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guacamoleroll · 4 months

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𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖔 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. f!reader. implied breaking-and-entering, fireworks, metaphors about stars, soft!fyodor, he's secretly down-bad, he's also incredibly possessive. descriptions of moscow (red square, st. basil's cathedral), mentions of eastern european food (pirozhki), references to greek mythology (perseus and andromeda), jokes about greek incest. not proofread. 2.2k+ words.

author's note. starting the last of my fics for the year with the first bungou stray dogs character i've ever written for. thank you for such a lovely year! ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. within the last minutes of the year, sitting underneath the stars, two lovers discuss the stories mapped within constellations. in themselves, they find that some tales are timeless.

"It's so lovely at this time of night."

You couldn't contain your astonishment as flurries coasted to the earth in silent swells, dusting the city in a sheen of sparkling white. With an outstretched hand, you gathered flakes into your palm, admiring them before they melted with the heat of your skin. The riverside stilled as you coasted along the sidewalk, frozen in thickening ice as parents ushered their children away from its tempting surface. Tourists clustered under trees, shivering in their thin hats and coats as they underestimated the spite of Russia's wind. But despite the chill, there was an unmistakable gaiety in the air, smiles strewn on glassy faces as they awaited the new year.

You tailed behind Fyodor as he sauntered forward with broad steps, unable to catch your breath as the basket of freshly baked pirozhki settled heavily in your stomach. Your eyelids threatened to close as exhaustion crept into the corners of your vision; journeying between museums, promenading through parks, and scowering various foods had taken a toll on your energy.

You groaned. "Do we have to go tonight?"

He merely chuckled, the velvety bass of his voice tracing goosebumps down your spine, easily distracting you from the fact that he hadn't answered your question. Your field of vision spiraled into a haze, thoughts shot far in the distance despite the frost attempting to rouse you, left unaware as an assured hand ushered you inside a concealed entrance to the luminous structure slumbering outside of Moscow's main square. You walked forward into the endless darkness, only to bump into something sturdy. Your fingers carded through the puffed fur of Fyodor's coat, tugging on its ends.

"Fyodor?"

With a click, the room was brought to life. The high-vaulted ceiling outstretched to reach the heavens above, walls embellished with intricate frescoes of ancient Abrahamic tales. Flares of resplendent color danced across the floor as moonlight met glass, casting waves of softened light upon your skin. A labyrinth of winding corridors hid in the shadows, prompting any curious wanderer into a trove of antediluvian alcoves and chapels.

Your jaw dropped, gawking at every deliberate component. "What is this place?"

"It was a cathedral erected in honor of Tsar Ivan the IV." His gloved hand puckered altar cloth between his gracile fingers, tracing the embroidery as his mind drifted elsewhere.

You hummed, racking your brain as it itched in anamnesis. "Wasn't that the terrible one?"

He was silent as he released the fabric from his fingers, but the self-satisfied smirk told you everything you needed to know. "Indeed. This place once brimmed with life, hosting religious gatherings and services for the denizens of this city." His boots snicked against the tile, the noise reverberating as it spun towards the ceiling. "It has been left as a relic of time."

You ever-so-delicately brushed your hand against one of the columns, not wishing to disturb the peace of stillness and rest that blanketed the cathedral.

"How marvelous."

Your attention went astray as Fyodor tinkered at a lock, the hinges of a thin door ricketing with unsettling squeaks as he stood aside, uncloaking a never-ending staircase to the unknown.

"After you."

Your muscles cramped with every step, dread buried deep in your gut as your vision remained impaired, the flashlight beam smattering inconclusive rays of light as it aimed at your back. It was almost like the architects had attempted to reach the clouds, their grandiose endeavor churning a flare in your back as you slumped against the wall, your lungs burning with every passing moment. Your spirit was invigorated at the sight of a door through the dime ire of light, basking in your relief as you stepped out the door, the crisp breeze of winter striking your skin as—!

"W-Woah!"

Your feet teetered over the ridge of the roof; only your ankles remained flimsily rooted onto solid paneling as your arms swung out to balance yourself. Fortunately for you, an arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you back against Fyodor's chest. A quick peek upward towards his impish expression revealed everything you needed to know.

"You must be careful, любимая."

Your breath was shuddery, inwardly wavering on whether to punch him or kiss him, the indecisiveness reigning victorious as you pointedly ignored the mellifluous lilt of his tone, hands binding to his arm as your gaze locked onto the ground several hundred feet below.

"Good lord, we're high," you muttered between pants.

His arms braced you further against his chest, leaning away from the perilous drop. "You're trembling." The tension in your grip eased at the sensation of a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. "You know I'd never let you fall, hm?"

"Right." You released the amalgam of tense breath that clawed at your throat, able to balance on your own two feet as you settled your view to the skies.

Your feet shuffled across the panels as you slogged onto a wider expanse of the roof, slumping against a wall as the tension evaporated out through your fingers, the nightmare of plummeting from the roof erased from your mind. However, you swallowed a yelp as the flashlight flickered off, leaving the both of you enshrouded in complete darkness—at least for a brief moment.

Clouds stacked in bunched within the stratosphere, mirroring fragments of light that bounced from below in a nebulose aurora. But despite the wonderment of their decadence, they lost their luster once the stars peaked through their fogged edges, the finite speckles scattered like freckles across the canvas of the heavens. They felt close enough to touch if only you reached out toward them, daring to do so. Your fingers trailed maps of these celestial bodies, finding a sense of peace in their familiar patterns.

"Are you familiar with Ovid's Metamorphoses?" Your voice pierced through the silence.

"I can't say I am."

You withheld the impulse to laugh—he had the entire compendium of books in his personal library. It would be a surprise if he hadn't at least skimmed them, but you decided to humor him this once, scooching closer to point towards a specific cluster of stars.

"Those are the constellations of Perseus, the son of Zeus, and Princess Andromeda, the daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia."

You took his silence as an encouragement to continue. "Perseus found Andromeda chained to a rock as a sacrifice to the sea monster, Cetus, by her parents in order to save her home." Your fingers drew out the character within the stars, a grin upturned on your lips as you envisioned the archaic tale in your mind. "It was told that he found her so beautiful that he slayed the monster, rescuing her before fighting against her uncle for her hand-in-marriage."

"Her uncle?" Fyodor mused.

Your nose scrunched in a grimace. "There's a lot of that in those stories, I'm afraid."

"The couple went on to live happily ever after—an extremely rare ending to most ancient stories."

"There is a simple explanation for that," he replied.

You snickered, already aware that your open-ended commentary would eventually lead to some thoughts from the infamously brilliant man.

His eyes rolled in return at your amusement, disregarding the tightness of his chest. "We hold onto ancient tragedies because they are a reflection of life. Nothing in our world is as simple as a happy ending." A vacant look ruled over his features, a familiar expression that often shielded his thoughts within the dark, contemplative hours of the night. "Most aspired heroes never reach their potential due to their blind devotion to selfish aspirations and goals."

"You're right," you sighed, hands balled against the corner of his cape in an attempt to thaw your frozen fingers. You wanted to say more, but it felt like your mouth was cotton-filled. So, instead, you returned your eyes to the sky.

"Sometimes, I wish I was a constellation." He looked at you. "Even with its flaws, this world is undoubtedly beautiful from above. I like to think the stars admire us just as much as we do them."

And he didn't say anything more; he didn't need to. Instead, he reigned you onto his lap, his coat shrouding your shoulders as he shared its warmth. You leaned into his embrace, basking in the flutter inside your chest.

"You're awfully cold, милая," he grumbled, his fingers mapping your frigid palms.

"Our roles are reversed now," you quipped. "I hope you think about this the next time you decide to stun me with your hands in the morning."

"I'm afraid I might forget," he whistled.

"You little—"

But you found your voice hidden underneath layers of crackling. You ogled as fireworks wiggled their way into the night sky, shimmering onto the city square, the towers of the Kremlin becomen heavenly statues as their structures temporarily glistened. Without a second thought, you grabbed onto his hands, giving them a squeeze with each pop. You were so attentive to the collections of radiant sparks that you didn't notice the eyes boring into your skin; Fyodor's gaze averted from the fireworks to contemplate the interlacement of your fingers.

He surmised you were to be his future the moment you had locked eyes for the first time—his destined, pre-ordained other half as he journeyed to actualize God's promised land. It wasn't a surprise that someone was fated to remain in his keep—another loyal follower, too intertwined in their own aspirations to connect to his cause without deliberate guidance.

But not you.

You may not have supported his cause with the devotion of his witless flock, but you understood it better than anyone. And most importantly, you understood him. You peered through his intricate plans and performative malice, reading into his cause as you unraveled his intentions. It had been an enticing cat-and-mouse game, the both of you constantly entangled in a mental match, intellect and morals clashing. He knew you were his perfect match from your analytic dexterity, but he had no idea that you would pull at the strings cast around his heart, ones he believed had been severed long ago.

His heart had never belonged to anyone or anything—his mind and will were forever devoted to his cause, but his heart hadn't beat since before he could even remember. The sudden constriction of his chest was so foreign.

You must've been quite the powerful woman to kickstart the heart of a demon, excavating a trove of humanity he had buried within himself with a simple glance of your eyes—and all without knowing, your gentle expression puncturing through his abstruse masquerades, somehow able to see everything except the turmoil that you left in the wake of your very touch.

He found himself less and less concerned about the echoed beat of his heart within the emptiness of his chest, too captivated by your smile as you beheld the heavens with a benevolent expression, savoring the burning red and gold sparks despite their dullness in comparison to you. In spite of himself, your everlasting happiness had become an intrinsic component in his plans.

You were made to remain at his side—not as a brainless devotee, but as his equal and often opposite. The world, so rotten yet somehow divine through your benevolent gaze, may try to pull you away, but he'd have no issue burning cities to their ashen roots if anyone dared attempt to pry you from his hold.

His lithe fingers outlined the constellations of every freckle and beauty mark, star patterns copied onto your skin as his touch drifted your attention from the flashes and flickers to him, your inquisitive eyes scanning his face as he remained unmoved.

"Федя?"

He shuddered with unparalleled delight at the euphonious sound of his mother language slipping like honey from your tongue, foreign to your lips yet dulcet all the same. Your bonniness beaconed him forward, a heat flowering in his once cavernous chest as he captured your lips, which were as soft as the powdered snow that glinted on your skin. His heavy breath tickled your nose, which crinkled in tandem with your eyes as you drew him in for another. Words became meaningless, his skin seared like static as your arms drew him closer, skin scorched from the cold of your hands against the nape of his neck.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, ensuring that your empyreal features weren't veiled further as flakes of snow flurried once more, your parted lips and shallow breath leaving him in a helpless state of complete limerence. He stirred as his hand brushed against your pulse, your own heart racing concertly with his.

You parted in bittersweet bliss, yearning imbued in your bones as your hands drifted towards one another to intertwine. His forehead rested against yours, your shared breath permeating in spirals within the open air as he peered into your hazy, glossed-over eyes.

His hand cupped your cheek, the frame to a divine masterpiece. "Ты согреваешь мою душу, мое нежное солнышко. Твоя красота вне всякого сравнения; твой разум безупречен." He had never looked at anyone like this before, his ire thawed by the brilliance of your tender gaze as if he had melted. "Я бесконечно благодарен, что Бог привел тебя ко мне."

And you laughed. "You know I don't understand anything you're saying, right?"

He kissed your forehead, concealing his smile as his lips pressed against your skin. "You will one day, солнышко. You will."

любимая = darling милая = dear федя = fedya ты согреваешь мою душу, мое нежное солнышко. твоя красота вне всякого сравнения; твой разум безупречен = you warm my soul, my gentle sun. your beauty is beyond comparison; your mind is beyond flaw. я бесконечно благодарен, что бог привел тебя ко мне = i am eternally grateful that god brought you to me. солнышко = sunshine

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath @lovedazai @hauntedsol @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @thesilvernight0wl @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @justanotherjester @kotysluny @aureatchi

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#f!reader #꒰ა ⎼ [fyodor]#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader

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your-local-simp-writers · 1 month

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Autumn Baking

Word Count: 730

Warnings: None

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The kitchen was aglow with the warm hues of autumn. Malleus Draconia, the towering figure of strength and magic, stood beside you, his hands dusted with flour, a soft smile playing on his lips. The scent of pumpkin spice filled the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of apple pastries baking in the oven.

“I must say, this is quite the experience,” Malleus remarked, his eyes reflecting the orange and red leaves visible through the window. “The human world’s celebration of fall is truly captivating.”

You grinned, passing him a bowl filled with a mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. “It’s all about embracing the change of seasons,” you explained. “And what better way to do that than with some seasonal baking?”

Together, you worked on crafting the perfect fall pastry—a delicate, flaky crust enveloping a rich filling of spiced apples and pumpkin, topped with a sprinkle of brown sugar and a dash of magic, courtesy of Malleus’s touch.

“Each ingredient tells a story,” you explained, measuring out the flour with practiced ease. “The flour is like the foundation of a home, stable and strong. The sugar, a sprinkle of sweetness from cherished moments. And the butter, it’s the comfort, the warmth that binds everything together.”

Malleus listened, his eyes intent on your movements. “I understand the components,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “but the sentiment… it eludes me.”

You smiled, patient and kind. “It’s alright. Not all lessons are learned at once. Here, try kneading the dough—feel the texture, let it connect you to the moment.”

His first attempt was clumsy, the dough sticking to his fingers, a stark contrast to the graceful power he wielded in every other aspect of his life. But you were there, guiding him, showing him the gentle pressure needed, the fold and turn that transformed the dough.

“It’s not about perfection,” you reassured him as he frowned at a misshapen pastry. “It’s about the effort, the care. That’s what infuses the food with love—that’s what my mother taught me.”

As the afternoon waned, Malleus’s efforts slowly improved. With each failed pastry, each uneven crust, he learned. And you were there, a constant presence, encouraging, teaching with a soft word or a shared laugh.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the kitchen windows, Malleus crafted a pastry that was, if not perfect, then full of the love and care he had put into it.

“I think I understand,” he said, a smile of triumph and understanding lighting up his face. “The connection, the memories—they are baked into these treats, just as your mother intended.”

You nodded, pride swelling in your chest as you watched him take a bite of the pastry, his eyes closing in appreciation. “Yes, Malleus, you’ve got it. And now, you’ve made a memory of your own.”

As the pastries cooled on the rack, you prepared a pot of hot cider, its steam carrying the essence of autumn. Malleus watched in fascination as you added a cinnamon stick and an orange slice to each mug.

“The warmth of these flavors,” he mused, taking a careful sip, “it’s like capturing the essence of fall in a single draught.”

You laughed, your heart light with the joy of the season and the company. “That’s the idea. And wait until you try the pastries.”

When the moment came to taste your joint creation, Malleus’s expression was one of pure delight. The blend of spices, fruit, and pumpkin was a revelation to him, a perfect representation of the season’s bounty.

As you both enjoyed the fruits of your labor, the setting sun cast a golden glow over the kitchen, and the world outside seemed to settle into a peaceful lull. In that moment, with Malleus by your side, you felt a deep connection not just to him, but to the very spirit of fall itself.

You listened, enraptured by the imagery his words conjured. When the timer dinged, you both donned oven mitts and retrieved the golden-brown treats. Malleus’s eyes widened in delight at the sight.

“They’re perfect,” he said, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about the pastries. As you both enjoyed the fruits of your labor, the warmth of the kitchen was nothing compared to the warmth in your chest. Baking with Malleus had been an adventure, one that you hoped to repeat.

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qsycomplainsalot · 1 year

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Re: Pervertin or how German Supersoldiers High on Crack travelled through Space and Time Buy my Book

I came across a post on the bird site yesterday calling into attention the use of pervitin, more or less adderall, among German troops during WW2. For context pervitin tablets were indeed issued to a lot of military personnel back in those days, specifically to aircraft pilot and sometimes tank crews on long missions. The drug as some of you may have heard keeps you awake and alert, along with a slew of side effects and a non negligible chance of addiction. In a discussion that brought to view just how willing people are to buy into Nazi propaganda in the year of our f*cking lord 2023, I pointed out a few things, uphill and having to indulge a lot of sidetracking. The use of pervitin has always been a little overstated ever since it came to the internet's attention, and I certainly would never call it a key component of the Blitzkrieg when, in the theaters of war where actual Blitzkrieg was employed, its success was more due to a combination of innovative doctrines, intact fuel supplies and a big fat helping of dumb luck. It was a bold move highly relying on capturing enemy fuel depots with fast, surprise deep strikes supported by a lot of armored and air forces, and it was only sustainable in neighboring, industrialized countries. One can argue if the USSR was industrialized at the time, but it stopped mattering when the Russians removed their entire industry from the West to beyond the Ural mountains. The Blitz stalled there.

"But if it didn't work, then why did the Nazis do it so often ?" Well the answer to that is twofold. The first, longer answer is that Nazis were a bunch of f*cking morons. Maybe not one by one, but as a government in charge of military procurement, they were one bunch of goofy motherf*ckers. Gaggle of functional shit-for-brains really. The Nazis gave every one of their tanks in the middle of the war two coats of anti-magnetic paint, which took almost a full day to cure, despite being the only major nation to use magnetic antitank mines. The Nazis kept using slave labor drawn from their prisoners of war, including in the manufacturing of their overengineered armored vehicles, resulting in poor quality products or, you know, a few rivets in your magnificent Tiger tank being replaced by a cigarette butt. The Nazis spent more than half the cost of a strategic bomber on every V2 rocket, not including design costs, for less than half the payload. It ended up killing more Germans and slave workers than British people in London, for literally no strategic or tactical result with 0.4 person killed per every rocket. The second, shorter answer is that pervitin was not used that much. A lot of the arguments trying to boost its importance come from a single book, "Blitzed" by Norman Ohler, now available in twenty languages apparently, where grand claims are made by a historian who was probably more than a little tired of seeing Buzzfeed rack in the big bucks instead of him.

End note; I was called out by a bird siter after the conversation that inspired this post for even beginning to fact-check this, which they considered, and I quote, "fangirling over nazi stats". I cannot stress this enough, learning the 'bad' parts of history does not make you bad person, it is how you interact with the resulting knowledge. Unlike what they implied, I had to look for those supporting evidence. I had a hunch that such a grabbing headline about super-drugs would be fake, I knew offhand that V2 rockets killed more blues than reds, but when I had to research all that jazz about Nazis and their superweapons it was to dunk on them, not make another History Channel documentary about a time-travelling bell. Stay critical, fascists can eat shit.

#history #ww2 #rambling #rant

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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year

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Lover's Spat

Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You had been the prized protege of the household for some time, but a sudden distance leaves you reeling. What happens when a junior killer feels neglected? Short answer: a bloody tantrum.

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MINORS DNI, heavy angst and whump, graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of gore, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-sexual nudity, injuries, inebriation, use of sedatives, use of restraints, threats, mentions of blood, bit of a power imbalance yeah, corrupted reader, use of she/her pronouns, lmk if anything else!

A/N: Special thanks to @glitchedpup -- my muse and co-creator of this delightfully dark fic <3 i couldn’t have done it without you!! Pretty proud of this one! I shouldn't even have to say this but I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE ACTIONS DEPICTED IN THIS FIC. IT IS NOT A REFLECTION OF MY OWN MORALS/VALUES. Don't like don't read, as usual.

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– “Decipher me, my love, or I will be forced to destroy you.” Clarice Lispector, from “The Book of Delights”.

The room was a complete mess.

Upturned furniture, slashed curtains, and deep gouges on various surfaces. Rorschach stains of crimson fury stained the walls and the once pristine white bed sheets. Bits of bone and flesh were haphazardly strewn about like broken puzzle pieces.

There had clearly been quite the struggle — terror and brute strength versus agility and sheer animal determination.

The mutilated corpse of a man was splayed atop the bed. His chest had been torn open, ribs smashed to pieces in order to access his tender insides. His eyes were closed and his hands had been crudely tied together, palms facing up – like a supplicant. His heart was cupped in them, with a paring knife driven straight through it.

A crime of passion, through and through. But the man himself was inconsequential, merely a vessel to convey a message.

At first, Will didn’t register anything amiss. There were a few small clues here and there that were familiar, like a trail of breadcrumbs left behind for only the most trained eye to find. His eye, more specifically.

They led him closer to the body, where he recognized the fine mother-of-pearl handle of the knife. Suddenly, he could barely hear the voices of those around him. Cold fear momentarily ran like sludge through his veins, but he kept his composure.

This was your design.

He’d known you were under Hannibal’s tutelage, but it was uncharacteristic of you to be so rash and utterly careless. Not once before had you left a trace, but then again, you’d never worked outside of Hannibal’s house.

He’d thought you’d mastered clinical detachment, but this scene was tainted with ire and resentment. It permeated the air like a poisonous gas, roiling in his lungs and threatening to choke him.

“Will?” Jack said, getting his attention. “Any motive you can think of?”

Shaking off the last of his visions, Will took a small fortifying breath and glanced back at him over his shoulder.

“None as of yet.”

Will knew there’d be many components to cleaning up this mess. Not only would he have to get the police far off your trail, but he also had to find you. He called Hannibal to inquire about your whereabouts, but he confirmed you were not home. He tried to get ahold of you too, but of course, there was no response.

Once he could disentangle himself from Jack and the crime scene crew – trying to keep his hands from shaking – he racked his brain for all the possible places you could be in. He knew you liked going on long walks, but you preferred to stay away from densely populated areas unless strictly necessary. The woods were too broad a place to search, and there was no way you had made it all the way to Wolf Trap on foot.

Then, he remembered the old apartment you’d lived in before he and Hannibal took you in. It was a shoddy building on the outskirts of town, which he was pretty sure had been foreclosed for a while. Still, it was the only other place you had, really. So he made his way there.

There, he spotted a hole in the chain link fence surrounding the building. He ignored the No Trespassing sign, much like he figured you had, and maneuvered himself through the gap. He made his way up to the third floor, where your unit was, and heard murmurs behind the door.

He found you half naked and rambling, still caked in blood and viscera. In one hand, you were tightly clutching a large kitchen knife, a ribbon of fabric clinging to it. Much of your clothes were in tatters, ripped apart like you’d been desperate to get them off of yourself.

In your other hand, you had an unlabelled bottle of what he assumed was cheap vodka or gin. You were swaying a little in place, clearly inebriated. You held it to your swollen cheekbone, as if the tepid glass could soothe it.

A dark bruise bloomed up the right side of your ribcage, and your breaths were shallow and slow. On the other side, near your belly button, you had a poorly dressed wound, the fabric soaked in dark, shiny crimson. His eyes lingered on this detail for a moment, but his face did not betray the concern he felt.

It was a clear admission of guilt, but he wanted to hear you confess your sins out loud.

“What did you do?” He asked, keeping his voice low and even.

You lifted your head and looked at him without really seeing him. Your gaze was flat and unforgiving, almost unrecognizable. A small blood vessel had burst in your left eye, leaving a red splotch in the sclera. Your muscles tensed and your nostrils flared when you registered him as an intruder.

His hand was close to his waist, where his gun was holstered, in case he’d need to draw it.

“I took him for one last waltz, carried him in my arms as the saccharine wine of his blood spilled over us.” You closed your eyes for a moment, as if reliving it. “He adored me deliriously with his last breaths. I saw it in his eyes.”

Will took a step forward, causing a floorboard to creak, and your eyes snapped open. You slashed the knife in a wide arc, silently warning him to stay back. Your eyes were wild and unfocused, much too dark in the low light.

You swung sideways just as fast, the blade barely missing his midsection. He quickly drew back at your third frantic attempt, and you stumbled forward a little. Despite your skills and abundant bravado, both the drunkenness and the pain made you clumsy. You winced, but did not back down, still in a fighting stance.

He pulled out his gun and pointed it at your shoulder, which made you freeze.

“Hannibal’s going to be pissed if I shoot you,” he said, unfazed by your display. “Put the knife down before you get hurt.”

“You don’t have the guts to hurt me, Graham,” you sneered.

“Try me.”

For a long, tense moment, the two of you stared at each other. It was clear that neither of you actually wanted to hurt the other, but your pride wasn’t going to let you go down so easily.

And you knew that he wouldn’t hesitate if it came down to it, especially for your own good.

“He knows, then?” You asked, still unmoving.

Will simply nodded, and for a brief second, you considered angling the knife towards yourself. You started to adjust your grip on it, and he took the opportunity to lunge forward and knock it out of your hand. It clattered loudly on the floor, and he kicked it away, grabbing your wrist.

“You’re in deep trouble, you know that?” He said, grip tightening. “What if they hadn’t called me? You left evidence everywhere! Do you know how hard it was to hide all that without getting caught? Reckless! Very reckless!”

You tried to struggle out of his grip, and he knocked the bottle out of your grasp, which shattered on the floor. As you lifted your hand to strike him, he grabbed it, now holding both of your wrists.

“Don’t touch me! You don’t get to touch me!” You spat, still thrashing.

“Oh, I beg to differ. But I’m not going to be the one to punish you,” he said, forcefully turning you around and cuffing your hands behind your back. “Now, let’s go.”

He took his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders before ushering you out of the building. He had to steady you as you stumbled about, still furious and not entirely lucid. Even the familiar scent of him enveloping you did nothing to calm you.

He wrestled you into the back seat and made sure you wouldn’t be able to unlock the doors from the inside. For the time being, you resigned to lying on your side, slightly easing the discomfort of your shoulder blades being pinned together.

“Where are we going?” You asked as he started the engine.

“Home,” he said, glancing at you from the rearview mirror. “As you know, we’re expected.”

The drive there was torturous. Every turn made your head spin, the world outside the window swirling into a dizzying whirlpool of colors. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing, keeping down the bile that threatened to crawl up your throat. You stained the fabric of the seat, since the wound on your side had torn just a little further open.

All of the events of the past forty-eight hours were still shoved to the periphery of your mind, but you knew you couldn’t keep a blind eye to your sins forever. Eventually, they would come at you like a raging river, consuming you.

Will pulled into Hannibal’s driveway just after sundown, and a sense of foreboding made your stomach bottom out. Once, the house was a safe haven; A place you finally felt welcome in, despite the fact its walls had witnessed your flaws.

But at that moment, with death hovering at the threshold, it felt like you were heading to the gallows.

As he marched you inside, your knees almost buckled. You gritted your teeth and raised your chin, angry at yourself for displaying any sort of weakness. You were still a little lightheaded and disoriented from the drive, so you had to try even harder to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

The two of you found Hannibal in the living room, sitting by the hearth and staring at the fire within. He said nothing as he looked up, his eyes skirting over you and landing on Will, who held your arm.

In the flickering light, the harsh planes of his face spelled out your fate. You almost expected to hear a gavel pounding before the sentence was carried out… whatever it was.

“Take her downstairs,” he instructed, his tone almost bored. “And leave her there. Repentance always begins with solitude.”

His coldness stung, fueling your resentment, but it did not necessarily surprise you. Still, you tried to catch his eye, but it was no use. He returned his gaze to the fire, and Will dragged you along to the basement.

You were compliant as he led you down the metallic staircase and past a plastic strip curtain, but your eyes were fixed on the various tools against one of the walls. A pang of dread made your heart stutter as you wondered which ones might be used on you.

It was then that you tried to fight back again, desperately this time, survival instincts kicking into overdrive. Without the use of your hands, you resorted to twisting your body and attempting to bite.

He struggled against you, trying to immobilize you in his arms. You managed to get a hold of one of his forearms when it got a little too close to your face, sinking your teeth into it. He growled as you broke the skin, a metallic taste filling your mouth. When he was able to pull you away by the hair, you licked his blood from your teeth.

Instantly, you were backhanded across the face. The entire left side lit up with white-hot pain, and he grabbed you by the throat, pulling you towards the tools.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” He admonished as he clasped your collar around your neck. “You know I’m gonna have to muzzle you for that, right?”

He made you kneel, attaching a chain that was against the far wall to your collar. The muzzle followed right after, a layer of leather covering your mouth.

You glared up at him as he inspected the bite on his forearm, which was still pulsing with bright pain. You felt some satisfaction at having gotten him at least a little, even if it’d potentially make things worse. If you were going to go out, you would do so fighting.

Hopefully, Hannibal would at least be able to appreciate that.

Will left you there without a parting word, instead giving you one last disgruntled look. Once he was up the stairs, you sagged in place. It wasn’t your first time being disciplined, but you knew this was different. A line had been crossed that you weren’t sure you could ever come back from, but you feared what awaited you on the other side.

The basement was dry and cool, slightly soothing your feverish skin. Your head swam once more as adrenaline began to fade from your system. You were sobering up, too, and that was the only way you could tell time was passing.

There, by yourself, you only had your thoughts to torment you, filling in the silence with a buzz like the swarming of bees.

Good things are so slippery, aren’t they? Happiness becomes complacency, and thus monotony. Pleasure wanes quickly, and tragedy seldom waits to make itself known.

And what, then, if you are the harbinger of your own tragedy?

You rested your head against the brick wall, the blue darkness of your eyelids providing some comfort.

After what seemed like an eternity, you heard footsteps descending the metal staircase. You opened your eyes to see Hannibal, his expression still impassive.

He knelt in front of you, undoing the straps of the muzzle. You eyed him warily, but remained unmoving. The barest ghost of a smile was on his face as he saw the crusted blood on the corners of your lips. He’d patched up Will’s arm already, skin mottled purple and red with your molar imprints. He only wished he could have seen you in action.

In his hand, there was a familiar white capsule – one you recognized from his lessons.

“Open,” he ordered.

You clenched your jaw, turning your face away.

"You will either open your mouth and take the medication, or I can simply dislocate your jaw and force you to take it... The choice is yours.”

Begrudgingly, you did as told, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. You swallowed the pill dry, grimacing slightly.

“It should, at the very least, quell that sharp tongue of yours. Or perhaps it’ll only encourage it. We shall see,” he mused, looking you over. “I’ll undo the other restraints when that takes effect.”

“I’m no threat to you,” you murmured.

“Indeed. You are not.”

Still, he made no move to free you, making his point clear. He stood, walking over to the tool wall and wheeling out a metal examination table. Two trays followed right after, and you swallowed hard at the realization that he was setting up for what came next.

"Now, darling, I have been a psychiatrist for many years... I know we can break that defiant streak of yours. The question is how many more bones will have to go with it?"

He gestured towards your ribcage, and you felt a sudden urge to hide your injuries. All the evidence of what you’d done – the irreparable mess you had gotten yourself into. You ought to beg, to grovel and weep at his feet to spare your life. But you would do no such thing, if only for the sake of keeping whatever dignity you had left.

The world began to blur at the edges, like a frosted window during the winter. The maelstrom of emotions that had been brewing inside of you began to evaporate with your exhales, giving way to a blissful nothingness. You watched him wash his hands thoroughly, donning latex gloves.

Once your body was loose and your mind was like a forest of thick fog, Hannibal undid your bindings and carefully scooped you into his arms. Your head lolled against his chest, and you swore you could hear his heartbeat like a loud thunder in your ears. You wanted to cling to him tighter, but you couldn’t find your strength.

“I missed the way you tenderized me,” you rasped, voice weak and breathy. “Soft and pliant flesh for your hands to mold. Didn’t you love me best then?”

“An artist’s job is never quite finished,” he said. “There is love in destruction, too.”

Will descended the stairs as Hannibal was laying you down on the examination table. He used trauma shears to cut what remained of your clothes off, intent on examining every inch of you for the extent of your wounds.

The lights overhead framed their heads like halos, sanctifying them. Shouldn’t your hands be folded in prayer? Your knees on the cool stone floor?

For a moment, you wondered if you’d already died. Soon enough, you supposed.

“Jack’s taken care of. At least for now,” Will’s voice sounded far away as he spoke to Hannibal, who nodded in acknowledgment.

You focused on him, glancing at his bandaged arm. “I’m not sorry for biting you.”

He huffed in bitter amusement. “I know you’re not.”

“Just a little gift for you to remember me by.”

“Why don’t you tell us what’s troubling you?” Hannibal chimed in, listening to you hiss a little through your teeth as he cleaned up some of your scrapes.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Will said. “You left us a very pointed message. Can’t imagine all that mayhem wasn’t inspired by something.”

“You’re the goddamn empath. Why don’t you tell me?” You hissed, still feeling particularly prickly with him.

Hannibal tsked in disapproval, fingers barely tracing your ribcage — a silent warning more than an assessment. Unable to help it, you let out the softest whimper, on edge at the prospect of more agony.

You weren’t entirely surprised that they were ignorant of your rage. They were too preoccupied with other matters to notice. It had been a gradual process, in which they spent more and more time away, leaving you to your own devices. The more tedious tasks were left to you, all of which you could perform almost automatically. It made everything dull at first, but whenever your thoughts would wander to their whereabouts, resentment steadily grew like a thorny bramble in your chest.

But you were quiet in your seething. You tried to remain obedient and useful, in hopes that they would just see how indispensable you were. Anger had always been a reliable companion, especially in moments of fear or weakness, but it was a dangerous fire to stoke. And stoked it was.

Until one day, you couldn’t bear the weight of it all anymore. And this was where it led you.

“I have needs, too, you know,” you began, your words slow and slurred. “Not just carnal. I wanted frenzy and fury, a pain that only you could give and take away. You said destruction is another form of love, but I felt merely endured. An afterthought.”

The two of them shared a look, finally understanding the extent of their negligence. A stray tear escaped your lash line, and Will reached down to brush it away with one of his knuckles.

“‘These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.’” Hannibal recited.

“And quite a fire it was,” Will murmured.

“Would you kiss me before it’s over, then?” You pleaded. “One last time?”

“Last time?” He repeated, frowning in confusion.

“I know what happens next, Will,” the words left you with a ragged sort of exhale, defeated. “An errant flame must be snuffed out for its destruction. I am at your mercy.”

Hannibal removed the piece of cloth from your side, exposing where you’d been stabbed. He noticed the weapon was still buried inside, so he went to retrieve some long, thin surgical tweezers.

"And mercy you shall be granted, just this once. Your fire will not be extinguished tonight, we’ve worked much too hard to keep it kindled. Though discipline should douse that raging inferno considerably,” he leaned in close, so that you were eye to eye. “Did you have enough?”

You managed a small grin. “Never.”

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Atta girl.”

Will glared at him. “But it will not happen again. Our fondness for you is a weakness, despite our faults, forgiveness is not a mistake we will commit twice.”

“The scars shall serve as a reminder. But not to worry, we’ll keep a closer eye on you,” Hannibal reassured. “We are sorry too, isn’t that right, Will?”

Will merely nodded, reaching down to place his hand on your shoulder affectionately, fingers brushing your clavicle.

Hannibal straightened to his full height once more, the metal tweezers in his grip glinting in the light. “This is gonna hurt, darling.”

You nodded, ready to sink into delirium. “Bring it on.”

---

#hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter x fem!reader #will graham x fem!reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham fanfiction #hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal lecter x will graham x reader #minors dni

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sunshinesprats · 8 months

Text

saffron

part one is here

The General had given you his phone number. You stared at it for a long time in disbelief when you got home, sitting on your couch. The numbers on the page stared back. You pulled out your phone and entered the number into your contacts, labeling him as The General. It seemed like the only appropriate thing to have him as. Opening up a chat with the new contact, you bit your lip and watched the cursor in the textbox blink slowly. Slowly, you typed out a message, your heart pounding in your chest. If he gave you his number, surely that meant he wanted you to text him… Right? He wants to hear from me, you repeated in your head.

You: Hello, General. This is the mechanic from earlier

You cringed the formal message and hit send. What else was there to say? This was hopeless, you hadn’t come up with a plan of what to say to him if you ever got the chance to speak. Your eyes widened as you saw three dots pop up under your message. He was responding! You clutched a pillow in your arms, squeezing it tightly to your chest as you watched your screen.

The General: Hello, it’s good to hear from you. I was wondering if I would hear from you today. I was beginning to think that I’d scared you away

You picked up your phone and let out a deep breath, racking your brain for potential responses. You shrugged and decided to be honest.

You: No, you didn’t! I was working late and just got home a little while ago. There were some tiles someone installed incorrectly, they melted from the heat of the components around them. We spent the rest of the day trying to sort out that mess :/

Talking about your job was a safe option. If he felt like being open with you right off the bat, maybe he would tell you something about his day. It took him a while to respond to your message, but he did tell you he had a very long meeting with the Six Charioteers.The contents of which he couldn’t share with you, but you understood. Not that it would have been very interesting to hear about anyway. The two of you continued to make small talk while you cooked dinner, until the general didn’t respond to your last message. It was getting late… maybe he went to bed? You didn’t think about it too deeply while you ate, occasionally checking for any new messages from him. You received one from Jingshui, he sent you a picture of the sunset he took earlier. You complimented his photography, and got ready for bed yourself.

You sort of fell into a new routine. You would go to work, spend your lunch with Jingshui and your other teammates, and in the evenings you would chat with the general while you cooked. It was difficult to tell if he genuinely wanted to talk to you. Sometimes he would message you first, but you were usually the one who bit the bullet and texted him first. You hoped he didn’t feel obligated to respond, you held out some hope that he was genuinely interested in getting to know you. He had to be interested, right? He gave you his number first, Aeons above! He was very polite in his messages and occasionally sent you pictures of his lion and in return, you sent him pictures of what you were cooking or something pretty you saw when you went on the occasional night time walk. You hadn’t seen him in person since your job at the Seat of Divine Foresight. Texting was enough for you though, you were beginning to build some sort of relationship with him. It could take all the time in the world for all you cared. Maybe you’d gotten too attached too quickly but you couldn’t help it. You knew it was silly to hope that you’d see him out on the street, not being mobbed by people, and you could finally talk in person as you took a quiet walk somewhere. You shook your head to push your daydreams away. You had work to do.

Work couldn’t distract you from thinking about the general. Every time you had a spare moment, you checked your phone to see if there were any messages. You felt desperate, like a young person obsessed with only their lover. Most of the time, there was nothing. He had work to attend to, but that didn’t stop him from occasionally messaging you during work hours. The subject of it varied, whether it was expressing his desire to go home and spend time with his lion Mimi, or he was sending you a picture of a pretty sight he saw. He’d sent you one such message today a few hours ago. You smiled and began to type out a response, walking down the hallway. You should have seen it coming really, but you were oblivious, typing away. You crashed into Zhu Li, full force, knocking you down to the ground with her bag of tools. Your phone went flying and landed face down at her feet. She frowned down at you as she picked up her tools.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“I’m sorry, Zhu Li, I shouldn’t have been texting down here. It won’t happen again. I should have been paying more attention.” You apologized, eyeing your phone. She raised an eyebrow and picked it up for you. Your heart sank as she looked at your screen. She laughed when she saw the name of who you were messaging.

“The General? Who are you talking to that you call that, huh? General Jing Yuan?” She continued to laugh, clearly joking, but it immediately died in her throat when she saw the look on your face as you snatched your phone away from her, your lips pressed together in a thin line, eyebrows knit together. Your teeth scraped over your bottom lip, eyes looking at the farthest wall from you. Her shoulders dropped. “No. You’re not talking to him.” She said calmly.

You silently scrolled through your messages and pulled up a picture of Mimi for her to see. Zhu Li leaned in towards the screen to have a look and stepped back, disbelief in her eyes.

“How did someone like you get in contact with him? Was it when you went to the Seat of Divine Foresight?!” You knew she didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. People like the two of you had no reason to be noticed by anyone who was high up in the government, let alone the general. You sighed.

“Do you remember when I had my accident a few weeks ago?” You asked. She nodded, confused. You sighed again. “He was in the crowd when I fell and I made eye contact with him while I was hanging there.” You placed your hands in your lap as you waited for her to put the pieces together. Zhu Li stood there and stared at you, shaking her head in disbelief. You nodded, assuring her that what she was thinking was correct. She held her hand out to you, helping you up to your feet. You brushed yourself off and pocketed your phone.

“I don’t think you could have had worse luck.” She commented casually. You glared at Zhu Li and crossed your arms over your chest. This was a thought you had often but tried to squash it down by distracting yourself with messages from the general, or with work. Hearing someone else echoing your deepest fear caused a pit to open in your stomach.

“The people at the Six Commissions or the Six Charioteers do not care about people like us. They don’t spare us second thoughts outside of how we can be useful to them.” She said bitterly as she began to walk down the hallway, gesturing for you to follow her. “They only care about themselves and other people who are of their status. Everyone below them is a bug, too insignificant and meaningless to give them any thought.”

“Someone who is part of those organizations is your soulmate.” You gaped at her, stopping in your tracks.

She looked defeated, her shoulders sagging lower. “Yes. I won’t say who it is, they don’t deserve to have their name in my mouth. They pretended to be interested in pursuing me, they strung me along for quite a while, until I was in their trap. And then they struck, pulling the rug out from under me. They were just bored from their fancy life and needed a distraction until something, someone more interesting popped up again.” She spun around and placed her hands on your shoulders. Her tool bag whacked your shoulder and you winced, but she didn’t notice. Her fingers sunk into your clothing and into your skin painfully. Zhu Li looked you right in the eyes, a sort of wildness was present that you’d never seen from her before.

“I don’t know what he’s told you, but he does not care. He will never care. You will never have a chance to be with him. There will always be someone better than you that he could find, it doesn’t matter if you're his soulmate or not. It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head vigorously. “This is just a game for now. Don’t get attached. It will tear you apart when he inevitably finds another person who’s worth his time and energy.”

You tried to free yourself from her, shaking your head. “The general isn’t like that! He wouldn’t do that to me!”

She only gripped you tighter, her fingers sinking in more. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all an act! I’m telling you he will drop you when he finds someone better. Soulmates be damned!”

You tore yourself away from Zhu Li, rubbing your shoulders as you backed away from her. Your sore shoulder hit the wall behind you and you cowered away from her like a frightened animal. She was breathing heavily, staring deeply into your soul.

“I only want to help you prepare yourself for the inevitable disappointment that will come in the future. It’s only a matter of time before he drops you like a stone into the depths of a lake.” She adjusted her tool bag in her grip and continued down the hallway. You waited until you couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore to venture out and go down yourself. You expected her to jump out at you from the shadows in the walls at any given moment to spew more terrifying comments.

It was like Zhu Li had reached into the deep recesses of your brain and carefully extracted your deepest fears. You wondered if you were wasting your time with every message you sent. If he really was only using you for something you didn’t understand. The messages that seemed so sweet now read as strange and impersonal. The entire situation was very impersonal, the more you thought about it. You had never asked him to meet you somewhere out of fear of overstepping, but he didn’t ask to see you either. Maybe he was embarrassed of having you as a soulmate and didn’t want to look you in the face again. In the past you’d tried to write it off as him being too busy with work to spend any sort of time with you. If he wanted you, he would have asked to see you, right? Instead of just hiding behind a screen.

The pile of negative thoughts grew as the day progressed. You were on auto pilot, thankfully the rest of your tasks for the day only involved cleaning some equipment. Zhu Li’s comments really tore down any sort of confidence you had with your ‘relationship’, if you could even call it that, with the general. Any pride you felt had turned to shame that burned each time he popped into your mind. You were in too deep,and weren’t exactly sure how to get out of this deep pool. As you left, you checked your phone. Your stomach somersaulted unpleasantly when you saw you had a message from him. A picture of Mimi laying in a patch of dying sunlight on a plush looking carpet. You sighed and stopped, waiting for a star skiff back to your apartment. You responded half-heartedly.

You: She looks so cozy. I wish I could sleep in the sun all day

Your phone buzzed as you got a response, but you pocketed it instead of checking what he had to say. Zhu Li’s comments from earlier still rang in your ears. You felt numb as you stepped onto the star skiff, imputing your destination on the screen. What she said couldn’t be true, you tried to tell yourself, but ultimately knew there was a chance she was right. It hurt to admit, it made your heart clench painfully in your chest. You absentmindedly rubbed the spot in an attempt to soothe it. In your pocket, your phone buzzed again. Just another message from you know who. Nobody else texted you at this hour, Jingshui was usually busy with his family. You opened up your chats and stared at the screen, the words swimming in your eyes. Ignoring his initial question, you shakily typed out a message, your heart hammering in your chest, and you hit send.

You: Would you be interested in getting drinks or something with me sometime in the future?

With bated breath, you watched the three dots pop up under your message, blinking as the general wrote out a response, then stopped. The dots disappeared and your heart sank. This was bad, wasn’t it? Something inside of you said he was going to say no. Sure enough, once the dots reappeared, his response appeared under yours.

The General: I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that…

There was more to his message, but you shut your phone off and closed your eyes, resting your forehead on your front door. A sigh of disappointment left your lips. Your heart felt heavy in your chest and your throat tight as you took a deep breath. It was embarrassing how much this rejection hurt, but you weren’t surprised. Of course he didn’t want to see you. It was stupid to think otherwise, you felt silly about entertaining thoughts of being seen with him in public. You were a nobody and he was the most important person on the ship. You would never be of equal status or importance as him no matter what you did or said. You’d be on the bottom of the food chain for all of eternity, with this horrible secret harbored in your heart.

#honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #hsr x reader #hsr imagines

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technician-the · 8 months

Text

This is a Rhythm Master Drum Machine.

The machine has 4 voice circuits, they are on the board with visible components. From left to right; a kick drum, two toms/clavs, and a noise voice. The voices are triggered in different combinations to simulate 7 different drums, with varying degrees of verisimilitude.

There are 10 preset patterns selected by buttons on the front panel. Although not designed to play more then one pattern at a time, it is possible to force more then one button down at a time.

The machine has no memory, the patterns are etched onto the circuit board. All the other circuitry is made with discrete transistors.

This particular unit has no case, No idea how that happened. but I'm putting it into a 2u rack-mount enclosure. It also didn't work, but I fixed that some time ago.

#retro #vintage electronics #electronics #electronic music #electronics technician #diy electronics #retro tech #old tech #technology #hardware #teardown #infodump

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makeitmingi · 5 months

Text

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 5]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.2K

You all returned for dinner service. Like this morning, Yunho and his friends were not there yet, still resting from their mid day break. You made yourself a large container of iced coffee, tying your apron around your waist.

"Do eateries really benefit from a mid day break though?" Wooyoung asked as he washed his hands.

"Well, in this case, they sold out all that we made so I guess Yunho wasn't confident in continuing to stay open." You shrugged.

"They could still serve drinks." Seonghwa reasoned.

"But staying open with drinks only and no food might hurt the revenue. How much you make from drinks compared to food and drinks is so much lesser. It would be smarter for them to rest."

"That's true. Since they are the wait staff for the dinner service and they'll be cleaning up after." Jongho said.

"Don't they have someone to clean?" Wooyoung scoffed.

"They seem to only have someone that washes the dishes and then he leaves. Looks like the cleaning for the front of the house is all reliant on themselves." You informed. After some light conversations, you all began to get into preparing for dinner. As the prep chef, Jongho did all the slicing and vegetable prep.

"I should start prepping the seafood for the cioppino." Seonghwa went to get all the seafood. While Jongho sliced the vegetables, you made the compound gochujang butter for the chicken.

"The vegetables are done. How are we cutting the chicken for roasting? Halves or quarters?" Jongho asked.

"Let's do halves. They're quite small." You replied.

"Since we're searing the pork medallions towards service, I'll make the cherry sauce to get it ready to go." Wooyoung spoke. You hummed and crossed it off the list.

"I'll start with the chickens." You stood beside Jongho. As he butchered the chickens, you stuffed the compound butter under the skin.

"What fish were we using for the cioppino again?" Seonghwa asked.

"Monkfish." You reminded.

"That's the last chicken. I'm going to remove the silver skin of the pork tenderloin and portion it. Are you good here?" Jongho asked you. You gave him a thumbs up and he went to wipe down his station since he was handling the raw chicken.

Although Jongho was a prep chef, as he says, he usually handled whole dishes on his own. You were fine with it, the sous chef, prep chef titles didn't matter much to you.

"Oh when you're done washing up, help me preheat the oven?" You requested. He nodded and went to turn on the ovens for you.

"Ah, where is the madeira?" Wooyoung whined, walking out of the walk in fridge.

"It should be in the pantry instead of the walk in, Woo." Seonghwa informed. Wooyoung went to the dry pantry to look for the alcohol while Jongho tended to his sauce for him momentarily.

"Okay, that's the last chicken." You said, going to wash your hands and getting all the components together.

You laid the vegetables Jongho prepped at the bottom of the trays and seasoned them then you placed racks on top for the chicken to sit.

"Hwa, help me bring the trays into the oven?" You asked. Seonghwa nodded, lowering the fire on his stew before helping you carrying the remaining trays. You slid them into the preheated oven and closed the door. You set a timer and clipped it to your apron before moving onto the next dish.

"Cherry sauce for the pork is done. Shall I start on the dessert?" Wooyoung came up to you.

"Yes. Do the panna cotta now so it can set in time. But don't forget to make the parsnip puree for the pork dish." You told him.

"I won't. I'll do the panna cottas now." He went back into the walk in to get what he needed. When Jongho was done portioning out the pork and setting that aside, he did the raspberry coolis.

"Cioppino is simmering. We'll have to fire the bread during service." Seonghwa helped you with the Korean dessert.

"Oh! I forgot the makeolli ice cream needs to be churned. Let's get it done now?" You remembered.

"On it." Seonghwa took the ice cream machine out.

"I think the last time I made bukkumi was with my grandfather." You laughed as you made the red bean paste that will go inside the glutinous rice dough and pan fried.

"Actually, we haven't done much Korean desserts in a while. Our recent desserts are all Western or Japanese, we did our wagashi workshop together. We should start doing more of those." Wooyoung said. You all nodded in agreement.

"Thinking of using these for the mushrooms that will go into the pasta dish." Jongho showed the metal bowl with the mix of different mushroom types.

"Looks good. Maybe not shitake since it might overpower. And soak the dried porcinis." You looked through the bowl.

"Okay. I'll mix the dried porcinis and the dried black trumpets." Jongho went to the pantry.

"It smells so good in here!" Yunho came in with a big smile. Wooyoung and Seonghwa gave friendly smiles back. You and Jongho were so focused, you just blocked everything else out.

"Hi, (y/n). Did you get some rest?" Yunho asked, standing beside you. You looked up at him, taking a small step to the side but nodded.

Not that you had anything against Yunho but you valued your personal space, especially around people you were not very close with.

"Do you need help?" He grinned.

"Do you not need to help the others prepare for dinner?" You raised an eyebrow. Yunho shook his head, he really enjoyed being in the kitchen with you the other night. And he was never really one that stuck around the kitchen. The only time he was ever in there was when he was with his grandmother.

"Go wash get an apron and wash your hands." You nodded over to the sink. Yunho let out a small 'yes!' in cheer and went over to get an apron. Once he tied it around his waist, he washed his hands.

"What should I do?" He asked enthusiastically.

"Jongho is preparing the glutinous rice dough for me. For now, let's split these red bean balls and weigh them." You instructed.

"Like this." You demonstrated, taking a spoon of red bean paste and rolling it into a ball with your hands, weighing it to the exact weight then setting it in the tray.

"I can do that!" He nodded. But the moment he spooned the bean paste onto his hand, he dropped it.

"I didn't know it would be hot." He pouted.

"It's only slightly warm. You can wear the gloves there." You pointed with your elbow and Yunho trudged over to get them. Again, imagining Yunho's puppy ears pressed to his head in disappointment made you let out a small chuckle.

"Are you laughing at me?" Yunho's eyes were wide. You didn't think he heard you.

"No." You shook your head. To be honest, he wasn't the only one surprised, Wooyoung, Jongho and Seonghwa were a little surprised too.

Yunho resumed his spot next to you and began to do the task. Good thing he was meticulous, wanting to be as accurate as possible when weighing each ball of red bean paste.

"Dough kneaded and done. I'll let it rest." Jongho said, placing the big bowl with the dough beside you.

"Thanks." You momentarily stepped aside to see the progress with the others.

"How's it looking?" You looked into the ice cream churner.

"It should be good to go into the freezer in 45 minutes. The ratios should be correct that it still freezes despite the alcohol in it." Seonghwa nodded. With alcohol in ice creams, there can only be a certain percentage you put in or else the alcohol will prevent the ice cream from properly freezing.

"Panna cotta is going into the chiller!" Wooyoung announced with a tray in his hands. Jongho helped him with carrying the other trays with all the white ramekins.

"Jong, you can start the prep for garnishes. Woo, you can start on your parsnip puree. Hwa, can you help me make a chicken jus?"

"Sure." The three replied and split up. Once the glutinous rice dough was done, you began to portion those out too.

"Done. Shall I move onto that?" Yunho asked excitedly, putting the last ball of red bean paste onto the tray. You nodded and let him assist you in weighing the glutinous rice dough.

"Good evening." San, Mingi, Yeosang and Hongjoong came in after preparing the restaurant for dinner.

"Evening."

"Wow, you guys look so fancy." Wooyoung chuckled. While there was no waiter or staff uniform, the boys all wore button up shirts and dress pants.

"Wow, it's looking good. Anything we can help with?" Yeosang came over to look at what you were doing alongside Yunho.

"You can help Yunho portion these out. Then I'll start wrapping them." You said. After washing their hands, they came to help where they could with their limited kitchen skills. You placed a red bean ball in the middle of a circle of dough and wrapped it.

"So you're going to fry these after?" Hongjoong asked.

"Pan fry it to get the outside a little crispy. Then we're serving it with makgeolli ice cream." You told him.

"We have 1 hour. Can we make 1 of each dish that is prepared for service for tasting?" You called out. The 3 immediately fell into the rhythm of things.

"Chicken is in the warming oven so let's dish that." You said and Jongho brought the components to you for plating.

"Bread for cioppino going on the grill."

"Pork medallions going on the pan."

"I need a sous at the pass." You said. Seonghwa stepped up and you took over to make the miso butter pasta with mushrooms. The 5 other boys huddled closer to not be in the way.

"Woah." They watched in awe at how all of you worked together, handing components to Seonghwa to plate and put together to be served. Since it wasn't Michelin restaurant, Seonghwa got the plating done quickly. There was no need to micro garnishes but it still looked pretty and well put together.

"Desserts are not ready." Wooyoung informed after checking if the panna cottas were set.

"It's fine. Can we just monitor them and make sure they're ready towards the start of actual service?" You asked and he nodded.

"Watch your back." You cautioned as you placed the hot pan with the miso butter pasta. Seonghwa took a carving fork to twirl it into pretty cylinder. He then spooned the sauce over with the mushrooms.

"Can we sprinkle some chives over?" You said, looking over at the dish. Jongho sliced the chives.

"Better." Seonghwa hummed as he grated the bottarga over then sprinkled the chives over to give it flecks of green.

"Service." Seonghwa said, lining the dishes up. All 5 boys had sparkles in their eyes, their jaws slacked, as they looked over all the dishes in front of them.

"Appetisers, we went a little simple. Bruschetta, mini ham cheese croquetas, crispy brussel sprouts with lemon gochugaru dressing."

"Mains. This is miso butter pasta with mushroom medley and bottarga, we have pork medallions with parsnip puree and cherry madeira sauce, gochujang butter roast chicken with roast vegetables and a chicken jus. Lastly, cioppino with grilled ciabatta." Seonghwa introduced.

"We'll definitely look into exploring a bigger variety of appetisers after tonight." You added. Yunho nodded and they all dug into the dishes to taste.

"The chicken is so good. How did you get all the flavour in?" Yeosang was in disbelief.

"So we made a gochujang butter and we put it under the skin to roast. Then we let all that drip onto the vegetables." You explained.

"The pork dish is my favourite. I love that sauce." San pointed to the dish with his spoon and gave a thumbs up. You gestured to Wooyoung, who was responsible for the dish.

"Hmm..." Wooyoung deliberated after taking a taste of the dish. San blinked in confusion.

"Do you not think it's good?" San asked.

"I mean, it's good. But it is missing something." Wooyoung replied. You took a taste and Wooyoung looked at you for confirmation. You nodded in agreement.

"We have fennel. I'll grill it?" Wooyoung suggested. You hummed and Wooyoung left to go to the walk in to get the fennel. Without anyone else noticing, Hongjoong was finishing the pasta on his own. When the others noticed, it was too late, making them yell at the older male for not leaving them any.

"You snooze you lose?" Hongjoong shrugged. You noticed Yunho had not said anything.

"Any comments? Changes?" You turned to him. Yunho blinked, shaking his head to break his train of thought when he noticed that you were asking him directly.

"It's all really, really good." He said, the tip of his fork still in his mouth. You waited, feeling like he still had something else to say.

"I'm not sure if the food is too fancy..." He confessed. You paused for a while to let his words sink in.

"Would you prefer more homey dishes then?" Jongho asked.

"Let's see how the dinner service plays out before we decide for sure." Yunho said. You nodded in agreement, there wasn't much for you to say since he was the owner, not you.

There was now an awkwardness that hung in the air. Yunho was nervous, he hoped he didn't let his nerves throw you off your game.

"Let's take 5." You said. Wooyoung, Jongho, Seonghwa and yourself stepped out to relax before dinner service. The remaining boys went out to where Yunho was. Mingi looked at his best friend, who was spacing out behind the counter.

"Yunho ah. What was that? You okay?" Mingi tapped Yunho on the shoulder.

"Did I sound too arrogant? Too demanding? They put in all that effort and I just... should I not have said that? I just want the customers to like the place." Yunho panicked.

"It's fine, Yunho. I'm sure they didn't take it to heart. You have to be honest as the restaurant owner." San assured.

"Yes, compared to what I see on television, you were very nice in your reaction." Yeosang said.

"You're too nice, Yunho ah." Hongjoong chuckled, patting his tall friend on the shoulder. Yunho pouted, he didn't like telling people bad news or anything remotely negative.

"And like you said, you didn't say the food was bad. It just might not suit what customers are looking for." Mingi comforted.

"Let's focus on dinner service now." San massaged Yunho's shoulders to relieve the tension.

"This is the list of reservations. If there are still tables available, the online system will add the reservation as it comes in." Yeosang gave the iPad to Hongjoong to refer to the guest list, showing him the online booking sytem. Hongjoong hummed, nodding as he scrolled through and got familiar with it.

"For us, let's split the dining area this way. Into 3. So we don't get any mix ups or repeats, it is easier to keep track of which tables you are responsible for." San said to Yeosang and Mingi.

"Good idea." Mingi nodded.

Meanwhile, your team was back in the kitchen cooking, unaware of Yunho's 'almost' meltdown that was happening outside.

"Too fancy..." You drummed your fingers against the work top. Maybe you needed to go home and research more on what kind of fare and flavours you should be utilising.

"Don't think too hard." Seonghwa chuckled, coming over to kiss the top of your head.

"Don't mock me, Park." You rolled your eyes, shoving him away.

"Let's finish this service then go out. Drinks on Jongho!" Wooyoung said, slinging his arms over yours and Seonghwa's shoulders. Jongho slapped the back of Wooyoung's neck.

"Don't go volunteering my wallet." Jongho glared.

"Yah! I'm your hyung! Show some respect." Wooyoung whined, stomping his feet while Jongho made a face at him, sticking his tongue out. You let out a soft sigh and shook your head, going back to your station, letting Seonghwa mediate their bickering.

Yunho's feedback didn't negatively affect you, it made you want to work harder. You were glad that he was objective and honest, not just saying the food was good.

"We're opening the doors for dinner in 5 minutes." Yunho said through the small pick up window and disappeared.

"I forgot we have that service window." Jongho laughed.

"We've just been talking and serving through the door, which can be dangerous. We should use the window that's actually for passing food and tickets." You reminded.

"Let's do this." You gave each other pats on the shoulder and waited for the first tickets to come in.

"First customers walked in." Seonghwa informed, observing through the window.

Once the orders were taken, the waiters will key it in and the ticket will come through on the machine that's in the kitchen. It cuts the time the waiters have to come and handover tickets, it also makes it easier for whoever is at the window to sort out the orders and give out instructions to the rest of the team.

"First tickets coming in." Seonghwa announced.

Dinner service went by smoothly, there wasn't a manic rush but things weren't slow as well, which was good for Yunho. You were all able to take little 5 minute breaks in between.

"Last ticket going out. Service." Seonghwa rang the bell for pick up at the window. You let out a tired sigh, hearing Seonghwa's words.

"First day done." Wooyoung came, slinging his arm around you. You tiredly leaned against him.

"Let's clean up and prep for tomorrow before going home." You stood up. You, Wooyoung, Seonghwa and Jongho gave each other side hugs to commend one another.

"Good work today, everyone." You smiled.

"Of course, we have our leader to guide us." Seonghwa smiled softly, making you look away.

"Do your dishes." You cleared your throat. You washed the big pots, pans and trays that you used. For the bowls, you all left them on the counter neatly to dry overnight, except for the ones you were going to use now.

"Before we clean the stove and the grill, let's cook some dinner." Jongho suggested. There wasn't much but the 4 of you used whatever leftovers you could find to whip something up.

"I wish we had some of that roast chicken leftover. It was seriously good." Wooyoung pouted.

"Luckily we had some piece of the pork medallions left that we could cube up." Seonghwa said, taking a portion of pasta for himself.

The dish was a pasta with garlic, onions, basil fresh tomatoes, cubed pork pieces. Jongho sauteed the leftover mushrooms, serving that alongside the leftover roast vegetables.

"Hwa, call the front team in. I'm stepping out for a bit. You guys start eating first." You told them.

"Sure." The 3 nodded, not protesting or asking any questions.

"Hey, we made a simple dinner before we start tomorrow's prep. Would you guys like some?" Seonghwa asked. The 5 nodded their heads and entered the kitchen. Just like this morning, Yunho noticed that you were not around. Did you leave after service? Did you eat dinner before you left?

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