Blendin?”

Daring Do’s half brother stood by a carefully arranged copy of her Antiquities Lab at the Royal University. Over to one side was a well appointed nest of Gryphon style. There was a small heater beside it.

Friend lighted up at the sight and began to carefully transfer her precious eggs to it. She serenely fussed with the arrangement of them and climbed in, surrounded by her eggs and the soft glow of her pale green magic. She began to croon to them, the very picture of happiness.

In awe, Blendin said, “An egg tender? A real changeling egg tender? I have never even heard of one outside of a Hive. The changelings guard them like the crown jewels.”

He grinned and added, “That may be a bad example, considering how many crown jewels mom has in her collection!”

Turning to the cart, he asked, “Now, what exactly do you have here that drew the attention of TWO sets of Royalty, the establishment of the Twin Flames of Creation Church, and the Manifest Destiny Party?”

Daring Do was carefully removing the first of the carefully packaged remains. She placed it on a work table and replied, “We found the exact origin of the Gryphon race. Not only the general area, the precise physical location, along with the exact timing of the event and the direct causes.

“That is what.”

Blendin stared at the innocent looking cart and mused, “That is going to blow the only dam holding back the whole river of excrement!”

He began to help transferring the precious and delicate remains that might trigger a war.

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

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#DARING DO AND THE GRYPHON'S QUEST!#Part 16 of 19 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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leona-x-lancaster · 4 years

Text

[ ZENDAYA COLEMAN, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER] — If you’re strolling Derry today, you might see [ LEONA LANCASTER ] along the way! The [ TWENTY-TWO ] year old can usually be found at [ BARTINI as HEAD BARTENDER / OCCASIONAL DANCER ], when they aren’t busy with [ GETTING HIGH and PARTYING ]. I hear they seem to be [ LAID BACK and GENUINE ], but they are also rumored to be [ SARCASTIC and RECKLESS ]. I’m sure they’d never admit it, but they’re terrified of [ DEEP WATER ]

TW: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Bullying, Attempted Murder, Insomnia, Eating Disorder, Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse

Basic Info

Full Name: Leona Alexis Lancaster Nickname(s): Lee, Little Lion Age: 22 Occupation: Head Bartender at Bartini Dance Club Birthday: Sept. 13th Zodiac: Virgo

Family

Father (adopted): Alistair Lancaster Father (adopted): Antonio Hernandez-Lancaster Birth Mother: Name is Unknown. She was a teenage mother, though, and possibly a drug addict herself Sibling(s): Older (adopted) Brother

Physical Appearance

Height: 5′10′’ Weight: 114 lbs Hair Color / Type: Dark brown / Naturally curly. She sometimes straightens it Eye Color: Dark Brown Piercings: Two piercings each on the right and left earlobes; once on the right and left cartilages

Wardrobe examples: X

Personality

(+) Independent, Genuine, Down to Earth, Genius, Fiercely Loyal (-) Unrestrained, Wild, Impulsive, Reckless, Sarcastic

She’s pretty nice to almost everyone, and tries her best not to judge others for their situations, seeing as she’s not exactly perfect herself. She’s very chilled and down to earth, and is super, SUPER smart but tries her best to hide that from people, because of all the hate she got during her high school years.

Has no restrains at the moment, and is very reckless and impulsive because of that. She gets high and drunk all the time and doesn’t really care too much what everyone else thinks of it.

VERY sarcastic, but moreso in a humorous way than her just being truly nasty (she doesn’t really have a malicious bone in her body)

Her Demons

She suffers from: Drug Addiction, Alcohol Addiction, Bipolar Depression, Insomnia, and an Eating Disorder.

She’s well aware that she is a fucking mess (she uses that phrase quite a lot to describe herself), and while she cares, she has no plans of actually stopping. Mostly because she doesn’t know how and also because she loves the feelings her highs give her far too much.

She lies and says that it’s only for fun and she could and will stop, but…she’s lying through her teeth.

She suffers from bipolar depression, which contributes heavily to her substance abuse. Leona was diagnosed at a very early age, and was on a thousand different kind of meds, as the doctors tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with her. These days, she’s opted out on her medication for actual drugs, to help her cope with her insomnia and severe depressive episodes.

She has very low self esteem and she has no self worth. You could tell her that she’s the prettiest girl in the room and she wouldn’t believe you. This comes from her school years where she was bullied severely, and from her depression. She was called every horrible name under the sun and she’s come to believe them all.

She’s a literal genius, but the bullying and hazing that she suffered in high school has caused her to hate that about herself. Her mind is always busy, racing with thoughts and she finds it so hard to turn it off when she’s sober…so she gets high to help her do it for her.

Due to her mind always constantly on autopilot, she suffers from insomnia, as she finds it extremely difficult to sleep because her brain just won’t shut off.

Her drug (and alcohol) addiction is getting more and more out of control. It’s pretty obvious, just looking at her most days, that she’s not okay.

You will catch her staring blankly at the walls, unresponsive. That can be really unnerving to witness, because her eyes look dead. This is her at the peak of her high.

She’s always had an aversion to food, but it’s gotten worse as her addiction to drugs got worse. Leona was practically starving herself. She hardly ever eats anything, even when she feels hungry which is pretty rare - it’s only ever the bare minimum. Her appetite is just non-existent and oftentimes when she does pick at food, her stomach just can’t handle it and she ends up getting nauseous.

She’s always been pretty thin and frail looking, but she’s getting thinner by the day. She doesn’t notice.

BIGGEST FEAR

Thalassophobia - is the persistent and intense fear of deep bodies of water such as the ocean\sea, river or lake - any kind of body of water that seemed vast, dark, deep, and dangerous.

When Leona was thirteen, she had been invited by a few of the older girls that she went to school with to go sailing along the harbor. Getting the invite had been decidedly odd, since these girls had been her main tormentors for the last several years - ever since she had moved up to their grade (she’d skipped three grades). They’ve done nothing but bully and terrorize her, for seemingly no reason other than the fact that she was really smart - much smarter then them, and that seemed to offend them. Now all of a sudden they were acting all nice and as if they were her friends...it was really weird.

While she was suspicious, her dads on the other hand had been been thrilled and even encouraged her to accept the invite, hoping that it meant that she was starting to make new friends, after years of having just a few close ones from her childhood. Leona hadn’t told them about her bullies so it wasn’t like they were to know, so reluctantly, she had agreed to go.

The first two hours on the boat was fine, if not really awkward. Always perceptive, Leona could see right through their phony smiles and friendly behaviors - they were definitely up to something. It wasn’t until the sun started to go down, that their demeanor changed, like someone had just flipped their on switch. They lunged for her and started physically beating her, taking turns hitting her and kicking her and tearing at her clothes. Then the leader of the three - Lizzie - bound Leona’s hands in rope while the others held her down.

Once she was bound, Leona was hauled to her feet and then pushed overboard, where the fell into the depths of the open, ice cold waters of the Atlantic ocean. Though she was a rather strong swimmer, with her hands bound Leona was helpless and so she was quick to sink below the surface, all the while struggling to undo the bindings.

It was only thanks to Lizzie being terrible at tying knots that saved Leona’s life. It took a while, but she was able to loosen up the rope enough to slip her hands free, and she was able to make her way back up to the surface, with only just a few short seconds of breath to spare. When she re-surfaced, she saw that the harbor patrol had spotted the entire incident and had been quick to respond. Lizzie and her two accomplices - Marisa and Erin - were immediately apprehended. Upon seeing Leona floating precariously in the water, the officer was quick to throw a life preserver to her and helped pull her out and into the squad boat.

As all three girls were sixteen, they were tried in court as adults and sentenced to jail for attempted murder for several years. They would likely head to prison once they turned 18.

Due to this very traumatic incident, Leona has since been extremely terrified of deep, and dark water. Although she is adamant able never getting on another boat for the rest of her life, deep down she really wants to conquer her fear. She’d always loved going sailing on her dads’ boat and misses being on the water, but the thought of actually being on one and being surrounded by the wide, open sea just terrifies her to no end.

This incident is widely known around Derry, so the locals who’ve been in town for at least nine years would have certainly heard about it and the trial of the three older teen girls that followed. It was on the news - TV and newspaper alike.

Interests / Likes / Dislikes / Habits

She practically lives at Bartini, the local night club. She works there as head bartender, and has been there for a year, and it’s never really seemed like work to her. She thrives on the atmosphere of the place, and if it weren’t for closing times during the daylight hours, she’d likely spend all day there if she could.

Getting drunk and high constantly, practically every other day (she goes on day-long benders sometimes)

Likes going to a good party, and has a pretty good ‘partydar’ - in which she tends to find parties quite easily. She was such a good girl in high school, and now that she was an adult and living in her own place with her roommates, she felt free to do as she pleased.

Gets along with most everyone, especially those she considers her ‘inner circle’ - those that she’d ride or die for.

She’s a LOT more social now as a young adult than she ever was as a teen, and she actually enjoys being in the thick of things and having a good, strong network of friends or just friendly acquaintances all around her. Because of her job at Bartini and the fact that she spends ninety percent of her time either working down at the club, partying elsewhere in town or going on walks and bike rides around Derry at any give hour, she has a tendency to run into a lot of the locals. Because of that, a lot of people knew who she was, and she them.

Of course, she knows that the incident with her near death was also a well known and talked about event several years back so most already knew who she was to begin with. She HATED being known as the Derry girl who was nearly murdered by some of her classmates - it was a terrible stigma and tended to bring back horrible memories whenever it was brought up. She much preferred being associated with her job or as the local wanderer.

LOATHES bullies, given her past with them. She refuses to be a victim, and she will not stand to see others being one as well.

LOVES to cuddle, and is super clingy to those she considers her closest friends and family members. Her friendship comes with it’s own little warning label - Warning: Don’t be friends with Leona Lancaster if you don’t like to snuggle.

Has a beautiful singing voice, and isn’t shy about breaking out into song at random, and sometimes in rather inappropriate places.

Has a fantastic fashion sense. She absolutely loves fashion and therefore, loves shopping. The part of her paychecks that don’t go towards her bills and drug addiction, goes towards her rather expansive wardrobe.

Biography

Was actually born in Chicago, IL., to a drug addicted teenage mother (although this fact is unknown to her) who wanted nothing to do with her after she was born. She was put up for adoption almost as soon as she came into the world.

Luckily, she was adopted just a short time later (at six months old) by Alistair and Antonio Lancaster. They were a happily married gay couple from Maine who were looking to adopt a second child. They already had a son, who that they had also adopted.

Leona grew up, alongside her older brother in Derry, Maine. In her early years, she was a happy child, easily making friends with the other locals who were close to you own age. She had a few neighbors who she quickly became besties for life with. To this day, adult Leona cherished every single one of them, and thought of them as an extension of her family.

From a very early age, it was clear to everyone in her family that she was highly intellectual - like, genius level smart. Leona had e a much higher IQ than most her age, and she quickly found her classes to be a breeze - so much so, in fact, that she was inevitably forced by both her parents and the school administrators to skip several grades. She found the entire experience mortifying and traumatic, as all the kids she now had to surround herself with were much older and bigger than her. She hated it.

Of course, being the smallest and youngest in her class resulted in several painful years of humiliation and bullying. Mainly from three specific girls - Lizzie, Erin and Marisa. They were three years older than her and tormented her throughout jr and high school.

At the age of 13, her three main tormentors were arrested and locked away after nearly drowning Leona. The entire town was quick to learn about the attempt on her life and the subsequent arrest of the girls responsible, but it didn’t make her last year of high school any easier.

By the time her high school graduation came around, the then 14-year-old had been ecstatic and relieved to finally be leaving high school behind.

When her dads tried to push her into going to college right after, Leona had adamantly refused to go. She wanted to wait until she was 18 or even older, determined not to have another repeat of her high school years, where she was several years younger than everyone else.

When she finally turned 18, instead of heading to college like she said she would, Leona moved out of her dads’ house and headed to Portland, tired of being in Derry, and feeling like she needed to escape the stigma that still followed her around.

While in Portland, she became roomies with a few of young adults who were quick to introduce Leona into the life of drugs and alcohol and sex, and it hadn’t taken her long to get addicted. Not just to the substances, but to the lifestyle of partying and not giving a fuck about anything. With such an overactive and constantly running mind, she found that if she took enough drugs and drank enough alcohol, that her brain would finally be able to slow the hell down and be quieted, if only temporarily - sometimes enough to let her sleep a full eight hours, other times it was just a couple, but she'd honestly take what she could get.

She stayed in Portland for two years. At the age of 21, she attended a mixology course, and when she was finished Leona decided to move back to Derry, feeling homesick. She hadn’t seem her brother, or dads or any of her friends in the two years she’s been gone and she missed them terribly.

Instead of moving back in with her dads, though - in fear of them discovering her addiction and forcing her into rehab - she became housemates to Prissy Goldwyn, one of her childhood best friends and someone she still remained close friends with throughout their teen years. It was an easy friendship to maintain, since Prissy lived just a few houses down from hers.

Her dads may not know about her plethora of problems with alcohol or drugs, but her brother certainly did and worried for her a great deal. The two were very close and he didn’t like that she was destroying herself and wasting her potential.

- W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S -

Dad #1 - her adopted father. (50+, Hug Jackman, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Robert Downy Jr, Idris Elba, UTP) Any ethnicity

Dad #2 - her OTHER adopted father. (45+, Oscar Isaacs, UTP) Any ethnicity, although I did picture him being of Latino descent.

Older Brother - Adopted. (28-32 - Ryan Guzman (first pick), Logan Lerman (second pick), Diego Boneta, UTP) He can be of any ethnicity, as well.

Childhood Friends (CAN BE MULTIPLE PEOPLE) - friends she’s had since she was very young. They used to play together all the time in their youth, and have either remained in touch over the years, or they’ve lost touch (since Leona ended up skipping several grades - she left 3rd grade behind to go into 6th).

Co-Workers - either someone who is also a bartender for Bartini Dance Club, or who works there as like a dancer or server or something. Leona does fill in as a dancer some times, when they’re short-staffed and need a fill-in.

Drug Dealer - she will definitely need a drug dealer around town. Whether they have a good rapport with one other, or it’s literally just a business exchange - either way will work and would be welcome.

Inner Circle - those that she considers “her people”. The ones she would do anything for, and who would do anything for her in return. She loves these individuals dearly and with her whole heart, and she is fiercely protective of them - whether they’re in need of her protection or not - but also they’re the ones she’s the most cuddly and clingy to.

#derrybio #most of her info is the same #i just added a few extra things #this is SO DAMN LONG #i don't blame anyone if they don't bother reading any of it #hopefully it's not too much of a mess #OPEN TO PLOTS!!#OPEN TO CONNECTIONS!!#might go in and fine-tune things later

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phantasieandmirare · 4 years

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Okay so this is going to be fun. I haven’t seen Cats yet and I’m torn between wanting to just for the Experience and not wanting to to preserve the love I have for the musical itself. But I know a lot about the musical and characters (and I’ll be sharing my/the fandom’s general headcanons with you) because I watched the 1998 TV film on repeat when I was younger. So here’s what happens in the musical (keeping in mind that I’ve only seen the 1998 movie and not the actual show but I know that the show is different) that y’all are missing.

If you didn’t know at this point, the entire musical is based on the book ‘Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats’ by T.S. Eliot which is a book of short cutesy poems. This was one of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s favorite book when he was younger and he wrote the entire musical as a composition exercise to see if he could write music with predetermined lyrics.

There are so many interviews of Andrew Lloyd Weber explaining what the musical is about in the 80s and it’s just as awkward as literally anyone trying to explain Cats right now. But he’s trying his best. Cut him some slack.

I am literally watching the 1998 movie on YouTube as I type this. It’s all available there. Please watch it if you need to purge the Cats movie from your brain and replace it with something watchable.

I used to have all of the names of the cats memorized. I’m not kidding. I could tell you who was singing what line in every song. I knew the background characters. I could look at a picture and tell you who everyone was in it with extreme accuracy. I had every song memorized. I knew everything. I am the Cats God.

Munkustrap is the narrator of the musical. He’s also the de facto leader/protector of the Jellicles when Old Deuteronomy isn’t there. He’s like the prime minister to Old Deuteronomy’s queen/king. From what I understand he does not have the same sway in the movie which sucks because he’s my favorite and I love him.

There are two cats in the musical who are psychic. They’re twins. Their names are Coricopat and Tantomile. I’m not making this up. I think this is only mentioned in the stage show itself but on the off chance that it’s not and I just happen to know this now you know too.

“There’s a man over there with a look of surprise. As much as to say ‘well now how about that’. Do I actually see with my own very eyes a man who has not heard of a Jellicle Cat? ‘What’s a Jellicle Cat? What’s a Jellicle Cat? What’s a Jellicle Cat?’” Please tell me this line is in the movie. I’m begging you. Because this is hilarious now that this is now every single person’s reaction to the very concept of Cats.

From all the reviews I’m guessing that The Naming of Cats is not in the movie or it’s not played the way it is on stage. Which is a shame because that would be another delightful moment that confuses and horrifies everyone who has no idea what Cats is. If they played The Naming of Cats the way that they do on stage that alone would have cleared the movie theater instantly. For about three minutes they tell you how cats are named. In complete sync. They get louder and move closer to the audience as they go on. It’s low key terrifying. I also had this memorized. It was one of my favorite songs in the musical.

Our boy Mr. Mistoffelees is not named Mr. Mistoffelees for most of the show. He’s called Quaxo. The consensus is that ‘Mr. Mistoffelees’ is a separate identity and/or personality. I swear I’m not making this up.

Victoria and Quaxo/Mistoffelees are brother and sister. That’s a general headcanon that either I came to or is a consensus in the fandom. Not making this up either. Bustopher Jones/James Corden is their father. This is all assumed based on their coloration. This is also where I mention that I used to know all the family dynamics in this musicals and who’s with who.

It’s also a general consensus that Victoria isn’t ‘new’ but has just reached the age where she can be involved in the Jellicle Ball. She has the very first dance solo in the musical and is the one to finally accept Grizabella but that’s the only importance she has for the entire musical. She doesn’t have any lines or her own song but is instantly recognizable in every picture ever.

Jennyanydots is introduced wearing a large fur coat/get-up that she can barely stand up in and then removes it to reveal a flapper dress later. I assume that’s what they were going for with the whole ‘Rebel Wilson takes off her skin’ issue. Her song/dance is tap-based. She’s the wine aunt of the group. She never eats the cockroaches. That’s never mentioned in the song. I don’t know why they did that.

Rum Tum Tugger is supposed to be based on Mick Jagger. I don’t know how well that translated into the movie but I hear they tried to redesign him into a more modern version on stage recently that did not go well at all because it was kinda racist. So let’s just stick with the Mick Jagger version cause it works better. All the girls in the group are obsessed with him/groupies. All the moms/queens are so over it. He and Quaxo/Mistoffelees have a love hate relationship. I used to read fanfiction and people ship the heck out of them. General consensus is that he and Bombalurina/Taylor Swift are a thing.

Grizabella’s entire deal is that she used to be a show cat who got dumped/a mangy stray who used to be beautiful but then got into too many fights/it’s vaguely implied that she was a cat prostitute.

Elaine Paige originated the role of Grizabella and then reprised it for the 1998 movie and that is the only reason that I know who Elaine Paige is.

The entire plot of this musical is that Grizabella is touch-starved.

Is Demeter mentioned in the movie? She’s also my favorite. Does she have a major role? Where’s my girl? Where is she? Anyway Demeter and Munkustrap are often shipped together too.

Bustopher Jones is essentially the Godfather and is the 1% of the Jellicles. Everyone loves him. He’s like Tugger for the older ladies/queens because they all also adore him. Quaxo/Mistoffelees chases him and plays with his tail and stuff like that a lot in the stage show and generally has this really proud air around him/is center stage in the song during his song which adds to the headcanon that Bustopher Jones is his dad.

To clear it up, Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer are brother and sister, they are not together. They’re also twins.

Old Deuteronomy shows up. The psychic twins say that he’s coming. As far as I know that’s the only indication we get ever that they’re psychic.

Tugger and Munkustrap are friends/frenemies. The headcanon is that Tugger wants to be the leader or just doesn’t like that Munkustrap tries to keep them all in line/doesn’t let Tugger do whatever he wants but besides that they’re buddies.

I think it was also implied somewhere/I had the headcanon that Old Deuteronomy and Grizabella are brother and sister. I think. I also think I had the headcanon that he’s Quaxo/Mistoffelees and Victoria’s grandfather because they also hang around him a lot. Ken Page who you may recognize as the voice of Oogie Boogie in The Nightmare Before Christmas plays Deuteronomy and originated the role and casually mentions that he’s probably the father of most of the cats so there you go.

They cut this from the movie and I understand why now but there’s a musical number about a battle between two tribes of dogs that they put on as a performance for Old Deuteronomy. Yes it’s musical inception. This is a big song for Munkustrap because he narrates and sings the entire thing. At one point Tugger plays bagpipes in it. I’m not kidding. Munkustrap spends the entire song being an exhausted stage manager trying to keep everything under control and it’s not going well and I feel that.

There’s a cat superhero called the Rumpus Cat. Yep.

The Jellicle Ball begins proper. There’s a lot of flirting and dancing and acrobatics and generally wild stuff for a good ten minutes. Generally it’s framed as Old Deuteronomy deciding which one of them gets to enter the Heaviside Layer through dance. What is his criteria for who gets to die? They never tell us.

Anyway Victoria performs the mating dance with a cat named Plato/Admetus (again, Victoria and Quaxo/Mistoffelees are never together and they are siblings thank you very much). The orgy is real folks. We don’t talk about it. I think I watched this scene once when I was little (also when I say little I mean like 12/13) and then never again because it’s extremely awkward to watch. I would just skip right over it as soon as the music started getting slow and move on to Memory. This right here is the first time that I’m watching it in literal years. It’s still as awkward as it was then.

There’s a cat named Jemima/Sillabub (a lot of these cats have multiple names/their names are different between productions/regions if you haven’t picked up on that already). She’s basically what they made Victoria into in the movie and is important for the plot. I don’t know why they focused in on Victoria when Jemima/Sillabub is right there.

Gus the Theater Cat sings his song and I also cry every single time because Gus is the sweetest cat in the entire musical and I love him and also the song is sad as heck especially if you think about how this is an older man playing this role and talking about how his acting days are past him. There’s another musical number about one of Gus’s most famous roles but they didn’t put that into the 1998 movie because of budget issues and not having enough space on the set to do it anyway.

I do not remember this moment but for about ten seconds a specter of Gus as his most famous character comes out, walks around menacingly, and then leaves and I DON’T REMEMBER THAT AT ALL. Anyway Gus follows it around because it’s his memory of his younger self and the heartbreak on his face when it disappears and the fact that this character cries at the end of the song and doesn’t even finish it shatters my entire heart. Gus has six minutes and then he leaves and we never see him again and sometimes I think about Gus and cry.

So after breaking your soul with Gus we jump directly into Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat who is also a delight and from what I hear people in the movie really liked him too. If you like nothing else about Cats you have to agree that Skimbles is wonderful.

Macavity the Mystery Cat is my second favorite song in the entire musical. Bombalurina/Taylor Swift and Demeter both perform it together (I listened to Taylor Swift’s version after I finished watching this and I am so mad that they cut Demeter out of it entirely because Demeter makes this song and she’s another one of my favorites). It’s the female power ballad of the entire musical and their voices/belting is sick as heck and also I used to have the choreography memorized on top of everything else. It’s implied that Demeter and Macavity used to be a thing before she escaped him. There are layers to this.

Macavity tries to sneak back in dressed up as Old Deuteronomy but because Demeter is his old flame she sees right through it. The cats all fight and then Macavity escapes and is never mentioned again. We can safely assume that he does this every year.

My absolute favorite song in the entire musical/the first one I ever heard is Magical Mr. Mistoffelees. Tugger introduces him and sings most of the song. Mistoffelees actually doesn’t sing for the entire thing, it’s all Tugger. Tugger keeps singing about how Mistoffelees has a signature move called the ‘conjuring turn’ which on stage is twenty-four consecutive fouettés en tournant and it’s impressive as heck. Mistoffelees is one of the most demanding dance roles in the entire musical. Here’s the thing though, they don’t have the conjuring turn in the 1998 movie, the way that the music is cut we can assume that they filmed it and then it got cut or they lost the footage or something so for a long time I never saw it and then I looked it up and it was awesome. Anyway this is my cat son and I love him.

Onstage Grizabella ascends to the Heaviside Layer in one of two ways: either by a staircase that descends from the ceiling, or (again I’m not making this up) in a flying saucer. If you’re still confused about the plot of Cats take the fact that they ascend to cat heaven on a UFO and go forth knowing that the answer to ‘What is Cats?’ has a legitimate answer of ‘Aliens’.

So that’s Cats. Namely the version that I hoped we were getting and that we were robbed off in favor of God-awful CGI and a lot of uncomfortable horniness (or at least more than there normally is in the actual show) and Rebel Wilson tearing off her skin.

#cats #cats the musical #cats 1998 #the only version of cats that matters #be quiet sarah #i don't know how to end this post #i took an entire day of my life to write this post please appreciate my efforts #anyway #ok goodnight

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thesilentinquisitor · 5 years

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About Evren

Basics

Name: Evren Tanith Anubis

Aka: Lady Anubis, Lady Inquisitor, the Emperor’s Jackal, the Silent Inquisitor, the Bone Witch. Aunt/Auntie Evren to many. Known to the Neverborn as the Fourteen-Eyed Jackal and the Crowned Devourer In Golden Chains. Evy or Eve to some.

Originally: Evren Tanith Burakgazi.

DOB: 21st December, 989.M1 (Sagittarius). Appears to be in her late twenties or early thirties.

Gender + Sexuality: Agender/demigirl. Poly-panromantic greysexual, with slight preference towards women when it comes to relationships and men when it comes to casual flings.

Origin: Liverpool, UK, Terra. Mixed Egyptian and Turkish, identifies as English.

Rank: [30k] Grand Inquisitor. Officially, she is the seeker of traitors and rebels, acting as a scalpel to cut out the cancer before it grows large enough to warrant calling in the Space Wolves or Night Lords. Unofficially, she seeks out artefacts, creatures, and people of great power and destructive potential and contains them, sometimes neutralising them or turning them to the use of the Imperium. These include Chaos or Warp-powered artefacts, xenotech, creations from before the Age of Strife, items from alternate universes, and things of stranger, more obscure origins. Her mission and means are highly secretive, with few beyond the Emperor and Malcador the Sigillite being aware of her true mission.

[40k] Loyalist Renegade/Inquisitor: After the Tomb Jackals were banished and wiped from the records at the end of the Heresy, they spent several centuries engaged in a Repentance Crusade in the Eye. However, they soon emerged and began engaging with the Imperium again, albeit under false names with false histories. Evren uses a fake Rosette to pass as an Inquisitor of Ordo Hereticus or Malleus.

History

Abilities:

Flawed Perpetual: Requires energy and biomass to regenerate lost body parts; she must eat an arm’s weight to get an arm back. Large healings leave her weak and sleepy from hours to days after; regrowing more than 50% of her bodyweight will cause her to fall into a coma. Will regenerate from the largest part remaining or the one with her head. Other parts die after an hour and are usually consumed to regain biomass. Never ‘dies’ but will lose consciousness if sufficiently injured.

Living Cancer: Thanks to her mother’s hasty dying pact and Malal’s sick sense of humour, Evren can best be described as a sapient infectious cancer. Her cells are constantly regenerating and can revert back to stem cell level to allow her to regenerate limbs or organs. Her cells replace any foreign organic material inside or added to her body - grafted-on limbs will change into copies of what she lost - which means she was never able to bear a child, even before she removed the required organs. Given sufficient time and material, she can convert corpses into copies of her or, if a live cell sample is placed in a nutrient broth, grow a new body from scratch over a period of roughly two and half months.

Gamma-level Psyker: biomancy/physiokinesis/chloromancy, telepathy, telekinesis, kine-shields. Studied and mastered necromancy from the post-Heresy-era onwards. Has an incredibly precise control over her magic and a long list of memorised spells, though her range is middling to poor. Good at sensing fluctuations in the Warp.

Biomancy: Her first and strongest discipline. Though she was first trained as a healer, Evren has turned what she learnt to the causes of torture and interrogation, shaping flesh and bone like wet clay. She knows dozens of methods for instant killing, as well as how to keep a victim alive long after they should have died. Her speciality is the draining of energy from victims, leaving them dried-out husks.

Chloromancy: An offshoot of biomancy devoted to the control of plants. She can create fully-grown plants from seeds in seconds, even if said seeds are inside someone’s stomach at the time. Evren’s presence enlivens plants - grass lengthens in her footsteps and flowers bloom where she uses her magic.

Necromancy: At the price of another life, Evren can bring back the dead - either has barely-sapient drones or exactly as they used to be. Those too damaged or rotten to be brought back properly are made into corpse-constructs - shambling creatures made from mismatched parts, sometimes with dozens of eyes or arms for legs - or as disposable troops. Can also summon, banish, and sense ghosts or spirits - not via any natural ability but the use of charmed props and equipment.

Daemonology: Has studied the lore of daemons, so can summon, banish, restrain, and otherwise deal with daemons. After her pact with Malal, she can access their Chains of Binding, which can make most daemons her slaves.

Strengths/Weaknesses:

+ Biology, genetic manipulation, botany: Excels in the sciences of life. Can create new species of plants, animals, and bacterium in her lab, for everything from relieving famine or curing diseases to bioweapons. Has an almost instinctive knowledge of cell function and makeup. + Occult knowledge: Widely read in the nature of magic and the Warp. Has memorised many spells, curses, and cantrips; draws protective sigils and wards with ease. Knows secrets that would drive many insane, which has had an impact on her sanity. + Resistant to pain and torture: Both thanks to experience and her ability to use biomancy to shut down her pain receptors, she can resist most interrogation techniques. When put under great stress, she will put herself into a coma. + Stealth and terror tactics: Can become all but imperceptible thanks to a combination of magical and mundane techniques. Trained in tracking, assassination, sabotage, recon, torture and interrogation, intelligence gathering, and item/personnel retrieval. + Shapeshifting: Disguising herself as others, of any height, weight, or bodyshape, is easy for Evren thanks to her biomancy. She deeply dislikes changing her skin tone and avoid it whenever possible. ~ Evren has autism, what was formerly known as Asperger’s Syndrome. - Suffering mentally: Her traumatic life experiences and knowledge of the universe has given Evren a depression and PTSD, both of which seem resistant to treatment. She suffers from panic attacks, nightmares, and is psychologically triggered by enclosed spaces, the colour yellow (especially hooded robes), pregnant women, and the sight of certain religious artifacts. She uses various meditation techniques and marijuana for her anxiety. - Cannot see into the future through dreams, visions, or third-party methods: she cannot scry, cast runes, or use the Tarot. To seers, her future actions are shrouded in darkness. Some report hearing the roar of static and feeling the attention of something dark fall on them, heralded by seeing dozens of blank, white eyes in the darkness. Others see dozens of extremely disparate futures to the point of being overwhelmed. - ’Perpetual’ nature causes her body to reject all non-organic implants, such as the Black Carapace: organic implants and transplants can be accepted via biomancy. - Must have a source of energy/food or healing abilities slow. Must have a source of energy/food or her healing abilities slow until they cease to work entirely, due to the high energy demands of her body, leading to wounds remaining open even after an ordinary human would have healed. Starves at the rate of one unenhanced, though her enhancements allow her to consume many things considered inedible. - Weak to things that destroy cells/atoms, i.e. atom bombs, strong radiation, gauss flayers, fire, being thrown into the Sun. Deeply fears Necrons for this reason. - Highly affected by Blanks. Cause painful rashes/skin peeling, bleeding from the eyes/nose, intense migraines, and seizures depending on closeness/length of exposure. Her healing factor is deadened to the point where one could kill her with a knife and a bit of patience. - Bad at spelling and mental mathematics, to the point of dyscalculia.

Personality:

+ Loyal, protective, generous, loving, charitable, friendly, patient, determined, optimistic, intellectual, courageous, devoted, flexible, playful, artistic, imaginative, trusting, forgiving.

- Liar, braggart, snobbish, patronising, glutton, literal-minded, coddling, depressive, zealot, hoarder, hypocrite, merciless, sadistic, vengeful, spiteful, stubborn, nosy, impulsive, selfish, clingy, melodramatic.

- Evren’s motivation in life is the protection and wellbeing of humanity; to this end very few actions are considered ‘too much’ or ‘too far’. Like the SCP Foundation before her, she will inflict pain and death on hundreds or thousands to save millions or even billions. - Highly curious, she is full of questions at all times and loves to explore. - Friends and family mean a lot to her; she values her brothers’ happiness highly and possesses an undying loyalty to the Emperor, even if she often doubts him. - She still has great faith in humanity and believes that most people are good - Has a 'better the devil you know’ attitude, used to enduring horrible things if it meant keeping humanity safe from even greater horrors or even annihilation - She has a deep-seated disdain for religion and identifies as a misotheist, having never met a 'god’ worth worshipping. Secretly she dreams of toppling the gods and perhaps even taking a little of their power for themselves - she’s sure she would use it better. - Due to the fact it was the last time she felt 'normal’ or 'like herself’, Evren is obsessed with the culture of the 1980s to 2020s and has gone out of her way to preserve artifacts from that era, including her favourite popular media. She enjoys cartoons and anime. - Despite, or possibly because of, living through the millennia-long suppression of magic by the Foundation, Evren is openly, unapologetically proud of being a psyker and campaigns for the better understanding of her fellow magic-users. - Secretly, she is somewhat of a coward and flees from anything she is sure can kill her, though she once managed to explore a Necron tomb with her Legion. - Often overwhelmed by her duties, she is full of doubts and often second-guesses herself - Is a hopeless romantic, in love with love, but treats sex casually - to her, it’s just another fun thing two or more people who like each other can do together

Likes/hobbies: Magic and studying magic, archaeology, history, exploring ruins or nature, tomb-raiding and grave-robbing, botany and gardening, cartoons comics, horror books/movies, making clothes and jewellery, puzzles/riddles, cooking, coffee/recaff (the more elaborate, brighter-coloured, and highly-flavoured the better), Turkish and Egyptian cuisine, dancing, singing, playing the piano.

Hates: Chaos-worshippers, the Chaos gods, religion in general, not being able to know things, traitors and backstabbers, letting down a friend, enclosed spaces, going hungry, wasting food, offal, eye contact, people who take advantage, corrupt officials, people who don’t care for others, Astartes who look down on humans, almost all Commissars not named Ciaphas Cain, the fact she has to remove all her body hair to wear her bodyglove comfortably. After the Heresy, she despises Iron Warriors and Word Bearers to the point where she’ll drop anything to kill them; it’s her dearest dream to sacrifice Erebus and Kor Phaeron to Malal.

Looks:

Height: 5′7″ (original) / 8′3″ (current). Can and will change her height with biomancy.

Eyes:

Golden with hints of brown. Dark rimmed irises like a wolf (or a chicken). In the 40k era, they turn white with black sclera when channelling the power of Malal.

Wears kohl eyeliner in the ancient Egyptian style, eyeshadow in shades of blue or red with a streak of gold. Long lashes usually enhanced with mascara.

Well-groomed, s-shaped eyebrows with a ‘hook’.

Possesses a unique, prototype in-built ‘prey-sight’ that allows her to see into the infrared spectrum and track targets by body-heat. Unfortunately, it also reduces her ability to see detail such as writing/screens and people’s faces, turns the world into a blobby mess of colour, and gives her crippling migraines if she uses it for more than five minutes. Her pupils are dilated and her eyes appear glazed during use.

Has a transparent, protective nictitating membrane.

Skin:

Brown, vaguely russet. Blushes easily, freckles in strong sunlight thanks to the Jackal geneseed. Some moles – aka ‘beauty spots’ - across her body and limbs.

No scars or wrinkles save for a line of small, round scars along her spine and faint marks on her stomach as if something with five claws slashed her from ribs to hip.

Removes all hair below the neck with biomancy, to keep it from catching in her armour and bodyglove; without that, she has dark body hair and a ‘treasure trail’.

Tattoos in gold ink of runes across her ribcage, arms to elbows, and on her stomach, spelling out incantations of warding and banishment; intricate magical diagrams and sigils cover her back from shoulders to hips. These act as protection against daemons, increase her magical abilities, and make her touch painful for any with above a certain amount of Warp energies inside them. Designed to ward off danger and interrogating Chaos worshippers, she cannot touch Sanguinius or Magnus with her bare skin without causing burning pins-and-needles tingling. Touching a daemon causes them severe pain, like touching a red-hot poker.

In the 40k era, she bears the brand of Malal on her stomach; the black-and-white skull mark only appears when she’s channelling the Outcast God’s power or consumed with thoughts of vengeance. At all other times, it’s invisible.

Sensitive to touch and ticklish, especially around the - ahem - chest.

Body:

Lean but muscular with long limbs/torso. Broad shoulders, slim waist, and powerful thighs. A six-pack and strong arms. Often compared to an Amazon or Valkyrie.

Disproportionate on close inspection, with her arms almost as long as her legs; can give an Uncanny Valley effect. Long stomach/spine between ribcage and hips; has three more lumbar vertebrae than normal. Long fingers, toes, neck.

Small chest - ‘small but perfectly formed’ as she sometimes says.

Highly flexible and double jointed, capable of impressive contortionist acts. Often cracks her joints to the point of sounding like an old man; is prone to aches and pains after too much flexing, which she eases with long baths.

Possesses all Astartes organs aside from the Mucranoid, Melanchromic Organ, Black Carapace, and Lyman’s Ear; her Sus-an Membrane has a malfunction that, whenever she activates it, plagues her hibernation period with horrific nightmares.

Lacks the Black Carapace and interface ports thanks to her Perpetual nature, so she syncs with her custom-made Power Armour (Mark IV variant, replaced by a Mark VI variant post-Heresy) via a series of needles that pierce her spinal cord.

Has several experimental organs not used in the final Astartes model: Angius Ligament (lets her stretch her jaws like a snake), Tanax Gland (produces a sticky, glue-like saliva that dries quickly on contact with air), Pera Organ (a second stomach), and Runco Node (a gland in the brain that, at times of great stress, releases hormones and chemicals to dull her feelings of pain, fear, and despair; in some circumstances, Evren goes into a trance-like state where she can only think of killing enemies and lacks morality, mercy, or a conscience. She never remembers her actions afterwards and the Jackals have sworn never to tell her).

Face:

Greatly resembles her Papa. They have the same eyes, brow, nose, and cheekbones. Diamond-shaped face with a strong jaw. Beauty spot near left eye.

Eight canine teeth; all teeth sharper and more pointed than normal.

Long, flexible tongue. Unsurprisingly, she’s also a very good kisser.

Wears a brown or berry-coloured blush and lipstick in maroon, berry, navy, or black.

Faceclaim: Jessica Penne.

Hair:

Black, glossy, falls in loose curls. Naturally thick and heavy. Soft and silky.

Shoulder-blade length and worn parted at her left side with a side-fringe.

Doesn’t often change her hairstyle, but she has experimented with various styles and lengths. Tends to go between straight and curly on a whim.

In battle, it’s braided and curled into a bun under her helmet.

Clothes:

Linen tunics, tight cloth trousers, long waistcoats, and long, fur-lined (often leather) coats. Soft leather knee-high boots, leather boots, flats, and ankle boots – never heels. Doesn’t wear socks. Wears black, white, gold, shades of red but usually crimson or maroon, and shades of blue from navy to turquoise.

Gold, copper, and bone accessories – from her kills, both animal, xenos, and human. Usually hand-made. Loves rubies, aquamarine, lapis lazuli, coral, and sapphires. Likes Egyptian, jackal, space, floral/plant, and skull/bone motifs.

Wears lots of rings, bracelets/bangles, and necklaces when off-duty.

Has a large hat collection, with hats for every occasion, but she most often wears a wide-brimmed black hat with the brim tilted just so. Hat never falls off because it’s held in place with a hatpin topped with a silver skull.

Attitude/Bearing:

Due to her autism, she rarely makes eye contact, has dulled facial expressions/RBF, tends towards a monotone voice, and stims by twining her hands, playing with her hair, or pressing her palms together. Looks at people’s noses or ears, as a rule.

Stands and walks with almost unnatural grace and flexibility. Very light feet. Will casually bend her limbs backwards to reach something or turn her head like an owl.

Has a faint Liverpudlian accent and a deep voice; the accent is a deliberate affectation and vanishes during times of stress, replaced with a Terran accent.

Daemon-Princess of Malal Form Evren can ‘summon’ small parts of her daemon form into her human body, such as horns, claws, eyes, and wings; her most common trick is to summon wings, pure black and flat as paper, the feathers razor-sharp.

Soul: To psykers and daemons, her soul appears to be glowing with a bright golden light that can be almost blinding. There’s an impression of many wings, eyes, and teeth and a burning crown. Her tattoos appear as literal golden chains and the influence of Malal as a spreading darkness centred around her solar plexus.

Equipment

Mark IV/ Mark VI Corvus Power Armour: Adjusted to her disproportionate frame, the biggest change is around the joints of the armour; plating has been re-shaped and in some cases removed to allow a much higher degree of flexibility. Instead of the classic ‘beaky’ helmet it has the white jackal mask worn by the Legion’s command ranks. The inside is coated with runes and sigils of protection, purity, and banishment. The pockets and waist pouches are much bigger on the inside than the outside.

Force Sword (Asurludu): Designed and built for a user who places speed and flexibility over strength, longer and lighter than the usual model. The hilt and blade show some influence from ancient Turkic designs. The blade is decorated with an ‘evren’ - that is to say, the dragon from Turkic mythology - and the grip is bound in dark blue.

Daemon Sword: A black-bladed daemon sword with an ornate gold hilt, decorated with obsidians and moonstones, and a scabbard decorated with many eyes. Contains Snuffer Of Faith’s Candlelight, a Guardian of Contradictions who displeased Malal and was sentenced to eleven thousand year’s imprisonment within the sword. Screams and wails when wielded. Can and will devour mortal souls and daemons alike.

Various grenades: Krak, frag, flashbang, and ‘Banisher’ - produced and equipped solely by the Tomb Jackals Legion, they contain blessed salt, iron, silver, and holy water. Evren often forgets they’re there or to replenish her supply, to the annoyance of her armoury staff. She retorts that her throwing arm is so bad they’re all but useless anyway.

Dataslate: Connected to the Weigher’s central database and intranet, Evren can call upon thousands of years of information in seconds. She can also connect to others’ dataslates and send messages to their ships or voxes. It can fold in half like a book and be used in either orientation. Most files are in Esceapian or Turkish; anything sensitive is protected with instakill memetic agents that cause fatal seizures and brain haemorrhages in any who haven’t been through the right psycho-programming.

Combat Knife: Carved with runes, it has a devastating effect on daemons and other creatures of Chaos. The default combat knife wielded by all Tomb Jackals and Shadows.

Bolter: She once owned a master-crafted, artisanal-made Crusade-pattern Bolter that was destroyed just after the Heresy, during their Crusade in the Eye, and never replaced. Since then she’s owned a variety of firearms, either losing them or giving them away. Her current weapon, as of 40k, is a Godwyn Mark Vb Pattern.

Snacks and drinks: Since both magic and healing drain a great deal of her energy, it’s important for Evren to stay well-fed. She keeps a supply of high-protein, high-fat, and high-sugar rations in the form of bars and drinks, fortified with iron and calcium, as well as more normal foodstuffs such as jerky, candy bars, and bottles of water.

Inquisitors’ Rosette: Before the Heresy, this took the form of the Emperor’s personal aquila in gold, with the SCA symbol on its breast, as a badge or a pendent. In the 40k, Evren wields the rosette of the Inquisition when going undercover. Kyete acquired it, as well as the official papers and paraphernalia, from a Custodian who owed her a favour. The rosette takes the form of the stylised I bearing the winged skull of a jackal.

First Aid Kit: For minor wounds she can’t or won’t heal with her biomancy.

#[ooc post]#[evren's personnel file]#[legion documents]

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thecorpulentbeagle · 6 years

Text

P5 Shipping Round Robin: Day 6

Finally time for a food-centric chapter! I hope it’s close to a mealtime in whatever time zone you live in.

Here is the fanfiction.net link.

Please enjoy this next part of the P5 Shipping Round Robin Challenge!

P5 Shipping Round Robin Challenge:

The Big Bang… Burger (Get your minds out of the gutter!):

Akira x Yusuke

-Akira-

It was finally time.

Akira and Yusuke had planned this day for weeks, and they had been preparing themselves for it accordingly.

It wasn’t raiding a palace, or passing a test… it was something much more “important” than those things.

This was the Big Bang Burger Challenge.

Both boys had attempted it in the past, and after a few times, they had both ultimately passed the final challenge: consuming the Cosmic Tower Burger and becoming a Captain. They’d had their pictures taken and displayed on a wall that depicted those who had attained this legendary status, and the scary part was that they had both accomplished this feat multiple times.

But that begged the questioned – what more could they do? How much farther could they go? It was no longer a challenge, but a gateway to something… greater.

So, the two boys had decided that they would create their own challenge.

They agreed that it would be impossible to consume more food – though it was doable for them to beat the original challenge (which is what both did several times in the course of their training), it still left their stomachs aching afterwards. Therefore, if quantity was not the solution, then it would have to be speed.

The original challenge stated that one had to eat the Cosmic Tower Burger in thirty minutes. So, Yusuke and Akira decided that they would see who could finish in the fastest time.

Akira had used his silver-tongue to convince the workers to set up this challenge, though in all honesty, they hadn’t needed that much convincing. Yusuke and Akira were practically celebrities at the Big Bang Burger in Shibuya, and the workers advertised this event far and wide to attract more customers.

Yusuke meanwhile had talked with Haru, to make sure that she was alright with this since it was technically her business. She had laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, but had commented that it was ultimately very them. She’d given the go-ahead, saying that, while courteous of them, they really didn’t need to ask her for something like this.

The two had met and told each other the good news, and they had practiced ever since. And now, today was finally the big day.

The two arrived in sweatpants and loose shirts, knowing that they would need all the space they could get. Akira didn’t seem to mind, but Yusuke was not fond of having to wear such a tasteless outfit.

The store was crowded, but everyone made a path to the table where Akira and Yusuke would sit. Everyone from the Phantom Thieves was there as well, and they cheered and clapped them on their backs as they passed.

The two boys made their way to their seats, their Captain badges gleaming on their chests. They sat side by side, smirking at each other.

“Akira. I promise that I will best you in this competition. No one can eat faster than a starving artist!” Said artist posed dramatically, which caused several people in the crowd to laugh.

“Unfortunately, there’s more to eating quickly than pure starvation,” Akira reasoned in his usual calm and low tone. “True, you might be able to eat more than me, but you have to think about how to eat the burger to make sure it all goes down fast enough.”

The crowd laughed at Akira’s reply too. It seemed that everyone was having fun.

There was a sudden bell that rang through the air, its sound piercing through the din of the crowd. Everyone fell silent and turned towards the kitchen.

Two workers appeared past the swinging doors to reveal two Cosmic Tower Burgers, which were swaying dangerously on their plates. Everyone applauded and whistled.

The burgers were placed in front of the boys, who nodded in thanks at the workers. The workers bowed their heads and then walked back to join the crowd in cheering them on.

The manager of the store came out, holding a stopwatch in his hand. He announced that the challenge would begin as soon as he said “go”.

Both boys prepared themselves in different ways to begin the attack. Akira was opening and closing his mouth to stretch his jaws, while Yusuke was framing the burger to figure out the best angle to begin eating.

The manager held his stopwatch high. “And… go!”

Akira and Yusuke grabbed onto their burgers, lifted them up, and began biting and chewing every part of the burger they could reach.

Though their methods appeared frenzied, there was an apparent strategy for each.

Yusuke would stuff a large quantity of the bun, meat patties, pickles, tomatoes… etc. into his mouth and swallow without chewing. This way, he could not savor the taste, which would have ultimately made him feel fuller.

Akira would use the water provided to saturate the buns to swallow them immediately. It actually gave him a very early head start, and he used this momentum to then take it easy on the meat portion. He knew that if he ate too much too quickly, he’d end up feeling (or being) sick. Either option meant that he would slow down, so he knew that he had to pace himself in order to finish in a timely manner.

The crowd watched, cheering at Yusuke’s pace or at Akira’s cleverness. People were betting on who would win, and the views were basically split 50-50.

Using these methods, both boys slowed down around the twenty-minute mark. Yusuke was finally starting to feel the effects of scarfing down everything in sight, and Akira was finding it hard to maintain his rhythm now that his stomach felt like lead.

But the two preserved.

Five minutes later, the plates were empty.

Who had finished first?

All heads turned towards the manager, who had clicked his stopwatch, and was scanning over the time.

“At twenty-five minutes and forty-two seconds, we have… a tie!”

Everyone gasped. There was no way. How could two people get the exact same time? It had to be a publicity stunt.

Unfortunately, there was no instant-reply for this eating competition, so no one could know for sure. But it seemed that no one really minded if the results were doctored one way or another.

The fact that two human beings had finished the burgers with multiple minutes to spare was an incredible feat. The crowd cheered, and Akira and Yusuke nodded, faces slightly tinged with green with expressions of nausea.

“Congratulations… Akira…” Yusuke murmured, turning to look at the boy.

“Same… to you…” Akira muttered back, looking at him as well.

The two boys smiled at each other. Yusuke winked at Akira, and Akira nodded. Clearing his throat, he turned to address the crowd.

“Now that this challenge is over, we have something that we’d like to announce!” Akira looked over at his friends, who were giving him blank stares.

“We discussed with the manager that if we were able to complete this challenge in under thirty minutes, that we would be able to name the challenge,” Yusuke explained. Every nodded their heads, excited to hear what the name would be.

“We decided to use this moment to kill two birds with one stone.” Ever so slowly, Akira moved his hand to place it on top of Yusuke’s. The artist smiled at the other boy and placed his free hand on top. Everyone gasped again.

“This challenge will be named the ShuKita Challenge. Anyone who passes this challenge with a partner can prove to the world that they are a couple in love, and that they have a relationship that can surpass any challenge!” Yusuke declared, squeezing Akira’s hand.

There was a moment of silence.

A very quick moment.

Because then the crowd roared, cheering its approval of the newly-revealed couple. There was applause, and Yusuke and Akira sighed with relief. They knew that Japan was not always the most accepting of countries when it came to certain types of relationships, but it seemed that at least everyone here was overjoyed at this prospect of love.

They turned their heads towards their friends, all of whom were staring in disbelief. Apparently, they had concealed their affections quite well.

Once the place had quieted down, one comment from Futaba had the entire restaurant laughing again.

“I cannot believe that these two idiots confessed their love with fast food!”

There we have it. I figured that the two biggest eaters of the group would have to have their romance relate to food in some way!

Akira’s method of eating is somewhat based on hot dog eating champion Takeru Kobayashi’s method. And, I figured I could get their ship name in there somewhere!

Now, like I stated at the start of this challenge, I will be out of town tomorrow, so there will be no one-shot. But we will get back into the swing of things the day after that!

#p5 #persona 5 #p5roundrobin #akira kurusu #yusuke kitagawa #shukita #akira x yusuke #yusuke x akira

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ssnakey-b · 6 years

Text

My grandpa’s experiences in a Russian POW camp have been turned into a book.

Hi everyone. Today, I’d like to talk about something very personal, yet something that I think is very important to people in general. And to do that, we need to start with a bit of a history lesson.

Most of the people reading this I probably aware that I am French. Well, I was born and still live in Alsace, the easternmost region of the country, whose Eastern border is also the border between France and Germany.

Needless to say, this means that we’ve seen our fair share of conflict, as the two nations have been fighting over us, as well as another region called Lorraine, since... pretty much these two nations have existed. So unsurprisingly, one of the conditions of France’s surrender to Germany during World War 2 was that these two regions would be annexed, meaning they were officially part of Germany, meaning that all able-bodied men in these regions could potentially be drafted in the Wehrmacht, despite not being German. I’ll let you guess what happened to those who tried to refuse, and/or their families.

This happened across multiple countries and in France, we call them the “Malgré-Nous”, which translates to “Against Our Will”, and my grandfather was one of them. And because the Germans of course would rather not risk their superior homeboys, these people forced into the army were sent to fight off the Russians.

At some point, my grandpa’s squad ended up surrounded by Russian forces. They tried to flee, but were eventually caught and taken prisoners. They were sen’t to various prisoner camps, and ended up spending most of their time in the infamous Camp 188 in Tambov.

Now, this was a POW camp, the soldiers there were a bargaining chip for Russia, so they weren’t going out of their way to make people suffer or starve them, but this was a POW camp in soviet Russia, in the middle of the most brutal conflict in human history, so as you can probably guess, the living conditions barley allowed for survival.

I’m not entirely sure why, perhaps just to fight off depression and hunger, but my grandfather decided to keep a journal of it. He even describes the almost slapsticky way in which he had to move his arms around a guard searching him so he wouldn’t see it, and he explains that he eventually sewed hidden pockets inside his coat’s sleeves so he could hide it. It contains not only descriptions of the camp, daily life inside it and the land and wildlife of the area, but he also drew many sketches of what he saw, some of which you can see in these pictures. As an artist myself, I am very proud to see that not only does it run in the family, but he made such an important use of his talent.

Obviously, the journal of a surviving soldier’s experiences in a Russian POW camp is an incredibly rare and valuable document (even my family didn’t find out about it until a few years ago), especially considering the little-known aspect of WW2 of non-German people being forced into their army. Russian people are especially fascinated by this sort of stories because of course, for most of the XXth century, they could only know what their government would allow them to know about their own history.

This is how a French-speaking Russian woman who frequently visits France ended up hearing about the journal in local publications. She had this project of writing a book about the camp, and was looking for first-hand accounts of what it was like. Naturally, as soon as she heard about this, she contacted my parents and asked if she could write about the journal and include pictures of it. It goes without saying that they accepted. In fact, my father had the entire journal scanned in high resolution for just such an occasion (we also intend to have the entire thing printed, with a copy of the letter he received to inform him he was drafted).

Well, as the title of this post says, the book is now complete and its author sent us a copy. Of course, none of us can read Russian, but the author’s daughter is working on a French translation, so I’m very anxiously looking forward to it. There are other people’s accounts as well, my grandpa’s taking up about a third of the book.

Here is the letter announcing he’s been drafted, written on October 24th, 1944. It includes a list of items to get before reporting, such as work shoes, a shovel, a mess kit, etc... notice the “Heil Hitler!” at the end. Also note that although his name was “Geoffrey Rieb”, they of course spelt his name as Gottfried. Similarly, they spelled the name of the street where they wrote this “Rue du travail” (Labour Street) in German, turning it into “Strasse der Arbeit”.

Here’s a map he drew while trying to work out where they were and how much he’d travelled (the guards only spoke a bit of German outside of Russian so they couldn’t provide much information). Oh and one thing that’s not included in the book is that he actually built a makeshift sextant to help in his calculations (note: I believe this specific sketch is from a copy of his journal which he remade more cleanly once he got back home as he clearly realized that all of this needed to be preserved).

On the left page, he specifies the many nationalities the people he met during his “stay” (as he put it) in the camps of Lobsch, Pulawy, Segesa and Tambow hailed from: France, Belgium, Luxembourg, ¨Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yougoslavia, Estonia, Lettonia, Hungary, Italy, Romania and Austria. He explains that all prisoners except for the Germans wore caps with their national colours on.

He also adds that in each camp, you had an easier time depending on your nationality: if you were Austrian in Lobsch, German in Pulawy, Polish in Segesa, and in Tambow... you had to be a teacher. It’s a bit of a joke since the camp almost exclusively included French prisoners, to the point it ended up being nicknamed “The French camp”.

On the right page is a sketch titled “Those who aren’t coming back.....” and depicts the Alsacian graveyard of Tambow. Yeah, let us not forget that around 8000 people died there. My grandpa was one of the lucky ones.

To the right is a sketch of another camp he went through, Rada. To the left is one of my favourite sketches, of which you can see a variation on the cover, of “Soup time at the Segesa train station”. These lines of people eating what little they could get is really striking. But what really stuck in my mind is an anecdote my grandpa relates. I’m not sure it was exactly at that moment, but on his way back, he mentions stopping at a train station and being so hungry he decided to trade his sweater for a sausage.

I wish nobody to ever be so desperately hungry that they are willing to literally trade the clothes on their backs for a sausage, in the middle of Northern Russia. And I wish for nobody to be desperately cold that they’re willing to trade what little food they have for a sweater.

It’s not all cold, hunger and sadness though. There are sketches of the beautiful nature, some amusing stories like the prisoners organising a football tournament, even being able to form national teams, some heartwarming moments like my grandpa making plans for renovations in their countryside home (which he eventually did make!).

And then there are also some truly incredible moments, like when the prisoners decided to take turns giving each-other lectures on their job. This is what the sketch on the left in the top picture is for, as it describes one of the machines my grandpa used for his job.

But that’s not what makes this story incredible. See, one of the people giving a lecture was a German engineer. And the sketch on right page and on the bottom pic are blueprints my grandpa was able to make based on descriptions by that engineer. You may have noticed it looks like a rocket. And if you look carefully at the top right sketch, you may have noticed the name V1.

That’s right, this guy was a military engineer, giving the prisoners a lecture on Germany’s signature weapon. now I’m going to go ahead an assume this sort of information was top secret, with major consequences should any info about it leak, and yet here it is in my grandpa’s journal. This blew my mind when I first saw it and I wondered if I was seeing this right.

This to me can only mean one of two things: either this guy expected to die in this camp, so he wasn’t scared for himself should the Russia get a hold of it and he was branded a spy and/or a traitor back in Germany, but even then you’d think he wouldn’t want to endanger his nation, or at least he’d fear for his family, or he knew that even if the Russians did find the blueprints, the Nazis would have fallen out of power by the time word got back to Germany. Either way, I’m still having a hard time comprehending that this is real and my grandfather got to hear it straight from one of the engineers.

But this also speaks volume about the situation these men were in. They were all trained, indoctrinated to hate and want to kill one-another. Propaganda was everywhere on all sides of the conflict. Just look at how hateful some of the European or American war posters were. And in Germany, we’re talking about a Nazi dictatorship, a regime raising an entire generation to believe that genocide was the right thing to do, so the incitement to blind hatred was especially strong.

And yet, here they all were, talking to each-other, educating one-another, exchanging ideas, trading as equals, ignoring nationalities, ethnicities and culture. Because when you’ve hit rockbottom, when you’re all neck-deep in the same shithole, tired, starving, and unsure if you’ll still be alive by the end of the week... who can still give a crap about such petty issues? I get the feeling that for them, the war was over long before any treaty was signed.

I hope you found this as interesting as I did and that it’s giving you a new perspective on World War 2, that conflicts are always so, so much more complicated than “good guys vs bad guys” and how the people most directly involved by it wanted nothing more than to live in peace and let their neighbours do the same.

For me, it’s also a very personal document, as my grandpa died when I was still very young and I don’t have many memories of him, so finding this helps me connect with him a little bit more. I’ll keep you posted when the French version is completed and who knows? Maybe we’ll make more. I just know I want as many people as possible to know about this. Remembering these events is our duty to the World and to future generations.

Oh and if you have any questions regarding this, feel free to ask, I’ll answer them to the best of my avbilities.

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flapperfromthefuture · 6 years

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It’s been a year since I took my first-ever baking class at our local world-famous food emporium, and since then I’ve slowly but surely expanded my doughy horizons.

I made my own challah during the holidays at my parents’ house, with fancy chocolate chips and dried cranberries mixed in.

My entire family acted like there was an astronaut in the kitchen. At one point, my dad wandered in and yelled “She’s kneading! Just like on TV! Someone take a picture!”

Then my sister asked, “What would happen if you ate yeast? Would it bubble up in your stomach?” I said I had no idea. She said, “If you give me fifty bucks I’ll eat some yeast.”

My first attempt was decent, but my second was overproofed and I had to start over, and my ambitious plan of baking a dozen challahs to give as gifts to all our friends had to be scaled down to “Here’s two loaves for everyone to split,” but the results got good reviews.

Over the spring, I got into baking this Tunisian Orange and Olive Oil cake, from a recipe by the aforementioned food emporium, and I made so many of them that I experimented with swapping out the oranges for lemons (look out Bake-Off).

My summer bakes were even more ambitious. Stella’s mom gave me a German checkerboard cake pan from the ’70s (it was made in West Germany!). Fortunately, Stella speaks German, so she translated the directions and stopped me from putting it in the dishwasher. I baked three-layer checkerboard cakes in honor of the World Cup and the Fourth of July.

I made a red velvet/yellow cake combo for the Brazil/Mexico game with homemade green frosting to give each country’s flag colors equal representation.

Then Stella and my sister decorated it and let’s just say they will not be assisting me with my Bake-Off audition.

On Saturday, Stella joined me for my latest baking class: “Noodling about Strudeling.”

The description for the class really reached for the stars: “Remember when you were little and the gym teacher pulled out a compact plastic bundle and magically unfurled it into a huge parachute that the whole class could fit under?”

Stella and I said “HELL YES!” because we went to hippie school, where every day was parachute day.

“Well, you’ll have that experience all over again when we take a grapefruit size piece of strudel dough and stretch it out to cover a 24 square foot table! It’s just about the most fun you can have making food!”

Seriously, this food emporium has some good copywriters.

We were super pumped. Stella’s mom is from Germany, and she’s taught Stella all their family recipes, but they’ve never attempted strudel. Stella’s Oma back in Germany, a certified badass who is still going strong at 97, has never made strudel either. Strudel is really, really hard.

My hero and yours, Mary Berry, even says so—strudel is the only dough she buys rather than makes on her own. In fact, when the contestants made strudel on Bake-Off, one guy nearly sliced his finger off on the kitchen mixer and had to leave the competition to go to the hospital. Strudel is not playing around.

We entered the baking class to the sound of Cher’s “Believe.”

“I’m loving this already,” said Stella.

“Strudel” means “vortex” because you can stuff anything in there. Fruit, vegetables, meats, as long as you’ve got the time and space to stretch out dough to lengths that no other dough can go.

Someone asked if strudel can be made gluten free, and the instructor tried not to laugh.

“No, that would be impossible,” she said, for very sound scientific reasons. To get paper-thin strudel dough, you need gluten—and lots of it—because gluten is what gives dough the ability to stretch in the first place.

“Challenge accepted,” whispered Stella.

Strudel dough is so precise that we were told that if we poured just a smidgen too much of water, we would have to start over.

“You will know if it’s not exact,” said our instructor. “The dough will tell you so.”

She also told us to add in the eggs one at a time instead of cracking both at once.

“Uh-oh, you added the eggs together,” said Stella. “Oh no, I did too!”

“We’ve been here five minutes and we’ve already messed up the eggs!” I said.

“I didn’t even realize I was copying you,” she said. “Just like piano lessons.”

This is our relationship in a nutshell.

In order to develop the gluten and get it to the point that it can stretch from a ball of dough to this . . and then this . . . you have to smack it around.

Our instructor demonstrated a technique called “The Beaver Slap” and I will be happy to invest in the first lesbian bar that copyrights that name.

The Beaver Slap is basically a yo-yo toss combined with a flyswatter whack only with dough that can easily fly out of your hand and into someone else’s head.

On Bake-Off, someone’s dough took actual flight across the room before a magnificent crash landing, resulting in the immortal line, “I can’t serve Mary Berry green carpet!”

“Don’t forget to duck,” said our instructor.

We were advised to take off our watches and rings. Stella and I were nervous, but we cheered each other on. You don’t survive twenty-two piano recitals together without some coping skills.

“Good connect on that one!” I said as Stella’s dough thunked against the table. We were told to do fifty Beaver Slaps in a row! “You’ve got this!”

Strudel! It’s not for the faint of heart!

So as with my brioche class, the dough we made in class was for taking home and baking later, with one of the many recipes we were so kindly provided. For the strudels we were making in class, dough had already been prepared by the pros, and we would work in teams to make that super-dough into FOUR individual strudels—two savory, two sweet. All we had to do was stretch the dough over our tables, then fill, roll, and bake.

On Bake-Off (this was my favorite episode!), someone said that strudel dough should be so thin that you’re only good to go once you can read a newspaper through the dough. But you can’t tear it! If you tear it, you can make a bandage out of your extra dough. And there is a lot of extra dough. Our instructor said extra strudel dough was ideal for making noodles.

“Ooh, we should take a noodle-making class,” said Stella. “Oh my god, I forgot about my thumb ring!”

“You’re still wearing your thumb ring?” I said.

“It could’ve flown off during the Beaver Slap!”

It was time to stretch. Our giant ball of dough needed a lot of work to make it paper-thin. We had to walk our fingers underneath the dough and manually pull it apart without tearing it or jabbing through with our nails.

It took some time and we had to patch a couple of holes, but we did it. Our dough was so stretched out that we used pizza cutter to trim the edges—and we had enough left for an entire new strudel. Stella wrapped it up to take home.

We brushed the entirety of the dough with melted butter, then we lined up our savory fillings at one end of the dough—asparagus and Parmesan cheese. We were just about to brush the asparagus with even more butter and then roll it up when the instructor gently pointed out that we had forgotten to lay down the base of bread crumbs.

Bread crumbs absorb the extra moisture that’s expelled by the fillings when they bake. On Bake-Off (I watched it live and then watched it again right away!), several people had “strudel hemorrhages” because their fillings started leaking in the oven and burst out of the pastry, Alien-style.

And then there was the guy who put on a latex glove because he’d cut his finger and then before he knew it the entire glove had filled with blood and oh my god it was such a ride.

“How could we forget the bread crumbs?!” we said, scrambling to toss bread crumbs over the entire length of the dough like we were trying to feed a colony of starving ducks.

We spread our sweet fillings—apricot preserves and farm cheese—without any issues. With fruit fillings, you want to be careful and put in only preserves or pie fillings that won’t release too much liquid in the oven, or use fruits that hold less water, like apples.

People on Bake-Off made the mistake of using other fruits like strawberries and the end result looked like a strudel massacre.

Next came rolling the strudel, which requires coordinating both the cloth and the dough at an increasing speed and without losing any of your fillings in the process.

“You just have to commit to it,” said the instructor.

Stella told herself, “Don’t panic!”

“That’s our story right there,” I said.

“That’ll be on the gravestones!” she said, and then she rolled that strudel like a champ.

“See? You were born to strudel!” I said. “It’s in your blood!”

“And I didn’t lose my thumb ring!”

We sent off our strudels to bake, and enjoyed slices of the demo strudels fresh out of the oven. Stella ate my asparagus slice. “I know you don’t like asparagus,” she said.

She’s been helping herself to food I don’t like since preschool. It’s such a relief.

“You know, we did cooking classes together in kindergarten,” she said. “Even though we’re adults, we’re just building on the same skills. And we still can’t follow directions.”

We clinked forks to our success.

“The gluten break starts tomorrow,” she sighed.

“We still have to bake our other dough,” I said.

“The gluten break starts Monday.”

I made apple strudel at my parent’s house to take full advantage of their kitchen island. When I said I’d stretch my dough to cover the entire thing, my dad thought I was kidding. My mom filmed me on her phone with the intensity of someone documenting the moon landing. And my sister immediately requested multiple strudels for the holidays.

Challenge accepted.

Dough IV: Strudel! It's been a year since I took my first-ever baking class at our local world-famous food emporium, and since then I've slowly but surely expanded my doughy horizons.

#ann arbor #baking #bread #british bake-off #cooking #food

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scurvgirl · 6 years

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And The Dragon Met A Princess

More Fairy Tale AU!

Map and World Building

Adannar does not enjoy lying. He’s not particularly good at it either, which just contributes to his distaste for it. But he also knows that he needs to protect himself and sometimes that means lying, even to guests in his territory. From what Adannar can tell, Serahlin isn’t ready to hear that what she’s probably been told about his kind is mostly incorrect. She’s not ready to accept that Adannar is a dragon and poses no real threat to her or her people. She won’t believe the truth, so what difference does a lie make?

He returns home feeling wonderful despite the lies. It has been so long since he’s had someone new to talk to. But then appears Serahlin, in her torn robes and her need to hide from whatever she is fleeing. And he is happy to give her shelter! His little creatures will also be useful in monitoring whatever comes in to make sure she’s safe. Not that he knows what she’s running from, but still, he will make the effort.

He hasn’t felt this good in a long time. A lovely energy fills him, and he spends it cleaning his workshop. He gets only a portion through cleaning before collapsing onto a different pile of pillows and blankets, his energy leaving him in a rush. Still, he’s happy to have accomplished even a small piece. His sleeping mind is less aware of the Dreaming this time, truly asleep and unaware, just…drifting through the Dreaming like he ought to be.

When he wakes, it is to a golden sun rising above the mountains. There are birds chirping and the whir of his creations to greet him. Dragons don’t really smile, mostly for aesthetic reasons and it never quite feels like smiling to bare teeth this large. But if dragons did smile, he would.

He digs into his stash of food and chomps down on cured meats. He rather dislikes eating as an elf, he never feels…full. He thinks the size equivalent would be to be starving as an elf and only enthusiastically given crumbs. Crumbs. He is not the biggest dragon, but he is big enough to need a full-grown deer in the morning, and a one of the large mollusks in the nearby ocean in the evening, supplemented with snacks through the day. He once ate an entire cheese wheel which is apparently even a bad idea for a dragon.

After eating his fill, he packs up a basket full of breakfast items. Then he takes to the sky and flies toward the small cottage west of his mountain. Flying after eating may not be the smartest thing, but there is a lot to do today, lots to teach and show her if he is going to help her successfully live away from her old life. And he wants to help, he realizes.

He lands in a grove close to her cottage, but far enough away for her to not see him transform. She doesn’t…she’s not ready for that piece of her world to come crashing down.

What do you mean dragons aren’t evil fire-breathing creatures bent on stealing beautiful people and doing terrible things to them?

Oh yes, Serahlin, dragons are quite nice, we enjoy chess more than raping and pillaging. Well, most. There are some who are vile, but that’s how it is for elves. I don’t judge your entire race on the dragon slayers who spread false propaganda about my people, so please don’t judge my entire people on a few bad eggs.

He snorts to himself. Bad eggs! Like how some hatch!

Back in his elf form, he shrugs a different robe closer to himself. It’s russet colored, to compliment the gold in his hair. He feels like it’s only right to look nice for proper ladies like Serahlin.

He should bring her more clothes, she looks like she enjoys clothes, fine ones. He can understand that, she is radiantly beautiful and anything that touches her ought to be just as stunning. It’s only right.

The forest is beautiful this morning, the leaves are perking up in the early sun, drops of dew melting off the grass. Is it always this beautiful this early? He can’t remember the last time he was up so soon.

The cottage is as he left it, peaceful. The horse she rode here is still tied to that tree, all the grass pulled up around him. Poor thing must be hungry. Carefully, Adannar approaches him, unties him, and guides him to a lush spot where there’s grass, a bush, and a tree to nibble on. There are certain perks to being a dragon, especially when you’ve lived in one region for so long. The territory begins to react to you and your magic. All he has to do to replenish the grass the horse has eaten is wave a hand and encourage life to grow and little grass spouts rise to poke out of the dirt.

The window on the second story of the cottage opens and a familiar face pokes out of it, sleep still on her face. She rubs at her face then squints down at him.

“Adannar?”

“Good morning, Serahlin!” He calls up to her. She leans on the window sill, her night’s braid, all frayed from sleep falling over her shoulder.

“Is there an enchantment on the house for good sleep?” She asks, voice all husky.

He chuckles, “No, but I am glad your sleep was good. I bring breakfast!” He raises the basket and she nods, gesturing for him to come inside. He waits several minutes before she descends from above wearing a cream-colored dress and forest green over-robe. Her hair is up in a high braided bun and he has to remember to think for a moment.

“The clothes you have are unlike anything I’ve seen, how did you come upon them?” She asks.

Oh. The clothes are out of date, which he should have expected, he hasn’t done anything with the wardrobe in…many, many years. He swallows and shrugs.

“I made some of them, many were…found. This forest is large and home to many ruins, magical ruins that tend to preserve old remnants, like these clothes.” Not a complete lie. There are many ruins. There is the Glass Tower to the north and the Glade Keep ruins east of that. And south of Adannar’s mountain is ruin by the sea where wyverns like to live.

Serahlin glances down at her clothes then back up at Adannar, “These are…vintage?”

“You do them lovely justice. Clothes want to be worn, especially finery like this. They are well made, simply as you said, vintage.”

She raises a brow at him, skeptical for a moment before smiling small.

“You are right, clothes like to be worn, and there is no court to judge what I am wearing. So, what is for breakfast?” They make their way to the table close to the small kitchen. He places the basket on the table and removes bread, a grapefruit, and a couple of eggs along with a pan.

“I can cook up the eggs while you eat what you like of the bread and fruit,” he offers. She nods while he moves to the fire and begins to fry the eggs. He is no chef, but he can fry a mean over medium egg. In minutes, he’s back at the table, sliding the eggs onto her plate and fishing a fork out of the basket.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” She asks softly after a moment of staring at the eggs.

Adannar blinks and smiles, “People ought to be kind to other people, don’t you think?” The kingdom to the west must be so cold for her to not expect basic kindness from a stranger. Though…this may not be basic, he is bringing her breakfast and making her cottage livable. But still, she doesn’t expect kindness, he can see it in her hesitations and small puffs of surprise every time he does something for her.

“I do think that, yes, but it is so rarely taken to heart so truly as you have done. I am grateful, so very grateful, I am merely surprised at how freely the kindness is given. Unless, it’s not free,” she says the last bit on a worried note, her brows crinkling slightly in the middle.

“Free! Yes, free. I am kind to you because it is the right thing to do, because I want to be. And you are free to refuse anything I offer.” He pulls his hands into his lap and tries to make himself smaller, less intimidating. He really doesn’t know if his size is considered intimidating for elves. He hopes it isn’t intimidating at least, he’s taller than Serahlin, broader too. He knows he’s not small, but he’s seen other elves, mostly dragon slayers, who have been bigger, he thinks, than his elven form. But the point is that he doesn’t want her to feel intimidated to accept anything he offers.

Serahlin tilts her head and looks down at the fried eggs. She takes a fork and begins to eat, neat as she was yesterday.

“These are delicious, thank you. Please help yourself as well!” She pushes the basket towards him and he…should eat something, to be polite. He cuts the grapefruit in half and uses one of those little serrated spoons and slowly works on half of the grapefruit. It is very citrusy, and it tickles his tongue, makes his lips thing, but it’s tasty, just…small.

Serahlin seems to be enjoying the food, which is more important anyways. When she finishes her breakfast, he suggests teaching her how to look for foods around the cottage. They gather berries and he shows her how to catch a rabbit. They cook the hare for lunch and in the afternoon, he decides to build a chicken coop for her. He explains the processes of building it and she surprises him by rolling up her sleeves and helping him build the coop, or at least the frame. Her soft hands are not strong or gifted with the craft, but she is tenacious and determined. He is gentle with his instruction, showing her how to tie the ends up together, how to drive nails into the wood so that the wood doesn’t splinter.

It won’t be ready for chickens for two more days, he estimates, but it’s a good start. He chops some wood for her and she insists on watching to learn. Her determination to be self sufficient is admirable, and she is a quick learner! He has her hold the axe to feel the weight, and he even has her swing it a couple of times.

By the end of the day, she is so tired she flops with an uncharacteristic lack of grace onto the sofa. Her bun is askew, her dress and over robe are dirt smeared and her hands are red and cut from the day’s work. But she never complained; a noble woman who probably has not done any of what she did today, didn’t complain, even with her raw, blistered hands.

Adannar kneels before her and gently takes her hands in his. He sucks in a breath and exhales slowly, letting his healing magic fall over her hands, healing them. She looks down at him, sweet shock on her face.

“You know healing magic?”

He smiles and nods, folding her hands back into her lap, “I make those creatures and in order to do that I need to have at least some knowledge in healing. There will probably be lingering soreness but the blisters and the scrapes I can heal.”

She pauses for a long time, her expression inscrutable before she looks down at her hands, “All day I have been working to learn from you to be independent. And yet at the end of the day, here you are, doing everything for me.”

He blinks, trying to understand, “You are learning. When…when you were a little baby, your parents did all the talking and while they did that, you learned, and eventually you learned how to talk as well. Learning takes time, and I am happy to teach.” If he sounds odd, it’s the desperation. He wants her to stay, but he doesn’t want to guilt her, so he doesn’t say that if he wasn’t here teaching her how to do all these things, he’d be in his workshop, alone.

Her expression turns soft and her cheeks turn pink. He stands up and sets about getting her supper ready. He’s beginning to hunger himself, spending the day shifted and doing manual labor has exhausted him past what he is used to. His creatures had brought a basket full of food earlier for her supper, all it needs is to be warmed and it will be ready. The chicken is set to warm over the fire, next to the kettle which he takes off to make some calming tea.

Once, this wouldn’t be so unusual. Scholars and draconologists would come by and sit with him, speak with him on all sorts of matters. He’d cook for them, sometimes even as a dragon. Once upon a time, he wasn’t so lonely, and maybe he won’t be, not if Serahlin is here. Or at least…he won’t be lonely for at least a little bit. And he’ll make sure to enjoy her company, even if it’s temporary.

When he returns to her to give her the tea, she’s slumped over the edge of the sofa, sound asleep. It seems that she doesn’t need the tea, after all.

Adannar sets the tea aside and takes her carefully into his arms. She shifts some, a sleepy “what?” floating up from her lips but he urges her back to sleep as he carries her upstairs and lays her in the bed. He cleans up and returns to his lair, happier than he has felt in decades.

Serahlin doesn’t remember how she got to bed. The last thing she remembers is…Adannar’s smile and the world fading into the Dreaming. She drifted away, exhausted from the day’s activities. Her body aches from the work, but it’s good. In the palace, things like food and warmth were always taken care of for her. She never had to work for those things like most people in the kingdom. It separated her from them and it made her dependent on the staff of the castle.

But still, she doesn’t remember getting into bed. Which means that she was taken to bed, and there is only one person who could have taken her to bed. It may be an irrational fear, but she runs her hands over her body and clothes, checking. Nothing is amiss, and her heart settles. She ought to know better, falling asleep in odd places at the palace was never wise. There were mother’s spies, untrusted diplomats and guards…any number of people who would love to see her…removed disgracefully through equally disgraceful and wrong means.

But Adannar is nothing like the people in the palace. He is kind, warm, the kind of man who breathes magic on her hands and heals them because he doesn’t want her to hurt.

She rises from her bed and brushes out her hair…to find it greasy and disgusting. Oh what she would give for a bath.

Her thoughts must have summoned him, because Serahlin hears the rustling she heard yesterday morning. She pokes her head outside the window to see him standing below, wreathed in the glow of the morning sun.

“Good morning!” He calls.

“Good morning, to you as well. I don’t suppose you have a place where I can bathe?”

He startles and nods quickly, “I am so sorry! How remiss of me to forget something so vital. Yes, of course. There is a room on the side of the cottage, at the back, I’ll have it filled with a tub and water for you quickly!”

“Oh if there is a well or a pump or something, you can show me how to do it, I don’t want to put you out,” she says. He waves her off and she can see his broad smile even from her position and sleepy eyes.

“Don’t worry! But if you are interested, I will show you how to use the well.” She smiles down at him before closing the window and putting her hair up, so he doesn’t see how awful it is. Unfortunately, she has no perfumes to disguise the smell most likely emanating from her, how embarrassing.

She goes downstairs and outside, joining Adannar by the side of the cottage. He has a bucket in one hand, the other gestures for her to follow him. The well is around the back of the cottage, behind a shrubbery that Adannar contemplates.

“This was not here the last time I was here,” he says, holding a hand out to the plant. It’s a prickly green…thing. Plants were never something that captured her interest, but he seems very interested in this seemingly plain shrub.

“The well, Adannar? The shrub can be removed later.”

“What? Remove it? No, no need, I was just…sometimes I get caught up. The well! Right, it’s here.” They move around the bush to the well. He attaches the bucket to a hook, then pulls on the ropes, lowering the bucket down. She hears a splash and then Adannar is tugging the rope in the opposite direction. His sleeves fall back, revealing his arms. Muscular arms. She doesn’t know why she wouldn’t have expected that, just…his robes are very billowy and obscure his form, so unlike the clothing she is accustomed to.

Thankfully, the blush is faint and quick and she helps him bring the full bucket over the edge of the well, hauling it back to the cottage. He leads her into a side room only accessible from the outside where an iron tub waits. They empty the bucket, then return to the well.

It takes several trips to fill the tub to a sufficient height, and she makes one last trip to have a spare bucket for washing her hair. A mechanical heron flies down and hands her a basket full of bathing oils and soaps, all beautifully, if subtly, scented.

Adannar runs his hand across the face of the tub, activating a warming rune. In minutes, steam rises from the tub and Adannar leaves her to the bath.

When she steps into the old tub, she sighs. It seems no matter what the tub is made from, or how the water was gathered, or who drew the bath, baths are and always be wonderful things. The tension is slowly worked out of her body as the heat sinks into her.

Serahlin lingers in the bath, luxuriating in it. She washes her hair and feels immediate relief. When she leaves the bath, most likely more than an hour later, she is scrubbed almost raw, but she is radiant and clean.

She dons the yellow dress in the wardrobe, and lets her hair hang low and wet, but she doesn’t care. For the first time in…ever, she doesn’t care. Adannar’s smile is just as broad, just as happy to see her, face reddened from the steam and the soap, hair undone, and who knows how fashionable this dress is.

“You look much happier!”

“I feel much better, thank you. Where did you get those soaps and oils?”

He blushes and shrugs, “I have many hobbies.”

“Your hobbies are very useful, though I suppose necessity breeds a willingness to do. They were very nice, thank you.”

He inclines his head before gesturing to the table, where there is a spread of food. He seems intent on feeding her again, it seems. Though she’s not complaining by ay means! He is being so good, so good that she almost wants him to stop because she feels terrible. Terrible for being so useless and dependent on his hospitality and knowledge. Back home, it would be expected she would at the very least pay him, but she’s not back at home and she doesn’t have any money so…she feels terrible instead.

They eat breakfast, or rather brunch by this point, together then head back out into the woods. He has her hold a bow and sets up targets on trees. Finally, something she has some familiarity with! She had lessons as a girl, basic archery lessons along with basic swordplay. But even with her basic archery skills, she doesn’t hit the targets straight on, she’s off and it requires gentle correcting on Adannar’s part.

After archery lessons come foraging lessons. He directs her to what appears to be remnants of an old apple orchard, now overgrown with other trees. They’re ungroomed, and the apples are ripe for picking, so they pick many.

The basket is filled with mostly apples by afternoon, so they return back to the cottage. She eats an apple while Adannar prepares the chicken the chicken they were going to eat last night.

“We should finish the chicken coup tomorrow, and then I can bring chickens! They’re a little smelly, fair warning,” he says, bringing her a plate.

She chuckles, “The wood is smellier than what I am accustomed to, I will adjust to the chickens.”

“I am glad that you are adjusting, and so gracefully as well.”

“I see no point in making a fuss about doing things that must be done. I am here, I must learn how to survive, expecting it to be like…like where I am from is irrational and impractical.” She enjoys frivolity, a good bit of it, but she is not without rational thought and an extreme appreciation for practical things. Elvara was always the one complaining about learning even some basics, like self-defense swordplay and the little bit of archery instruction they received. She was such a frivolous, self-centered, oblivious person. And despite everything, Serahlin misses her, misses her assertions that everything would turn out well because it had to. It was blind optimism fueled by self-centric thinking, but sometimes it helped. Serahlin would get caught in the details, Elvara was more of a big picture person, happy to leave the details to people who actually cared about them.

Elvara would not have survived this, but is she surviving the palace right now? Everything Serahlin learned was in the details, all the hints to what was going on…. But maybe it was her knowledge that put a target on her back to begin with, and maybe Elvara’s obliviousness can keep her safe enough to survive. How long can that keep her alive though?

How long can Serahlin stay here and run from the storm? How can she return with…nothing but herself? It’s not enough, she’s lucky to be alive at all.

“Serahlin? Is everything all right?” Adannar’s voice rouses her from her thoughts and she blink away the memories of her sister and the palace. And the knight.

“Oh, yes, my apologies. My mind wandered for a moment.” She reaches for the wine and takes a generous sip. Adannar’s expression softens.

“I understand, I am prone to that as well. Do you wish to talk about whatever is on your mind?” His tone is soft, understanding, and yet the question is direct.

She shakes her head slightly, “No, but thank you for your concern. I…I think I am going to retire for the evening, thank you for everything,” she says, rising from the table. Adannar nods and stands with her.

“Good night, I hope your thoughts turn for the better,” he says, cheerful, happy even, as he packs up the remains of dinner. She walks him out and bids him a good night before walking upstairs and changing into her night clothes.

Elvara is only three years younger than her. It’s an unheard-of age difference, most are only allowed to have multiple children after waiting…almost an entire century. But no, their mother decided that she wanted another baby, little Serahlin was…well, she wanted another baby, so she had one. It was a ridiculous abuse of power and prestige. Many believed it would either bring Serahlin and Elvara closer, or it would tear them apart.

Judging by where Serahlin is now, she’d say it’s the latter.

#fairy tale au #serahlin #adannar #serannar #fic #my writing

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